My Sister's Murderer

by Liv Bennett

  At least, I stop drinking after the third glass, or I’d have waltzed through my afternoon with Austin and our heavy make-out session with me in his lap. I slur most of my confessions and can’t see Erin’s reactions clearly because of my blurred vision, but I feel light and relaxed when I rest my head on my pillow as if I’d had a long massage session.

  My moment of catharsis is short-lived and comes to an end with my sudden urge to puke. I rush out of bed and collapse by the toilet bowl on the bathroom floor. Feeling revolted by the smell all over me, I take a shower and brush my teeth before going back into the room.

  Erin is zonked out on the chair, drooling through her open mouth, the wine bottle fully empty on the floor. I grab the first t-shirt and pajama bottoms I can find from the suitcase in the dark and quickly put them on.

  On my way to the bed, I hit my toe on the bed’s leg and shout in pain, my noise stirring Erin from her sleep. She looks around with blank eyes, disoriented. “Where am I?”

  “In my hotel room. We passed out.”

  She stiffens when her eyes land on me. “What happened to you?”

  I look down at my pajama-clad body to see if I have anything strange on me that would cause her question. “Nothing. I threw up is all. Come over to the bed,” I suggest, my voice hoarse. “You’ll have back pain if you sleep in the chair.”

  She rubs her neck, rolling her head left and right. “More like neck pain.”

  She shoots to her feet suddenly, when she checks the time on the digital clock. It’s only eleven thirty, but I feel like I slept the whole night. I pull back the thick curtains to make sure it’s not eleven in the morning. It’s as dark as it gets.

  “I should go.” She shuffles through the comforter and the pillows to look for her purse and jacket.

  “You can’t drive like this. You can stay. The bed is big enough for both of us.”

  “I’ll take an Uber.” As soon as she locates her purse under the chair on which she dozed off, she digs her phone out of her purse, startling when she checks the screen, looking like she missed an important call or two. Who could be calling her at this hour?

  “All right, good night!” She stalks out in a hurry while dialing a number on her phone, the door banging loudly as she leaves.

  I stare dumbfounded after her at the closed door, wondering if I dreamed about our alcohol-induced therapy session. Then I find my own phone hidden underneath my comforter and bite my bottom lip at the sight of a new text message.

  Are you sleeping? Austin asked half an hour ago.

  I slide under the comforter, while my hair is damp from the shower.

  Yes, dreaming naughty dreams about you. My finger hovers over the send sign, my grin wide, my heart leaping hard in my chest. As soon as I press send, my hand flies to my face in embarrassment. I’m practically inviting him over to my room.

  One minute passes, two, three, five, ten. He doesn’t text back. A pang of jealousy sits heavily in my stomach, and I hate it.

  Despite my self-loathing, I find his profile on Facebook to see if he’s posted a new photo or anything important. Nothing, except for the five new female friends he added since the last time I checked his page. I click on their pages one by one, my green-eyed monster growing with each slutty pose in a mini skirt or revealing dress. Does he know all of these girls?

  Half an hour later, I’m wide awake and worried about not receiving a reply to my seductive text. It’s not twelve yet. He can’t be sleeping, can he?

  Not my proudest hour, but I make up a fake Tinder account and start figuring my way through the dating site I never needed or used before. When I find his page showing him in all his glory, shirtless in his profile picture, I almost throw my phone against the wall.

  My heart stops in my chest as I notice he’s online. He’s not sleeping. He must be chatting online with some girl. He texted me to see if I was sleeping then went on to greener pastures when he didn’t receive an answer.

  I’m a certified crazy. I know it. I can’t stop it. I go back to his Facebook page to take a closer look at the women he friended today. Maybe he’s chatting up one of them, or two, or three.

  When I open up his friends page, the sight of the most unexpected name blows me away like a hurricane.

  Natasha Royal, the girl who committed suicide last year, is among Austin’s friends.

  It shouldn’t surprise me, as he seems to have half the town on his friends list, but it’s Natasha Royal’s profile photo that has my jaw hitting the floor. She’s sitting on a swing next to Austin, his arm intimately around her shoulders. My head spins as if the walls are closing in on me.

  In my hazy mind today, I didn’t realize Austin knew my sister in person. His father owns the restaurant and Austin runs it. He must have met my sister and talked to her more than once.

  I was sure there was no connection between Natasha Royal’s death and my sister’s. There is a connection, and it’s Austin Knight.

  CH 16

  IS HE THE ONE WHO KILLED MY SISTER?

  The flood of disturbing thoughts sends an icy shiver across my body. The thick comforter on my bed isn’t enough to prevent the chill that’s settled deep in my bones.

  Austin was in a relationship with Natasha Royal and was my sister’s boss. Both girls died killing themselves within a year of each other. The question is… Damn! I can’t even form it in my thoughts. I can’t tarnish Austin’s image as my knight in shining armor.

  I have to. For the sake of advancing my search for the reason behind my sister’s death, I have to consider all the options.

  Can Austin be the one behind both deaths?

  My world feels like it’s collapsing when the pieces of the puzzle come together.

  As impossible as it sounds, he might have recognized my father’s car on the highway. If he ever got close to Ruby, he might have seen her driving the Legacy. His curiosity to figure out who the new owner of the car was could be why he stopped to help me. He even asked me if I had just bought the car. And, the next day, seeing me as the new employee might have raised his suspicion. I used my mother’s maiden name as my last name, but a good PI should be able to figure out my kinship to Ruby.

  And boom!

  It wouldn’t be hard for him to put two and two together and realize I’m up to something more than just a job as a restaurant hostess. What could cause the sister of a deceased girl to move to the same town that she had lived in, and take a job at the same restaurant where she worked if not for snooping around for information?

  His final doubts must have been erased when he bumped into me in the exact gym where my sister was a member. And then he just had to follow me to my hotel supposedly to return my jacket.

  He probably knows Max well enough to realize I was covering for him. Austin might have even seen surveillance video of what happened in Max’s office. He must have figured out I’m after something.

  I was right to worry about why a guy like him was interested in someone like me. Opposites may attract, but not to this extent. We’re worlds apart in terms of money, looks, background…everything.

  I’m nothing like the girl I saw him with on the lunch date, not the kind that can turn heads on the streets or cause chain accidents. That girl was. The girls on Austin’s friends list are. That’s why he’s online on a dating website in the middle of the night, chatting with girls behind my back. His shirtless profile photo tells me all I need to know about him. He’s a playboy.

  The realization feels like a knife to my heart. It hurts so badly, so deeply, that I double up on the bed, tears for not being his real love interest, for naively believing in his innocence, and for falling for his chivalry rushing down my face.

  What do I do now? I can’t exactly blow his cover and blurt out to him I know why he’s pursuing me. I don’t want to pretend to be clueless about his intentions either. I don’t think I can, even if it’ll advance my chances to find out the truth about my sister’s death. Where does it leave me?

  A dark fog
settles over my brain, my thoughts perplexed, turning around in circles, my tears wetting my cheeks and pillow. My eyelids are heavy, and my body is drained.

  In the last moments before falling asleep, a fleeting image crosses my mind; an image of a girl in my bed, in my clothes, lying lifeless under these covers. That girl will be me if Austin is the man I think he is.

  Ch 17

  Hot In The Gym

  When my eyes flutter open, there’s only one thing I’m dying to do. Get that fucking luxury cardigan out of my closet and burn it to hell.

  I jump down from my bed, stomp across the floor to the closet and shove its door open. The cardigan isn’t hanging on the hanger but is lying somewhere behind my suitcase.

  I grab it and bring it to my nose to sniff for any traces of perfume on it. It does have a scent, the aroma of money and sex. I need to get rid of it. I can’t keep it in my room any longer. The perfume on it makes the room feel suffocating.

  Finding an empty supermarket bag, I stuff the cardigan in it and check my phone. Three new texts, one from Tara asking me to call her please, the other two from Austin.

  Too bad I missed your text last night. Did you have a good night?

  Are you going to work out today? I may join you. I admit I want to see you in tight yoga pants.

  Of course, he does! It’s not enough that he probably has a harem of women on Tinder and Facebook blowing up his phone with nudes and begging for a real-life chance to strip for him. He wants to check out my ass too before he gets rid of me for good.

  I need to play along. I don’t have another option. I need to be the same trusting girl from yesterday, who’s impressed by every little thing he does and says.

  That sounds fun. I’ll go to the session between nine and ten. Does that work for you? I feel vomit in my mouth.

  His message is instantaneous. Absolutely!

  I take a long shower, shave my legs, style my hair with the blow dryer to pump up the waves of my hair, put on mascara, and apply a dark shade of red to my lips. It’s not strange to go to the gym with makeup on these days. Why should I pale in comparison to the cougar with the fake tits and lips in my workout session?

  I find the only clean yoga pants in my suitcase, a pair of cropped, pink leggings I had to buy at Tara’s insistence. She was probably onto something.

  Putting them on, I feel naked. It won’t be just Austin watching my backside, but the entire group of men in the session. Foregoing a baggy t-shirt I’d have normally picked, I go for one on the shorter and the tighter end of the scale and check myself in the mirror. I look just like what a man with a morning wood needs.

  This is war, I remind myself. I need to be dressed for the occasion.

  I go through Tara’s journal to see if Ruby would have had a class this morning. If I’m lucky, I may catch Kelly Somerville before or after the class and have a chat with her about Ruby. Tara conveniently drew out a chart with Ruby’s classes. She’s pathetically organized when it comes to her daughter.

  The Econ 107 class, Mathematical Tools for Economists, is ending at nine fifty, exactly when I said I’d be working out with Austin. But, the class is staring in an hour at nine, and I may get a chance to talk to Kelly Somerville before the class starts if she shows up early enough.

  I go to the hotel’s restaurant for coffee and breakfast. Today, I’m lucky there’re a few breakfast burritos left. I pick two and a cup of coffee to go and drive to the campus. Every street on campus seems to require a parking fee. At a dollar an hour, it’s not cheap, yet the lot closest to the economics department is nearly full.

  There’s still half an hour left before the class starts. To kill time, I go into the building and check out the classroom. About fifty chairs crowd the midsize room, and I hope not all fifty students show up at the same time.

  I settle on a chair out in the hall and watch students walking past me, raving about some weekend party or complaining about upcoming exams. As the clock ticks, more and more students turn toward the Econ 107 classroom. I always knew Ruby was smart, but I marvel at her picking economics as a major.

  A threesome of tall blondes in activewear appears at the end of the hall. I stiffen in my chair and zero in on the one in the center. I glance at my phone screen that has Kelly Somerville’s Facebook page open and compare her to the girl a few feet away from me. That’s her!

  I look over their black leggings and stylish Athletica tops. I never understood why women wear gym clothes anyplace other than the gym, but today, I’m wearing yoga pants too, and the similarity is important for building trust.

  Slipping my phone into the pocket of my jacket, I jot down my name and phone number on a piece of paper and push to my feet. My hands tremble.

  While standing, I turn toward the girls and make my gaze at Kelly Somerville obvious as she approaches the classroom door.

  Once they’re within hearing distance, I clear my throat and call out to her. “Kelly? Kelly Somerville?”

  “Yes.” She stops, so does her entourage at the same time.

  I feel nervous for some reason. My heart is slamming against my chest. I need to calm down. “I’m Ashley Elwood. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Her eyes do a double take of me as if she’s trying to judge my intentions from my appearance. “Do I know you?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

  She’s vigilant and cautious, and she glances at her friends with a suspicious gaze before turning back to me. “What is it about?”

  “I’m a student here at CU. I’m writing an article about Ruby Evans, who killed herself at the beginning of this month. I’d like to ask you a few questions about her.”

  “I don’t have time. My class is starting right now.” She steps back immediately and signals with her hand to someone behind her, a man that may be her bodyguard. He rushes toward her.

  “I know. Here’s my contact information.” I push the piece of paper with my name and phone number into her hand. “Please, call me. It’s important.”

  The man comes between Kelly and me while the other two girls whisper something in her ear, as they start turning toward the classroom.

  “Please,” I yell after Kelly. The bodyguard places his hand on my shoulder to keep me from following her. I try to shove him away. “Kelly, please,” I shout.

  What the hell was I thinking, pretending to be a student journalist? When Kelly glances at me one last time over her shoulder before entering the classroom, I confess, “I’m Ruby’s sister. Our parents are devastated by her death. Please call me so we can talk. It’s very important. Please!”

  The bodyguard gets more aggressive and shoves me against the wall.

  A wave of anger flares in my chest. “Let me go. Who the fuck are you? I’m gonna file a complaint against you. I’m a student here. You can’t treat me like this.” I try to keep my voice low yet threatening in order not to draw more attention to me.

  The bodyguard quickly moves his hands away, lifting them up in the air as if showing everyone he’s not harming me. “I’m not doing anything to you. Please leave the building, or I’ll have to call the police.”

  “Jesus, call the police. I have a right to be in this building.” I readjust my coat, grab my purse, and head toward the exit anyway.

  There goes my plan to squeeze information out of Ruby’s close friend.

  Furious at myself for failing at a simple task and at the bodyguard for treating me like a criminal, I rush to my car. The gym is only a mile away. I make it a few minutes before time for the workout session to start and grab the bag with the expensive cardigan before leaving my car. Finally, I’ll get rid of the shit Austin got from one of the many women he fucked—probably in his car—so hard that she forgot everything, including her expensive Chanel cardigan.

  Even though I’m arriving early, the workout room is almost full. Matts spread out, iron bars are ready in their right places, and the participants are warming up. Thankfully, the cougar isn’t in this session.

/>   I spot Robert writing the program for today’s session on the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. When he notices me, he waves at me with a warm grin.

  A touch on my shoulder startles me right then, and I stiffen when I crane my head and meet Austin’s twinkling eyes smiling at me.

  “Hey, you.” He almost reaches down for a peck on my cheek, but I manage to escape it with a quick movement toward the coat section.

  I grab the bag with the cardigan and hand it to him. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you. It’s the cardigan I borrowed during the drive to the mountains.”

  He opens the bag with a frown and then nods, realization hitting him. “My mother’s sweater. You should have kept it. I don’t think she’ll miss it.”

  Before I can decide if he’s telling the truth, he starts unzipping his hoodie and flashes me his Superman chest. My trust issues quickly disappear as my gaze lingers on the endlessly wide shoulders and bulging biceps bare beneath his sleeveless t-shirt.

  Move over, Henry Cavill! Hollywood producers are considering a new actor for the next Superman movie.

  Austin reaches for my chin and gently pushes my face toward Robert, who’s announcing the start of the session. He must have noticed my intense ogling of his torso and my drool. His grin confirms my suspicion. Oh, my god, I’m an embarrassment!

  His blue eyes shimmer with naughtiness, his crooked smile making my heart leap. When I stare at him from up close, looking directly into his eyes, a bout of self-doubt creeps into my heart, and I wonder if I may be wrong about him.

  He’s avoiding touching me, perhaps not wanting to draw others’ attention to us, but his gaze turns intimate, protective, and loving. I can’t help but feel like melting into a puddle of goo. It’s incomprehensible how he can crush my anger with just a smile.