“Sorry, Alice.” I gave her an apologetic grimace. “We just need to figure out how to catch a murderer, and since he’s here this morning, I thought we’d give it a shot.”
“That’s fine. You can make your illegal plans here, hon, but try to be a little more quiet. People are working down the hall.”
“You got it.”
“What now?” Meghan asked.
“Well, now we go accuse Donald of something in front of the commission, to try and get him to confess to something else.”
This was the last straw as far as Alice was concerned. “Now, really, girls. You’re going in there to stir up trouble?”
“Yeah, Alice, sorry to keep disturbing you.”
“Don’t worry about that.” She put her hands on her desk and leaned across, her big eyes serious in her thin pixie face. “Is he really a murderer?”
“Well, yeah, we think so.”
“Oh dear. I’d better tell my husband. He’s in on Craig’s investment plan to buy Donald’s building, and if Donald’s a murderer, he may want to reconsider.”
I froze. “Wait, what did you just say?”
Meghan lunged forward and clutched at the edge of the desk. “Did you say Craig has an investment plan to buy Independence Square Mall? My Craig?”
“Well, yes—I assumed you’d know all about that. There’s a development firm that wants to buy the place and remodel it, and Craig’s been finding other investors to back the plan financially. I guess he’ll be getting a big commission. My husband Tim’s contracting firm was hoping to get in on the remodel, but I don’t think he’ll want to be a part of it if there’s a crime involved. He was already getting cold feet when that poor boy died there. Bad press, you know—it doesn’t look good to be the company remodeling the scene of a murder.”
Meghan and I turned to stare at each other. Her jaw hung open unattractively. “An investment plan—that explains why Craig was never that supportive about the banquet hall plans. If Donald and I managed to get the building making money, Donald wouldn’t need to sell it—”
“—but if you got the grant to refurbish the building, that might make it more attractive to the buyer.” I shook my head. “He’s been behind the whole thing. I bet Craig did all of it—sent the email, set off the smoke bombs, everything—to scare Donald into cooperating. If you guys couldn’t go through with your plans because of all the bad things happening, maybe he hoped Donald would sell just to make it all stop.”
“But why wouldn’t Donald just come forward?” Meghan asked.
“If he was involved with Wesley’s death, he couldn’t, could he? Not without incriminating himself.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Alice said.
“You’re right.” I tugged on Meghan’s velour-covered arm. “Let’s go.”
“Good luck!” Alice called.
The grant commission was meeting in the same room where we made our presentations mere days before, though it felt like weeks, months, light-years. From the hallway, we could hear voices, low and urgent, Donald’s worried tones strident over the murmurs of the others. Meghan hung back, looking unsure.
“Are we sure we want to do this? It sounds like Vanessa’s in there, along with half the Economic Development Commission. There’s no going back. I’ll probably get kicked out of the running, and—”
“Does that really matter right now?” I snarled.
“Donald will probably just deny everything.”
“Even if that’s the case, we’ll get our suspicions out in the open. He’ll have to move against us, or Craig will, and the police are watching them now. They’ll do something stupid, and that will get them caught.”
“I swear, if this is just some stunt to make yourself look cool or some little game you’re playing to make people pay attention to your store, I’ll push you off a balcony myself.”
I rounded on her. “You know what—you’re hardly one to accuse me of trying to put myself in the spotlight.” I kept my voice to a low hiss, not wanting to tip off the people in the meeting to our presence. “You’re the one who sleeps with other girls’ boyfriends. You’re the one who sleeps with murderers and lets them act out their evil plans on my territory. You want to know what’s typical? You. Getting hurt. Coming to me for help. You’re completely incapable of solving your own problems.”
“You’re going to confront me now about things that happened ten years ago?” Meghan said. “What is your problem? You think everything I do is about you, when really my plans, what happens to me, my life—none of it has anything to do with you. You don’t even factor into my view of the world. But somehow, when everything goes to shit, you’re there, you’re involved.”
“I could say the same for you, you know. Everything would have been fine if you had just kept out of my way. But when things finally start going right, you just end up in the middle of it all, doing your best to ruin it.”
We were inches apart, hissing at each other in the hallway like angry cats fighting over a dead bird. I took a step back. I would not be drawn into this fight—not today, and not by her. I was bigger and better than this now, and I wouldn’t fight over a guy who turned out not only to be a cheater and a liar but also a murderer and a pathological creep. I took a step back.
Meghan had balled her hands into fists. She still wore her mismatched tracksuit, and her hair was gathered into a sloppy bun at the base of her neck. She was disheveled, red-faced with anger, her makeup half-done, and her clothing rumpled from our impromptu camp-out in Jordan’s living room. But even in disarray and extreme distress, she was still very pretty. The bright-eyed cheerleader had grown up into a confident, driven woman who had managed to construct, brick by brick, the exact life she wanted. I didn’t like her, but I did respect her.
We were the same person, deep down. I might not look like her or talk like her or think like her, we might not dress the same or act the same, and we might never agree on anything superficial, but when both of us started rolling twos, we would fight for ourselves and for our dreams. I might dress my world in starlight and magic spells, and she might drape hers with designer fabric, but we both did our best to shape our lives the way we wanted. We were strong, and right now we needed no one but each other.
That ancient crime, the theft of my boyfriend, had divided us, but it didn’t matter, not now. Craig was the true villain, and while Meghan and I might never cross our long-standing divide, might never like each other, and would never be friends, we could, I thought, come to a place of mutual respect. But we could only do that if we put aside the old differences, right here and right now in this hallway, and agreed to work together to right a new injustice, one that had affected both of us and killed an innocent boy in the crossfire.
“Enough,” I said.
“What?”
“Enough—of this,” I waved my hand between us. “Enough of this feud. We have no reason to hate each other, not anymore. We’re both better off without Craig, unless we want to end up dead, and it’s time we start working on the same side. The grant money doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters but stopping Craig and Donald.”
Meghan stared at me for several heartbeats, her blue eyes glowing. “And saving our stores.”
I paused, taken aback, but I nodded. “Yes. And saving our stores.”
She put out one slim hand. I saw that her manicured fingernails were battered and chipped, but her hand did not tremble. I took it, and we shook. She smiled. “Let’s do this.”
I pushed the door to the meeting room open, then, before I could lose my nerve.
Vanessa Cleary sat at the head of the table, Donald at her side, while two members of the Economic Development Commission and the assistant city controller sat opposite him. They all looked up when I opened the door and stormed in. Vanessa half-stood, and Donald turned in his chair, white-faced.
I took a shaky breath and tried to puff myself up like I was enraged and not shaking in my sn
eakers. I pointed at Donald. “This man—” I said dramatically. I looked at Vanessa, who stood all the way and gaped at me like a frog catching flies. “—has been lying and cheating to weigh the grant in his favor!” I gulped. We were feeding them half the truth and half a lie, accusing Donald of the things I’d suspected of him, to see if we could get him to confess to what he did. “He wants the money to go to remodeling Independence Square Mall, so he can sell it—he has investors lined up and everything. Everything he’s done in this contest is a lie! He’s been colluding with Meghan Kountz, and when I found out about it, they tried to destroy the evidence! She sabotaged me, and then they made it look like she was the victim!”
At this point, right on cue, Meghan threw open the door and stomped in. “It’s a lie!” she cried. “He’s been bullying me, blackmailing me—we had plans to do work on the building, but he’s just been using me to try to get the grant money and sell the building for a huge profit! When I found out and tried to back out of our plans, he put smoke bombs in my store and attacked me!”
I rounded on her, my hands clenched at my sides. “You’re lying! You undermined me, got me kicked out of the grant running—you killed my customer, hiding your plans!”
“He’s the killer, not me!” Meghan shouted.
I whipped my head back to Vanessa. “Listen to this—they’re turning on each other. I’m the victim here! I demand you stop this meeting, stop the grant competition altogether, until I’ve gotten some justice!”
That was overkill, maybe. I stopped ranting and gasped for air before I got carried away and said I needed to avenge my honor or something.
“She’s insane!” Meghan cried. “Listen to her, she thinks the whole world is out to get her!”
“Enough,” Vanessa said. She drew herself up. “I have no idea what’s going on here, but neither of you has any right even to be here, let alone to be making wild accusations. You need to leave.”
“I will not!” I said. “That man has destroyed my business and killed a boy and framed some of my friends, and all for what—twenty-five thousand dollars and an extra fifty thousand on his sale price? Are you going to let him get away with this? At the very least, you should care that he fixed your little contest to get the money for himself! We can report you all if you don’t do anything about it.” I wasn’t exactly sure to whom I would report them, but the grant money had come from the state, and someone, somewhere had to regulate those dollars. It wasn’t a toothless threat, even if it was beside the point.
Vanessa huffed, but everyone turned to look at Donald. “Is any of this true?” the city councilwoman asked.
Donald wheezed like a faulty bellows. “Of course it’s not—I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t fix the grant, not exactly—”
“He’s been working with Craig MacLeod,” I said, playing my trump card before he could deny the whole thing. “They have investors lined up to buy the building. He was never open to this committee about his financial situation—I have records to prove it. The entire mall is in the red, and Donald needed the grant money to repair the building before he could sell it.”
Donald gaped at me, and I realized with a jolt that I must have hit on some piece of the truth. His face went pasty green and then bright red as his mouth worked, shaping words that went unspoken, and I could see the desperate search for excuses behind his eyes.
“Donald?” Vanessa said.
“Craig MacLeod—he’s behind it all,” Donald said in a choked voice.
“Ah-ha!” I said, triumphant, playing my role to the hilt. José and the other LARPers would have been proud. I felt Meghan stagger beside me, and I put a hand out to steady her. “What’s the deal, then, Donald? You might still be able to save yourself.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Donald said. “But Craig has been haras-sing me, bullying me, to sell the building. He knows I need money. He knows I’m struggling. I don’t want to sell, but he won’t take no for an answer. I thought if I fixed the grant for one of you girls, if I got the money into the building, the changes might help to save it.” He swallowed thickly and looked at Meghan. “I didn’t attack you, Meghan. I thought our plans were still on, but then Craig came to me the night the boy died—he told me to cancel our plans to start the banquet hall, or he would tell the grant commission about my money troubles, my plans to fix the grant.”
So I’d been right—he had been favoring Meghan. He looked so sick, though, and Meghan was so gray-faced that my triumph died as quickly as it had been born. Had Meghan known about Donald’s efforts? Was that why Meghan and Craig had fought, the night Wes died, and she’d just lied to me? Had Craig actually threatened Donald, or was this another lie, one meant to protect his slimy ass from prison?
“When the boy died,” Donald continued, “I was scared. I think he overheard us. I thought Craig killed him. I didn’t say anything to anyone, not even you, Meghan. I thought I’d be next—when the threats against you both started, I thought Craig was trying to intimidate me.”
“Did you send the email from Meghan calling off the plans?” I asked.
“No—I got it, and I was shocked. But when Meghan was attacked, I assumed it came from Craig. I thought they must have fought, and he attacked her and then sent the email to cover his tracks. Our plans would be off no matter what.”
“Why would he attack me?” Meghan asked. “And why send the email? I was in on Donald’s plan, too, and I would know I didn’t send it.”
“So you wouldn’t know he sent the email?” I suggested. “Maybe you would’ve been confused or assumed that you didn’t remember? Or maybe all of this is just another lie, one to throw us off.” I glared at Donald. “Nothing he says can be trusted.”
Vanessa had a hand over her mouth, but she dropped it to her side and interrupted. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I think we’d better call the police.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve got one of them on speed dial. She can be here in minutes.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Donald said again. “I’m a victim, too.”
“Tell it to the cops,” I said. I pulled out my phone. But I didn’t make it to dialing.
21
I’D MISSED SEVENTEEN CALLS. Seventeen in the last twenty minutes.
Every single one of them was from Paige. And they’d stopped coming seven minutes ago.
I felt the blood drain from my face. Meghan’s shrill voice, Donald’s hoarse replies, and Vanessa’s low, moderating tones all blurred together into meaningless noise. There was a message, too. My hands were shaking so violently I almost couldn’t work the touch screen.
“Autumn,” Paige’s voice came through in a whisper. There was heavy static in the background, like she was standing outside in the wind or beside a running shower. “We need your help. He’s here. He has us, and I’m scared—I don’t know what to do. Craig—I thought he was my friend, my boss, but he’s—”
The message cut off abruptly. I gasped for air, half-sobbing, half-feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. “Oh no.”
“What is it?” Meghan asked. Across the room, the others had fallen silent and were staring at me with wide, frightened eyes.
I didn’t answer but dialed Paige’s number. Her phone didn’t ring, instead sending me straight through to voice mail. “You’ve reached Paige,” her cheerful voice said. “I’m out having too much fun to talk right now, but please leave a message and . . .”
I hung up. “I think Craig has gone after Paige. Maybe Nick, too.”
“Why would he do that?” Meghan’s voice cracked.
“I don’t know—maybe to finish framing them? I don’t know.” I was frightened, repeating myself, but I felt trapped by uncertainty. It was just like the night Wes died, when Paige called me in tears—did she need my help this time? If I’d gone last time when she called me, would I have been able to make a difference? Was Craig after her now, too? Where was she? “I don’t know what to do,” I s
aid.
“Call the cops,” Vanessa said immediately. “Call your friend.”
I nodded. Jordan would know what to do. This was her job, what she had trained to do for years. And yet—Paige called me, and time had passed since she had even been able to dial. We might already be too late to help. Wes had been killed in a mere span of minutes, and Paige’s minutes might be up. But even if I had gone to help Wes, if I went to help Paige, what could I possibly do? We needed the cops.
“You’re right,” I said. “Of course.” But I hesitated for one more second, then pushed my phone into Meghan’s hand. It was so much like the night Wes died—so many of the same players, so much of the same uncertainty. And, it suddenly occurred to me, such similar circumstances—so close to the same setting. “You do it. I think I know where they are. I’ll go, and the cops will be right behind me—tell them to head to Independence Square Mall.”
I knew where the rushing water was. How many of my own calls had been distorted by the noise from the fountain in the basement of Independence Square Mall? It was closed today, in preparation for cleaning up after the smoke bombs—empty and abandoned, the perfect place for a final crime, one that might wrap up all of the loose threads. If Paige and Nick weren’t around to be proved innocent, they might just end up being the perfect scapegoats. And Craig might be desperate enough to try to end his problems with a final death.
Maybe.
I lunged for the door. Vanessa called after me, but I didn’t stop. I dashed through the corridors of City Hall, down the stairs, and through the lobby. Alice stood up at her desk when she heard my steps, and I saw her mouth frame a question as I ran by, but I didn’t stop. I flung the double doors open and hit the sidewalk at a run.
“Should I call a lawyer?” I heard Alice’s voice echo through the lobby behind me, but I didn’t slow down or take the time to laugh at the absurdity. The cold air seared my lungs as I ran the block between City Hall and Independence Square Mall. There were a few pedestrians, early lunch-goers visiting restaurants on the square and old ladies visiting the boutique shops sprinkled along Main Street, and I elbowed my way past the ones who had the nerve to get in front of me. A car honked as I charged through an intersection. I didn’t care.
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