“Are you sure about that?” I asked with a smile as if joking.
She responded with a middle finger.
“Does anyone have a magnifying glass?” I asked.
Avery left the room and returned with one as if she’d pulled it out of a magic hat.
“Thanks.”
She then stepped into the hall to allow privacy.
I gripped the black handle, my hand sweaty, and examined each photo of Janie. There had to be a clue.
Nicki was on her cell, whispering. Considering how quickly things were escalating, I wouldn’t be surprised if the director of the agency had been looped in.
Avery turned up the volume as Tish read from the teleprompter: Fifty Ways I’d Kill the Bitch.
“I’m still not sure that was the best title.” Cora’s nose twitched.
I ignored her.
Tish continued reading quotes from a journal she claimed belonged to me. It had taken the five of us a few minutes to concoct snippets earlier. I watched this bit, since Cora recommended splashing the quotes against a red splattered background on the screen as Tish spoke.
I wanted to kill her.
She destroyed my life.
Night after night I imagined gutting her.
Only a gruesome death would do.
In the background, a gif that resembled the Psycho shower scene was accompanied by the movie’s well-known theme music.
“Your touch?” I asked Cora.
She stretched a bony finger at Avery.
I nodded, impressed, and turned back to my task at hand. One of the pictures from the Boston bookstore caught my eye. “Do we have the publicity photos of the book tour?”
I heard Tish announce she had it on good authority the FBI was interrogating me. We hadn’t agreed to release that particular bit of information to viewers. Cora met my eye and shrugged.
Avery left to retrieve the photos I’d requested, returning several minutes later. By then Tish was back, slurping coffee. It’d been a long day that had slipped well into the night. It didn’t look like any of us would be getting rest for many more hours, if not days.
I rummaged through the photos, fresh from the printer, and found the one from Boston. I held it up to compare. “Aha!”
Tish, her head craning over my shoulder, asked, “What?”
Not answering, I grabbed another to compare, with the same result. Then another. After five I was fairly confident the rest were the same.
“What?” Tish demanded.
“It’s not Janie. Some sick fuck superimposed her head over Claire’s. She sat in the back row at each event. Look.” I tapped the real photo from the Boston stop. “Claire is wearing her sleeveless white shirt with red stitching.”
They crowded around me, analyzing the original with the fakes.
Tish whistled. “That’s pretty twisted.”
“Is it a message? Surely whoever did this had to assume I’d figure it out.” I tapped the magnifying glass against my chin.
“If you ask me, it points to Janie. She loved you. Wanted to be with you. Wanted to be your Claire.” Tish paced the carpet in front of the television with remarkable speed considering her heels. “What I don’t understand is why you agreed to work with her from the beginning. Hunting an alleged serial killer, that I get, but with Janie it’s not adding up.”
I avoided Cora’s gaze once again. I still wasn’t certain if she had conned me with the Ashley Madison story and impending divorce that still hadn’t been announced. I’d assumed Silas and Cora were working on things, so I never pressed. And with work, the wedding, and family stuff, Cora and I hadn’t had many heart-to-hearts as of late.
“It’s complicated,” I muttered.
“No, it’s not.” Cora studied the wedding ring, still on her finger. Twisting it around, she said, “JJ agreed to help me. Do you respect when people ask to speak off the record?”
Tish nodded, mesmerized by another potential scandal.
“Janie was blackmailing me because my name—or alias—was leaked when Ashley Madison was hacked.”
Avery, not all that surprisingly, didn’t seem fazed. Had Cora confided in her? Or was she simply that stoic?
“And what’s your story?” Tish questioned.
Our staunch assistant didn’t respond, making me wonder if I’d ever meet the true Avery Fleischer.
That was a question I wanted to pose to every woman in the room, but I had to force all angry thoughts and fears out of my mind. Right now, my focus was clearing my name, paving the way back to Claire. I had no choice but to trust them, and it tore me up inside. Retribution, if warranted, would have to come later.
“Time to institute the next part of the plan,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
While many in the business bemoaned the downsides of fake news on social media, there were some upsides, including steamrolling the narrative, no matter how bogus.
We started by sending tweets from different established accounts we’d used periodically in the past for MDD, claiming JJ sightings all over the eastern seaboard, planting the seed I’d somehow slipped out of the building, not to mention FBI custody. A few included blurry, but plausible photos doctored by Tish and Avery.
A lot of savvy social media types hate to be left out in the cold, and just like we predicted, others started furthering the bogus rumor by muddying the waters to feel like they were part of the story. Questionable photos of me appeared in Atlantic City, Baltimore, Concord, Philly, Savannah, Boston, and one even had me in Tokyo. #wheresTMG trended. Some jokers altered my photo to resemble Waldo and Carmen Sandiego.
Reporters didn’t know what to do. Some TV stations pulled their staff from outside our office building to send them on wild goose chases.
I watched everything unfold online and then get rehashed by news anchors. “There are still too many outside for our guest to get in.”
“The building isn’t shut down. Surely this person will be able to slip in.” Tish’s red-rimmed eyes were testament to her dedication to the scoop. We’d been going full steam ahead for what seemed like an eternity.
“Still…” Tish attempted to rub the exhaustion from her face. “What’s next?”
“A tidbit that no newshound will be able to ignore.” Cora and Nicki conferred behind their hands. Both nodded to Avery.
On Twitter, Avery uploaded a news link, supposedly from Claire’s Fort Collins Gazette, reporting a body matching Janie’s description had been uncovered two miles from my home.
I stopped breathing. Tish and Nicki backpedaled out of arm’s length, sharing an incomprehensible look.
“Are you trying to destroy any chance of Claire forgiving me?” I asked Cora in a surprisingly even tone as if I had disconnected from my body.
“I need you to trust me right now.” Cora waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t, she added, “I’m pretty sure Claire isn’t happy with anything pertaining to you at the moment.”
“But to put her paper in the eye of the storm—”
“It had to be done this way,” Cora stated, calmly. “The public—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the public!” I raked my fingers through my hair. “Claire. My children. My life.” I pounded my chest with a fist. “Stop maneuvering pieces of my life around like some twisted board game.”
“Holy shit,” Tish said, pointing at the screens.
All the reporters standing outside with cameras trained on them simultaneously put fingers on their earpieces, practically salivating, and then they chattered like mindless chipmunks about the body and tossed out conspiracy theories on the fly, all the noise on the TV screens in the office echoing the demise of my reputation.
“That, ladies, is how to own the news,” Cora said, jabbing her palm up in a high-five fashion, although no one reciprocated.
“Okay, Murdoch, let’s see if it works,” Tish said.
“Now that you’ve produced a so-ca
lled body in a fake news story, how are you going to keep the authorities from arresting me?” I asked.
Cora’s eyes bugged out. “Are you forgetting that Nicki is FBI? And Tish reported you were being interrogated. As far as the public is concerned, you’ve already been arrested and are talking. How else did the body turn up?” She made quote marks.
My cell vibrated.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I think you should wear a wire.” Cora paced the room.
“I think it’s safe to assume whoever is waiting for me in the basement is too smart to fall for the wire trap. This person has been five steps ahead of us the entire time.” I stared out the office window, overlooking Manhattan in the early dawn hours. I hadn’t closed my eyes since my life had spun out of control yesterday, or had it been two days ago? Being trapped in Cora’s office, I’d lost track of how much time had ticked by.
It was difficult to remember what was true anymore. Thanks to the Twitterverse, I was on the lamb and had a small window to prove my innocence—hopefully.
Even with Nicki’s assistance and Cora orchestrating the news, I couldn’t banish the thought I would be doing a perp walk by sunset. There was a risk of planting the story about a body being found. Friends or not, the FBI would have to take action at some point to save face.
“We can’t get a confession and not have proof of it.” Cora clawed my shoulder. “An interview would be better. An exclusive.” I saw the gleam in her eye, the one all journalists got when chasing the story.
“You think I’m good enough to get whoever to have a sit-down with me?” I crossed my arms.
“Not with that attitude.” Cora’s smile and crossed arms contained only malice and disappointment.
“What do you expect? I’m still coming to terms with my new reality. Let me recap the main point. I’ve lost everything.”
Cora waved a Don’t be a drama queen hand.
“JJ the Killer. Has a nice ring to it,” Tish quipped.
Even if vindicated, the label would stick for some. I never thought I’d prefer the Miracle Girl label, but it was loads better than the new one.
I tapped the screen displaying my empty office, needing to feel connected to my other life.
***
For weeks, I had been preparing to walk down the aisle. Now, I didn’t know what the future held, and a feeling of dread wouldn’t allow my legs to move.
Frozen.
Even my mind refused to cooperate.
How long until the person lost their patience and left?
Think.
Act.
Still, my feet stayed rooted, paralyzed.
Nicki, the only one with me, nudged my shoulder and whispered, “Open the door.”
Here goes nothing.
I turned the knob to the parking garage ever so gently.
Nicki revealed a gun in her right hand. Had she always been packing heat? I had been observant enough to notice the stitching in Claire’s shirt in one of the photos but not a gun bulge on one of our so-called informants.
I counted to three in my head and forced the door completely open.
The person stood in plain view, amused by the scene.
“What happened to your blonde hair?” I asked.
“Got bored with it.”
“Not sure I like the black—too goth.”
“Didn’t ask you. Besides, do you really want to talk about my hair?”
“Not sure I want to talk to you at all.” I squinted in the darkness. Either building maintenance never checked for burned out lights, or they’d been knocked out, rendering the CCTV cameras useless.
Movement behind a Toyota Prius made my heart lurch to my toes.
Janie sniffed. “You need a shower.”
“Sorry, been busy trying to avoid the slammer, no thanks to you. Are we going to chat here, or would you like to come upstairs? I can’t keep the service elevator out of commission all night.”
Janie didn’t move.
“Come on. There’s coffee and random leftovers from people’s lunches in the staff break room. And if you’re so offended, I can hop in Cora’s private shower.”
“I’d feel more comfortable if there weren’t witnesses.”
I laughed. “You’re with friends.” Somehow, I managed to sound believable.
“With guns.” Janie didn’t bother looking at Nicki.
“Only one gun.” I opted not to confess Nicki was FBI.
The movement behind the car again confirmed Janie wasn’t alone.
“Did you bring your own hired gun?” I asked, trying to play off that this was a perfectly normal occurrence in this business.
“So to speak, but her weapon of choice is much more deadly.”
***
Cora and Tish stood outside the elevator, waiting for our arrival.
When the four of us emerged, Janie muttered, “Tish Reynolds, really?”
I hiked up a What can you do? shoulder. “Can’t seem to pick my own friends these days.” Or were they enemies?
“Just your headlines?”
“It’s a crazy world. People think I murdered you.”
“I know. It’s trending on Twitter: Hashtag TMG the Killer.”
Tish snapped her fingers. “Dammit! That’s better than mine.”
My pulse skittered like a jackrabbit staring down a wolf. A few beads of perspiration bedewed my brow and upper lip. The frame job was working, for better or worse.
Not wanting to, but not seeing a way around it, I invited Janie and guest into Cora’s lair.
The timid woman in jeans and cable-knit sweater made her way to the window, standing three feet from it, craning to look below.
So far, none of us made a move to introduce ourselves, picking up on her I hate all people vibe.
“She’s barely an adult,” I whispered.
Janie replied, “But she’s still taller than you.”
“And apparently more mature than you,” I spoke out of the corner of my mouth.
It was hard to peel my eyes off the puffy red birthmark that covered nearly half of the left side of her face. It must have devastated her parents when they first saw it. And the kids she’d grown up with probably tormented her from day one. I could only imagine the names, such as Strawberry Shortcake or Muffin Face.
Janie waved. “Meet GT.” She winked at me as if conveying she was using the wrong initials to get under my skin.
“GK,” the young woman corrected, with a slight stammer.
“I wasn’t sure you existed. I’m still not convinced,” I said in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. It didn’t.
“Relax. You’re the murderer, not us.” Janie winked at me.
“Not a good one, apparently. You’re still alive.”
“A fact that’s being overlooked by all,” Cora butted in.
“And why is that, Janie?” I asked with crossed arms.
She staggered back a step. “Do you really think I’m responsible for the world thinking you killed me?”
“Who else would doctor photos of you at my book events? You haven’t been seen in public for I don’t know how long. Your family reported you missing and pointed the finger at me. It’s hard to get the idea out of my mind that you’ve been planning this for a very long time.”
“Get over yourself.”
“I would love to.” I paced the office. “Why does no one believe I don’t want to be the Miracle Girl? TMG killer? JJ the Killer? I don’t want any of this!”
“Does TMG Killer imply someone killed you or that you’re the killer?” Cora contemplated aloud.
“Stop concocting hashtags!”
A commotion on the screens commandeered our attention.
Claire.
Chapter Thirty
“Just shoot me now,” I said.
Janie pointed to Nicki, as if pleading to have my request fulfilled.
“I wasn’t serious, and it still seems
like you’re at the bottom of all this.” I turned up the volume. “Now what?”
“Are you sure you want to watch this?” Cora seemed genuinely concerned about my well-being.
I didn’t budge.
“I want to make a statement,” Claire faltered, her eyes darting and blinking at the cameras as if in a fugue state.
She looked like hell. The glare of the camera lights in the predawn hours created a ghastly image: puffy eyes, pale skin, rumpled clothes. Her stooped shoulders indicated she believed I had murdered Janie.
“I am not in contact with JJ, nor do I plan to be. I’ve been assisting the FBI in their investigation, and I ask”—she stared right at the camera, a man in a dark suit by her side—“JJ to put an end to this madness. If not for me, for our children, so we can move forward.”
“How do you propose I do that?” I muttered helplessly.
“One of yours?” Cora asked, gesturing to the screen.
“Yes,” Nicki said as if that would make me feel better.
Reporters shouted questions, but I couldn’t decipher their words. Claire disappeared out of sight. The blackness of the night seemingly shut a door on JJ the Killer.
“This nightmare just won’t end.” I collapsed on the edge of the desk.
Cora perched next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Are you forgetting Janie is standing right here?”
“Are you forgetting we still haven’t tracked down Mean Heather?” Janie stood firm, even under Cora’s withering glare.
“Do you remember when you were at my house? You mentioned turning the tables on Mean Heather would be the last resort.”
She started to shake her head, adamant.
I waved to the spread of TVs. “This looks like last resort to me.”
“For you. That wasn’t what I meant. You can’t pull the plug now,” Janie pleaded. “I want to find her. I want to make her pay.”
“I want my fucking life back,” I snapped. “What do you expect me to do? Sit in a jail for your murder while you continue to hunt for the actual killer? Even you can’t possibly want that. Why else would you be here?”
Janie stared, not confirming or denying.
The Fall Girl Page 23