Connor tilts his head—as if to say,your words, not mine—but it’s Greer who speaks up. “Except that makes no sense. Nic’s the one whofound him in the lake. Do you think she would have agreed to go swimming if that’s where she’d dumped the body? When we all believed he’d drowned, Nic was the one who established it’d actually been murder. Why would she have brought that to our attention if she’d committed the crime?”
The others exchange glances. Sensing their uncertainty, Greer continues: “She’s had countless opportunities to cover this up, but instead, what has she done? Encouraged us to call the police. Does that sound like the behavior of someone who’s guilty?”
Imogen and Hannah are nodding now; even Kemy looks conflicted. The only one who doesn’t is Connor. “Possibly,” he admits, “but there’s another way of looking at it. As the one who discovered the body, who ascertained it was a murder, Nicola could’ve been trying to evade suspicion. Her father did the same thing onTo Catch a Killer. He appeared on the show, inserted himself into the investigation, all so no one would guess that he was the killer they were looking for.”
Greer’s gaze flickers over to me, and I know she’s remembering the conversation we had while digging the grave. I’d suggested the same thing: that my dad only cooperated with her so she wouldn’t suspect him. She couldn’t think that’s what I’ve been doing, could she? That I slept with her just to throw her off my tracks?
The thought is so repugnant that I immediately push my way forward. “I’m not the only one with evidence against me.” All eyes turn toward me, and now, it’s Connor’s turn to look unsure. “Why was Steffani’s necklace in your room?”
His forehead creases. “What?”
I reach into my pocket, present the necklace. “I found this in your desk drawer. How did you get it? Did you do something to her?” Greer lays her hand on my arm, a clear signal for me to stand down, but I ignore her. “Did you hurt her?”
He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it and shakes his head. “No, I found that on the back patio. I decided to keep it in my room in case it belonged to someone.”
Liar. “Then how do you explain this?” I thrust my fist into my pocket, grab the license, and yank it out, the fabric lining half coming with it, and—
Oh.
Oh, no.
We all watch as the sheet of notebook paper lazily drifts to the floor. It lands there, a white flag of surrender, and when I look up, Connor’s stare has sharpened. “That’s from one of the notebooks, isn’t it? You ripped that out, which means you knew about them before the rest of us.” He’s thinking out loud now, weaving theories together. “Did you confront Zach about the book deal? Is that what happened?”
“What? No!”
“He refused to back out, so you decided to take matters into your own hands?”
“No, I would never—”
Imogen has retrieved the sheet of paper. She turns toward Connor, confused. “Is this the door code to your room? Why would Zach want that?”
He slaps his hands against his knees and stands. “No!” I exclaim, realizing what he’s about to do. “No, no, no. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare—”
But he’s already striding into the foyer, toward his room. I start to follow, but Greer grabs my elbow. “Let me go,” I snarl, trying to pull myself free, but she’s stronger than she looks.
“See?” Ros whispers, cocking her head toward me, and Kemy nods.See?Like my behavior’s only proving his point, that I’m somehow dangerous. I don’t care; he can’t let them see those photos.
When he returns, the envelope’s clutched in his hands, edges crinkled from where we fought over it.
“I believe Zach broke into my room sometime during the retreat and found this envelope. Inside are photos of Nicola, taken in college.”
“What kind of photos?” Kemy asks, and the back of my neck burns.
He opens the envelope and starts flipping through them. “Don’t,” I beg. “Please. You can’t show them those photos. That’s wrong. Evenyoumust know that’s wrong—”
“Connor, maybe we should—” Greer says, her words running into mine, but it does no good.
The photo that Connor tosses onto the coffee table is the least revealing of the bunch, but you can still see enough to tell what it is.
Greer scrabbles for the table and snatches up the photo. “What the fuck, Connor! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just pass something like that around without permission!”
He flushes like he’s embarrassed. Likehe’sfucking embarrassed. Meanwhile, everyone in this room has seen me… has seen me… God, fuck him. Seriously.Fuck him.
“The image is mostly obscured—” he argues.
“You can see enough!” She glances down at the photo, probably preparing for a brutal reproach, but something stops her. Her expression slackens; the slightest tremble unfurls through her fingers.
“What is it?” Connor asks, taking a closer look himself. That’s when the same realization must hit him because his jaw lowers in shock. “Oh. Oh, fuck. Is that…?”
