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“Nah,” he told himself. Not with all the other friends of the Preppy Pricks dropping like flies.
He stared down at his jumble of notes. All the pieces were there, a massive jigsaw puzzle that just needed to be put together in the right order.
Becca felt as if a stone were stuck in her gut, weighing her down. All of her burgeoning joy at the thought of maybe being pregnant was superseded by a horrifying sense of despair. Someone was killing them, one by one. All of them.
She looked around the room. It was late, but she wasn’t alone. Most of their friends had collected at her condo after rushing to the hospital upon hearing the news about Mitch. Now they stood in a semicircle in front of her fireplace. Tamara, Scott, and Jarrett stood on one side, Zeke and Evangeline on the other. The Third had slumped into a chair, and Hudson stood next to Becca. They were drinking coffee or wine, but mostly they just stood and stared blankly at each other. Even Ringo was subdued, lying on his bed and observing the group while the gas fire hissed and outside a deep fog settled in.
“I just don’t understand,” Tamara said, perching on a bar stool near the kitchen counter. “You all think that Mitch was killed, that this wasn’t an accident.”
“Not just Mitch,” Hudson said.
A murmur of agreement swept through the room.
“Been a bunch of murders,” Jarrett said.
“Oh, no.” Evangeline w
as shaking her head, her blond hair moving against her shoulders. Her hand reached for Zeke’s but his were in his pockets. His head was bent and he was remote enough to be on a different planet. “I don’t believe it,” she went on shakily. “No one would want to kill Mitch or Glenn…or Renee.”
“Well, they did,” The Third said, all of his cockiness gone. His face was lined, his hair falling over his eyes instead of neatly combed. “Something’s up. And it started with those kids finding Jessie’s body. Someone’s picking us off. And it has to do with Jessie.”
“Mitch’s death wasn’t murder,” Scott said, shuddering.
“Someone dropped that jack handle,” Hudson said. “It didn’t fall on its own.”
Scott asked, “You tell the police that?”
“Yep. Wanted everything on the table. No secrets.”
Hudson gazed at Zeke hard and Zeke flushed. Unless Zeke had gone straight to the phone and started calling the group, they still didn’t know he was the baby’s father and therefore the bones belonged to Jessie. Zeke’s uncomfortable posture said the secret was still under wraps.
Zeke couldn’t hold his gaze.
“Who sent those notes?” Hudson asked him.
Vangie caught the tension between them and said quickly, “You can’t think it’s Zeke?”
“Was it?” Hudson asked Zeke point-blank.
“No.” He was positive.
Hudson said, “Jessie didn’t send them. Jessie’s dead. Those are her bones. DNA’s proved it.”
“How?” Scott asked, surprised. “I thought there was nothing to match Jessie’s DNA to.”
“The baby’s DNA was matched to her father’s,” Hudson said. “And the father is one of us. Stands to reason the bones are Jessie’s.”
“You’re the father?” Jarrett’s dark brows slammed together and he looked at Hudson, then slowly followed his gaze to Zeke.
“I am,” Zeke stated flatly.
The group collectively absorbed the shock of that news, turning toward Zeke and staring at him.
“Oh, my God,” Tamara exhaled.
Evangeline blinked several times, as if her brain couldn’t process something so abhorrent. “It’s Hudson’s baby,” she finally said. “She was Hudson’s girlfriend.”
“I slept with Jessie,” Zeke said. “We were seeing each other behind Hudson’s back.”
