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“Don’t apologize,” I said gently, leaning over to rub his back. “This is all a huge shock.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat again. “Anyway, my question still stands. Even if Michaela is behind all this nasty bullying shit, what does that have to do with the Forrester case? Or the affair with your dad?”
“Well, we couldn’t figure out any motive for her to hurt anyone. But maybe the affair has something to do with it.”
“You really think Michaela could’ve killed people over a creepy affair?”
“I hope not.” I slowly shook my head. “But something feels off about her now. She hid an affair with my dad for so long, and we never had a clue. So what else is she hiding that we have no idea about?”
Tate nodded and rubbed his jaw. “What if it was actually your dad behind it all?”
“The massacre?” I replied, brows shooting up.
“Yeah. I mean, if we’re right about the affair going on when Michaela was still in high school, then we know your dad is a groomer. He was almost fifty when she was sixteen. And the affair could’ve started long before she was sixteen. She could’ve been fourteen or fifteen. Either way, it’s beyond fucked up.”
Paxton nudged me. “Tate’s right,” he said. “What if Michaela threatened your dad? She could’ve said she was going to tell everyone about the affair. That would’ve ruined his life. It would’ve destroyed his relationship with you as well.”
Nausea made my head spin. “Oh my god,” I whispered. “That’s actually a real motive right there.”
“Yup.”
“So we’re thinking it was Greg?” Tate’s eyes shot between me and Paxton. “He attacked us that night? Staged the massacre to conceal the fact that he was only targeting Michaela?”
“Wait. No.” I lifted a palm. “I just remembered. My dad was in DC that weekend. There was some big political event on, and those things are always shown on C-SPAN. So he can easily prove he wasn’t in Forrester.”
“He could’ve hired someone to do it. A hitman. That way he has an alibi and doesn’t have to do any of the dirty work himself.”
“But why attack me?” I asked, brows puckering. “If my dad wanted to get rid of Michaela and also a few other people to cover that up… why would he get someone to try to kill his own daughter?”
“Good point,” Paxton muttered. “He wouldn’t.”
Tate’s forehead wrinkled. “Well, if he hired a hitman, that hitman may have accidentally attacked you.”
“I don’t buy it. My dad would’ve made damn sure that no one touched a hair on my head,” I said. “He might be an asshole sometimes, but I know he cares about me deep down.”
“Then that leaves Michaela as the killer.” Tate slowly shook his head. “I mean… unless you still suspect me.”
I cringed. “Sorry. It was just a theory.”
“Don’t be sorry. I get it. You had to go over the evidence for all of us. And I know what it looks like. I’ve always known,” he said softly. “Me being the only survivor who wasn’t hurt at all. It looks suspicious as hell.”
“We think the killer might’ve left you unharmed on purpose to make you seem like the most obvious suspect,” Paxton said.
“Yeah, I guess that makes a twisted kind of sense.” Tate pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s one more thing you guys haven’t considered yet.”
“What?”
He glanced at me. “Remember when Michaela broke her arm?”
“In seventh grade?” I asked, brows furrowing with confusion. I remembered it, but an old gymnastics accident didn’t seem relevant to our discussion at all.
“It was her right arm. So she had to use her left arm and left hand for months. She got really good at it. So…”
His voice trailed off as I realized the implication of his words.
He was right—Michaela wasn’t fully ambidextrous, but she was close enough. She could’ve used her left arm and hand to stab people a lot more effectively than any other right-hander who was attempting to use their other hand to conceal their identity.
“She’s always cold, too,” Tate murmured, shaking his head. “Maybe that’s why she grabbed your jersey, Paxton. But who the fuck knows at this point?”
