What? I watch as she heads to the door. Crap. I need more—only the deeper I dig, the more confused I seem to be. Why wouldn’t she be invited? And more to the point, why would she voluntarily show up in a wedding dress and become a public spectacle if she didn’t have to?
“Wait,” I call after her. “I found something the night of Hannah’s party, and I thought it might belong to her.”
She freezes midflight before pivoting on her heels. “What did you find?” Her eyes oddly congeal, the cords of her neck flexing as if it were taking all of her self-control not to freak out.
“A piece of paper. It was just some random numbers I found floating around on her seat when you left. I figured it fell out of her purse. It didn’t really look important, but the Black Bear has a policy that we have to make every effort to return lost items. It has something to do with integrity and other nonsense expressed by the owners.”
She hisses something indiscernible under her breath. “Do you have it here?”
“Oh no, actually, I need to give it directly to Hannah—there’s that stupid company policy again.” Baya and Bryson are going to kill me for making them look like assholes. That is, if Hannah doesn’t do it first.
Her mouth falls open a moment. “Fine. She’ll be at the lumberyard tonight at seven, closing out business with an old friend. It will be your last chance to get anything to her at all, so I suggest if you want to keep your job, you show up there as well.” She glances to the door a moment. “Hannah is sort of a recluse when she’s sober. If she sees a mob coming at her, she’s liable to get skittish. You should probably come alone.”
“Lumberyard at seven—alone. I’ll make a quick trip to drop off that paper. Not a problem.”
She chortles under her breath. “Thank you. Hannah is going to be so relieved!”
I bet she is.
Belinda trots off, and I trail after her. Harley texted to let me know she’s already in the car, so I take off for the exit myself.
“Excuse me!” the secretary calls as I’m about to make a break from one sauna into the next, and I take a step back toward her desk. “Did you want to sign up for another class? They fill up so fast you’ll want to reserve your spot now.”
I think on it for a minute. I suppose if I need to question Belinda again, it will be totally natural this way—plus, we’re in her territory. People are always far more comfortable with the truth on their own turf.
“Thanks for letting me know.” I pencil in my name and Harley’s in for the class next Friday, only to note that the instructor’s name looks different. “Oh, I want Belinda Johnson as my instructor. When is her next class?”
The secretary’s tiny fairy-like features turn down in a frown. “I’m sorry. Belinda is leaving us. That was her last class. She’s moving to Pittsburg with her boyfriend.”
“What?” I squawk so loud I’m sure I just saw feathers fly. I speed out of the gym and into the waiting well air-conditioned car where Harley swears up a storm all the way back to Whitney Briggs. I don’t tell Harley about the sudden turn of events. Instead, I stew over the fact I’ve just been lied to.
Six thirty comes like a thief,and I haven’t stopped circling my tiny dorm room. If I tell Shep, he’ll strongly suggest I call the police. If I call the police, they will strongly suggest I stay the hell out of it. If I stay out of it, I’ll probably end up doing time for someone I most likely should have killed the second he bumped into me. But under no circumstances am I doing time for a murder I didn’t have any part in. No way, no how. I’m not letting Hannah, Belinda, Craig Carter, or Barry’s crazy rich sister get away with murder. I’m solving this son of a bitch before fall semester rolls around because it just so happens that the only shade of orange I look good in is the flaming hue of my school’s spirit colors.
“I’m heading out.” Harley looks me over. She’s donned her tightest little black dress and has borrowed my silver chandelier earrings for the non-occasion. She’s surprising Tyson at his frat house and is planning to steal him away for a hot little date that I’m pretty sure will result in Harley giving up her own great state of West Virginia. I’d throw myself over her crotch like a wet blanket, but I’ve got a do-or-die situation brewing myself—pardon the deadly pun. My future hangs in the balance. I need to make a solid decision, and time is clearly not on my side as evidenced by the fact no sooner do I look at my phone than another fifteen minutes has evaporated.
Harley scoffs my way. “You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet. What has you so cagey?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m seeing Shep in a bit. We’ve got our own hot little date mapped out.” I offer up a contrived wink. “We’re picking up takeout, and he’s taking me to the lumberyard to show off his muscles.”
She makes a face as if the thought repulsed her.
I’m pretty sure it’s the thought of the lumberyard and not the muscles. Any girl in her right mind would pay to watch Shepherd Collins wield an axe. But Harley is your run-of-the-mill spoiled princess who likens five-star hotels to camping, so the mere mention of such a blue-collar-inspired adventure has her shivering with revulsion.
“Kidding,” I assure her. “We’ll probably hit a movie and then each other.” Oh, how I wish. But I totally threw in that lumberyard bit in the event I end up in the chipper and the authorities needed a clue as to where my remains have been splattered.
“Sounds like a good time will be had by all.” She pulls out her favorite MAC lipstick and rings her lips a brilliant shade of red. I happen to abide by the axiomif all goes wrong, put on red lipstickso I steal it from her and ring some on my own lips. “Don’t worry, Serena. I’ll make sure Tyson and I have a good time, too.” She gives a sly wink my way before dashing out the door.
“Don’t you dare have a good time!” I call out after her. “Wait until tomorrow! Because tonight I’m far too busy to kill your lousy boyfriend.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to find a text from Shep.
Meet me at the Black Bear in an hour?
I text right back.Sounds perfect! One hour and I’m all yours.
That’s plenty of time for me to drive out to the lumberyard and back. I pluck that infamous piece of paper from my old English lit book and tuck it into my pocket as I head out the door.
If that old lumberyard looks dicey at all, I simply won’t get out of the car. I feel perfectly safe about the whole thing. Just about as safe as I felt walking out to the dumpster the night I nearly tripped over a body.
