I kept pushing Peyton. The evidence still pointed at her. "Then someone's trying to make it look like you did."
"It wasn't me!"
"Then prove it. Who was it?"
"I don't know! The stupid painting was just supposed to remind Mia to keep her mouth shut. That's all I know, okay?"
Thunder rumbled in the distance. My pulse raced. "Keep her mouth shut about what?"
Peyton looked down at her feet. She didn't answer.
Whitney stepped forward. "That's enough! You have no right to interrogate my daughter. Leave now!"
I ignored her, focusing on Peyton. "Did Mia suspect what you did? Maybe you didn't plan it, but when you saw Mia accidentally push Leah over the edge, you realized you had an opportunity. Your secrets would be safe. All you had to do was go down the bluff and make sure Leah Cho never climbed back up."
"I wasn't even out there. I was inside, sleeping!"
"That's why you hid Mia's camera."
"I didn't?—"
"Someone saw you on the beach that morning."
Peyton's mouth opened, startled. She hadn't expected that.
"You were seen, Peyton. You buried the camera because you're in the footage. You killed her."
"No! I didn't hurt Leah. I didn't do it."
"Then why did you take the camera?"
She shook her head, hard. "I—I can't."
Lightning forked across the sky, turning everything white for a heartbeat. The thunder that followed vibrated through the deck boards beneath my feet.
I changed tactics. I needed to shake her up while she was still talking, or she'd clam up, and I'd never get the truth out of her. I bluffed again. "I know about Taylor Everett."
Peyton's face paled.
Whitney's head snapped toward her daughter. "Don't you dare say anything."
"That wasn't my fault! She wasn't supposed to get hurt. Nobody was supposed to get hurt." She stopped, her mouth clamped shut.
My pulse hammered. "Did Leah find out? Is that why you killed her?"
"I didn't kill anyone! I took the camera, okay? That's it. Is that what you want to hear? I buried the camera because…" She hesitated, eyes darting to her mother.
"Because why?" I stepped closer, pressing the advantage. I stood three feet from her now. Close enough to see the whites of her eyes, the spray of pimples on her chin. "Why, Peyton?"
"Leverage," she said finally. "I needed leverage."
"Peyton, stop!" Whitney lunged forward, grabbing her daughter's arm. "Not another word. We're calling Mr. Avery right now!"
Peyton wrenched free, spinning to face her mother. Years of resentment blazed in her eyes. "I'm sick of covering for her!"
My breath caught. "Who? Who are you covering for?"
"She holds it over your head. Acts like she's helping you, like she's your friend. But it's always there—that thing you did because of her, but you'll get blamed for it. She can tell everyone whenever she wants, and she wants you to know it, every second, that she can ruin your life, that she has that power."
