"I didn't know what else to do. I knew I should probably get rid of it, but I thought I might need it later, just in case. To protect myself. Everyone was watching. My mom. The neighbors. The cops. I just… I thought it would be safer there, out of my house, just in case."
"To protect yourself from what?"
"Chloe," Peyton said quickly, averting her gaze. "She's the one who called the Detroit Free Press, you know. She leaked Mia's name, told them about the 'violent fight.' That's what she does. She destroys you."
I noted that she hadn't answered my question, but she'd deflected, giving me something else to focus on instead. It worked. My stomach lurched. The lurid headlines. The "source" who'd known details only someone inside could know.
Chloe had called them and fed them the intimate details, shaping the narrative for maximum damage. She'd wanted Mia publicly condemned. Wanted her branded a murderer before she ever saw a courtroom, the trial over before it began.
This was about annihilation. Chloe didn't just want to get away with murder—she wanted to make sure Mia paid for it.
I saw her then, at the memorial, her gaze focused on Mia, her devastating words like an explosion:I saw Mia push Leah.She'd been waiting, all this time, for the perfect moment to detonate that bomb. And boy, had she.
I needed to keep Peyton talking. The more information I had, the more I could use. I'd circle back to the camera and Chloe later. "What happened that night after the midnight photoshoot?"
Peyton closed her eyes for a moment and sucked in a sharp breath, as if trying to remember. "It was like, almost 1 a.m. when Mia came back. Mia was crying, trying to be quiet about it, but I could hear her stumbling around when she put the camera in the case by the patio doors. Leah had gone out with them, but she didn't come back. I thought maybe she walked home, but all her stuff was still in the basement."
"Wait. Mia came back inside, but not Chloe?"
"Not right away. It was like, twenty minutes later. Chloe tiptoed in, then she went to the bathroom, came back in, and laid down in her sleeping bag."
My mind raced. Mia had returned to the basement, terrified and devastated, believing her best friend was dead, while Chloe remained out on the bluff. Doing what? Did she climb back down the bluff to check the body only to realize Leah was alive? Had she already decided this was her opportunity, her perfect scapegoat, her way out?
But then, Chloe couldn't have gone back down the bluff immediately, or at least, she hadn't killed Leah right then, because hours had passed before Leah's death blow. Maybe she had climbed down the bluff later.
I needed more. Whitney watched me with growing consternation. She kept anxiously touching the diamond bracelet at her wrist, her fingers worrying the clasp.
I felt the ticking clock in my blood. It was only a matter of time before she shook herself out of her shocked stupor and physically dragged Peyton back into the house or called the police.
"What happened next?" I asked.
"I couldn't sleep. I can't sleep if I'm not in my own bed. I wasworried Leah would tell someone what she'd found out about me anyway, that Chloe's ploy would backfire and just make Leah angrier, and Mia, too. I guess I finally dozed off because a while later, I heard rustling again. Someone was moving, getting out of their sleeping bag. I glanced at my phone—it was just after 3 a.m. I could see enough to know that it was Chloe." Her voice dropped. "She left the basement and went up the stairs. I waited, listening, but she didn't come back down. That's why I was still awake when I saw someone outside."
Everything went still and quiet. The storm, the rain, Whitney. Everything faded. "What?"
"I saw movement through the windows. A dark shape was walking across the yard. It was like 3:30 a.m. I was curious, a little worried. I wanted to see what was going on. I couldn't find my socks or shoes, and it was cold in the basement, and I didn't want to wake anyone else, so I grabbed Mia's fuzzy sloth slippers. They were right by the door."
I kept my face calm, but sheer relief weakened my knees. That explained one mystery, one small piece of the puzzle that vindicated my daughter. She hadn't been lying about the beach, after all. She hadn't knowingly destroyed evidence when she'd washed them.
"Who did you see?" I asked.
"I couldn't tell any details from where I was. It was too dark. I crouched by the window next to the patio doors. There was someone on the bluff. I could see her silhouetted in the moonlight."
"What were they doing?"
"I wasn't sure. Mia's camera was right there by the doors, next to her overnight bag. I used it to take some photos and video so I could zoom in on the screen to see who it was."
My pulse kicked hard in my throat. I wanted to hear her say Chloe's name, to confirm it. "Who was it?"
Even in the dark, I saw the look that flashed across her face. Naked fear. Panic in her eyes, contorting her features. She was afraid of something, or someone.
Peyton was genuinely afraid. Not of legal consequences or her mother's fury—of Chloe.
I saw it clearly now. The leverage. The control. The way Chloe had kept Peyton silent about Taylor for over a year, holding that knowledge over her head like a guillotine, weaponizing it against her. Peyton wasn't just an ally or a friend; she was also a hostage.
"Peyton, who did you see?"
"I…" Peyton's face went white. Her hands trembled. She glanced warily toward the house, then back at the dark bluff. She shot a pleading, frantic look at her mother. "I can't say. The photos are my insurance. That's why I buried it instead of destroying it."
