"Let's not panic," Rowan said. "This is one perspective. That's all." She didn't say Leah was lying. She didn't have to.
My throat tightened. One perspective. As if Leah's handwritten words, her documented terror, were just an opinion to be debated. I reached for the diary pages. I wanted to read the rest, to see if there were more clues hidden within it.
"I'll take those." Abruptly, Brooke stood, wobbled across the room, and started gathering them up, clutching them haphazardly against her chest. She snatched the last pages from my hand. "Give those to me."
"I'd like to read them," I said.
"I can't have copies of this garbage floating around." Brooke crumpled the photocopies in her hand and stumbled to a glass curio cabinet against the wall. She jerked open a drawer and stuffed them inside. "Can you imagine if the press got hold of this? Or another influencer? They'd use it to destroy my whole brand."
She didn't want the details about Alexis getting out. Out of all the girls, Leah's damning words had painted Alexis in the worst light.
It didn't matter where she tried to hide the pages; the police already had the diary. It was getting out, every ugly detail, no matter what she did.
"But I want to read it," I said again.
"What for?" Brooke narrowed her eyes at me. "I'm putting it through the shredder as soon as I can."
"Reading the diary will only serve to upset us further," Rowan said. "It's not helpful."
I pressed my lips together, resigned. Brooke wasn't giving me those pages. The detectives would figure out whether anything in it was relevant to the case.
"The detectives will blame the girls," Whitney said. "This is not good."
Rowan shook her head. "Let's not work ourselves up unnecessarily. The girls were all friends. They've known each other for years. They loved each other in their way. And Leah was… sensitive. We're all upset, Vivienne most of all. It's understandable. Of course, she's going to react. But that doesn't mean the police will just take it as gospel."
"Won't they?" Whitney finally sank into an oversized armchair, but her leg bounced so hard the cushion moved. "How could they not?"
"We'll talk to the girls." Brooke stared at us with her wide, darting eyes. Her chest heaved. She looked on the verge of a panic attack. "We need to minimize the fallout."
There it was. The pivot to self-protection mode. My throat went dry. Was Brooke only worried about her influencer status, or was there a darker element at play? What else was she trying to hide?
Brooke must have seen something on my face because she added, "Not because we have anything to hide. But you know how these things go, people hear what they want to hear. They love any excuse to tear someone apart. They'll judge and condemn the girls, and not just the girls, but us, too. We're the mothers. We're always the ones to blame."
I thought of that damn reporter's words.What kind of mother are you?
Camille uncrossed her arms and rose to her feet. "I can't be involved in this conversation. Not ethically."
Rowan inclined her head. "Of course. We understand."
"I represent Mia," Camille continued, looking at a spot between us instead of at any one of us directly. "And by extension, I'm concerned about exposure for all of the girls, but I can't be part of a joint strategy session."
"You make it sound like a PR crisis," I muttered.
Camille didn't take the bait. "The police have the diary now. They may subpoena the girls' phones, start poring through their social media. Be prepared."
Brooke looked taken aback. "But that's so invasive."
Camille shrugged. "I suggest you contact your lawyers."
"I'll call Mr. Avery today," Whitney said. "We have to protect our girls."
At the doorway, Camille adjusted the strap of her bag on hershoulder without meeting my gaze. "I'll call you later, Dahlia. We'll go over everything. In detail."
I wanted to reach for her, to ask her to stay. I had a million questions regarding Mia's case, but she was already halfway out the door. She was protecting herself. Protecting Zara, as any good mother would do.
Then she was gone. The door clicked behind her.
"This is bad. This is really bad." Brooke returned to the corner of the sectional and slumped into her seat. She grasped her wine glass from the end table and cradled it in both hands like it was the only thing keeping her from sliding onto the floor. Her lipstick smeared the rim.
