I stepped to the edge of the cracked, sloping patio and looked toward the bluff.
Another section had gone sometime in the night. Fresh earth gaped halfway down the slope, a raw wound against the darker, older soil. Crumbled chunks of sod clung to the edge of the bluff like torn scabs. A few roots jutted into the air, exposed.
Yesterday, that piece of ground had been part of my yard.
Today, it wasn't.
The bluff was eroding, coming for us inch by inch. Gravity and water and time, doing what they always did, stripping away the illusion of permanence. Of safety.
I set the mug on the metal table. I wrapped my arms around myself and thought of Marcus, his contagious laughter, his easy smile. I longed for his steady presence, his reassuring words. Marcus would have known what to say to our daughter. How to reach her, even now.
He would have believed in Mia without question. Without the gnawing doubt that was eating away at me from the inside.
The truth was a knife with two edges: I believed my daughter hadn't killed Leah. I also knew she wasn't telling me everything. It was the space between those secrets, those sharp shards, that could truly hurt us.
That was where the danger lay.
My restless mind kept returning to the precinct, the interview, the evidence. What everything meant, or could mean, for Mia's case. The police wanted to arrest her. I had to give them another, better suspect before they did.
DNA under Leah's fingernails. Amatch to Mia.
Scratches on Mia's arms. From Leah, accidentally, according to Mia. Another secret she'd kept from me, and from the police.
The scream Alexis and Zara heard at 12:40 a.m.
The sounds Zara heard at 3:30 a.m. Leah, still alive in the dark.
Zara and Leah's plan to expose the LakeshoreTea account.
Alexis's testimony that she’d seen Mia's sleeping bag empty at 12:30 a.m.
The sandy slippers hidden in Mia's closet.
The missing camera.
Who had had the opportunity to harm Leah? Alexis at the gazebo. Zara on the beach. Mia, out of her sleeping bag at 12:30 a.m. Chloe at the midnight photoshoot, who'd lied about being there, just like Mia had. Peyton's whereabouts were more unclear. No one had seen her leave, but that didn't mean she hadn't.
The ground under my feet felt less solid. I curled my toes against the concrete lip of the patio.
Motive was messier. Alexis had abuse to hide, and Leah's knowledge threatened her family. That was reason enough. Alexis had a history of violence. I wanted to believe Alexis wasn't a killer, but that didn't mean she was innocent.
But why would she act now? Leah had known about Brooke's abuse for months.
Chloe was one of the last people to see Leah alive, along with Mia, but what reason would she have to hurt Leah?
Peyton was pretty, popular, and athletic.She's hurt girls before, Zara had said. What did that mean?
Zara had already lied to the police once. She'd agreed to help Leah expose her friends, but what if Zara had changed her mind? What if she'd outed Leah first?
Whoever ran that LakeshoreTea account had everything to lose if Leah exposed them.
And then there were the break-ins. Whoever stole my notebook and slashed the painting had access to my house. The key had passed through too many hands: Brooke, Alexis, Whitney, Peyton. Anyone who'd been in their houses could've copied it, would've seen the keywith the familiar Isle Royale keychain and known whose home it belonged to.
My frenzied thoughts hit a wall. I pressed my fingers to my temples.
Even if Zara came forward now, it wouldn't help. It might make things worse. Mia was out of her sleeping bag minutes before the scream Zara had mentioned. And the later sounds Zara had heard at 3:30 a.m. had been Leah herself, not some unknown killer lurking on the bluff.
I needed something else.
