“Maya,” I say, smiling weakly. I’m suddenly not only exhausted but unbelievably thirsty. “Could I have some water, please?” I ask, and she fills me a glass. After taking a few desperate gulps, I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve and set my head on my arms. I’m finally ready to admit to everything. To everyone. Tell them that it was me. I was the one that killed Lila. A wave of exhaustion hits me.
“What are you in for?” she asks, an odd expression.
I shake my head, looking up at her. It hurts too much to think about. Her brown eyes lined in sparkly blue liner remind me of Naomi—she had one just like it. “My husband and I got in a fight. He left and took my daughter with him.” My shoulders slump. I haven’t slept in days. I need to sleep.
She clucks her tongue and shakes her head as she moves to clean up a dirty glass and pick up some singles left at the bar. “Sorry, hon, I have a two-year-old, and if her daddy ever tried to take her from me—oh boy, I’d be after him like a bat outta hell.”
She refills my glass, and I thank her. “And trying to protect me, he did something terrible, and now he’s going to end up in prison,” I tell her, the thought terrifying. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve told him the truth. I should’ve told everybody the truth.”
“Nothin’ you can do about it now.” She watches me with a gentle expression, one hand on her cross necklace.
I smile, grateful for her company. Somehow, explaining the situation to a total stranger makes it feel less heavy. She pours us both a beer, and then another, and at some point, I’m loosened up by the alcohol, and the past couple of months come pouring out of me.
“…And the whole time, I knew it was him, had to have been him…” I’m slurring, and I know it, but I had to get it out. I had to tell someone.
Missi’s shaking her head, brows furrowed in sympathy. “Let me see him. You got a photo?”
When I pull out my phone and show her a picture of Matthew and Sara, Missi’s face hardens. “I know her—she’s that actress.”
I stop.
Sara.My stomach drops as I suddenly remember what Cecily told me on the boat: Sara had accused Matthew of cheating on her. She knew he was sleeping with someone. She implied they could have been talking about Naomi.
I remember how Fiona Williams told me Sara had been involved in Matthew’s crimes. How Gary had tried to warn me—Sara’scar was seen five miles outside Princeton, and that’s why Matthew’s alibi fell through—but I’d been so focused on Matthew, I had barely listened.
I think back to Naomi’s funeral. How Sara had come after mewhen I’d run off. She was trying to stop me from looking into Matthew. Protecting him, I’d thought.
But she hadn’t been protectinghim,had she? She’d been protectingherself.
The haze that’s been clouding my thoughts finally parts, and it’s like I’ve opened my eyes for the first time. The last piece I’d been missing was right in front of me: Sara wasn’t home with Matthew the night my sister died becauseshe’dbeen with Naomi.
“Sorry, one second,” I say to Missi while I pull out my phone. I have to tell Daisy.
I dial Daisy, but the call goes to voicemail, so I hang up and text her instead:Urgent. Please call.I dial her again.Daisy, please pick up.But the call goes to voicemail yet again.
When I call Nate, he doesn’t pick up either.
I try calling Cecily.Please. Please.
She answers on the second ring. “Maya? Is everything okay?” And relief floods my system.
“Cecily.” I try to concentrate, to make sure I’m not slurring, but the shock of this realization has temporarily sobered me, and I’m shaking instead. “I—I think I know who killed Naomi.”
“Who?” she asks, sounding as alarmed as I feel.
“Sara. Matthew’s fiancée.” I’m breathing fast as I wait for her to respond.
“How do you know?”
“You said it yourself, she thought Naomi was sleeping with him. I know it sounds crazy…”
“Hold on. I can’t—you’re breaking up.”
“Cecily, listen.” So much adrenaline is pumping through my system, I can hardly think straight. “We have to go to the police. Now.”
“It’s after midnight, but okay. I’ll go with you. Which station should I meet you at?”
The thought of Cecily helping immediately calms me, but then the reality of my situation sinks in. “I—I can’t drive,” I admit. “I had a few drinks.”
