I was a goddamn detective, and I was going to get to the bottom of this fucking thing once and for all.
Even as I had the thought, I felt myself blush, the absurdity of this entire situation hitting me with as much force as the angry waves crashing outside. There was nothing here to see, obviously. I was acting exactly like the weird, anxious outsider I didn’t want to be, looking for a problem where there was none and screwing things up with the most beautiful girl—
All at once I stopped scrolling. My thumb twitched over the screen.
There they were just sitting in her message history, three short texts from Eliza to Greg from the night of the party:
What the fuck did you think you were doing tonight, asshole?
Stay away from my fucking family
Or I’ll make you regret it.
My head swam. Holiday had been right. Fuck, ofcourseHoliday had been right; Holiday was always right. I felt like an idiot. Iwasan idiot. I’d let my infatuation with Eliza blind me to what was right in front of my face this whole time.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, dread seeping up through my body like seawater filling a hole in the sand. Was that why Eliza had brought me up here in the first place, because she knew Holiday was onto her and she wanted to throw me off? I felt sick at the idea. I might have tried to sound sure of myself when I was talking to Holiday, but I had no idea what Eliza had done after I’d stumbled back to my room on the night of the party. There was plenty of time for her and Greg to have had some kind of argument. There was plenty of time for things to have gone wrong. What exactly had she said, about getting up to let Whimsy out early that morning? All at once I was sure it had been a lie.
I heard the bathroom door open just then and quickly set the phone back on the nightstand where I’d found it. “We should get back downstairs,” I announced when Eliza came back in. “People are going to wonder where we went.”
“I hate to tell you this, Linden, but I think people probably know where we went,” Eliza said with a smile. Then, as she looked at me more closely: “Everything okay?” She raised her eyebrows. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ve been thinking of entering the seminary?”
I tried to muster a laugh, but couldn’t exactly get there. “Yeah,” I joked, not quite meeting her eyes, “totally.” I forced myself to take a deep breath as I climbed out of bed and scooped my clothes off the floor—after all, I reminded myself, it wasn’t like she wasgoing to hit me over the head with a table lamp or pull a pearl-handled revolver out of her nightstand drawer—but still, I wanted to get out of this room as soon as humanly possible. I wanted to get as far away from her as I could. I yanked my shirt over my head so fast I almost ripped my own ear off. “You ready?” I asked, my voice rough.
Eliza was still peering at me from the doorway, her gaze a little uncertain. “Um, yup,” she said, moving to the mirror and running a hand through her hair. All at once everything about her seemed practiced to me, theatrical—after all, wouldn’t she have just looked at herself in the bathroom? What was she playing at here? “Let’s go.”
Back downstairs the party had gotten rowdier, the music cranked so it was audible over the wind and the pitcher of party punch empty on the coffee table. Jasper was lying upside down on the couch, feet swung up over the cushions and his sandy hair just brushing the rug. Holiday was still talking to Doc, the two of them tucked cozily into the window seat like the oldest and dearest of friends; I caught her eye and jerked my head in the direction of the library, which I was pretty sure was the international sign forI need to talk to you about our erstwhile murder investigation immediately, please and thank you,but she turned her gaze away as if she hadn’t seen.
Fine,I thought snottily.Fuck her, then.I would handle this one on my own. I grabbed a bottle of Jameson off the bookshelf and took a swig to settle my nerves, wincing at the sudden burn in my chest. Then I did another.
“Look who’s finally ready to party,” Wells said with a smirk. Hewas lounging on the chaise with his ankles crossed, a mostly empty glass dangling from his fingers.
“Something like that,” I agreed, heading for the kitchen. “Who needs a beer?”
Jasper somersaulted off the couch and followed me inside, digging a bag of pretzels out of the pantry and peering skeptically at a wedge of expensive-looking cheese. “Dude,” he said when he noticed me draining the better part of a Sam Summer in roughly thirty seconds, “you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I finished the beer, set the empty bottle in the recycling. “Making up for lost time, is all.” I glanced across the kitchen, where Whimsy was lying on her bed with her head on her paws, her amber eyes half-lidded. “Can I ask you something?” I said, a sudden thought occurring to me. “Does Whimsy ever randomly wake up and bark to go out in the middle of the night?”
Jasper snorted. “No way,” he said, handing me the cheese and a box of spicy crackers before reaching down to scratch her behind the ears. “This dog would sleep through the rapture.” He frowned. “Why?”
I felt my heart sink. “No reason,” I said, knowing it was stupid to feel freshly disappointed. I guess I’d just been hoping, that wasall.
Wells was lifting his glass just as we came back into the living room, getting somewhat unsteadily to his feet. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he announced grandly. “To Greg.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Jasper said, but he was smirking. “Here we go.” He leaned against the bookshelf, arms and ankles crossed. “Let’s hear it.”
“To Greg,” Wells repeated, standing up straight and tall and proud like the best man at a wedding. “New money, lifter of free weights, wearer of unironic Croakies.”
“And general piece of shit,” Eliza chimed in, settling herself neatly on the bottom step. She motioned for me to come sit next to her, but suddenly I felt rooted in place.
“And general piece of shit,” Wells echoed, bowing slightly in her direction. “Now, some of you might say to me, ‘Wells, isn’t it low-end to relish the bad fortune of one’s enemies?’ And to you I might reply, so they say! But in the words of Senator William Learned Marcy of New York: To the victor go the spoils. And in the words of anyone who ever had the unfortunate luck to meet Greg Holliman: Who fucking cares, bro? That guy sucks.”
Jasper and Eliza burst out laughing, Aidy covering her mouth to hide a giggle. Even Doc couldn’t hold back a grin. I staggered a bit, head starting to swim as the alcohol caught up with me; the overall effect was like being in a fun house full of monsters who wouldn’t stop talking. It was ghoulish. It was fucked up. I looked over at Holiday, desperate, but she was still steadfastly ignoring me, her expression inscrutable as she watched the proceedings unfold.
“Of course, Greg wasn’tallbad,” Wells continued; he was clearly enjoying the attention, a little-known comedian randomly called upon to deliver the opening monologue onSNL.“It is undeniable that he did occasionally come through in times of pharmaceutical trouble. And if you ever find yourself in the position of needing to cast the Judd Nelson role in your remake ofThe Breakfast Club—”
“Enough,” said a ragged voice, hoarse and cracking. It took me a second to realize it was my own. “Just stop!”
All at once the room got very, very quiet; even the wind seemed to still. “Aw, Linden,” Jasper said easily, “he doesn’t mean anything by it. We’re just kidding around.”
