Page 64 of Wicked Fortune

JG

PS: I’m driving on, driving out. Forgive me, this tangled knot.

The words blur as my stomach lurches. I drop the paper and stagger to my feet, stumbling toward the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I’m vomiting, my body shaking from the force of it.

When I’m done, I sit back against the cold tile, clutching my stomach as I try to catch my breath. My mind is racing, spinning with possibilities I can’t piece together.

I don’t know if I sit there for minutes or days, but finally I push myself to my feet, wipe my mouth, and stagger out of the bathroom.

Jenny.

That note.

What the hell does it mean?

The question swirls through my mind as I stumble out of the bathroom. I don’t remember heading to the back of the house, but the next thing I know I’m in my office—the room that used to be Bree’s bedroom. It’s a mess. Bookshelves crammed to the brim and papers spilling onto the desk. But I’m here for a reason, and I drop to my knees in front of one of the shelves and start pulling out books until I find my senior yearbook. I flip to the back, where dozens of autographs crowd the pages.

It’s all there—the promises, the jokes, the signatures from kids I swore I’d be friends with forever but haven’t seen in years. I flip faster, skimming the pages until I find it. The big green heart.

Inside the heart, the words jump out at me, written in that same familiar handwriting: Madam, I am Adam—and Adam, we’re the word masters.

I trace the words with my finger, my heart pounding. It’s signed by the three of us—Jenny, Bree, and me. We’d written this in each other’s yearbooks, proud of our ridiculous wordplay.

It had been Jenny’s thing at first. She’d loved word games. So, of course, she’d sucked me and Bree into the madness. We weren’t as into them as she was, but it made for a fun thing to share—and hiding messages in silly sentences turned out to be the thing I would most remember from high school.

I blink, realizing that my vision has gone blurry with tears. She sent me a message.

If I’d gotten it in time, would I have been able to save her?

I reach for my phone, thinking that I have to call Bree. But I hesitate. She’s off on the trip of a lifetime, and I don’t want to ruin that for her. Not unless I truly, desperately need the help.

I’m holding a clue in my hand, and it must lead somewhere. Either to the darkness in her head that led to suicide … or to murder. So I’ll follow it until I hit a dead end. And then—maybe—I’ll drag Bree in.

Until then? Well, I guess she can enjoy her nights having wild sex in Monaco.

I reach for a pen and a notepad, intending to start unscrambling, but as I do, my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Lila. I grimace. All I can see on the preview is Has the policy re running late slip⁠—

I start to tap to open the text, but I hesitate, not sure if Matthew’s talked to her yet. But surely he would have texted me if he had.

Fuck it.

I tap, then I type back a quick reply. Sorry. I was with Matthew. He said he would tell you I would be in late.

I hit send, knowing it’s a bit passive-aggressive, but not really caring. Except it’s going to put her in a pissy mood.

I sigh, then almost text Matthew and tell him not to talk to her today. But I shove the thought aside. If I have to deal with Lila, I will. But right now, I’m going to focus on Jenny.

I tuck the note back into the envelope. I don’t know if it’s a clue or a suicide note.

Either way, I have to unscramble the message.

I only hope that I can.

By the time I get to work, my nerves are frayed. My mind keeps replaying Jenny’s note, the lines of green Sharpie etched into my memory as if I’d written them myself.

I am these torn lines.

PS: I’m driving on, driving out. Forgive me, this tangled knot.