Page 71 of The Death Row Club
Greer doesn’t respond. What is it? What are they seeing that I didn’t?
“Is that Claire Tenenbaum?” he finally asks, and the floor drops out from under me. He displays the photo once again, directing our focus with his thumb. In the background is a mirror purchased at asecondhand shop, de-silvered in places but still good enough for two college girls. And in that mirror, her reflection smudged, half-hidden behind the camera lens, stands Claire Tenenbaum.
“These weren’t taken with a self-timer,” he declares. “Claire Tenenbaum took these photos.”
“No,” I say, but that’s clearly a lie. “I mean, yes, but it’s… She was a photographer, and she asked if I’d be willing to model, just so she could try out some new ideas, and since we were friends and everything, I told her I would, and…” My breath thins, and when I gasp for more, Connor interrupts.
“No one was supposed to see them, though.”
“They were stolen. I already told you that.”
“You did. By Justin Billings. But here’s the thing: I spoke with Justin a few times during preproduction.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “You did?”
He nods. “He wasn’t just some random classmate who dropped by your apartment.”
Ros’s fingers are now latched around a decorative candle in a heavy cut-glass container. Kemy’s are buried in a blanket, a narrow one that could be used as a restraint—or a garrote. I slowly start backing away from these strangers I hardly know.
“Justin Billings, it turns out, was very close with your best friend.”
I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until the back of it bangs against the wall. Nowhere left to go.
“He was her boyfriend, wasn’t he?”
That word,boyfriend, smashes through the lodge like a detonation. Herboyfriend. Greer almost drops the photo, her gaze rushing up to meet mine. “Her boyfriend? What are you talking about? Claire didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“Not that anyone knew about,” he says. “They wanted to keep their relationship private. When she was murdered, he decided notto come forward because he didn’t want his name associated with the crime. He was thousands of miles away when it happened, so it’s not like anyone would’ve suspected him, but he still felt it would’ve been detrimental to his career.”
Greer’s eyes never leave mine. It feels like someone’s set me down on a raft, like I’m drifting farther and farther away. And no matter how hard I paddle, it could never be enough to bring me back to her. I didn’t lie, but I also didn’t tell her the truth. About what happened with Claire all those years ago.
As if on cue, Connor says, “She was your best friend, and she betrayed you, didn’t she? She shared those photos with her boyfriend, and he passed them around to all his friends. She humiliated you, so you invited her back to your hometown for the summer. And just as she was starting to think the two of you were going to be all right, that she’d be able to make amends—”
“Oh my god.” Ros jumps up from the couch, still clutching that candle. I instinctively raise my hands to protect myself. “Oh my god, are you saying the TV show was right?”
Connor looks like even he can’t quite believe what’s happening. “Claire was different from all the other victims. She was stabbed forty-one times. Overkill like that indicates a personal grievance.” He stares at me, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only ones in the room. “You were angry with her, so you killed her, and your father helped cover it up.”
Silence hangs heavy as the accusation sinks in.You killed her. What can I say to that?
It’s the truth.
29NICOLA
ROS’S FREE HANDflies to her mouth. “Oh. My. God.” Hannah shrinks back into the rocking chair until she’s half-smothered by throw pillows. Kemy stands, wrenching the blanket free; it swings by her side, fringe mopping the hardwood floor.
“And now,” she says, “she’s done the same thing again.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my palms over my ears.Make them stop, I pray to whomever might be listening, but no one answers. The words are muffled, but their conversation can still be heard.
“What should we do?” Kemy asks. “Restrain her until the bus gets here?”
Imogen. “We could take turns watching her.”
“We lock her up until morning.” Connor. “I know somewhere far enough away that she won’t be a threat to anyone. All in favor?”
I don’t want to look, but I squint my eyes open as they lift their hands one by one: Connor, Kemy, Ros, Hannah, Imogen. Holding my breath, I cling to my last remnants of hope.Please. Please don’t leave me again. Please don’t turn your back on me, too.
Greer slowly raises her hand.
