The Business Trip

Chapter 42. Jasmine

CHAPTER 42

Jasmine

The Sunday After the Flight

Sunday morning started with a text from Robert. The guy was relentless.

Inquiring minds want to know, how was the first night with Trent?? Do tell all, please.

The text had one of those little faces that looks like it’s pondering something.

I still had to make him think things were off to a great start, but I also needed to establish that Trent was inside all day. He was, thanks to the pill Raven had given him, but I wanted the police to believe he was indoors having a hot romance with Stephanie, so I wrote:

So far, so good. He wants us to stay in all day today to get to know each other.

Robert replied with some hearts.

Va, va, voom!

My plan was working perfectly. At this point he still thought his friend was in love.

An hour later, a text popped up from someone new named Diana.

Ready to meet up? I’ll be there in an hour.

Who was this, and where was Stephanie supposed to meet her? Well, no matter. I would have to hold her off like the others.

Sorry, I have to push it back. Something came up. I’m out of town for a week.

What are you talking about? You’re kidding, right?

Not kidding. Contact me in a week.

My phone started ringing. Over and over. Diana’s name. No thanks, sister. I just kept ignoring it until she finally stopped calling.

The rest of the day was all about laying groundwork for further text evidence. I started by scouting Trent’s neighborhood. Knowing he was going to be inside sick all day gave me the freedom to wander the area known as Peachtree Village. There was a nearby coffee shop named Peaches and Cream. Was everything in Atlanta named Peach something? I ordered two lattes and set them up on a table near a window, taking several artsy photos to make it look as if two people were hav ing coffee together. The drinks came in brightly colored mugs with pictures of big peaches on the side, making them all the more distinctive.

Next I looked up Trent’s TV station and took an Uber there, snapping a picture of the outside with the NBC logo. Then I stopped at a convenience store and bought the tackiest mug I could find, one with GREETINGS FROM HOT-LANTA printed on it, taking a picture to text to Robert as further evidence that Stephanie was texting him and she was here.

Finally, I met up with Raven at Centennial Olympic Park and had her take photos of me from behind my head, with the fountains in the background so that anyone who knew Atlanta would know the place. My hair looked like Steph’s—same color, same basic cut, and I had used her curling iron to give my flatter locks a little pop to better resemble hers. I wore her cream-colored coat and hat too.

Those chores being done, I could finally change my hair, and I did so that evening back in the motel, dyeing it jet-black and cutting it as short as I could. Goodbye for real, Stephanie , I thought as the final wisps went down the drain. I didn’t need to be her anymore.

Admiring myself in the motel mirror, I turned left and right. The cut looked good on me, my lighter skin contrasted with the blackest of black hair. The new look called for bright red lipstick, in my opinion, and buying a vibrant red color would also serve as a final vanquishing of Allison and the memory of her shade. I was putting her further into the rearview with every move on this trip.

Walking to the nearest CVS, I decided to treat myself, purchasing the most expensive brand they had. I deserved it. Adding more rubber gloves and alcohol wipes to my cart, I passed the travel section and saw there was a cloth passport holder, the kind that goes around your neck. I grabbed it, along with some travel-size lotion and shampoo. Noticing a bin of temporary tattoos near the cash registers, I picked out several, thinking they would help transform me. I could put one on a collarbone, one on a wrist, just obvious places where someone identifying me would mention them. And to complete the disguise one final time, I put my John Lennon glasses back on. I looked like a punk rock chick instead of a news executive, and I loved it.

Using some of Steph’s money, I rewarded myself with a shopping trip to the mall, buying clothes I liked in nicer fabrics than I had ever owned. Her credit cards from stores that ranged from Sephora to J.Jill to Macy’s made me so happy, and I charged up a storm.

I also added a new duffel bag and rolling carry-on to my collection. Steph’s suitcase would need to be disposed of near Trent’s place. If anyone found it, they would think of it as further evidence he had done something wrong and that he had been the one to dispose of it. Now that I wasn’t her anymore, I couldn’t be seen traveling with it.

Finally, I hit some thrift stores. You could take the girl out of the trailer park but couldn’t take the thrift shopping out of the girl, I thought, chuckling to myself, and came home laden with even more clothing, including a black knit hat and a ski mask. I would need those.

Treating myself to dinner at an Italian place near the motel, I had more wine, pasta, salad, and garlic bread than I had ever consumed before, going to bed with my belly warm and overstuffed. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had some disposable income, like I could do this without worrying about it. It was amazing, and I couldn’t believe it had taken me decades to figure out a way to get this feeling. I was so used to living paycheck to paycheck and having everyone around me do the same.

Monday morning, I woke up to a missed text from Bruce.

Are you running late? Do you need me to start the meeting?

I had apparently guessed right that he was a coworker. I was contemplating what to do in response when I saw he was now calling Steph’s phone. Not long after, another text from Bruce:

Everything OK? We’re getting a little worried. People are asking about you. Aren’t you supposed to be back today?

OK, Bruce was obviously another person I would have to deal with, to fend off, but also to drop a breadcrumb or two as well. Getting up to take a shower and get dressed, I thought about my response, then sat by the motel window overlooking the bland parking lot and typed what I hoped was a “leave me alone for a while” text:

Hi, sorry for the late notice. Something very unexpected happened at the conference and it required me to go to Atlanta. I will need to be off this entire week. Maybe more but I’ll keep you posted. Thank you in advance.

That would further place me in Atlanta but not get him upset or raise suspicion like it might if I just said I was running off with a guy. Each person had to have their own breadcrumbs, ones that worked in the context of Steph’s relationship with them. I still believed coworkers needed something different from friends like Robert. At least for now. A few minutes later, a response from Bruce.

This is really sudden news, Stephanie. Can you tell me more? I can run the newsroom but we have a lot on our plates this week and I’m off Thursday and Friday, remember? Did you want to reschedule the election meeting too?

I started typing, then stopped, then started again. I could sense his anger, but if Stephanie was the boss, then this guy had to be under her in some way. He would have to listen to her. I put on my best boss persona and wrote:

Don’t worry, I’m fine. I know it’s sudden but sometimes things pop up. Please reschedule the meeting.

A short time later, his reply:

OK. Do you have a second to talk on the phone? If you’re going to be out all week there are some things we should touch base on.

Once again, I tried a few responses but deleted them. A thought came into my head: the voice cloning. I would send him a voice memo this time, rock-solid evidence that it was Stephanie responding. Going back to the program I had played with the night before, I typed this into the system and had Stephanie say it:

“No, I really don’t have a moment. Please don’t check in with me until next week. I will be very busy.”

Then I sent it to Bruce. A minute passed with no response. I could feel his confusion and annoyance. Finally, he just hit the thumbs-up button. Great. He was out of my hair for a while.

A text from Anna came in to my phone:

Glenn is getting weird but Raven is going to help out.

What a coincidence. I couldn’t help but respond:

Really? She’s helping me with something too

Anna wrote back right away:

What is she helping with?

I had probably said too much. I didn’t answer that one.

Someone named Dave Jenssen started calling and leaving Steph messages. From the tone of his voice, I gathered that he was her superior, but I didn’t like his demands, very much like Glenn would sometimes talk to me. Dave kept insisting that Stephanie call him that instant to explain herself. I put my middle finger up at the phone and decided not to have any contact with him at all. He could stew in his own anger for a while.

Then there was Robert, the neighbor and cat-sitter. He was going to get the mother lode, the full onslaught of pictures from me that proved I was with Trent and could later be used by police. I sprinkled them throughout the day.

This is Trent’s place. Check it out on Zillow, it’s gorgeous inside

I put in the picture of the white stucco building and added Trent’s exact address for extra evidence. Robert responded:

Ahh, the love nest. Very nice

A few hours later, I sent Robert the latte picture, the two mugs cozied near each other, conjuring up images of two people in love out for coffee.

Checking out the local places in Trent’s neighborhood, Peachtree Village. It’s an area just full of life

He responded:

L’chaim, l’chaim, to life!

I had no idea what that meant so I ignored it.

That afternoon, I sent two more pictures and the fake voice memo. The first picture was the one Raven took where I was looking out over Centennial Olympic Park, fountains dancing in front of me.

He’s such a good tour guide, he’s taking me all over the city

Then I got to work on the voice memo regarding the photo from the TV station. I wanted to plant the first seed of Trent being not exactly an entirely great guy, so I attached the picture from his station and the fake voice memo:

“Last stop: Trent’s station! He’s the boss here and he’s very bossy with me—tells me exactly where we should go and what we should do and I just follow. Talk soon!”

The response came in.

Great to hear your voice. Have an amazing time. Fred is doing fine.

Yeeeessss. He believed it. I sent a final text with the picture of the tacky GREETINGS FROM HOT-LANTA mug about twenty minutes later.

Your gift from my trip

How fun! Thanks.

I smiled. Next came a text from someone named Lucy.

I hear you’re out this week. Should I reschedule that meeting with Mark R.? He’ll be very disappointed but I’m sure he’ll get over it

Another coworker. Sigh. I’d have to act like another meeting was being rescheduled. I waited about an hour and then wrote her back:

Yes, please reschedule with Mark R.

Lucy responded:

Mark R. says to call him as soon as you can, he misses you

That seemed odd. Was Stephanie having an affair with Mark R.? Why would Lucy say he missed her? I didn’t know how to respond, so I ignored it, hoping Lucy would go away. Instead, a third text came from her:

Are you dissing Mark R.? You know he’ll turn into the Hulk

I wasn’t going to answer that, so I ignored it as well. But that night I thought I should just treat Lucy like I had her other coworker, Bruce, and act like the boss I was. These people had to listen to me, right?

I am very busy this week, I asked you to reschedule the meeting. I should be back next week

God, these people. Leave me the fuck alone. I could stay longer somewhere if I wanted to. That’s what bosses do, what they have earned.

That night, Raven came to my motel room with the passport. Her digital guy had changed my hair, and it was almost a perfect match to what I had done myself. The passport looked real to me. She promised it would get me through a Mexican checkpoint.

“The best place to cross is anywhere you can walk,” she counseled, sitting on the edge of my motel bed. “They get a lot more suspicious of cars. San Diego is good. You can take a light-rail right to the border and walk directly through to Tijuana. I’ve done it. There’s usually only one Mexican guard, and they barely look at your passport. Trust me, they’re happy to have people come into their country. Not like the US side, where they have a ton of checkpoints, drug-sniffing dogs, metal detectors, special flashlights and microscopes to make sure passports are real, the whole nine yards. Don’t come back to the US, Jasmine. It’s too dangerous.”

“I won’t,” I promised. And I meant it. Opening the passport again, I was surprised to see the name: Erica Birchfield.

“Why Erica?” I asked.

“My guy does it like hurricanes. You were the fifth fake he’s made this year, so you get an E name. As for last names, he has a software program that picks a random one.”

“Got it,” I said, handing her $3,000 of my hard-earned cash.

“Well,” she sighed, “I don’t suspect we’ll see each other again for a bit. You shouldn’t contact me or vice versa. But know that I’m with you. Do you remember that town from high school Spanish class? Maybe check it out. I’ll even try to make it down there one day myself.”

“Puerto Escondido!” I cried out with glee at the shared memory. “I remember it. I think I might try it. I mean, why not? It’s as good as any place. I’ll look for you. Thanks, Raven. You had my back on this and… on other stuff… You know what I mean, that one thing… the Halloween party… what I told you by the baseball field… I want you to know I appreciate it.”

“Yeah…” She paused. “You know I never told anyone else about that, not even Anna. It’s the truth, right? You weren’t just pulling my leg?”

My chest and throat tightened, and I looked down. There was no need to lie to Raven. She was my friend. Plus, I was leaving the country.

“It’s the truth,” I said sadly. “You’re the only one who knows. I’ve thought about it for twenty-seven years. I didn’t mean to do it, I swear. It just happened. I kind of snapped.”

“The bitch deserved it,” she said. “I only wish I had gone to the party and helped you out. You know what was weird? A few years ago, I ran into Drake’s brother at a bar when I was in Madison. He asked me if I knew anything about that party. Said his brother was innocent. Apparently, the family is still trying to figure it out all these decades later. I told him I didn’t know a thing. Not that I would tell a Maple Hills person a damn word anyway. Bunch of silver spoon a-holes. Don’t worry, Jazz, your secret is safe with me.”

We hugged, and tears unexpectedly popped to my eyes. Female friendship felt so good, and now I was leaving it, going to a country where I had never been before. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I should cancel this whole part of the plan, ask to stay with Raven in Atlanta and get to know her world, but I knew I needed an entirely fresh start. Although I had blocked Glenn from contacting me, the thought of him putting out an all-out search party or grabbing that hunting rifle on the wall still brought fear into my cells.

Mexico was my true freedom. Would I go all the way back to San Diego and actually cross there? Oh, the irony of it, returning to the scene of the crime to finish my escape. Maybe I would, maybe not. Maybe Texas would be better. It was closer to Atlanta.

First things first. I was going to keep sowing some seeds with Robert that things with Trent were getting bad. Then I would turn up the heat enough that Robert would call the police. I also needed to bury Steph’s wallet and phone and my wallet in Trent’s backyard one night, to make it look as if he had done so himself. Now that I was Erica, I didn’t need my own wallet anymore. My phone I would dispose of somewhere nearby, but not in Trent’s backyard. It had too many incriminating texts to Raven and too many things I had googled, like rigor mortis. I decided I would smash it somehow and put the pieces in a dumpster. I could get a burner phone, I was sure. The wallets and phones from me and from Steph needed to end here in Atlanta so that the police tracing them would see that their last ping was Trent’s place, or near it.

I was entering the final phase of my escape plan, and everything was continuing to go well. The money withdrawn from Steph’s accounts I figured the police would think was Trent convincing her to take money out and then pocketing it. More evidence, a motive for him to kill her. A divorced guy being pressed for child support by his ex. It all made sense. To add to the ruse, I went back to an ATM that night near Trent’s place and withdrew $2,000 more from Steph’s debit card. That covered some of my expenses with Raven and made it look as if Steph was taking out more money during her time with Trent.

I also planned to stop at a gardening store and buy a trowel. I would tell the person at the register that I just couldn’t wait for gardening season.

Tuesday, I woke up very early ready to drop a few more texts on Robert—just more hints that Trent was becoming controlling and I was growing scared of him. I started with this:

I’m typing this while Trent is sleeping. I think I might come home earlier than expected. Remember how I said he was bossy? Well he actually yelled at me last night. It scared me. His anger came out of nowhere. He doesn’t like it when I contact people from home. I’ll call you when I can

Oh my god, are you OK? What’s happening? Do you need help?

I waited, giving him time for a little bit of worry to escalate. His next two were filled with panic:

Steph, please answer

Followed a short time later with:

If you don’t text me back soon, I’m calling 911

I couldn’t let that happen juuust yet. Soon, but not yet. I texted back:

I’m OK. It’s OK for now, he seems to have settled down this morning. I’m going to book a flight though. I’ll be in touch

Come home now!!

He really cared about Stephanie. Wasn’t that sweet? I wondered if he had a crush on her. I wished I had someone like that in my life. He wrote again.

Can I call you? Can I talk to you?

I replied by amping up the sinister nature.

No, not right now. I have to go. He’s coming

I thought those words might seem like a scary movie moment, the monster approaching. It was perfect. I would lay more traps later.

A couple of hours later, after success at the garden store, I was still sitting in the motel room, cross-legged on the bed, googling border crossings when I had to deal with Stephanie’s work people again on her phone. Lucy, the one who had written to me about Mark R., wrote again.

Susan and Frank called and need to speak with you. What should I tell them?

Must be more people Steph was supposed to meet with this week. She was a busy boss, that was for sure.

Tell them I’m out of town.

There was no response. Good. Hopefully she got the message. An hour later another text from Lucy. I sighed when I saw her name pop up again.

Your brother stopped by to invite you to lunch. Since you’re out, he said he would call you to schedule a time.

Great, now a brother was going to be calling me. I typed back:

OK, thanks

I hoped all of these work people would just go away. I needed to focus on Robert. He was the one with the trail of evidence.

The typing bubbles from Lucy started going again, and I narrowed my eyes and heaved a deeper sigh. What else could she want?

I know you have a couple of brothers. This was the youngest one—I forgot his name, what is it again?

Well, shoot—what to do now? Should I make up a name? If she forgot his name, I might be able to get away with it. But what if she then compared notes with someone and found out it was wrong? I decided to pretend that I hadn’t seen this text at all and ignore it.

Ten minutes later, another text:

Something with an A, right? I just can’t recall

Go away , I thought, and ignored the text. But just five minutes after that came a third:

Steph—are you OK?

I started chewing my almost nonexistent fingernails. Why was she asking me this?

Think, Jasmine, think. Think, Erica, think. My first question was whether to respond to Lucy. If I told her I was OK, she might press me for the brother’s name. If I ignored it, she would likely get worried.

My eyes drifted to the fake passport sitting on the desk across the room.

I had my escape.

Maybe the time was now, like right now. I could accelerate my whole timeline before Lucy got really worried and called the police. Originally, I’d planned to draw out the clues with Robert further, but Lucy’s texts were making me reevaluate that plan.

Grabbing for Steph’s phone, I decided I would have to make Robert think she was in imminent danger at this very moment. It was the only way. I had already laid the foundation; now it was time to ramp it up. I crafted what I hoped was a terrifying note for any friend to read and hit send:

Robert—he hit me, he hit me hard. I’m scared. I think he’s going to kill me

There was nothing at first. I wondered if it had gone through, but a few minutes later, Robert tried calling. Again and again. I ignored it, the better to make him think I was in deep trouble. His frantic text was next.

I called 911. They are on their way. CALL ME

Grinning as it came in, I started packing up the motel room. This next phase might be a little accelerated from my original plan, but it was going fine, just fine. There was just one thing left to do, and I would do it that night. In the meantime, I would look up Greyhound buses back to San Diego. If Raven said it was the best place to walk across, that was good enough for me. I knew I couldn’t risk flying to San Diego with a phony passport, US officials being so diligent. That passport would be saved for Mexico. I would buy a Greyhound ticket with cash and without an ID. People did that sort of thing all the time. It would be a long way, but I’d get there and get across the border.

There was a Greyhound leaving at five the next morning. That would work—I needed the overnight hours to plant Steph’s stuff and mine in Trent’s backyard; then I could hang out at the bus station while I waited.

Pulling out the temporary tattoos from CVS, I put a rose on my wrist and a snake on my collarbone, admiring how they added to the overall punk rock look. I organized all of my stuff and made my final list of to-dos on the motel pad of paper.

Another text came in from Robert:

Steph—what the hell is going on? Police went by Trent’s house and no one was there. Where are you?? I’m trying to do everything I can think of. I’m sick with worry.

Sorry, Robert , I thought. I have to ignore this.

It was time to drop another hint to Anna. So far she thought I was with a great guy named Trent McCarthy. She needed a clue that things weren’t going so well. Picking up my own phone instead of Stephanie’s, I texted:

This guy Trent is super sexy but he has a temper. Don’t worry, I can handle myself. Don’t tell Glenn.

I hit send and waited. She wrote back almost right away.

Things have been crazy here. Glenn is in the hospital.

Well, that was good news. He couldn’t hurt me if he was there.

Glenn’s in the hospital? I promise I will send your money soon. Thanks for everything.

Yeah, robbery at the trailer if you know what I mean. He got beat up pretty badly. You’re good though? You don’t need anything else?

I’m good

After that exchange, I got to work on a fake voice message. The most important one: the 9-1-1 call I would need to place tonight that would bring police to arrest Trent after I planted all of the evidence.

I typed these words into the chat box for Stephanie to say:

“Please help me, my boyfriend is going to kill me. He already killed another woman named Jasmine. I’m at 4240 Horizon Lane in Atlanta. His name is Trent McCarthy. Please, please hurry.”

When I played it back, it didn’t have the urgency that such a call might normally have, but it did sound like her voice, so I would have to live with it. It was the best I could do.

To distract myself the rest of the day, I googled towns in Mexico, exchange rates, safe and unsafe places for Americans to go, how to beat Montezuma’s revenge, and anything else I could think of about Mexico on my phone, the phone I would soon be destroying with a garden trowel.

I needed a burner phone, and I wanted to square up with Anna before I left the country. Walking to the motel front desk, I asked the clerk where I could buy a padded envelope and some stamps and where I could get a temporary phone, and he directed me to two places. At the post office, I took $500 in cash and slipped it in the envelope, then addressed it to her and paid for overnight postage. It felt good to send it off. Then I went to the second store and paid cash for a phone that would get me across the country. I figured I’d have to get another one in Mexico that worked with their cell system.

That night I had to wait until after midnight to sneak into Trent’s backyard. I was wearing the black thrift store hat, wheeling Steph’s carry-on with her laptop, robin’s-egg blue purse, wallet, phone, and some jewelry in it, and carrying the ski mask, plus wearing all black clothing. The motel was close to his place, and it was a short walk.

When I got within sight of his condo, I looked around. Conscious of those doorbell Ring cam things, I slipped through the hedges of a neighbor’s house, pulled on my ski mask, and crawled under bushes, dragging the suitcase behind me awkwardly until I was at the side of his building away from the eye of a camera he might have. Then I slowly shimmied and slithered my way around to the back, keeping my body pressed against the building the whole time.

The backyard was quiet and dark, and the lights in all of the condos were off, these people obviously being working professionals who had to get up in the morning. Using the trowel I had gotten at the garden store, I dug two holes in two different parts of the backyard as quickly as I could, then got ready for the final damning 9-1-1 call.

Putting our two phones next to each other, I dialed 9-1-1 on Steph’s phone. As soon as the operator answered, I hit play on the fake voice memo on my phone, and Steph’s voice rang out:

“Please help me, my boyfriend is going to kill me. He already killed another woman named Jasmine. I’m at 4240 Horizon Lane in Atlanta. His name is Trent McCarthy. Please, please hurry.”

It was only a matter of minutes now.

Wiping Steph’s phone with alcohol wipes in hopes of erasing any of my DNA, I hurriedly buried Steph’s wallet, phone, and some of her jewelry in one area and my wallet in another in the dirt, covering both up.

Her phone would be further evidence for the police and would have the photos from around Atlanta on her photo reel, the texts with her family and friends on her text chain. My own wallet would match with my DNA from inside Trent’s condo and make it look as if he had killed two women, thus getting Glenn off my trail. Whatever was going on with him, I knew he would be out of the hospital eventually. It was just the high-profile murder I needed to keep Glenn, my family, or anyone else from looking for me. If Trent could be framed as a womanizing murderer and I was a drifter, it was completely conceivable that we met somewhere and had a fling, and he then killed me too, keeping my underwear and Steph’s as trophies for his work. I put her rolling bag with the laptop in it in one of the garbage cans in the back of the condo.

Done and panting with exertion, I took off the ski mask and walked away as quickly and casually as I could, hearing police sirens approaching. Making my way to the closest Walmart, I went around to the back and used the trowel to smash the GREETINGS FROM HOT-LANTA mug and my phone into smithereens, sprinkling half of them into the dumpster and dumping the other half at a garbage can down the street, just to be sure police couldn’t find all of anything at once and put it back together. I ditched the trowel at a third garbage can.

After walking back to the motel and grabbing my two bags, it was time to check out. I had to walk all the way to the Greyhound station with no ability to call an Uber since my burner phone wasn’t set up for it and there could be no trace of my credit card anymore, but I had so much adrenaline I needed the movement anyway.

I kept thinking over every detail again and again. Had I forgotten anything? Done anything that would trace police to me? I couldn’t think of any loose details, and I finally began to relax. True freedom was waiting for me as soon as that bus would begin to pull away.

When I walked into the Greyhound depot at 2:55 a.m., the smell of urine was strong and there were a few loners and drunks milling about. Finding a bench off to the side, I tucked all of my belongings close to me and waited.

They called for boarding at 4:40 a.m. I was the first one in line, my fake passport in my new cloth holder right on my chest. Taking a seat in the back row, I set my stuff on the seat next to me so no one would join me. I needn’t have worried. There were less than a dozen people on the bus.

It was still dark as we pulled away, the lights of the city whizzing past. I thought of Trent, likely being hauled away to jail, and I smiled. I thought of Stephanie and how she had to die to make this possible, and I felt a pang of remorse again, but I pushed it away. For the first time in my entire life—childhood all the way through adulthood—I was doing something on my time, just for me. And I had succeeded. I was hiding in plain sight, just as I had wanted to do. Memories of Allison and Stephanie seemed to be fading with each mile the bus drove from Atlanta.

It had taken me less than a week from the morning I woke up at Glenn’s and snuck out. Less than a week and I had succeeded in upending my entire world. I had more money than I had ever had in one setting. I had new clothes and a fake passport and a destination. Glenn would soon think I was dead, my family too. I had a plan, a future that was all my own. And it hadn’t been that hard. A little stealing, a few hair changes, a bunch of lies to various people. OK, yes, one murder. But here I was. As a major bonus, I’d sent a total jerk down the river for the murder of two women twenty-seven years after I had done the same to Drake for the death of Allison.

Not that I hadn’t been scared at many points. It was terrifying that morning six days prior when I had to tiptoe out of the trailer with Glenn sleeping. I had been apprehensive about buying a ticket to San Diego, scared to sneak into Stephanie’s hotel room, to put that pillow over her face, to dispose of her body, to go into Trent’s room and plant evidence, to follow Trent and frame him, to dig the holes in his backyard as my final damning evidence to put him away.

I figured between the DNA in Trent’s suitcase, the two pairs of underwear with his semen in his breast pocket, the paper trail I had left for Robert and others via texts, the voice memos and photos, the money withdrawn from Steph’s accounts, the 9-1-1 call, and Steph’s and my personal items buried in the backyard, he was cooked.

After all, Steph had said she was flying to Atlanta with him, and there was evidence of her paying with a credit card for a ticket and showing up to board the plane. Heck, even if you watched a video of passengers going through security, you would see her (me) walking through, and she (me) had made it through security with no issues. I had even cocked my head slightly as she did when I greeted the TSA security officers just so the footage would be believable.

There was evidence she had been at his condo from the texts and photos. Trent had no alibi thanks to Raven slipping a little something-something into his drink. He had been inside sick for two days, so he couldn’t claim he wasn’t doing what Steph’s texts said he was doing. She had told Robert on Sunday that she and Trent stayed in all day; then she told Robert on Monday they were sightseeing.

As for me, there was the text exchange I had with Anna. That should be enough to place me with this guy and show that he had a temper. That would make it seem believable to Glenn and everyone else.

How was I this fucking good? I leaned my head against the window of the bus and felt a huge smile coming on as I congratulated myself. I had outsmarted everybody. I was a mastermind. It was all just sweet justice, and as my eyelids began to feel heavy and close, I said a final goodbye to men like Glenn and Trent and Drake. They could all fuck themselves.

I was in charge now.