Chapter 4
"If you crash my Range Rover, I'll kill you," I tease, handing Mara the key fob.
It's not like she hasn't driven my car before—whether it was to pick up my dry cleaning, grab me a mid-day coffee, or snag some tampons for yours truly—but I don't think she's ever driven in snow.
"This baby's got four-wheel drive, but let's hope she doesn't need chains. I have no idea how to put those on."
"None of us do," Phoebe interjects, settling into the front seat.
I plan on sleeping in the back, wrapped in cozy blankets, noise-canceling headphones playing low-fi music, and a goose down pillow, at least for as long as I can. I trust the girls won't fall asleep at the wheel and drive us straight into a lone deer darting across the road.
Mara shuffles some things around in the trunk before stuffing her luggage beside my things. Yes, I packed like we were going to be away for two weeks, but I needed options!
Once we're all buckled in, I see Aiden wave to us from his third-story apartment complex.
Phoebe is the only one with a significant other, and I feel that tiny green monster rip through my insides when she and I wave back simultaneously. I know he's not waving at me specifically, but it's cute to pretend.
Around 4:00 a.m., I'm jerked awake, my insides lurching like I'm on a rollercoaster. My car skids, sliding in a way that's completely unnatural.
"What the hell?" I curse, the fog of sleep mixing with the sharp edge of danger that my subconscious is already sensing.
"Ice," Phoebe mutters, her expression steady as she overcorrects the steering wheel. "Started snowing a while ago, after I took over driving at the gas station. I've had to drive slower just in case."
I see Mara wide awake and unfazed by our precarious situation. Her face is bathed in the cold blue glow of her iPhone, her thumb scrolling endlessly while she stops on…
"Is that the panty photo?" My seatbelt locks me in place as I lunge forward, trying to catch a glimpse of her screen. "Why the hell are you looking at that?"
Honestly, I don't know how anyone could willingly subject themselves to that image more than once. The dark stain of blood against the women's soiled underwear is something out of a horror movie. I have to pretend it's not real just so it doesn't cause nightmares.
"It's crazy how Jack was stupid enough to keep the actual evidence in their apartment. If Holly hadn't found it, he probably would've killed someone else."
Mara goes on, rambling about how she's hopeful Holly's episode will turn things around for us.
Okay, I'll admit accusing someone on air of murder wasn't my best moment. But the motive seemed clear. Our subject admitted her husband was verbally abusive, and they'd both been considering divorce.
The night in question started as a simple meet-up with friends.
He ordered some chicken that was accidentally fried on the same grill as shrimp, causing cross-contamination.
He was severely allergic, and oddly enough, the wife couldn't find the EpiPen in her purse.
He died, and she sued the restaurant. But something about the whole situation didn't sit right with me.
I had a gut feeling she'd planned for this to happen.
Turns out, I was wrong. We had to pull the episode, and I had to publicly apologize to the widow.
I really grilled her—it was embarrassing to be so wrong.
I swore I'd never trust my gut again. Phoebe is usually spot-on when it comes to intuition—she told me the wife was clean, but I didn't listen.
Cancel culture sucks, and you're truly one mistake away from being the next target.
I didn't realize slander and defamation was a thing.
I really fucked up, and I don't think the girls have forgiven me.
But right now, they're stuck with me, as we wait to see what secrets lie at the top of a winter wonderland.
Little do Phoebe and Mara know, I have a secret I'm holding onto as well.