Chapter Fifteen
My phone dings with a notification—a text from Connor. I smile when I see his name.
Connor:You coming to dinner?
Me:Give me a few and I’ll meet you there.
Connor:I’ll save you a seat.
Still smiling, I sit up, and I’m tucking my phone into my backpack’s front pocket when the door slams open, revealing Abigail.
Gee, great. More drama.
“Knock much?” I arch a brow.
Abigail storms into the room, standing above me with her hands on her hips. “Priya told me you two had quite the heart-to-heart.”
“We painted each other’s nails and had a pillow fight, too. So sorry you missed it.” I lay the sarcasm on extra thick.
Abigail rolls her eyes, unbothered. “I just thought I’d stop by to make sure you understand that Priya is taking the top spot in our class this year. It belongs to her and no one else. Got it?”
My gaze drops to Abigail’s glossy, dark pink mouth. That lipstick shade is awfully familiar. Pretty sure the last time I saw it, it was smeared all over my mirror.
“It’s so cute, how you’re Priya’s guard dog. We both know you can bark, but do you bite? Or are you only tough enough to leave lipstick on mirrors and deface the occasional photo?” I stand up, prepared for a fight.
The knowing smirk on Abigail’s face makes me want to smack her. She doesn’t even care that I called her out. She’s basically admitting what she did without saying a word. I decide to push her a little further.
I step closer, practically thrusting my face in hers. “I guess the real question is, does the chain Priya keeps you on leave enough slack for you to, say, push someone off a cliff?”
Abigail narrows her eyes, her entire expression going dark. “You better watch your fucking mouth, Belinda. That’s a serious accusation.”
“Is it?” I blink my eyelashes at her with exaggerated slowness, like I’m a dimwit.
Abigail shakes her head once, her lips firm. “If I have to, I’ll be the biggest bitch the world has ever seen to keep Priya at Wickham. That’s what you do when you love someone.”
Her confession is a surprise, I’ll give her that. But it’s not going to be enough to throw me off her scent.
“But I’m definitely not a murderer.” Abigail shifts close enough that I can feel her breath when she speaks. “Stay in your lane, Nancy Drew. And keep that old A-minus average exactly where it is, or we’re going to have a problem.”
With that, she turns her back on me and heads for the door, but right before she gets there, I remember we have unfinished business.
“Abigail?”
She heaves an enormous sigh, like I’ve just called her back from the brink of nirvana. “Yes, Belinda?”
“How’d you get my transcripts?”
“Mrs. Brown, of course.”
As much as I’d love to hide my confusion, I fear it’s written all over my face. “But you don’t … have dimples.”
Abigail looks at me like I have ten heads.
“Dimples? Is that some American euphemism I don’t know?
Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.
Mrs. Brown has a well-known online poker habit.
If you pretend to find twenty quid on the floor of her office that she ‘dropped’ on her way in, she’ll tell you anything you need to know. ”
With that, she exits the room, slamming the door behind her so hard, the walls rattle.
I can’t help but feel a tad impressed by Abigail standing up for Priya.
But do I believe her when she says she’s not a murderer?
Could Isla’s threat to out Priya’s test-selling scheme to the administration have inspired Abigail to take truly drastic action?
And if so, how did that lead to Emily’s death?
My gut says they’re not responsible. Abigail may be mean, but I don’t think she’s a killer. And Priya doesn’t have enough open space in her calendar to schedule a homicidal rendezvous.
And I don’t think my sister reported Priya to administration. She wasn’t a snitch, and besides, Whitney would’ve informed me of that little tidbit. Right?
Time is running out. In less than a week, Isla will be formally charged with murder and taken to a hospital god-knows-where, and all of Peter’s money won’t make a lick of difference if she’s so far out of reach that none of us can see her, talk to her, or manage her care.
I may have eliminated two suspects from my list today, but the day is far from over. Like it or not, it’s time for me to push harder for answers.
…
Ileave the dorm building and come to a stop midway down the steps. I spot a familiar dark-blond head across the grounds. It’s Julian, walking by himself with his hands in his pockets and his lips pursed like he’s … what? Whistling?
This is my chance to talk to Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky and confront him about Isla and why he kept their relationship a secret. My brain is already spinning from my talks—confrontations?—with Priya and Abigail, but I can’t let an opportunity like this pass me by.
Though my whole body pulls toward Connor waiting for me in the dining hall, the good luck of seeing the guy I need to talk to at the exact moment I need to talk to him is too fortuitous to ignore.
Changing my course to aim for Julian is a physical effort, like pulling two magnets apart when all they want to do is stick together.
Reluctantly, I whip out my phone and fire off a quick text to Connor.
Me:Hey. Change of plans. I can’t make it to the dining hall.
He responds almost immediately.
Connor:Everything okay?
His concern makes my heart sing. Such a small thing, asking if everything is okay. It makes me realize how rare it is for someone to take an interest like this. And that’s … super pathetic, so I shove the thought to the back of my brain, where I’ll hopefully never have to look at it again.
Me:Yes, everything’s fine. Tell u everything when I see u in art.
Another lie, of course, but they’re getting easier and easier to tell.
What would that conversation even look like, anyway?
Sorry I couldn’t meet you for lunch, I had to interrogate one of your ex-friends about his possible involvement in your sister’s murder and my sister’s assault.
Wanna make out? I’m sure that would go over like a lead balloon.
What will I tell Connor about why I was delayed?
That’s future Billie’s lie to sort out. For now, I pocket my phone and jog over to Julian, pleased when he slows his pace to wait up for me.
The expanse of lawn between us is bigger than it looks.
“Belinda.” Julian smiles, his eyes twinkling. How can he flirt with just a look? I’d be impressed if I didn’t know his girlfriend is in a coma. “What are you doing out here? I figured you’d be canoodling with Connor in the dining hall.”
There’s the slightest edge to his voice, which trips me up a bit. What, is he jealous? Please.
I ignore his remark and get straight to the point. “We need to talk.”
“Talk?” He manages to put air quotes around the word with the slightest inflection of his voice. But he starts walking, and so do I. “Are you sure Connor will be okay with that? He can be quite the jealous type, you know.”
I’m curious about that little tidbit—is there history there?—but I don’t let myself get distracted. “Save it, Julian. We need to talk about Isla.”
He comes to a complete stop and takes a deep breath, exhaling through his flared nostrils. His agitation is obvious, and when he glances down at me, I note his furrowed brow and troubled gaze.
“What do you know about Isla? You only just started here,” he so kindly reminds me. The edge in his voice is equal parts defensive and accusatory.
“I know enough.” I glance around, noting the various students milling about. “Let’s find somewhere more private to talk. Where no one will see us.”
Julian leads me to the clock tower, which is on the opposite side of campus.
We make the journey in total silence. He enters the building as if he owns it, the door swinging open for him easily.
I scurry inside after him and gaze about the space.
We’re in a lobby with high ceilings and glass cabinets lining one wall.
The shelves are filled with various old trophies and photos of sports teams from the past. I’m tempted to check them out, searching for familiar faces, but I’ve got limited time with Julian and a lot of questions.
“Why would you think I have anything to say to you about Isla?” Julian asks.
I appreciate him getting right to the point. “Because I know you were seeing her secretly. And I know it was a secret because you were the one who insisted she didn’t tell anyone.”
“Who told you this?”
Panic? Anger? I can’t tell what emotion colors his question, so I have to tread carefully. He doesn’t sound happy that I know his little secret. “It doesn’t matter. What I want to know is, why keep your relationship with Isla under wraps?”
His deep frown pulls his whole face downward, causing a line to appear between his brows. “Doesn’t much matter now, does it? If you know about us, our secret didn’t exactly work out well for me.”
The audacity. Most everyone at this school is incredibly selfish, but Julian Ashworth might have just taken the cake. “For you? What about Isla? Are you the reason she’s in a coma?”
Julian rears his head back, and his eyes go wide.
“Perhaps you should step away from the Law & Order marathon, Belinda, and retire your make-believe detective badge. I know it’s easy to say ‘the boyfriend did it’ and congratulate yourself on a job well done, but I would never have hurt Isla. I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Then why wouldn’t you go public with your relationship?” There has to be a good reason he kept it concealed. Isla is someone he should have been proud to date. Gorgeous, smart, kind, funny … my sister is a prize.
Julian averts his gaze, and I spot a movement in his jaw that tells me he’s clenching his teeth. I’m glad to have touched on a sore subject. Maybe I’ll finally get closer to some answers.
“It’s complicated,” he bites out.