Chapter Thirty-Eight
Police lights slashed through the darkness, bathing the street in pulses of crimson and cobalt. I sprinted through backyards along the bluff, staying low behind the trees, praying no motion lights would catch me, then headed east parallel to Driftwood Terrace.
I stood at Vivienne's door, chest heaving, my dress smudged with sand and dirt.
Vivienne opened the door and ushered me inside. Her home beckoned me in with its warm cream walls, fluffy throw rugs, and rustic wood beams overhead.
Leah's artwork covered every surface, her watercolors tacked to the fridge, charcoal sketches pinned above the overflowing bookshelves, a half-finished canvas of a field of daffodils propped against the stone fireplace.
"Mom!" Mia was up and in my arms before the door latched shut. I held her tight. Vivienne shuffled past me and sat at the dining room table. Mia and I followed hesitantly.
Daniel hovered near Viv, as if he wanted to protect her from something, maybe from Mia, maybe from me. Concern lined his face. His suit from the memorial was rumpled.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he murmured.
She gave a tremulous nod.
"Thank you," I said to Vivienne. The words caught in my throat. "For letting her in. For..." I couldn't finish. For not turning her away, for showing grace I didn't deserve.
Vivienne didn't answer. Her phone rang. She stared at it sitting on the table by her elbow like it was something foreign she'd never seen before. Daniel cleared his throat. "It's your mother, Viv. I'll give her an update, don't worry."
He touched Vivienne's shoulder in support. She reached up and squeezed his hand. Then he took the phone and disappeared down the hallway, speaking quietly as his footsteps faded toward the back of the house.
They had always been warm and affectionate with each other. I was relieved that Viv still had Daniel to give her the support and comfort that I couldn't.
Viv broke the uncomfortable silence first, her voice flat. "Camille said they're going to arrest Mia."
I felt like I might faint. My arms tightened around my daughter.
At least, I'd had the foresight to move the bloodied rock. At least the police wouldn't find it in Mia's room tonight. There was that.
"Did you find something?" Mia whispered.
I reached into my purse, tugged out the Nikon D780, and set it on the table.
Mia stared at the yellow strap, the souvenir buttons. "My camera."
My gaze was on Viv, begging her to understand, to give us a chance. "Peyton buried it on the beach the morning Leah died."
"Mom, I don't think—"
"We're out of time, Mia." I looked at Vivienne. "Can we use your laptop?"
"Of course." Vivienne was already up and moving toward her office. A minute later, we huddled around the kitchen table as Vivienne connected the camera to her laptop via USB.
The screen came to life. I navigated to the folders for the night of the slumber party.
Sweet, smiling faces filled the screen. Girls with their long lean arms wrapped around each other, girls with dazzling white smiles and perfectly coiffed hair, girls in floaty, frilly dresses, so beautiful they made my chest ache.
Chloe and Zara, Peyton, Alexis, Leah. A few of Mia, probably taken by Chloe or Leah.
"Talk me through these," I said.
Mia seemed to shrink into herself. "These are from the beginning of the night... here's everyone getting ready at Chloe's... these are from later, when we did the photoshoots in our dresses before dinner, then the midnight photoshoot..."
I scrolled forward. Chloe's blonde hair glistening in the moonlight, her dress a red smear. Leah balanced on the lip of the bluff with her face turned away, staring somberly out across the water. Beautiful, dark, shimmery photos.
I clicked the next image.
The screen flickered. The files were corrupted. They wouldn't load.
My stomach dropped. I tried another file. Same error. Another, and another.
"No." The word came out strangled. I shoved back from the table in frustration. "No, no, no!"
"The files are corrupted," Vivienne said. "Water and sand got in."
"Or someone tampered with them before Peyton buried it." My hands shook. I pressed them flat against the table. "Can they be recovered?"
Vivienne tapped a few keys on the laptop. After a moment, she shook her head. "This is beyond me. You'd need a forensic specialist. The police have—"
"NO!"
We both turned. Mia stood pressed against the counter, eyes wild.
"Why not?" I asked.
Mia's gaze dropped. She traced the counter edge with one finger and wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Mia." Vivienne's voice was gentle but firm. "If Peyton buried this camera, she was hiding something that incriminates her, not you. The police can—"
"They can't see it." Mia's voice cracked. "They can't."
Something cold slithered down my spine. The way she'd said it. Terrified. Guilty. "Why not, Mia?"
She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly. "The pictures might show... they might..."
Vivienne stood and strode around the table, toward Mia. "Show what?"
Mia flinched away. "I can't. You'll hate me. Both of you will hate me."
"Mia…" I started.
"I did something." The words burst out of her like a wound opening. "That night. I did something, and if they see the pictures they'll know and—" Her breath hitched. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."
Vivienne had gone very still, very pale. "What did you do?"
The question sat between us, sharp as glass.
I wanted to move, to go to my daughter, but my legs wouldn't work. My voice sounded far away. "What are you saying?"
Headlights swept the kitchen. A car door slammed. Close, right outside. The police lights bled through the slats of Vivienne's shutters, red-blue-red, steady as a heartbeat.
Every maternal instinct screamed at me to grab Mia and run. But there was nowhere left to go. I crossed to Mia in three strides. I gripped her shoulders. "Look at me."
She did. Tears streamed down her blotchy face, her eyes wild with anguish and fear. Mascara traced black rivulets down her cheeks. She looked haunted.
I kept my voice low, urgent. "I can't help you unless you tell me the truth. All of it. Right now."
"They'll arrest me."
"They're going to arrest you anyway. The only chance we have is the truth. Do you understand? The truth."
Someone knocked on the front door. Hard, authoritative. "Mr. and Mrs. Cho? This is the police. We need to speak with you."
Vivienne didn't move. Her gaze stayed locked on Mia. "What did you do to my daughter?"
Mia looked between us. Trapped. Terrified.
"Mom..." Her voice was so small. "Chloe wasn't completely lying."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. My brain refused to process her words. "What?"
The words tumbled out in a rush. "I was there. When it happened. When Leah fell. I was there."