Chapter 37 #2
“He means someone else was using his pictures,” Quinn said. “He means it wasn’t Boy Hardy messaging Tafton.”
“Oh,” Aiden said, and the disappointment was unmistakable.
Mckell still stood by the sofa. Nora hadn’t risen from her seat.
“Aren’t you leaving?” Jem asked. When neither woman answered, he continued, “Somebody was using those pictures as bait. All they needed was for Tafton to send them something that could be used to blackmail him.”
“Shit,” Sawyer said. “Stephen.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Beckett said. “He didn’t need pictures. He already had stuff on all of us.”
“That’s right,” Jem said. “Because this wasn’t Stephen.”
“Who was it?” Aiden asked.
“Another great question,” Jem said. He shot a look at Nora and Mckell. “I thought you were leaving.”
“Who was it?” Nora asked. “Who sent those messages to Tafton?”
Dean shifted his weight. He was plucking at his shirt like he was too hot. He was still sweating.
“Someone who made a mistake,” Jem said. “Someone who sent the wrong image by accident. An incriminating image. And even though they unsent the picture, they knew the damage had already been done. Because they knew the messages were being sent to Gerald by the tracker app. And they knew that Gerald would see the picture and recognize it. And they knew the only way to make sure Gerald didn’t expose them was to kill him. ”
“Who?” Quinn asked in a hard voice.
Jem drew out the screenshot of the phone’s home page. The picture of the house, hidden behind all the app icons, was barely visible. But it was there.
And every eye in the room turned to Dean and Mckell.
“That’s your house,” Sawyer said.
“I didn’t kill him,” Dean said. He took a step back and caught himself. “I was with you!”
Mckell said over him, “I was with Nora at the movie.”
“That’s right,” Nora said. She wiggled in her seat as though trying to sit up straighter. “And I don’t understand why we’re supposed to think it’s such a big deal that there’s a screenshot of her home screen.”
“You weren’t at the movie,” Jem said. “Once the power went out, they canceled the showing. You would have known that if you’d gone, but you didn’t.”
“Nora—”
“Nora lied about seeing the movie with you because it gave her a chance to sneak off to Afterski and order a giant ice cream sundae. You know, the one Tafton wouldn’t let her have.”
Nora squawked, “No, I didn’t!”
“But what about you, Mckell? Where’d you go when you knew everyone thought you’d be at the theater?”
“I—I don’t know.” Mckell was gripping her collar so tightly that her knuckles were white. “I walked around. I knew Dean would be with the guys, and I didn’t want to be alone in a hotel room by myself.”
“No,” Jem said. “You found Gerald while he was still preparing for tomorrow’s meetings, and you convinced him to let you walk him back to the chalet because of the snow, didn’t you?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You knew he’d seen the Prowler messages.
That’s why his mood changed on Friday. He’d seen the copy on Stripling, with that picture of your house, and he knew you’d tried to blackmail Tafton.
He was going to tell Dean. Maybe he was even going to tell the police.
And you weren’t going to let that happen. ”
“I went for a walk. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
She turned toward Dean, and he took a shuffling step away.
Nora leaned back in her seat.
Aiden froze mid-pace.
“You don’t believe this, do you?” Mckell asked. “He’s making it up. He’s not even a real detective.”
“It was easy money,” Jem said. “And you needed money. Dean’s a teacher, and teachers don’t make much.
You don’t work. I thought it was strange how worried you were about the cost of the retreat after someone killed Gerald, but I figured that’s just how some people are.
Priorities, you know? But I should have been asking how you could afford the retreat in the first place—not to mention the beautiful home, and the clothes, and your hair. ”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sawyer shouted. “What the fuck, Mckell? Dean!”
Dean was trying to shrink down inside his shirt.
“This is crazy!” Mckell’s mouth hung open slightly. Her lower lip trembled. “I’m not going to stand here and let you say these horrible things about me.”
“It’ll take time,” Jem said, “but the police will match the messages from Prowler to your phone’s IP address.
They’ll track down conversations you had with other guys.
They’ll find your bank accounts, and they’ll find money you can’t explain.
They’ll find someone in the hotel who saw you making your way to the multipurpose rooms last night.
Hell, they might even find someone who saw you helping an old man out of the lodge.
This, right now, is the moment your entire life starts to come apart. ”
Mckell let out an incoherent sound and started toward the door. Jem moved into her path, and she slowed. Her face darkened. And then she reached under her sweatshirt and pulled out a gun.
When she aimed it at Jem, he put his hands up. He said, “That must be Gerald’s.”
“Get out of my way.”
Jem slid aside.
“Mckell,” Dean warbled. He sounded like he was on the brink of tears. “What are you doing—”
“Oh, shut up.” Mckell twisted past Jem, the barrel of the gun tracking him. “He’s lying. I didn’t do anything.”
“Then where’d you get President Fitzpatrick’s gun?” Aiden said.
“Oh my gosh, Aiden,” Quinn muttered.
“This is my gun,” Mckell said. “And I have to carry it for self-defense because I can’t trust Dean to do anything right.” She gestured toward the briefcase on the coffee table. “Give me that.”
“What happened with Tafton? Did he see you when you were supposed to be at the movie? Or did you just need a fall guy, and you knew he’d be perfect?”
“Give it to me!”
“Sure,” Jem said. “Put down the gun—”
Mckell opened her mouth. Her eyes were wide and bright, and it looked like she was about to laugh.
And then her head rocked forward. She took a stumbling step, and her legs folded, and she collapsed.
Behind her, Stephen held a leather sap at his side.
And behind him, Brigitte said, “Now get the briefcase.”