Chapter 39
The lock clicking is a mechanical, claustrophobic sound, sealing us in. Every head whips toward the hallway as a chorus of “what was that?” ripples through Wren’s living room.
“Do you want to know why I’m here in Doomwood Falls?” Gillian sits and perches stiffly on a dining chair, her ankles crossed and spine straight. Her lipstick is too cheerful of a pink for the frown on her face. “Or why I’m here at your book club?”
“Both,” I answer.
“Well,” she twists her blonde hair around a finger, then looks directly at Ivory and says, “I came here to set the record straight about someone.”
The thud of footsteps I’d just heard is much closer now.
They echo across the entryway, then stop under the archway that leads into the living room.
We’re looking at where Fred Cobb has materialized from behind the hallway partition.
I move to the arm of the sofa, and my paperback slips from my thigh to the floor.
“Fred?” the word jumps from mouth to mouth around the room, along with a lone “Dad!” from Freida.
Ivory scurries behind the futon as if using it as a shield. “What are you doing here, Fred?”
“He’s here to kill us!” Zala screams.
A glass shatters. Wren yelps and backs into a cabinet to avoid getting cut by the shards of glass. I slide off the arm of the sofa, already mapping exits in case of emergency.
“Don’t panic,” Fred says quickly. “Please. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m here to explain.”
“Get out of my house!” Wren shrieks. “Someone call the police!”
“Enough!” I yell over the rising hysteria. Ivory reaches over and grabs my hand, and when I glance over at her, she’s shaking her head. Don’t, she mouths. But I need answers, and Fred is the only one who has them. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
“You want to know about Janet Vick’s murder, right?” Fred dangles that carrot in front of us, then winces at the curses erupting around him as the wording lands wrong. “Please just listen. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Why would we listen to you?” Zala spits.
“Because I didn’t kill Janet Vick. And if you don’t hear me out, you’re going to blame the wrong person.”
Silence drops hard, and the shattered glass and spilled energy drink are forgotten about.
I hear my voice before I realize I’m using it. “Then talk.”
Fred looks at me, relief and gratitude touching his wet eyes and trembling lips. He steps forward slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal. “Yes,” he finally says, his eyes tearing up as he first meets Ivory’s gaze, then Freida’s, “it’s true that I had an affair with Gillian.”
The room explodes again with gasps, expletives, and someone actually laughing like it’s a punchline. I think I recognize Luca’s voice, and sure enough, when I turn around he throws his hand in front of his mouth to muffle his inappropriate amusement.
Gillian shoots to her feet. “How dare you say that! That is not what we agreed you would say—”
“But it’s the truth! And I’m not proud of it,” Fred cuts in. “We met a few weeks ago through her son Marshall, who is a friend of mine.”
“Wait a minute! Let me get this straight.” Wren steps out from the corner of the room where she had abandoned broken glass cleanup. “Gillian is Marshall’s mother?”
Fred nods. “Yeah, why?”
Wren humphs. “He never mentioned that to me.”
I’m about to ask how Wren knows Marshall, because this is all suddenly getting very convoluted and confusing, but Fred bulldozes right along.
“Anyway, Gillian and I had gotten a drink at Dirty Dan’s after a bad day at work.
She suggested we go for a hike to clear our heads and get some fresh air.
So we did… and the next thing I know we’re drunk at the waterfall and she’s flirting and undressing me and we’re both buzzed.
But I swear it was a one-time, stupid moment of weakness. ”
He swallows and turns to Ivory, a pleading in his gaze.
“I hate that I have to admit what I did—publicly, no less—but I’m willing to do anything to prove how sorry I am.
Even humiliating myself in front of all these people.
” Fred drops to one knee with his arms outstretched toward his wife and daughter.
“You both deserve to know the truth because I love you and I deeply regret what I did.”
Gillian’s mouth bobs open and closed, but I can’t let her derail this confession.
“Sit down,” I snap at Gillian. She does, cheeks blazing. “And Janet Vick?” I probe. “Where does she fit into this?”
“She was investigating Gillian, but I have no idea why,” Fred answers. “I didn’t know who Janet was at first. While she was following Gillian she saw us together and confronted me about our affair. She told me she was a private investigator, and she asked a lot of questions about Gillian.”
“What kinds of questions?”
“Things like where Gillian was staying. Who she was seeing. Why she was in Doomwood Falls. But as I told Janet, I hardly knew Gillian. It was a heat-of-the-moment connection, and Gillian was pretty tight-lipped about herself.”
“Funny,” Zala mutters under her breath. “She didn’t seem to have that tight-lipped problem with you.”
I feel the tide turning in this room. For the first time since my incarceration I’m holding the mic.
Everyone believes me for once while I’m fighting for my life.
I turn to Gillian, and we both know what question is coming next.
There’s nowhere for her to hide, no one to keep her secrets safe anymore.
“Why would a private investigator be investigating you, Gillian?”
She’s publicly cornered and she knows it.
Her finger twirls her hair more roughly now, and her placid expression is unsettling. “I came here to spend time with my son Marshall. Janet must have thought I was involved in something else.”
She’s planned a reasonable excuse for everything, which makes her hard to trip up. I almost smile, because I know how to lie too. I’ve edited them, cropped them, and sold them to this town until it resembled just enough truth to trick everybody.
“You claimed to show up at this meeting to set the record straight, Gillian. So let’s set it straight.
You came to this town to avenge Ramsey Shenk, your boyfriend who stole money from his own company, framed me for it, then murdered my husband.
When he died, you blamed me for it. That’s why you’re here. ”
“Ramsey never did any such thing,” Gillian attempts to yell over the erupting conjecture that just keeps building. She pounds her fist on the coffee table and everyone’s mouths shut at the sudden outrage. “That is a bold-faced lie!”
“Is it? Because I think Janet Vick was close to finding the truth and that’s why you killed her—to protect Ramsey’s reputation and secure your financial future.”
Fred’s head snaps toward Gillian. “What is she talking about? Is this true?”
Glancing around the circle of onlookers watching her every movement, Gillian shifts uncomfortably.
She gets up and walks to Fred, then rests her hand on his arm in what appears to be a plea for an alliance.
“Shari is just upset because she got caught stealing money from Ramsey’s company.
Now she’s throwing baseless accusations against him because her husband died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound and she needs someone to blame. ”
“Stewart did not kill himself!” I scream. “He was murdered!”
“Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night.” Gillian shakes her head at me while leaning into Fred.
“You know what helps me sleep at night?” I seethe. “That I have proof of what Ramsey did.”
“What kind of proof?”
“The kind that would put Ramsey behind bars… if he was still alive.”
Gillian huffs. “Well, Ramsey may have had some,” she fumbles the words, then says, “questionable business morals, but he never hurt anyone.”
Gillian doesn’t seem to realize what crime I have proof of, because she apparently thinks I’m referring to the embezzlement, not Stew’s murder. So I keep going, and I’m not stopping until every sordid detail is out.
“There are only two options, Gillian. You should think carefully before you answer. The first option is that you’re telling the truth that Ramsey is dead and he’s never coming back.
And you’re only here to visit Marshall, then you’ll go on your merry way.
” I take a steadying breath. “Or the second option is Ramsey is alive and hiding out somewhere, and you’re here to find him so he can bankroll your lifestyle again.
In which case, I have proof that Ramsey committed murder.
So if he is in fact alive, he’s heading straight to jail. ”
“Are you sure you have proof of that?” There’s a lilt to her voice, and far too much confidence. Leaning over, she picks up her pink shoes and slides them on her feet. “Trust me, you don’t want to wade in deep waters with me, Gianna, because I know a lot more about you than you think.”
I don’t like the way she says it, like she knows something I don’t. Is it possible she’s the one who stole the picture frame and got her hands on my evidence? The room buzzes with fear, excitement, the electric thrill of accusation.
Fred rises to his feet and yells, “Enough!”
We all shut up and turn to him.
“There is only one person in this room that I know for sure has been lying,” he says slowly.
He scans the faces—Wren, Zala, Ali, Luca, Gillian, Freida, Ivory, then he lingers on me. He lifts his arm and points. I sense a terrible unraveling about to happen. Where his finger lands, I already feel it burn. The whole neighborhood missed seeing the real monster all along.