Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
MADELINE
Georgia falls into step beside me, her fingers playing with the end of the braid I did for her this morning. Loose pieces frame her face. I love when she lets me do her hair. I don’t always do my own makeup and hair, but I enjoy it.
Luke’s at morning practice, and Georgia suggested we get up early and grab breakfast at the coffee shop before class. I agreed. We haven’t had much time to catch up lately. We’re both busy, and so much is going on.
“So,” she says, tugging the braid. “Luke.”
I keep my eyes forward. “What about him?” I knew this was coming. I’m still processing it. The other night was wonderful. I’m in deep, and I’m uncertain if I should let myself keep sinking or try to wiggle my way out of it, but wiggling away from Luke is proving to be impossible.
“You disappeared with him for hours the other night. You’ve been walking around with this”—she waves her hand at my face—“look. Maddie. I am your best friend. I am owed some details.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “We had dinner.”
“And?” She draws out the word, knowing there’s more. I both love and hate that she knows me so well.
“And... we messed around.”
Georgia stops walking and grabs my arm. “Messed around? Like, messed around, messed around?” She glances to her left and to her right like the FBI might be listening.
“Georgia, keep walking.”
“Not until you tell me.” She’s grinning, delighted. “How far? Second base? Third? A home run?”
I think of his hands, his mouth, and the things he said, like he meant it down to his bones. If I’m being honest, it’s consumed my thoughts, which gives me some guilt, but what can I really do about Coach Murphy right now?
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “Past second but not all the way to third?” I’m not into baseball, and this is my first time having stepped up to bat, so I could be wrong.
“Holy shit.” She shakes her head. “Luke Locke. The guy who people fear and want, but he gives no one the time of day.” She falls back into step, still playing with her braid. “Is he... you know... intense about everything?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s intense.” In fact, I need a bigger word than that for him. “But I worry,” I admit to her.
“What’s your reason now as to why you can’t date him?”
“Hey.” I bump my shoulder with hers. “You don’t even like him.”
“He’s growing on me like a Cordyceps.” This time it’s me who stops walking.
“A what?”
“Cordyceps. It’s a type of fungus.” Of course it is. “It’s famous for taking over the bodies of insects in the wild.”
“It’s famous,” I say, laughing. I hook my arm through hers, and we start walking again.
“Now tell me what you’re worried about.” Right. I know it’s my own bullshit and me trying to protect myself. My heart already broke once this year when my dad died. I can’t go through that again. I’m still healing.
“That he’s only chasing after me because I didn’t give him the time of day. That I’m just a challenge to him.”
“I’ve never given Luke the time of day, so…”
“Whatever,” I laugh again.
“But honestly, that’s not you. You usually jump in headfirst.” She’s right. “Do you think you’re pulling back because of what you feel for Luke, and it’s freaking you out since you’ve never felt this way before?”
“Oh.” I start to say something, then stop. “Maybe?”
Georgia bumps my shoulder. “Then maybe think about it.”
“Gah, everything around here is about thinking,” I groan playfully.
When we walk into the bakery, the smell of fresh bread fills the air. Jenny’s behind the counter, and I order quickly. A coffee for me and Georgia, and a breakfast sandwich for Luke and me. Georgia gets a pastry. He’s always bringing me food, so I’m sure he’ll be hungry after practice.
I ask Jenny how her date went the other day before I step aside so others can order.
“You’re buying him food now.” Georgia’s brows lift. “That’s domestic. That’s relationship behavior.”
“Shut up.” I can’t wait for her to fall on her ass over a guy. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of that.
“Emily P.,” Jenny calls out.
Georgia’s head snaps toward the counter. Mine too. Her hand drops from her braid.
It’s a girl with hair so black it’s almost blue when the light hits it.
She’s a whole vibe with her smoky eye makeup, dark lipstick, the kind of cool that takes effort to look effortless.
She’s drowning in an oversized cashmere cardigan, vintage band tee, and designer boots scuffed just right. Paint-stained fingers grab her coffee.
It’s her.
Emily, last year’s victim, possibly this year’s killer. She turns with her coffee, catching us staring. She gives a small, polite smile, like you do to strangers, and settles in at a window table.
She takes out a sketchbook and starts drawing, just like any other art major passing time before class. But this isn’t where her college is. She’s supposed to be in Chicago.
She looks normal. Peaceful. Her charcoal moves in dark, jagged strokes that don’t match her expression at all.
“That’s her,” Georgia breathes.
“I know. You think we should—”
“Class,” Georgia is quick to remind me.
Every instinct screams “follow,” “watch,” and “confront.” See, headfirst.
“We have to get to class. Then we tell the others.”
We grab our food and coffee. Emily doesn’t look up from her sketching as we pass.
“She didn’t appear to recognize me.” I say this when we’re farther away from the coffee shop, heading back toward campus.
I suppose I’ve gotten it into my head that whoever killed Coach Murphy knew Luke and I were in the boathouse that first night.
They’d quickly moved the body before we could return.
“I mean, Lana could get actress of the year at this point with how she’s pretending to not know anything.”
“She’s really good at it,” I say with a dry laugh. “Lana’s really pretty. She should use her talent for acting.”
“Do not tell her that. It will go straight to her head,” Georgia says.
“I’ll keep that in mind when she and I are at our next slumber party together.”
When we hit campus, students linger in groups on the sidewalk.
A girl ahead of us stops walking, stares at her phone, and turns to her friend with her hand over her mouth. I hear more phones going off and small gasps coming from different small groups.
“What’s up?” I ask when we catch up to Kate. We have a class together. Georgia smiles and shakes her head, always teasing me about knowing everyone even if I’ve only been here a short time.
“Police,” Kate says, eyes wide. “Down by the lake. My cousin just sent a video. They’ve got the whole area taped off with tents everywhere.”
“There is so much yellow tape,” her friend Nora adds, scrolling. “Someone posted on the town’s Facebook page. They said they saw a body bag.”
The news ripples through the crowd in real time. Texts are pinging, Snaps are opening, and voices are rising. In a town this small, horror travels at the speed of Wi-Fi.
Georgia’s fingers dig into my arm. We exchange a look. They found her. Murphy.
I need to find Luke. Now.
We went from the police finding Murphy to Emily showing up in town. That can’t be a coincidence. I want to know who Emily still talks to here and why she’s back. She’s not from here.
Luke and Grant come around the corner of the humanities building. Luke’s blazer is a bit wrinkled, his tie loose, and his hair still damp from a shower. He must have rushed out of practice to make it here. I wonder if they’ve heard the rumors.
“Hey.” I step forward and smile at him. “I got you this.” I hand him the sandwich. Suddenly, I feel awkward, and I’m not sure why.
Luke takes it without looking and gives me a quick kiss. Then he stops to actually see what I gave him.
“Just a sandwich; I thought you might be hungry.”
He just stares for a moment, like he’s not used to someone doing something small for him.
Then he smiles. He could probably buy the bakery, the block, maybe even the whole town, but this simple thing makes him happy.
Maybe no one does little things for him.
He’s been on his own so long he doesn’t know how to react when someone else tries.
“Thanks, Buttercup.” He kisses me again, this time a little longer. We only stop when Grant clears his throat.
“I think the police found Murphy,” Luke says, confirming what I already know.
“Emily’s back. She’s in town.” I share my own news. Luke’s hand on my hip tightens. Grant mutters a curse, and Georgia is already typing quickly on her phone.
We all move closer to the building to get some space from the crowd.
“Are they sure it’s Murphy?” I ask.
“Who else would it be?” Grant asks.
“The serial killer’s other victim,” Georgia says.
“Oh my God, let’s not make this worse. I’m going to ban you from listening to crime podcasts.”
“You’re a bloodthirsty little thing,” Grant says to Georgia, looking down at her. He’s always watching her, even when he acts like he isn’t.
“I’m not little,” she huffs, still focused on her phone so she doesn’t have to look at him.
“Yeah, you are.” Georgia’s curvy, and her curves are amazing, but she’s short—pint-sized.
“Everyone looks small next to you two.” It’s true. I’m tall myself, but they still tower over me. “Class is about to start,” Georgia reminds us.
Class is the last thing on my mind right now. “What are you thinking, Buttercup?” Luke asks. I look up at him, and as usual, he’s watching me.
“We should split up and tackle things separately.”
“We’re not splitting up.” Luke’s expression changes.
“Class,” Georgia reminds us, clearly not wanting to be late.
“I meant we should split up the tasks.”
“I’m going to talk to my brother,” Luke says. “Maybe he knows what the cops found.”
“And they’ll actually tell him?”
“Yes,” Georgia and Luke answer together. Of course, a fancy private school keeps the town rolling in money.
“I haven’t had a chance to look deeper into her social media, but I’ll try tonight and see what I can find.”
“Oh,” I snap my fingers, a thought hitting me. “MoodMuse, do you know that social media app?” Georgia shakes her head no.
“My friend Nick used it. He’s great at drawing and wants to be a tattoo artist someday.”
“Nick again?” Luke scowls. “You two dated.” I ignore him and keep talking, but I can’t help noticing how he’s pouting now. It’s honestly kind of adorable.
“It’s a social media app for artists,” I explain.
“Oh, okay, yeah, I’ll check it out,” Georgia says.
“I’ll see what I can find online,” Grant says. I’m still impressed by what he pulled off the other day. If he hadn’t gotten us that information, Emily wouldn’t even be on our radar.
“I’ll be friends with Emily.” Georgia’s eyes go wide, and Grant raises his eyebrows almost to his hairline. Luke’s pout disappears, and his face gets tense, jaw clenched.
“She saw us that night, Buttercup. You’re not going near her.”
“If she’s even the one that did it,” I say. “But if it is her, she’ll think I don’t suspect anything, and she’ll probably want to friend me back.”
“So she can try to kill you,” Georgia blurts out, clearly not liking my idea. I throw her a look, one that is meant to remind her whose side she’s on here. I don’t even have to look at Luke to know he doesn’t like it either.
“I’ll be careful,” I insist.
“It’s not happening, so get that out of your pretty little head.” I know he’s trying to look out for me, but him laying down the law pisses me off.
I pull my hand free from his.
“You don’t get to decide what I do.”
“Is that so?” he challenges.
“She’s not making friends with her right now. We’ll talk about it tonight,” Georgia says, linking her arm with mine.
“Come on, everyone, get moving,” the teacher shouts from the top of the building’s stairs. “You can gossip in class.”
Everyone starts to shuffle inside.
“You’re not doing it,” Luke says again as we too head into the building. I don’t respond to him, but that doesn’t stop him from laying a hard kiss on me that’s filled with warning before leaving me at my first class.
I drop down into my seat, irritated. I can’t focus on anything the teacher is saying. My mind is fully on Emily, and Luke trying to ban me from shit.
It’s not going to stop me. It only makes me realize I’ll have to do this without Luke knowing for now.
I never agreed not to seek Emily out, so I’m not lying to him.
I spend the rest of class mapping out a plan.
First order of business, I need to figure out where Emily is staying. Then I’ll make myself a new friend.
This was all my idea. I dragged everyone into it, so I should do the work too. And just because Luke gives me an order doesn’t mean I’ll listen. He’s about to find that out.