Chapter 29 #2
Ava considers this. Her suspicions throughout the night must have been directing her toward Damien over the rest of us.
“Do you really think he’s capable of orchestrating all of this? What’s his connection to Oliver?”
“The messages I found on Oliver’s computer were between him and someone named Doc.
What if Damien is the person who was working with him?
I still haven’t worked out all the details, why he was here that night, but I can’t ignore this feeling I have about him.
” I pause to consider the alternative—of it being Ava, Constance, or Preston—but I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud.
Whether it’s Damien or not, someone is leaving me these messages.
It’s convenient that Ava found the last message, the one containing proof of my crime. She’s the one who insisted on having the party tonight in an isolated location. Maybe Damien is too easy of a scapegoat. Maybe the intention behind the blackmail is more convoluted than I realized.
I dismiss the idea. Ava is my best friend. She appears stunned by what I’ve done. She can’t be that good of an actress, can she?
“I’m not convinced Damien is telling the truth about anything.
Marlowe said he lied about how they met.
It was really some dating website. Hell, I’m not convinced he’s a fucking doctor!
Look at the way he’s acted about Constance’s foot.
It’s just another way for him to needle me by bringing up Doc.
And he mentioned the crow fountain tonight, too.
Remember?” My voice is raised, and I realize how unhinged I must sound.
I take a deep breath and restart. “Damien’s spent half the night wandering around the house admiring all the different trinkets and antiques—”
“We all do that,” Ava says, doubtful.
“It’s different with him. Creepier. Think about it.
Marlowe and Damien started dating a few weeks ago.
Right around the time Oliver…” I pause, forcing myself to say it again out loud.
“Right around the time he died. Maybe Damien sought Marlowe out online and weaseled his way into an invitation. Now he’s walking around the house scoping out what he can steal with Oliver out of the picture. ”
Ava wears a vague expression, thoughts likely flitting from one theory to another. It’s unclear whether her doubt stems from the outrageousness of my claims or if she no longer trusts anything I say, now that she knows what I’ve done.
“This is all too much.” Ava exhales, her head rattling from left to right. “Marlowe. Oliver. Damien? None of this is making sense.”
She’s experiencing the same overwhelm I’ve felt this entire evening, since I came across that first note resting beside my father’s flowers.
“We need to prove Damien is the person blackmailing me before the police get here.”
“How do we do that?”
“Before I moved, there was a break-in at my apartment. I chased the intruder away, but he was able to leave with a box of Oliver’s things—items I hadn’t had time to ditch yet.
Oliver’s Rolex was in the box, and it looks exactly like the one Damien is wearing.
Maybe Damien brought some of the other items here. ”
“Isn’t it possible that the doctor was able to buy himself a Rolex? It’s a common accessory, especially for men.”
“No, Ava, I’m telling you—it has to be the same gold watch. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Damien broke into your apartment.” She shakes her head, as if trying to dislodge the jumbled details. “You think he brought those items here? That we should just start looking through his things?”
My chest seizes thinking back to last weekend, my determination to write off the break-in as a coincidence, although part of me knew, even then, there must be a deeper meaning. It’s why I was reluctant to involve the police, but now I don’t have a choice. Because of Marlowe.
“No. We’ve already been up here too long.
The others will worry about us and might come looking.
” An idea emerges, a spark of brilliance amid the madness.
“Let’s go back downstairs. Maybe even enlist Constance or Preston to keep Damien away from us.
We’ll create an excuse to check on Marmee, and then we’ll start the search. ”
She shuffles away from me. “You can search on your own.”
“Fine, but you should at least keep watch. If Damien is the blackmailer, I can’t have him find me in his room. We could all be in danger.”
There’s another reason I need her involvement. I can’t let Ava out of my sight. For the rest of the night, I’ll worry that she’s going to tell someone my secret.
What if she’s the blackmailer? a small voice asks.
Yet another reason to keep her close to me.
“I regret what I did to Oliver, but he was a bad person. A dangerous person. If Damien knows what I did, I can’t run the risk of him telling the police.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison,” I say, my voice cracking.
“And if he killed Marlowe, don’t you want to do something about it? ”
“What will we say?”
“Create an excuse to get Damien out of the room. Maybe take Preston with you. I can fill Constance in on the rest,” I say.
Someone knocks on the bedroom door. The rattling wood makes us both jump.
“Tippi?” It’s Preston. “Is Ava with you?”
She’s white as a ghost, mouth agape as if debating what to say. I lock eyes with her, pleading for silence, for complicity.
“Yes,” she calls at last. “I’ll be right out.”
I wait to speak until I hear the dull padding of retreating footsteps.
“See? This is why we need to go back downstairs. Make sure everyone is settled before searching through his things.”
Ava pinches the bridge of her nose, looking away from me. “None of this can be real.”
“Please,” I say, my voice a whisper. “I know how shocking this is, but you have to believe me. Right now, all that matters is finding out what happened to Marlowe and who is targeting me. Just let me get through this night, and I’ll answer whatever questions you have.”
“You killed someone, Tippi.” Her voice wavers like a house on the verge of collapse. “You killed Oliver.”
“I know!” My volume is louder, more vicious than I intend. Ava jumps a little, and I try to regain my composure. “Ava, please. You’re my best friend. Just keep this between us for the rest of the night.”
Ava nods, the movement barely visible. I could have easily imagined it. She tightens her shawl around her shoulders and heads for the door. That’s the most confirmation I’ll get that she’s willing to keep quiet, at least for now.
The police will arrive in a little over an hour. They’ll investigate Marlowe’s death, but I can’t risk Damien telling the police about Oliver, too.
I’ll have to confront him before it comes to that.