Chapter 33 Nicola
“HE SAYS HE’S COMING to get you.”
The words snatch the breath from my throat. Connor told us his tablet would’ve been activated if an unfamiliar device had come within a certain distance of the lodge, but could he have been wrong? What if her father hadn’t been carrying a cell phone? Could he have abducted her?
I stare at the phone. If I call the police, the other club members will blame me, but if I don’t, who knows what could happen before the night’s over? I try to tap the emergency button, but my finger, shaky with nerves, jitters onto email instead. Steffani’s downloaded messages pop up onscreen.
REINHEIMER, ANTHONY
Subject: Woods Case
HESSLING, MICHELLE
Subject: Greer Woods
HAFEEZ, MALIA
Subject: Woods Hearing
I scroll through the subject lines. Every single one of them references the Woodses. Clicking the message from Malia Hafeez, who might be the Mal from NBC, I freeze when I notice the sender name on Steffani’s email account.
AUDREY BANERJEE
Not Steffani Arnosti. Was she using a fake name with the press?
I try to visualize her driver’s license.
She’d listed a Maine address, hadn’t she?
But I distinctly remember that when we talked on the balcony, she told me she was from Los Angeles.
Could she have stolen that driver’s license?
If that’s the case, I need to assume that nothing she told us was the truth—that there was never any serial killer father.
Instead, she’s been in contact with multiple news outlets about the Woodses.
Audrey Banerjee. The name feels familiar, but I can’t place where I know it from.
I turn my attention back to the emails.
To: Malia.Hafeez@
From: audreybanerjee@
Greer isn’t taking my calls.
To: audreybanerjee@
From: Malia.Hafeez@
Yours and everyone else’s. She’s completely fallen off the grid since To Catch a Killer premiered. Throwing all her energy into her father’s hearing probably.
To: Malia.Hafeez@
From: audreybanerjee@
Good luck to her. She’s going to need it.
To: audreybanerjee@
From: Malia.Hafeez@
I would’ve said the same thing a month ago, but the show’s working wonders for them. It’s like, overnight, Tom Woods has gone from boogeyman to folk hero. You should see the social media accounts dedicated to him. #WoodForWoods. People are gross.
To: Malia.Hafeez@
From: audreybanerjee@
They should enjoy the popularity while it lasts. Because the moment that hearing rolls around, the truth is going to come out.
To: audreybanerjee@
From: Malia.Hafeez@
The truth? What are you talking about? Do you know something?
To: Malia.Hafeez@
From: audreybanerjee@
I know something that will bury him.
Now I remember where I’ve heard that name before.
It was on the Post-it stuck inside Zach’s notebook—the one dedicated to Greer.
He was going to meet up with her after the retreat.
Was he the one who tipped her off about where the retreat was being held?
Were the two of them collaborating on the book?
I reread that last message. Bury him. Does that mean she knows something that will ensure Tom Woods’s execution moves forward as planned?
If there’s one thing Greer’s always been clear about, it’s how much she loves her father.
If Steffani and Zach came up here, claiming to have information that could get him killed, how might she have reacted?
At first I think the thud-thud-thud is the sound of my heart walloping against my rib cage, but as it grows louder, I realize it’s not coming from inside my chest. Footsteps. The padlock on the door rattles. I reach for the broken statue.
The padlock clinks, and I scramble behind the door. The chain pulls loose, link by link, before smacking onto the ground. My fingers tighten around the statue. The door creaks open. “Nic?” Greer calls, stepping into the shack. Slung over her shoulder is the tool bag, and in her hands…
In her hands is the axe from the front yard.
Oh god, she’s here to kill me.
Greer stashed all the evidence in this shack: the cell phone, the murder weapon. She must be wondering if I’ve found anything. Though if I have, she’s already taken care of two problems on this retreat. What’s one more?
She walks to the center of the room, where the floorboard’s been pulled up, and stares at what’s left of her hiding place.
Go for the head, I tell myself. Just like she did.
But as I bring the statue down, something stops me short, and it slams into the back of her shoulder instead.
I can’t do it; even if she’s here to kill me, I can’t bring myself to do the same to her.
She stumbles forward, her sneaker disappearing between the planks, and collapses to the floor.
The axe pitches out of her hands, clattering into a corner.
A frustrated whine escapes her throat as she struggles to free herself.
Her eyes go wide, like those of an animal caught in a trap, when she notices the statue in my grasp.
“Stop!” she shouts, moving her hands to block any imminent attacks. “I’m here to rescue you!”
Oh, fuck that. “You came to rescue me with an axe?”
“If you haven’t noticed, there’s a murderer on the loose.
I wasn’t about to go wandering through the woods unarmed.
” She peeks out from between her splayed fingers.
“I don’t think you killed Zach. But you lied to me, and I just…
If you lied about Claire, I don’t know what else you might be lying about. ”
I drop the statue to my side. “I never lied to you about Claire.”
“You said she was your girlfriend.”
“She was.”
“But she had a boyfriend.”
“… Yes.”
“You can see how that looks bad, right?”
“That looks bad?” I lay the statue on the floor, take out the phone, and pull up the email exchange between Steffani and NBC.
“Look.” I thrust the screen toward her. “Steffani was going to spill some deep, dark secret about your father and ruin his hearing. I’m willing to bet you would’ve done anything to stop that—including murder. ”
Greer looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You think I murdered Steffani.”
I nod.
“Fuck me.” She tugs harder on her foot, and a loud rip fills the shack. Her sneaker reappears as she yanks herself free. “I didn’t murder Steffani. That”—she gestures toward the mainland—“wasn’t even Steffani. Her name’s Audrey Banerjee.”
My jaw drops. “Wait, you knew? For how long?”
“Since she showed up.”
“How?”
She rubs the sore spot on her ankle. Finally, she says, “I’ve never told anyone about this.”
“Okay.”
“No, Nic. I mean, I’ve never told anyone. The partners at my law firm don’t know; the police don’t know. Not even Connor knows. If I tell you, you’ll be the first, and I…” She swallows. “I need to know that I can trust you.”
I sink onto the floor in front of her. “I may not have told you everything about Claire, but what I did tell you, about the two of us being in a relationship, I’ve never disclosed to anyone except my father.
” She picks at the loose threads on her jeans.
It’s not enough. Whatever she wants to share demands a larger sacrifice.
I would need to confess the truth to her: my complicity in Claire’s murder, my refusal to report my suspicions to the police.
The truth I’ve kept hidden most of my life. How can I share that with anyone?
I watch her, her chest rising and falling with her breaths, and remember what waking up next to her felt like.
That moment of audacious hope. I could hold tight to my secrets, swear I don’t want to know hers, either.
Or I could take a chance on whatever’s unfolding between us, even if it’ll leave me exposed and defenseless.
I don’t want to be alone anymore, locked inside my house while the rest of the world goes on without me.
“If you tell me…” I say, carefully considering each word before it comes out, “then I’ll tell you what really happened to Claire.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know—but I want to.”
I rest my hand on top of hers. Her skin’s clammy; her fingers tremble.
I suddenly realize she’s much more frightened than I am, which frightens me in return.
What is she about to share with me? Trying to push my apprehension aside, I flip her hand and thread my fingers through hers, so our palms are pressed together. She takes a deep breath.
“That girl wasn’t Steffani,” she begins. “But once, a long time ago, I was.”