All Eyes on Her

by L. E. Flynn

  “Continuing,” Paxton says. “Mark confided in you that he was threatened by Beck Rutherford.”

  “He didn’t have to,” I say. “I was there the night it happened.”

  So I tell the whole story again. How we were in Elle’s backyard. How nobody knew who invited Beck, and nobody would fess up to being the one who did it. How Beck got in Mark’s face, then hit him, and told him to stay away from Tabby.

  I tell them the other part, too. How Tabby enjoyed it. She watched it like it was some dramatic moment on a reality TV show. Her arms crossed, pushing her boobs up. Her hand over her mouth, probably covering up the smile she can’t get rid of. If you know Tabby, you know she wears everything in that smirk, and in those eyes.

  “And you encouraged Mark to break off the relationship,” Paxton says.

  “Yeah. I did. And I have to live with that. Because listening to me might’ve been what killed him.”

  Someone coughs. It makes me jump.

  “Describe your relationship with Ms. Cousins prior to Mark’s death.”

  I wipe my forehead. “We didn’t have one. She was Mark’s girlfriend. I had my own shit going on. I mean, stuff. Sorry. I didn’t pay that much attention to her. Then when he went back to school, he started complaining about how insecure she was. How she freaked out whenever she saw pictures of him with other girls in them. I told him he should cut it off. She was in high school. He didn’t need that, on top of everything else he was dealing with.”

  “By that, you mean his competitive swimming. His grades. The scholarship he needed to maintain to remain at Princeton.”

  “Yeah. All that. And I mean, his grades were slipping. His training was still going well, I thought. Until—”

  Paxton knows what I’m going to say, but he won’t say it for me. “Until?”

  “Until he found out about the abortion.”

  There’s a buzz in the courtroom, even though everyone has already heard all this. Tabby remains silent this time. I’m kind of surprised she doesn’t jump up to protest that it wasn’t her. I guess she’s already done enough of that.

  “Would you say that Mark went into a downward spiral after that?”

  I shrug. “We didn’t talk as much for the last couple months of his school year. He was busy with exams and stuff, and I was busy with work.” What a joke. Busy bagging groceries. “Then he came home for summer break.”

  “How would you categorize Mark’s temperament at the start of the summer?” Paxton paces in front of me. I swear, this guy never stops moving. He would be annoying to live with.

  “I don’t know. Normal, I guess. But he got kind of distant. I think Tabby was behind that.”

  “She had a birthday party for Mark and didn’t invite you, is that correct?”

  My mouth is dry. “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Why do you think she wanted to keep you away?”

  I know exactly why that girl wanted to keep me away. “Maybe because she didn’t want me to talk to Mark. Get in his head. Tell him to dump her.”

  “So you believe that Ms. Cousins had been planning the murder for several months, and taking calculated actions to keep Mark distanced from those he knew best.”

  “Yeah. Yes. I do.” Hearing it put like that—murder—it’s brutal. Hits me in the stomach and it’s like I’m going to be sick. It’s easier to think Mark fell. Mark drowned. Not Mark was murdered.

  “I have no further questions,” Paxton says.

  But Deveraux does. I can’t leave yet because she has to cross-examine me. I hate that word. It’s all clinical, like she’s got a scalpel and is about to cut me open, move my organs around a bit. She even looks like she should be a surgeon, not a lawyer. Yeah, she’s hot, but in this sterile way. If she has a boyfriend, or a husband, I’m afraid for him.

  “Mr. Leach. Keegan, if I may.” She clasps her hands together. “You stated that you didn’t have a relationship with Tabby. That she was solely Mark’s girlfriend.”

  I gulp. “Well, yeah. She was.”

  “And you never saw her outside of that friendship.”

  “Only when she came into the Stop & Shop where I work. Which she did, sometimes. It’s the only place to get groceries in town.”

  “So my client was never at your apartment. She never left anything there.”

  Now the sweat isn’t just in my armpits. It’s everywhere, drenching my back, just like it did that day, my T-shirt stuck to it.

  “No, she never came over. My place is messy. I barely have anyone over.” I try to laugh, but now my forehead is all wet, and when I wipe it with the back of my hand, my skin comes away all shiny. I look fucking guilty.

  “When Mark went back to Princeton, he asked you to keep an eye on Tabitha for him, didn’t he?”

  I nod. “Yeah. He did. But not in a creepy way. Just to make sure she was okay. Kind of like a big brother or something.”

  Deveraux pauses. “But you didn’t think of Tabby as a little sister, did you, Keegan?”

  She brings a picture of something up to the judge. “We’d like to present this new evidence. It’s a hair tie belonging to my client, found in Keegan Leach’s apartment.” She holds up her hand to her mouth, almost like she’s asking me to shh. “Before you try to say it isn’t hers, you might want to save it. Her DNA is all over it.”

  I backpedal. “Well, Mark had a key. Maybe they came over when I wasn’t around, to be alone. You know.”

  “A neighbor confirms Tabitha entered your apartment last fall. And several times after. Mark wasn’t with her, but you were, weren’t you?”

  I swear, you can hear a pin drop in this place, and that’s the scariest part of all. Suddenly I know exactly what Tabby’s doing. Exactly what she must have been planning this whole time.

  “Tell me where you were the night Mark died,” Deveraux continues. She’s gaining steam. Look at her face, all flushed. I bet she gets off more from this than sex.

  “I was with my girlfriend,” I say. “Kyla. I told the cops already. So did she.”

  “I know we have a witness who claims that after she woke up, you were gone, and when you came back, you were wet.”

  “Yeah. I got up to take a shower. I do that sometimes.”

  “But she never heard the shower running.”

  Fuck. Fuck. “I mean, I don’t know. She had a lot to drink.”

  “And there’s something else, isn’t there, Keegan? A fight you had with Mark that one of my witnesses was the only one to hear. Are you going to tell the court what the fight was about?”

  I shake my head. “There was no fight. She’s making it up.”

  Deveraux raises her eyebrow, which makes her look evil. “She?”

  Fuck.

  “You left your shift at the Stop & Shop twenty minutes early on August sixteenth.”

  I scratch my head. “I don’t remember. I guess it makes sense if I was meeting Kyla.”

  “But you didn’t meet Kyla until eight. And you slipped out that night, didn’t you? What were you doing while you thought she was asleep?”

  I feel like I’m about to explode. It’s not like I kept a fucking log of my time. “I don’t know, okay? Maybe I went to jerk off. Or take a shit. I don’t remember every moment of my life.” That gets a few laughs, but mostly people are deadly silent. I make the mistake of looking at Alex, whose eyes are basically lasering holes into my skin.

  I make the mistake of looking at Tabby again, and she’s enjoying this.

  I made the mistake of looking at Tabby over a year ago. Girls should wear signs, or at least different-colored T-shirts. Red means I’m going to ruin your life.

  She batted those blue eyes like a Disney character.

  “No further questions at this time,” Deveraux says, and I’m terrified about what she means by that. Because at this time generally means there’s going to be a next time, and I don’t want to be around for that.

  5

  KYLA DOVE

  KEEGAN AND I HAD HOOKED UP a few ti
mes and I was on this high, you know? When you really like someone, and think they really like you. So I figured I’d surprise him. I went over to his place with my cutest lingerie on underneath my dress. Maybe you think that’s tacky, but that’s what I do when I like a guy.

  I walked up the stairs and was all ready to knock on his door when I heard him inside, talking to someone. At first I thought it was another girl, and I was ready to turn around and leave, because I’ve been there, done that, not interested in doing it again, but then I heard Mark’s voice. Definitely Mark. And I heard every single word they said. The walls in Keegan’s building are pretty much paper-thin.

  “She’s my girlfriend,” Mark said. “My girlfriend. Not yours. You don’t get to tell me what’s best for her.”

  Keegan, laughing. “You don’t know that girl at all. The things she’s done behind your back. You told me to look out for her, right? Because you were worried?”

  “Because I was worried about her. But I should have been worried about you instead. That you’d look a little too closely. Am I right here?”

  I waited for Keegan to say something, anything. He hated Tabby. He made it clear. We had talked about her. Actually, the first conversation we ever had was about her. I saw her at a party in the shortest skirt ever and made a comment that she looked desperate for attention. Then Keegan appeared out of nowhere and laughed. Told me she was desperate for attention, that she didn’t just look that way.

  “Girls like that pretty much want one thing,” I said.

  “Try telling my best friend that,” he said, and the whole story came out, about Mark and Tabby and their turbulent little relationship. Keegan and I went home together that night, which I maybe second-guessed the next day, giving up everything so soon. I made fun of Tabby for wanting one thing, but we all wanted the same thing. Not even sex, necessarily. Just feeling desired, needed.

  “You need to move on,” Mark said, and by this point, my ear was pressed right up against the door. “If that’s what this is about. You need to forget about my girlfriend, because she’s mine. I’m never leaving that girl. She’s the one. So get over it, and I’ll act like this never happened.”

  When the door swung open, it pretty much hit me in the face. I tried to hide behind it, but Mark saw me there and just kind of shook his head, like he felt sorry for me, then kept walking. Keegan was standing inside, pushing his hair off his face, and he saw me, too. I half expected him to slam the door and tell me to go away, but instead, he left it open and walked in the direction of his bedroom.

  It was an invitation, and I was spineless enough to take it.

  We never talked about what I heard. We never talked about a lot of things. You know that old saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Well, I think that’s what Keegan was doing the whole time. With Mark and maybe even with me.

  Then there’s the night Mark died. It was only, like, a month after that fight took place. Keegan made all these plans with me, which was weird, because usually he just texted me and I’d show up at his door. Looking back, it’s so obvious I was a glorified booty call. But we were supposed to meet at this Italian place, and he texted me and said he’d be late, so sorry, and all that. (I showed those texts to the cops a few days ago. Better late than never.) I waited around for him, had a glass of wine by myself. Then another one. Then I felt like an idiot and was about to leave, when he showed up, all sweaty and out of breath.

  But he was acting different. Like a gentleman. He kept talking about our future, and he ordered a bottle of wine for us and kept refilling my glass, and he encouraged me to order a dessert, and held my hand across the table.

  Later, we went back to his place. He opened another bottle of wine. My favorite kind, Chardonnay—which was so sweet of him. Except I started feeling pretty wasted and had to lie down. Then he covered me up with his duvet and kissed my forehead, such a boyfriend thing to do. I even whispered that. Are you my boyfriend? So pathetic, right? I kind of hoped I didn’t say it out loud, but I remember him saying one word back. Not mean or anything, just matter-of-fact. No.

  My eyelids fluttered open at one point. I have no idea what time it was, but he wasn’t there, and I wasn’t awake long enough to figure out where he was. I could tell I was going to have a hangover, but it was too late to do anything about it.

  I was with him the next day when he got the call about Mark. He was sleeping, facing away—Keegan hates cuddling, at least with me. So he gets this call and his voice is all sharp. What? What happened? Holy shit.

  I didn’t see his face until a bit later. Until I sat up in bed and saw him staring into the mirror over his dresser. He looked totally fine, until he caught me watching him. Then his whole face crumpled.

  “Mark,” he said. “He, um, died last night. I guess they think he drowned.”

  If he hadn’t said that last part, I might still believe that he had nothing to do with it. But they didn’t find out he drowned until the autopsy, which was a couple weeks later. Everyone thought the fall killed him.

  I’m sure Keegan doesn’t remember saying it. Just like he doesn’t remember that scrunchie I found at his place. At first he said we weren’t exclusive anyway, then he argued it was mine. As if I would wear a fucking scrunchie. I almost talked myself out of giving it to the cops, but the truth needs to come out.

  I know the police questioned Keegan a bunch of times, but never once did they question me. I thought about telling them he wasn’t actually there that night, at least not the whole time. But I didn’t know what it meant, or if anyone would even believe me.

  After Tabby got arrested, he sucked up to me a bit. He even mentioned that night a couple times, how he was glad we were together. Like he didn’t think I’d remember that he specifically said we weren’t a couple.

  And it felt good, for a while. Like he was actually into me. He even brought me flowers once, blue and purple orchids. Even though I’m pretty sure they came from the Stop & Shop. Whatever. It’s the thought that counts. When you’re used to being treated like a glorified ATM by guys—insert part here—your standards for a romantic gesture get pretty low.

  I guess I knew the whole time that Keegan didn’t love me, but it took a while for me to figure out that he loved somebody else.

  I don’t know that he killed Mark. I do know he wasn’t with me all night. Now I’m telling my version of the truth, and honestly, I don’t know what Keegan is capable of. I just know that love has a way of turning people into the worst versions of themselves.

  SHARP EDGES CRIME—

  CUT TO THE TRUTH!

  December 6, 2019

  It’s always the boyfriend’s jealous friend

  By Oberon Halton

  An inside source tells me there was a huge bombshell dropped in the courtroom yesterday, and if you’ve been following along with my live tweets, I teased about something huge. Well, it looks like Mark’s best friend, Keegan Leach, may have hated Tabby a little less than he let on in the bitter little soundbites he has given to the press. (For the record, he never responded to my request for an interview about Tabby.)

  I didn’t see this one coming! I usually pride myself on my excellent instincts, but this case got the better of me. Every story needs a villain, and it looks like the villain in this story may have been the guy right under our noses the whole time.

  COMMENTS

  KeyzPlz: This guy??? Pretty sure he works at the grocery store near my house

  Melodious: Called it from the start! I bet she was juggling Mark, Beck, and this Keegan guy the entire time. Girls like her are excellent multitaskers!

  6

  KEEGEN

  I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE.

  I can’t go back there tomorrow morning so here I am, shoving stuff in a gym bag, only the shit I think I’ll need. I know it’ll make me look guilty taking off, but I know what she’s doing and I can’t be here when she does it. I’m the guy who didn’t realize he was playing this game of cat and mouse, or maybe knew, but
didn’t think he was the goddamn mouse.

  Paxton told me I had to show up. Not to let Deveraux get under my skin, that he has questions for her witnesses and for Tabby herself that will answer a lot of people’s questions. But I’m not gonna be around for that.

  They have nothing on me. They have nothing on me. They can’t possibly. Nobody’s going to believe Kyla over me.

  The only person who would’ve stuck up for me isn’t here anymore. Mark stood up for me when we first became friends, when he could have easily ratted me out for smoking at recess, except he said the cigarettes were his. Mark stood up for me in high school when I got accused of cheating off him on a test. (Truthfully—not that I ever told him this—I was cheating off him, not because I hadn’t studied but because he always knew more than me, no matter what I did.) Mark tried to plead my case when this chick Lorena, who I had a thing for, wanted him instead—I still remember every detail about that pathetic night, all of us in the backyard at her dad’s place, Mark being like, “You know my friend Keegan, he’s such a great guy.”

  But I’m not a great fucking guy. And when it comes down to it, neither was Mark. He ended up banging Lorena a week later.

  I toss more shirts into my bag, even ones I haven’t worn in ages. I have no idea where the hell I’m going, but I can’t stay here. Maybe I’ll take off to Mexico and disappear on a beach. Maybe I’ll buy a boat and live in the middle of the ocean where I won’t ever meet another girl.

  I’m literally on my way out the door when I see him standing in front of it. My buddy Stewart, wearing a shit-eating grin.

  “Keegan Leach,” he says. “Some of my colleagues did a bit of digging yesterday, and we found something very interesting that belongs to you.”

  There’s no way they could have found anything.

  But I know they did.

  Text message from Tabitha Cousins to Mark Forrester,

  August 15, 2019, 2:51 p.m.

  Text message from Mark Forrester to Tabitha Cousins,