Girls' Night Out_A Novel
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EARLY PRAISE FOR GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT
“Girls’ Night Out is a heart-stopper of a thriller, rippling with suspense from its opening pages. But it’s also much more: Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke plumb the intricacies of female friendship with skill and depth and heart. It’s a deeply satisfying read, and one you won’t want to miss.”
—Megan Abbott, national bestselling author of You Will Know Me
“It’s trouble in paradise for three best friends struggling to make amends in the latest thriller from the dynamic writing duo of Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke. Girls’ Night Out is a chilling page-turner full of secrets and hostility that will leave readers shocked again and again . . . and again. I loved it.”
—Mary Kubica, New York Times bestselling author of The Good Girl and Every Last Lie
“A wild ride into a high-powered girls’ trip to Mexico. Suspense at its best. Liz and Lisa have taken their writing partnership to a new level!”
—Kaira Rouda, USA Today bestselling author of Best Day Ever
“This suspenseful novel is full of twists and turns and makes clever use of chronology. It will make you think twice about going on a girls’ night out!”
—Jane Corry, bestselling author of My Husband’s Wife and Blood Sisters
“In Girls’ Night Out, Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke guide readers on a suspenseful international tour of friendship at its best and worst. As enviable fun takes a turn through suspicion toward pure fear, you’ll find out just how wrong a trip to paradise can go.”
—Jessica Strawser, author of Almost Missed You and Not That I Could Tell
“Set against the idyllic backdrop of tropical Mexico, Girls’ Night Out twists its way through the dark recesses of friendship, proving that nothing is ever uncomplicated or quite as shiny as it seems. An exciting new thriller from a proven team.”
—Roz Nay, author of Our Little Secret
“Girls’ Night Out is an utterly enthralling read that is impossible to put down. The dual timelines are captivating, just days apart, as they unfold both the frantic search for a missing friend and the circumstances that led to her disappearance. This is a book that makes you question how well you truly know even your closest friends, and also what you yourself might be capable of doing.”
—Kathleen Barber, author of Are You Sleeping
“Liz and Lisa’s Girls’ Night Out is a strong follow-up to the bestselling The Good Widow. Three friends go on a girls’ trip to Mexico to try to repair their friendship. But when one of them goes missing after a night out drinking—and fighting—they’re left trying to puzzle out what happened the night before. Sparkling characters, real friendships, and a fast-paced mystery: what more could you ask for in your next read?”
—Catherine McKenzie, international bestselling author of Hidden
“Lisa Steinke and Liz Fenton have conjured up the tropical vacation of your nightmares. After reading the unsettling Girls’ Night Out, you’ll never look at a tequila shot the same way again.”
—Janelle Brown, New York Times bestselling author of Watch Me Disappear
PRAISE FOR THE GOOD WIDOW
A PUBLISHERS WEEKLY BEST SUMMER BOOKS 2017 SELECTION, MYSTERY/THRILLER
“Fenton and Steinke deliver a complicated tale of love, loss, intrigue, and disaster . . . This drama keeps the pages turning with shocking twists until the bitter end. A great read; recommended for admirers of Jennifer Weiner and Rainbow Rowell.”
—Library Journal
“Fans of Joy Fielding will appreciate the story’s fast pacing and sympathetic main character . . . [a] solid psychological thriller . . .”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fenton and Steinke’s talent for domestic drama comes through . . . For readers who enjoy suspense writers like Nicci French.”
—Booklist
“A fantastic thriller that will keep you on your toes . . .”
—PopSugar
“Accomplished authors Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke make their suspense debut with great skill and assurance in this enthralling novel of marital secrets and lies, grief and revelation. The Good Widow led me along a winding, treacherous road and made a sharp, startling turn that I didn’t see coming. Unputdownable!”
—A. J. Banner, #1 Amazon bestselling author of The Good Neighbor and The Twilight Wife
“Liz Fenton’s and Lisa Steinke’s The Good Widow begins by asking what you would do if your spouse died in a place he wasn’t supposed to be in with a woman he wasn’t supposed to be with. What follows is a gut-wrenching thriller, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes darkly funny, but always a page-turner. And as you read it late into the night you’ll look over at the person in bed next to you and wonder how well you really know him. A wild, skillfully written ride!”
—David Bell, author of Since She Went Away
“An irresistible and twisty page-turner, The Good Widow should come with a delicious warning: This is not the story you think it is.”
—Deb Caletti, author of He’s Gone
“The Good Widow is both heartrending and suspenseful, deftly navigating Jacks’s mourning and the loss of her less-than-perfect marriage. The writing is sharp and evocative, the Hawaiian setting is spectacular, and the ending was a wonderful, twisty surprise. A quintessential summer beach read!”
—Kate Moretti, New York Times bestselling author of The Vanishing Year
“The Good Widow is a fresh take on your worst nightmare—your husband dies and he isn’t where, or with whom, he said he was. I ripped through these pages to see where Fenton and Steinke would take me, which ended up being somewhere unexpected in the best kind of way. You will not be sorry you read this!”
—Catherine McKenzie, bestselling author of Fractured and Hidden
ALSO BY LIZ FENTON & LISA STEINKE
The Good Widow
The Year We Turned Forty
The Status of All Things
Your Perfect Life
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Liz Fenton & Lisa Steinke
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503902565
ISBN-10: 1503902560
Cover design by Faceout Studio, Lindy Martin
To best friends everywhere—hang on to each other.
CONTENTS
START READING
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
&nbs
p; CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
“It’s all very well to tell us to forgive our enemies; our enemies can never hurt us very much. But oh, what about forgiving our friends?”
—Willa Cather, My Mortal Enemy
CHAPTER ONE
THE DAY AFTER
NATALIE
Waves lapped against the shore. It sounded as if the sea were breathing. In and out. In and out. Between the whitecaps breaking against the sand, there was a pause, almost as if the ocean were inhaling and preparing to release another breath. In and out. In and out.
Natalie was in a haze, falling somewhere between sleep and semiconsciousness, about to let herself dip back into a deep lull, when she felt a breeze tickle her bare arms. Had they left the door to their hotel room ajar last night? She opened her eyes, expecting to see her suitcase parked in the corner, her espadrilles sitting next to the sliding glass door, her purse resting on the ledge behind her. Her passport, extra pesos, and wedding ring locked away in the safe. She’d spy Ashley’s brown curls poking out from beneath the sheets next to her, their clothes and shoes from the night before left in a forgotten pile on the floor.
Squinting, Natalie attempted to adjust to the semidarkness, the only light coming from the rising sun, still resting on the ocean, about to make its way into the sky.
She shot upright.
She was outside. On the beach. Lying under one of the hotel’s rustic cabanas. She craned her neck—a sharp pain jolting her as she tried to turn it—expecting to see Ashley, or possibly Lauren, next to her, but all the chairs were empty. She swallowed, her throat dry. As she swung her legs over the side of the chaise, her wet dress clung to her. When she pulled at it, sand fell from the hem. She stood slowly as her head spun, noticing her calves were also caked. She paused, took a deep breath, and attempted to get her bearings.
“Ashley? Lauren?” she called, even though she could see the beach was desolate, save for a stray dog running near the surf, his ribs visible through his fur. It felt like a dream.
Was it?
Her stomach fluttered, worry starting to build as she thought of having slept out here, alone, overnight. The things that could have happened to her. Ben would not be happy if he ever found out. After all the lectures he’d given her about Mexico—the things that could happen to women traveling alone—she couldn’t let him know. Taking a quick inventory of her body, running her hands over it, she decided nothing seemed off, other than a throbbing behind her temples that rocketed through her skull every time she moved. Her legs felt heavy as she began to walk the narrow path that led to the hotel, stumbling slightly up the wooden steps, passing the rustic cottages and hoping no one would take notice of her. What would they think? That poor almost-forty-year-old woman who drank like she was half her age, then woke up outside. She shuddered. That wasn’t her. Not by a long shot. She hurried up the stairs toward her room, clinging to the railing, bile swirling in her stomach.
She hoped Ashley would know why she’d slept outside—why she hadn’t made it the three hundred yards to their room. That she’d fill in the gaping hole in her memory. She imagined her friend’s eyes narrowing as she took in Natalie’s sandy legs, the way her crossbody purse was still secured lightly on her chest. (Thank God it was still there!) Then she’d play back the night in detail, filling in all the blank spots Natalie couldn’t. Ashley would tell her not to worry. Natalie would worry anyway.
Natalie tried to conjure what she could from the night before—their girls’ night out. She recalled getting ready. Putting on the black dress with the floral embroidery that she’d purchased from a street vendor in downtown Tulum, the dress that now hung heavy on her. She recalled going out to dinner—to that restaurant with the wooden tables—what was it called? She strained until the thought finally came—Hartwood! Yes, that was it. She recalled Ashley ordering Patrón, Natalie protesting weakly before finally giving in. Despite her policy against doing tequila shots because they would only lead to no good—she could name a dozen possibilities—Ashley’s big brown eyes had won her over when the small handblown glasses were set on the table next to a plate of limes. Ashley’s body had been angled just slightly away from Lauren, and her request was clear. Please. Have fun with me. We need this.
And Ashley had been right. They’d needed it.
Natalie had grabbed the glass and tossed it back, the burn of the tequila in her throat making her feel both invigorated and a little bit dangerous. As her chest warmed and her eyes stung, she was struck with a feeling that anything could happen.
But what had happened?
Natalie yanked on the sliding glass door of her hotel room, but it was locked. Digging inside her purse, she found the oversize key chain with the room key dangling from it and unlocked the door, pulling it open quietly so as to not wake Ashley, who was most definitely not a morning person—especially after a night of heavy drinking. Natalie planned to slip under the duvet and drift back to sleep, getting the answers she needed about the night from Ashley once she woke up.
But Ashley wasn’t in the room.
Natalie’s eyes darted around the suite. The king-size bed was made, the white comforter pulled taut in that way only housekeeping could do, and the pillows embroidered with bluebirds and flowers were perfectly positioned.
Where was Ashley?
Shuffling toward the bathroom, confusion and fear mixing together in the pit of her stomach, she scanned the room for something that would jog her memory. Had Ashley told her where she was going and Natalie had forgotten? Towels from their showers were hanging on the wooden ladder leaning against the wall, Natalie’s cream one-piece bathing suit and black cover-up dangling from a hook by the closet, Ashley’s workout clothes strewn about the room. Natalie’s makeup bag and toiletries were arranged neatly, Ashley’s splayed across the counter. She saw a flash of the two of them putting on makeup in tandem. Ashley telling Natalie how the lavender eye shadow complemented her green eyes. They’d sipped margaritas and made jokes about how big their hair was thanks to the humidity. Natalie had given up and pushed her red bob back with a headband while Ashley kept at it, trying in vain to use the BloBrush to tame her curls. She could hear Ashley’s feathery laugh as she had surveyed herself in the large steel-framed mirror, then gave her reflection the middle finger. Ashley pivoted on her heel toward the door. “I guess even this thing has its limits,” she’d joked, holding up the bright pink hot brush Natalie had designed. “I give up. Let’s get out of here!”
But had that been last night? Or another night? Her mind felt like a dull pencil, her thoughts lacking the sharp edges they needed.
Natalie’s skin pricked as she felt around in her purse to make sure her wallet was still inside. Her breathing slowed when she pulled it out and found her driver’s license, credit card, and pesos tucked into the billfold. Her cell phone was still where she’d forgotten it last night—charging on the shelf behind the bed. That detail came through so clearly—but not much else. Why? Her instinct had been to go back and get it—in case Ben, Meg, or Lucy needed her. Meg had just gotten her first cell phone and seemed intent on being able to reach Natalie whenever she wanted. She’d text her from the school bus, band practice, even the living room when Nat was just in the kitchen. Natalie didn’t know if it was the newness of the phone or if Meg had a sincere desire to connect with her mother. She hoped it was the
latter. She had begun to miss her girls terribly, and the ache to see them throbbed in the pit of her stomach. But Ashley had convinced her not to go back for the phone, saying that any of her family members could find Nat through her or Lauren.
She studied the blank screen now. They hadn’t called or texted, and neither had Ashley or Lauren. She quickly dialed Ashley, but it went straight to voice mail. Hi, you’ve reached Ashley Green with BloMe, Inc. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. She hung up, wishing she had Marco’s number—Ashley was probably with him. They’d spent nearly every day of their trip with the good-looking local, but Natalie had never thought to ask for his contact info. She tried Ashley once more and heard her message again. Concern started to rise inside her—Ashley’s phone was always on; Nat couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Ashley’s outgoing message. Once, Natalie had called her at 2:00 a.m. in a panic, wondering if Ashley had mailed the tax extension request for BloMe, and Ashley had answered.
Natalie sent a text now.
Where are you, Ashley?
CHAPTER TWO
FOUR DAYS BEFORE
ASHLEY
Ashley sat in the bar of the boutique hotel, admiring the gorgeous tiled light fixtures hanging from the high ceiling above, the colorful Mexican plates displayed on shelves, the framed chalkboard on the wall indicating live music later that night. Being in Tulum made her feel so far away from her five-bedroom mid-century modern house in Santa Monica, with its floor-to-ceiling windows facing west, and sleek but slightly uncomfortable gray furniture. With its closets full of more shoes than she could ever wear—the garage boasting designer cars and every toy and gadget her two daughters could ever want—its backyard home to a pool and hot tub she hadn’t so much as dipped a toe in for months.
She stole a glance at her two friends sitting next to her at the well-worn wood table, feeling both incredibly calm and anxious. Lately Ashley had swung between the emotional highs and the lows easily, unable to find her baseline. The day she’d impulsively hit “Send” on the email inviting Lauren and Natalie on this trip to Mexico and insisting on paying for it? High. Now, as she sat, tired from her 4:00 a.m. wake-up alarm and sweaty from the wall of wet heat that greeted them at the Cancún airport, her oldest friends with their expectant faces staring back at her? Low.