Her Best Friend's Lie

by Laura Wolfe

  My eyes popped open, my muscles coiling. Jenna released her grip on my shoulders. The glowing numbers on the bedside clock illuminated her shadowy outline as she stood next to my head, peering down at me. It was just after 1 a.m.

  “Sorry,” Jenna said. “I can’t stay awake. Can you take a turn on the lookout?”

  I sat up and exhaled. For a fleeting moment, I feared Jenna had been doing something else. Her hands had tightened around my shoulder. I’d been vulnerable lying there. Had I felt her fingers squeezing my throat? Had I stopped breathing for a second? She hadn’t done that, had she…? I touched my neck. Of course she hadn’t.

  “Yeah. I’ll take over.” I swung my feet over the side of the bed and laced on my sneakers with fumbling fingers. “Did anything happen?”

  “No. Nothing. Just rain. The knife is downstairs.”

  I pointed to the small knife on the bedside table. “I’ll leave this one here. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up at the first sign of daylight.”

  Jenna picked up the paring knife. Her shoulders sagged as she plodded across the hall with the blade pointed down. She closed her bedroom door but then opened it a crack, the same way my kids did to feel safe at night. Her mattress creaked as I stepped down the stairway. My feet rushed to put space between us.

  A haze of exhaustion and fear clouded my brain. I moved into the kitchen, rinsed out the coffee carafe, and started brewing a fresh pot, averting my eyes from the tiny door in the wall. As soon as enough dark liquid dripped into the carafe, I poured it into a mug and carried it into the living room. The bitter coffee jolted my insides as I sipped. I gulped another mouthful of the dregs. I didn’t care how bad it tasted anymore. I was after the caffeine. Full alertness was required for what I was going to do next.

  After twenty-five minutes of waiting on the couch, I tiptoed back up the stairs and paused outside Jenna’s room. Her breath sounded in even puffs. She was asleep. I crept into my room and removed a windbreaker from my suitcase. Then I inched my way down the stairs, swiping the key to the front door and an old flashlight from the side table. The knife balanced in my hand. It would be cumbersome to carry, especially with the flashlight, so I slid the weapon under the couch’s middle cushion. I removed the chair from underneath the kitchen door, aware that I might be putting Jenna at risk. I added my actions to my growing list of betrayals.

  Pulling the hood of my jacket over my head, I stepped into the black night. My body stiffened against the rain. The key shook in my fingers as I closed the door and locked it from outside. Someone could find a way into the rickety cabin if they wanted to, but a locked door would slow them down. Besides, I wouldn’t be gone long.

  With my circle of light shining across the soaked ground, I leaned into the rain and jogged ahead. My feet slopped through the mud. The pelting drops made it impossible to hear if anyone else was nearby. I followed the same narrow road that led us to Travis’s house two days earlier. The path angled away from the lake, deeper and deeper into the woods. My hood obstructed my peripheral vision, and my head darted from side to side, searching the shadowy surroundings for attackers as I ran. My toe hit a protruding rock, and I tumbled forward but caught my balance before hitting the ground. Strangled breath gurgled from my lungs, and I slowed to a fast walk, afraid of suffering from another panic attack.

  I concentrated only on my breath and my footsteps as I hurried along the path for several more minutes. Travis’s statement about seeing Charlotte on his security camera played in my ears. I worried about Marlene and Ed spotting my approach. It was nearly 2 a.m., though. Even if they were inside, they were likely asleep. I wove between the trees, staying hidden near the edge of the woods as I approached Travis’s house. I ducked behind the shed and surveyed the scene.

  Travis’s pickup truck remained in the same spot it had been the other day, but Ed’s monster truck was gone. Hopefully that meant Ed and Marlene had left, but I couldn’t be sure. Ed might have gone away on his own, leaving Marlene inside. Through the curtain of rain, I made out a security camera holding watch above the front door. Entering through the front was too dangerous. I would have to sneak around the house and search for a back entrance or an unlocked window. I craned my neck toward the roof of the shed, blinking my eyes against the rain and searching for more cameras but I didn’t see any others.

  I took a few deep breaths, ignoring my instinct to run. Marnie and Wyatt’s faces flashed before me, just out of reach, urging me forward. I had to figure out a way inside. There was a working phone on the other side of those walls. It was the fastest way back to them. I crouched low, skittering along the edge of the woods. My feet angled across the clearing toward the rear of the house. A low window lured me closer, but I worried it might be a bedroom. Marlene could be sleeping in that room. Then again, she could be waiting inside any room. My stomach heaved at the enormous hole in my plan, at my lack of forethought. Still, my best chance to escape was to reach the phone sitting within those walls. I pressed ahead, my feet squishing into the mud with every step.

  I bypassed the window and darted toward the back door, which sat a couple of feet above the ground. The step leading up to the entry was missing. Only weeds reached up along the raised cement slab. There was no security camera like at the front. My arm quivered as I lifted it and closed my fingers around the metal handle. I prayed someone had left the door unlocked. Something clicked beneath my index finger. I pulled, and the door drifted toward me. It was open.

  My mouth gaped at the easy access, but there was no time to celebrate; the fear of Ed or Marlene lying in wait pressed in on me. I took a giant step into the house, finding myself in a cramped mudroom that smelled of garbage and cigarettes. My light scanned across the back of a person and I jumped, thinking it was Ed. I looked closer, realizing the human form was merely a coat piled on top of other coats and hanging from a hook, bulky hiking boots set below it. I swallowed, trying to stop my heart from beating so loudly.

  My eyes flickered toward an open doorway leading into a larger room. I stepped forward, where a couch and two armchairs materialized through the shadows. An opening to the kitchen lay beyond the dark living room. Deer heads like the one in the rental cabin lined the walls above me, their deadened eyes following me as my light passed over them. I released a breath. Marlene wasn’t in this room, but there was another door opposite me. It was partially open, and I wondered if that was the bedroom and if Marlene was sleeping inside. I crept around the perimeter of the living room, searching for a phone with a cord. A computer sat on a table in the corner, and I remembered that Travis had internet access. Maybe I could access a police website and send a request for help. Or I could log into my email account and send a message to Andrew, urging him to call 911.

  I tapped the keys, hoping to wake up the device without causing any loud beeping noises. The screen flickered and brightened. A white box appeared in the center, asking for the security code. My head fell forward. Of course, the computer required a password. I could guess ten thousand times, and I still wouldn’t know what it was.

  I inched away from the glowing screen, resuming my search for the phone. I expected to find the phone next to the computer, but it wasn’t there. The kitchen pulled me toward it. My feet stepped from the spongy carpeting onto a linoleum-tiled floor. A weak ring of light guided my way. Empty beer cans covered the counter next to the refrigerator, and dirty dishes filled the sink. The stench of forgotten garbage surrounded me.

  I breathed in shallow breaths as I circled the room, searching for a lifeline. The kitchen was small and my search didn’t take long. There was no phone in this room either. My blood dripped through my veins, thick and cold, as I tried not to lose hope. Travis had no reason to lie about having a landline in his house. I hadn’t checked the bedroom yet.

  I exited the kitchen and tiptoed across the living room toward the door that sat ajar. As I approached, I angled my flashlight away. My face edged into the narrow opening, and I slowly raised the light, illuminating a bed
and a nightstand. A curved, white object on the nightstand caught my eye. It was the phone. I clapped my free hand over my mouth and rolled onto the balls of my feet.

  A breath heaved and sputtered from somewhere inside the dark bedroom. I froze, aiming the light at the floor as my heart exploded in my chest. Someone was in there. My instinct was to run, but I didn’t dare move. I stood, motionless, and waited. A body rolled over. A sigh escaped a mouth, followed by even breathing. My hand shaking, I raised the flashlight, catching a glimpse of bleached hair peeking out from a mound of covers. It was Marlene. She was sleeping directly next to the phone. There was no way I could call for help without waking her up.

  My legs wobbled beneath me. I’d been so close to saving us, only to fail. Waking up Marlene would be a death sentence for me. I supposed threatening her was an option, but I’d already killed one person this weekend, and I didn’t want to add another body to my conscience. I could hardly claim self-defense this time. Not to mention, I didn’t have a gun. She probably slept with one under the covers.

  My eyes flitted around the dim room as I debated what to do next. I searched for a misplaced gun but didn’t see one. I bet Travis stashed his extra guns on a closet shelf or under the bed. I backed away from the bedroom door, blinking away my tears. I refused to give in to defeat. I had to figure out another way.

  I thought of Travis’s truck sitting outside. We’d checked his pockets for keys to his vehicle the day I’d shot him. The keys hadn’t been on him. That meant they were probably somewhere in this house. I scurried back toward the kitchen, opening any drawers that might hold odds and ends, but finding only silverware and cooking utensils. I returned to the computer area, scanning over some odd office supplies. Then, I crept back into the mudroom, searching for a bag or purse that belonged to Marlene. There was no purse there. Not in the living room either.

  I stepped forward, cursing the creak of a floorboard beneath my feet. My eyes snagged on a cardboard box underneath the computer table. I hurried toward it and crouched down, shining my light on the papers inside. There were several sheets of printed emails regarding the cabin rentals and receipts of payment, including a duplicate of the most recent one I’d found in Charlotte’s suitcase. I dug through the papers behind it, not sure exactly what I was looking for.

  More receipts surfaced with the names, phone numbers, and email addresses of seven or eight renters who’d stayed at the cabin before us. I flipped back one more page and blinked, seeing Charlotte’s last name again. Leeman. No first name had been included on the earlier receipt, but the address field matched the city where Charlotte lived, Hartland, WI. Below that, Paid in Cash. I wondered why there was another receipt for Charlotte buried behind all the previous renters. My eyes scanned the page, stopping on the date—June 13. It was now mid-September. June was three months ago.

  “What the…” I said under my breath, recalling the night Travis startled us on the deck. He’d mentioned that we’d stayed at the cabin before. We’d been quick to correct him, and he hadn’t bothered to argue. Now it seemed Travis had been telling the truth. Charlotte had rented the cabin back in June. Had she come up here with her family? Or different friends? My chest heaved. Why would she lie about having been to the cabin, on top of lying about losing her job?

  Frantic for an explanation, I dug through more papers, finding nothing of any relevance at first, but finally I landed on a folded section of a local newspaper. The headline and date of the article made me pause—June 15: CAMP EVENTIDE SHAKEN BY DEATH OF OWNER. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED.

  My teeth clicked as I read the headline a second time. Foul play? Kaitlyn had told us as much in the car on the way up, but she’d gotten the facts wrong. She said a counselor had died in some sort of accident. I thought of the bruising on Sam and Kaitlyn’s necks. Two more suspicious deaths. I remembered the staff cabins we’d stumbled across on the other side of the lake; specifically, the larger cabin encircled with yellow police tape. My eyes swam across the page, taking in the information as fast as I could. I pulled in a breath, not wanting to believe the words in front of me. As the headline stated, it hadn’t been a counselor who’d died at Camp Eventide; it was the camp’s owner—a social worker named Frida King.

  My teeth clicked, my body feeling like it was levitating in disbelief. Frida King. Her name sent a cold wind through me. A black-and-white photo of the murdered woman stared back at me, the same woman who’d watched me from across the Mexican restaurant years ago. Frida had aged like the rest of us—her hair cut shorter and her eyes set deeper—but I remembered her features. The newspaper photo showed a happier-looking version of the woman I’d known in college. I’d thought of Frida only sporadically over the years but looking through the images in Kaitlyn’s album had uncovered so many painful memories, like ripping scabs off of wounds.

  My stomach dropped to the floor as a terrifying realization spread through me—Frida’s death occurred the same weekend Charlotte had rented Travis’s cabin three months ago. The timing couldn’t have been a coincidence. I forced my eyes to retrace the details in the article.

  Camp Eventide serves teens from troubled, sometimes violent, backgrounds… The police are actively questioning all campers… Medical Examiner stated that the victim suffered a fatal blow to the back of the head… extensive loss of blood…

  A fatal blow to the back of the head? As convenient as it was to pin Sam and Kaitlyn’s deaths on Travis and company, my terrible suspicion that they might not have been the ones killing my friends grew stronger. What if Charlotte had chosen this location because she knew that the sleazy cabin owner and his friends were easy to condemn? Could she have killed her former roommate, Frida, who had owned the camp across the lake? But why? I couldn’t think of a viable motive. Charlotte had been such a loyal companion to Frida back in college.

  I didn’t have all the information, but a rock turned over in my gut. Charlotte had deceived us. She’d lied about renting the cabin. The previous dates she had stayed at the rental matched Frida’s untimely death. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore. As much as I resisted the truth, it ripped through me as sudden and painful as a bullet. Charlotte had set a trap for her closest friends, and we’d stepped directly into it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The newspaper shook in my hands. I choked on my breath as I gulped for air. I tried to move, but my feet weighed a thousand pounds. The truth felt like a straitjacket tightening around me. Charlotte had murdered Sam, Kaitlyn, and Frida. Why?

  “Someone out there?” Marlene’s angry voice sounded from the other room. “I got a gun.”

  Her words snapped me from my frozen state and propelled me forward; Marlene had plenty of reasons to shoot me. I raced to the front door, still holding the newspaper and the flashlight. I slipped outside and closed the door.

  A scream formed in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down and sprinted into the trees. I hoped Marlene hadn’t spotted me. Suddenly, I was thankful for the cover of the darkness and the rain. The disturbing revelations reeled through my mind as I ran. I’d been so stupid. Charlotte had never left to find help. She’d never asked Marlene and Ed to call roadside assistance. She must have punctured the tires on her minivan to keep us here. It now seemed Marlene and Ed weren’t the ones who had confiscated Travis’s rifle from the cellar. Those two might not have even been near the cabin the night Kaitlyn died. Charlotte had probably taken the gun. She had orchestrated this whole weekend so she could trap us in this isolated location and murder us.

  My breath came quicker, panic ripping through me. I’d left Jenna alone in the cabin. She was asleep and vulnerable. I’d known locking the door wouldn’t keep anyone out, yet I’d left anyway. Even if Jenna woke up in time, she couldn’t outrun Charlotte on her injured ankle.

  “Please, please,” I said as I stumbled over the uneven earth, the rain mixing with the tears on my face. I needed to make it back to the cabin before Charlotte. I couldn’t fail Jenna again. The weight of her death on m
y conscience after everything I’d put her through back in college would be too much to bear. I wondered if Charlotte had been watching us from the woods the whole time, just waiting for me and Jenna to separate from each other. Or was she following me now? My eyes searched the dark gaps between the trees but couldn’t detect anything more than five or six feet away.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been running when the crooked outline of the cabin emerged in the distance. The upstairs windows were dark, and a lamp glowed from within the living room, just as I’d left it. I pulled air into my lungs as my step lightened. Maybe I’d beaten Charlotte to the cabin and arrived in time to save both me and Jenna. I turned off the flashlight before emerging from the shelter of the woods.

  The rain had let up by the time I crept past the disabled minivan, my eyes ricocheting around me in search of Charlotte. The forest sat dark and hooded like a reluctant witness, revealing no secrets. Only the rhythm of water lapping against the shore sounded from the bottom of the hill. I unlocked the door and eased into the kitchen, remembering the butcher’s knife I’d hidden under the cushion. With my back against the wall, I stood still for a few seconds, listening for any sign of movement. There was nothing.

  I slunk into the living room, finding it empty. My feet edged toward the couch, and I lifted the cushion. The knife was there, and I grabbed it. I hurried up the stairs, eager to wake up Jenna. We had to make sure Charlotte couldn’t get into the cabin. Either that, or we had to run. But with Jenna’s injury, running would be difficult.

  “Jenna,” I said in a loud whisper as I reached the landing. I shouldered the door open. “Jenna.”

  There was no response. I flipped on the light as my body recoiled. My trembling fingers tightened around the handle of the knife. The sheets lay tangled at the foot of the bed. She was gone. “Jenna!” I screamed. I spun on my heel, ready to fight. I lunged across the hall into my bedroom, flipping on the light and turning from wall to wall. The room was empty. I repeated my actions in the third bedroom and then the bathroom, finding them vacant.