by Sara Shepard
Finally he spoke. “Alex Cohen has been released from custody.”
Ava let out a gasp. “That’s wonderful! What happened?”
Peters’s expression was blank, a perfect poker face. “What you girls should really be worried about is all the evidence that’s pointing at you.”
Parker’s head shot up, and Julie put a cool hand on her wrist to calm her. Caitlin and Mac audibly gulped. Ava’s face fell. Julie’s heart began a steady beat against her ribs, and her head spun a little. She’d been expecting this, though. Hadn’t she?
“After forensics finished their investigation, your involvement in the crime seems clearer than ever,” the detective went on. “Your prints are all over that house.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. “If you killed Hotchkiss, then maybe Granger was on to you. Then you needed to get rid of him so he wouldn’t talk.” He tapped his pen on the table, clicking and unclicking the button on the end. “Now,” the detective finished, “does anyone want to tell me the truth, once and for all? If you talk now, things will be much easier for you. I highly suggest you tell us what you know.”
Julie didn’t dare look at any of the other girls. She could feel Parker practically vibrating with anger and frustration in the seat next to her. Don’t say anything, she willed to the other girls. Because what could they say? Everything they’d done made them look guilty. She was dying to know if the cops had found the note on the yellow legal pad, the one that described how they’d kill Nolan and all those other people. She prayed they hadn’t.
Peters turned back toward Julie. Their eyes connected for a moment before he looked down to her hand patting Parker’s arm. His expression was quizzical for a moment, then he jotted down a quick note in the folder. After another minute of silence, he breathed out. “All right, ladies. We’ll do things the hard way.”
He rose from his chair, stepped across the room, and motioned at someone outside the door. A middle-aged woman in thick glasses, a terrible pantsuit, and mid-height heeled loafers stepped in briskly, her lips pressed together, and nodded in the girls’ direction.
“This is Dr. Rose,” Peters said. “She’s a psychological profiler, and she’s going to speak to each of you one by one. Then we’ll see if your stories match.” He looked carefully at all of them. “I know you’re putting up a unified front, but you don’t know everything about one another. And trust is a tricky thing.”
Ava frowned. “What are you implying? That one of us did it and isn’t telling the others?”
Peters shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “You said it, not me.”
He turned to leave the room. Just before he reached the door, he spun back around and looked straight at Julie. “We’ll start with you,” he said matter-of-factly, with a nod to Dr. Rose. Then he pulled the door shut firmly behind him.
Julie could feel the other girls’ eyes on her, but she said nothing. She clutched Parker’s arm and stared at the table.
“Julie Redding, right?” Dr. Rose said crisply, fixing her steady gaze on Julie. Her eyes looked huge behind her glasses, like she was holding a magnifying glass up to her face. “Let’s go into my office. The rest of you, I’ll call to schedule.”
Ava’s hand shot up. “Will our parents know about this?”
“Yes, after the interviews we’ll have to tell them,” Dr. Rose said. “Now, Ms. Redding, with me.”
Dr. Rose whirled on her heel and headed out the door. Julie swallowed hard and stood, too. She glanced at Parker, and her friend gave her an encouraging nod. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. But then Julie glanced at Ava, Caitlin, and Mac. They looked terrified.
Julie turned to Parker. “Meet me outside after?” she whispered. Parker nodded, and the other girls looked at one another worriedly. Julie wondered if she should ask them to meet her, too, but Dr. Rose cleared her throat impatiently before she could.
Julie followed Dr. Rose down a long hallway and into a small, dimly lit office. The room was practically bare except for a handful of framed degrees clinging to the walls, a metal desk with a faux wood veneer top, and two chairs. Julie inhaled, exhaled. One . . . two . . . three. She felt calmer immediately. She even managed to smile at the doctor as they sat down on either side of the large desk.
“Alright,” Dr. Rose said. “Let’s begin.”
Julie looked around the office. “Where’s the lie detector?”
“I’m sorry?” Dr. Rose asked.
“Aren’t you going to give me a lie detector test or something?” Julie waved her hands in the air as she spoke.
“No, Julie. That’s not what I’m going to do.” Dr. Rose took off her glasses and placed them on the table between them. She looked nicer, almost friendly. “We’re just going to talk.”
We’re just going to talk. For a moment, Julie thought about telling Dr. Rose that she already had a therapist, until she remembered that Fielder was a huge, freaky jerk. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, tell me a little bit about your life. Your home life, I mean.”
It felt like Julie had a pebble lodged in her throat. Why on earth would the woman want to know that? She cycled through a series of lies, but then realized they would probably get her nowhere. Dr. Rose surely knew everything, anyway. And if Julie did lie, she would be seen as unreliable—most likely a killer.
“Uh, my mom and I moved here from California a few years ago,” Julie started. “My mom is . . . um . . . she has some . . . issues.”
Dr. Rose nodded and pulled out a white spiral-bound notepad. “And those have been hard for you, haven’t they?”
Julie winced. So Dr. Rose did know. But there was something so kind about her voice. So soothing. Suddenly, a dam broke loose in Julie’s chest, and she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “She’s a hoarder. A serious, like, diagnosable hoarder. Our house is filthy, and I think there must be twenty-six or twenty-seven cats living there. And my mom—she’s just . . . really messed up. And she hates me. She makes me feel like I’m the cause.”
Dr. Rose nodded, listening closely. “And how does all of that make you feel?”
Julie considered that for a moment. “Ashamed. Embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone in Beacon Heights to know, because when people found out in California, they were—” Julie shuddered. “God, they were so cruel. I was just a kid, you know? They called me such mean things, and no one stopped them. Not the teachers, not their parents. It was . . . it was awful.”
“And you were afraid that would happen again here, weren’t you?”
“Yes. So I tried to prevent it this time.”
“How did you do that?”
She took a breath. “I kept my home world and the outside world totally separate—I lived two lives at once. I never invited anyone to my house—ever. Except for Parker, she knew.”
“Parker Duvall?”
“Uh-huh.” Julie cleared her throat. “I told Parker my secret. And from then on, she was welcome. But no one else was—I couldn’t risk anyone else knowing the truth.”
Dr. Rose made a note on the pad. “Go on.”
Julie tried to peek to see what Rose had written, but the pad was out of view. “So, um, I never dated much, because I couldn’t bring anyone over. And it worked, for a long time. No one knows—at least no one knew, until the other day.” Her eyes welled up.
Dr. Rose made a few more notes. “What happened the other day?”
Julie let out a sad chuckle. “Ashley Ferguson. That’s what happened the other day.”
“Who is Ashley?”
“She’s this girl at school who, kind of, worshipped me, I guess. She dressed like me, she dyed her hair like mine. She followed me around . . . it was really weird.”
“Sounds like she really looked up to you. Isn’t that flattering on some level?”
Julie shrugged. “I guess, maybe at first. But it was really too much. I mean, she showed up in the bathroom of a restaurant when I was on a date, stole a lipstick right out of my purse.”
Dr. Rose scribbled furiously. Julie was tempted to lean over and see what was important enough to jot down, but she resisted the urge.
“The other day, she sent out an email to the entire school telling them about—” It was still hard to say the words out loud. “About my mom. And my house. And me. So now everyone knows.”
“And what is that like for you?”
“It’s awful. I can’t even go to school. Well, I tried yesterday, but that b—I mean, Ashley filled my locker with cat litter. She’s like the new Nolan.” As soon as she said his name, Julie regretted it.
Sure enough, Dr. Rose’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Nolan Hotchkiss?”
Julie swallowed hard, her heart rate picking up. One . . . two . . . three . . . “Yes.”
“Are you saying Nolan did things to you, just like Ashley?”
Julie looked away, studying the frames on the wall. Letitia W. Rose, PhD, University of Washington. “No, he did things to Parker. I hated him for what he did.” Julie’s voice cracked, and her throat burned with anger. “But I didn’t kill him.”
“Tell me what Nolan did to Parker, Julie.”
Julie sighed. She’d repeated this story to the police so many times already, and it never got any easier to tell. “The night her dad . . . attacked her, she was at a party at Nolan’s house. She called me, and she was slurring and sounded really messed up. But she also sounded freaked-out, like she was out of control.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘I think he slipped me some Oxy.’” Julie paused. “She was talking about Nolan—they were really good friends. The thing was, Nolan knew that her dad was . . . nasty. Parker’s dad beat her all the time—nothing she ever did was good enough. Drugs were the things that made him the angriest. He threatened to kill her if he ever caught her on them.” Julie took a breath. “Parker thought Nolan did it on purpose, like he thought it would be funny if her dad beat her up.” She clenched her hands into fists. “I told her I’d come get her and take her home. She was so messed up when I got to Nolan’s. She begged me to let her come to my house so her dad wouldn’t see her like that, but, well . . . I hadn’t told her about my . . . situation. I was afraid to let her come over. Parker and I were best friends, but she was so popular. I was afraid she’d drop me if she knew.” Tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks as she relived the memory. Parker had begged and begged, and she’d made up a lame excuse about how her mom was throwing a party and didn’t want guests. “It’ll be fine,” she’d told Parker, as she drove Parker home despite Parker’s drugged-out protests. God, Julie was an asshole.
“So you took her back to her house instead,” Dr. Rose finished for her.
Julie nodded. She took a breath and found the strength to finish the story. “That was the night her dad . . .” She faltered and shut her eyes, wishing she could push away the memories that flooded her: of the months Parker had spent in the hospital, stitches crisscrossing her face, neck, and arms; of Parker’s broken bones and swollen limbs; of Parker learning to walk again. Julie could have prevented all that if she had just been brave enough.
“She’s my best friend, and I let it happen to her.” Julie shook her head and pounded her fists into her thighs. “It was because of me,” she whispered, her voice filled with rage and self-loathing. “I was so selfish. All I cared about was my reputation.”
“You didn’t know what would happen, Julie. What Parker’s father did to her—that is on him. Not you.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” Julie said. “But is it really true? It’s amazing that Parker forgave me. She should hate me.” She felt her face crumple. These were things she’d never said out loud—not to another therapist, and not to Parker. Maybe you shouldn’t have forgiven me. I’m worthless, after all. I did this to you. It’s my fault.
The doctor was silent for a moment, but her gaze was on Julie’s face. She looked like she was thinking hard about something. “So you feel Parker has forgiven you, Julie?”
Julie shot her an astonished look. “Well, sure. I mean, why else would she still be my friend? And I’ll never let anything bad happen to her again. I would die first.”
“I understand.” Dr. Rose gave Julie a warm smile, like she really did understand. Then she sat back. “So did you or did you not kill Lucas Granger?”
Julie flinched, surprised at the swift turn in the conversation. “Of course not.”
“And Nolan? You hated him, but that wasn’t you either?”
“No way.” Julie picked at a loose thread on her sweatpants. “I’m not capable of murder.”
Dr. Rose nodded. “No, I don’t think you are. But what about your friends?”
Julie blinked. “What about them?”
“Do you think they are capable?”
Julie stared, trying to gauge what Dr. Rose was getting at. Did she think one of the others had? Ava? Parker? Julie couldn’t bear the idea of Parker being questioned. “Of course not,” she said hoarsely. “None of them.” But the way Dr. Rose was looking at her, she started to wonder. Was there something she and the police knew that Julie didn’t? She tried to remember everything about the night Granger died. Just because she hadn’t gone back to Granger’s house didn’t mean the others hadn’t. But that was crazy, right? She couldn’t start distrusting them now.
“Okay.” Dr. Rose stood. “Well, this has been very helpful. I may have further questions for you, so please keep your phone close by.” She stood up and opened the door, holding out her arm to let Julie know she was free to go. “Thank you for your time, Julie.”
Julie stood up slowly, totally nonplussed. She grabbed her purse and stepped past the doctor. “Bye.”
She scurried down the hall and into the lobby, expecting to find Parker waiting for her, but she wasn’t there. Frustrated, she stepped into the late afternoon sunlight. Parker was nowhere to be seen. Julie pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Parker’s number. Straight to voice mail. For a brief, paranoid second, Julie was afraid Parker had heard everything she’d said about her to Dr. Rose, including how much Julie blamed herself, and suddenly decided that she blamed Julie, too—and took off.
She rubbed her eyes, then headed over to her car. For a moment she sat in the seat, not sure what to do. There was no way she could go home. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, either. So she turned the ignition, pulled out of the parking space, and just . . . drove, around little neighborhoods, through downtown Beacon, even by the water. She really, really needed to decompress.
But the drive wasn’t proving to be very therapeutic, and after circumnavigating Beacon, she was still jittery and anxious. When she glanced at the phone lying on the passenger seat, she noticed that the screen was lit up with Instagram alerts—dozens of them. She tapped on the app, and when @ashleyferg has tagged you in a photo popped up, her stomach swooped.
Slowly, she tapped on Instagram. It was another photo of Julie’s house, but this time, a Department of Health Services van sat out front. So did a vehicle with the words BEACON ANIMAL RESCUE printed on the sides. The shot showed officials and workers standing on the porch or hauling cat carriers out of the house. Julie’s mother stood in the yard, her mouth an angry triangle, her hair askew, her face more insane-looking than ever.
Julie gawked. When had this happened? Today? Then she looked at the caption.
Julie Redding, queen of the felines no longer! #nofilter.
Julie dropped onto the bench behind her. “Oh my god,” she whispered. Ashley had called Animal Control on them. This was going to be a nightmare. Those cats were all her mom cared about . . . and now they were going to be taken away. It meant Mrs. Redding would focus all her attention on Julie. All her wrath.
Just when she thought her life couldn’t get any worse. That bitch.
For some reason, the word echoed in her mind. She suddenly heard Parker saying it yesterday: That bitch is going down, with that horrible look on her face. She looked again at the Instagram post. Ashley had put
it up almost an hour ago. Had Parker seen it yet? That bitch is going down. I am going to get her. And even when Julie said they couldn’t do that, Parker had said, I wish we could. I wish, just once, we could.
Oh, god. Suddenly Julie wondered if she knew exactly where Parker was right then. Was she getting revenge?
Julie tapped at her phone, pulling up Ashley’s number. No one picked up. She quickly logged on to the Beacon High student site and found Ashley’s home address. She ran to her car and sped out of the parking lot, only forcing herself to slow down so she wouldn’t get pulled over. She dialed Parker again and again. Still no answer. “Parker, where are you?” she cried. “Look, I hope you’re not freaking out over that Instagram. Because I’m not. I’m fine. Okay?”
She took a right, then a left, then another left. A steady monologue drummed in her head. Parker probably isn’t with Ashley. That doesn’t even make any sense—she’s not the same girl as before, the girl who got in people’s faces and shook things up. You’re being crazy.
Julie slammed her car door shut and ran up Ashley’s driveway. The front door was wide open. As she dashed through it, Julie heard a scream.
Adrenaline pumping through her body, she followed the sound upstairs, down the hall, and into a bedroom. Ashley’s room had the exact same bedspread that Julie’s had, but in the queen version—Julie didn’t even stop to think of how Ashley had figured that out. She stepped farther into the room and saw steam billowing from the open bathroom door, where the shower was running full blast. She burst into the bathroom and took in the scene. There was a bottle of Aveda rosemary-mint shampoo—the same brand Julie used—lying on the tile. A toothbrush and a cup lay on the floor, too, as well as what looked to be a broken ceramic cow figurine. Had someone knocked them there? The shower curtain had been torn from the rod, but the shower water was still flowing at full blast. Then, Julie looked into the tub. And that was when she saw it.
Ashley.
Julie was pretty sure she screamed. Despite being in the tub, Ashley wore a fuzzy pink bathrobe, and she was soaked. Her wet hair dripped halfway down the drain. Her fingers were pruney. Her eyes were closed. There were scratches on her arms, and a bruise forming on her temple.
