My finger traces from the top of the screen down along the cards that list corroborating evidence.
Suspect he replaced me in SAT scheme
Wanted greater cut?
Cameras down from Bay to boathouse—snuck out of Whitley?
Strong enough to strangle Emma
I gasp, because suddenly I can see it. Ethan is part of the movie in my mind, stalking toward Emma in the rowing room, holding her down in the water, choking the life out of her. I shiver involuntarily.
But Ethan isn’t the only person who has a note card with their name in bold. My eyes flick back up to the top. Avery. Tipton. Paul, the night security guard at Claflin. Me. I gulp. Paul’s card is the sparsest. Strong enough to strangle Emma is repeated, and there’s a note about the cameras, but the only supporting motive is Secretly obsessed with Emma???
I’m drawn with morbid fascination to my own column. Half of the notations are lazy suppositions more than concrete evidence.
Jealous of her rich roommate?
Wanted her boyfriend?
A snort escapes before I can help it. Tyler’s dreaming if he thinks I have the hots for him. Pretty boys aren’t my style. I feel another pang over Ethan.
Then Tyler gets closer to good motives than I am comfortable with.
Found out about ID/SAT scam?
Outside Whitley on camera in the middle of the night—no alibi
To quell the itch that makes its way up my spine, I turn to the last two suspects. Avery and Tipton have a ton of supporting-evidence cards. I’m blown away that Tyler was also investigating this whole time. That he got way closer than I did. It’s all there. Tipton and Emma’s make-out spot. That Emma had to have a second phone—there’s a footnote that says Find? There’s even an index card that says, Dismissed from last job for being inappropriately casual with students, and one that reads, Earring?
Then there’s Avery’s column. It’s the longest.
Said she’d kill Emma for getting into Harvard
Fistfight at party
Reputation for being vindictive
Spoiled rich girl
Jealous of Emma and me?
Met Emma at the boathouse after the party
Last person to see her alive
It echoes, like an old-fashioned record skip. Last person to see her alive. Really, that pegs all the Ivies, doesn’t it? And how does Tyler know?
The sound of footsteps on the antique walnut flooring in the hallway makes me jump half a foot. Shit. Hastily I push back from the chair. I close the suspects document and run to the first and closest place I can think of—the bathroom.
Once inside, however, I curse my stupidity. There is nowhere to hide in this ridiculous rich-person bathroom suite. The walk-in shower is all glass. The spa tub is at an angle—cowering in the bottom of it won’t work. There are no closets or deep cupboards. I’m a large human; hiding is a challenge.
The best I can do is duck next to the toilet. It’s a shit plan, but it’s all I’ve got.
I strain to hear as someone enters the bedroom. I know they’re in there—I heard the door open and close—but then comes a stillness. Hope soars in my chest. No drunken giggles or the sound of bodies hitting the bed. And I don’t hear anyone moving about the room, inspecting. They might not even come into the bathroom—
The door opens, and then Tyler is heading straight for me, one hand tugging down his zipper, and I shriek something about not showing me his penis, please, as I squint my eyes shut.
“Olivia, what are you doing in my bathroom?”
“Peeing?”
“You’re fully clothed.”
“Thankfully, right?” I ease one eye open, then the other. Tyler’s zipped up his pants to preclude any nudity. “I know it’s weird. I’m sorry. I came down here to get away from the noise, but I know it’s a huge invasion of privacy to go into your room, and then I heard someone coming, and so I came in here to hide, but there’s really nowhere to hide, is there?” I ramble. Tyler has a should-I-call-someone? face on. My entire body goes hot, and I’m itchy. I don’t like him looking at me like I’m unhinged. I’m not. “Sorry, I’ll go.” I slip past him, out into the coolness of his bedroom. Too cool. I look to the patio doors, which are now open. Then I feel movement behind me. Whip around. Tyler’s left the bathroom.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask, shivering in my thin sweater and halter dress. Tyler shrugs.
“Not really.” He looks over at his computer. Frowns. “Did you…?” Tyler leans closer, sees an icon in the recent programs bar at the bottom of the screen. The suspects file. Fuck. Fucking Macs!
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It came awake on its own, and then I saw that, and I was curious.” I bite my lip. “You did a better job than I did at investigating everyone. Except you were way off on me. Sorry, not interested.” It’s my attempt to introduce a little levity. A tepid joke. Tyler laughs, but there’s an edge to it.
“But you’re the one who found Emma’s second phone and nailed Tipton. Thank you for that.”
I must flinch or otherwise react, because then Tyler frowns. “Do you know something I don’t?”
I fold like a house of cards. “He might not have done it. Or at least they can’t prove it. In court.”
“You mean he might walk?” Tyler’s nostrils flare.
“I know it’s awful. But what you have here…Maybe we share it with Cataldo? You can tell her what you discovered. I’ve told her everything I know already. Maybe you’ll hold the missing piece to nail Tipton or…”
“Someone else?”
I think about the top suspects again. Excluding me, it’s Avery or Ethan.
“Are you thinking about your boyfriend or Avery?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I snap.
He throws up his hands as if I’ve aimed a gun. “Touchy!” Then he turns serious, lowers his voice even though we’re alone. “You know, Avery kind of scares me. Yeah, she’s my stepsister, but…she’s cold. And she’s become cagey since Emma died.” His eyes dart to the door, as if Avery could burst in at any moment.