“You have got to be kidding me, Dawn,” he growls. “You know I didn’t want to go out with her. I didn’t want to do any of that! I told you no. But you kept pushing and pushing.”
That is not inaccurate. Caleb did not, in fact, want to date Natalie. He thought it would be enough to just be friendly with her. But I felt like he could incriminate her so much better if he were her boyfriend. So I talked him into it. It actually took quite a bit of work, because he really, really didn’t want to do it. But I was relentless. I wouldn’t give up until he agreed.
“You didn’t have to do it,” I point out. “You could have refused.”
“Have you ever met you?” he shoots back.
“I’m just saying…”
“You made me do it! You begged me! You cried!”
I did put on quite the performance. And it wasn’t an act. It’s that important to me to get Natalie behind bars. So yes, I did tear up a bit. But deep down, I was still hoping he would refuse. Because, you see, Caleb is supposed to love me and only me. And if you really love a woman, you would never agree to kiss another woman. Not under any circumstances.
Caleb frowns. “You know, I didn’t even sleep with her. And believe me, that wasn’t easy.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“I didn’t mean it like that! I’m just saying, I didn’t do anything with her.”
“Except kiss her.”
“Yes. But that’s it. And I hated it. I wanted to throw up after.”
He’s lying. He doesn’t hate Natalie the way I do. He was going to let the whole thing go. When I suggested getting jobs at Vixed to set her up and send her to prison, which is what she deserves, Caleb looked at me like I was out of my mind. Ten years ago, he would’ve been happy to go along with it. But I had to force him to do it now. Kicking and screaming.
Mia has been dead for thirteen years now. And it feels like I’m the only one who truly cares anymore. Even her own brother has forsaken her.
I still care, Mia. I did all this for you.
Natalie is going to pay. Those emails left on my computer were a stroke of brilliance. Who is stupid enough to leave their computer password on a sticky note under their mouse pad? But I’m sure the police bought it. Those emails I composed to Mia were a work of art. I’m so glad Mia could play a little part in the plan to take down the woman who killed her. Caleb even set up an untraceable fake account from Mia to “reply” to the emails and make it all seem more real. Caleb composed dozens of fake emails allegedly from Mia, and we gave her the life she always wanted. She always dreamed of living on the West Coast, and of course, being married to George.
In my emails, I painted Natalie to be a psychopath. And it all but says she was at my house on the night of the disappearance. Then there’s the bloody ceramic turtle Caleb planted in her laundry hamper. And her fingerprints strategically scattered throughout my house. And one more damning little surprise.
She’s finished. There’s no way she isn’t going down for murder.
Caleb reaches for my hand. He laces his fingers into mine. I saw Natalie hold his hand like that once. “You’re not really upset over this, are you?”
“No, it’s fine,” I lie. “We should get on the road soon.”
Caleb nods. We both get out of bed and start getting dressed. It’s lucky Natalie told him that she had traced my calls. If she hadn’t, it could’ve ruined everything. That was a very close call.
I’m not going to take any chances anymore. This has to go exactly to plan.
Chapter Fifty
NATALIE
I’ve never spent the night in jail.
Obviously. I’m not the sort of person who gets hauled in by the police. I don’t get drunk and make a spectacle of myself in public. I don’t do drugs. In general, I follow all the laws to a T.
Yet here I am.
There’s something inhuman about being kept in a cage this way. It makes me feel less like a person and more like some sort of animal. It’s stifling. Claustrophobic.
I’m in a tiny cell with one other woman. She’s not much bigger than me, but she’s absolutely terrifying. She has pockmarks all over her face, and a jagged scar splitting one of her eyebrows in half. She has tattoos everywhere. She even has them on her neck. I once tried to get a tattoo, and I chickened out—and that was going to be a tiny heart on my shoulder blade. How gutsy do you have to be to let somebody tattoo a giant skull on your neck?
They shut off the lights inside the cell when it was time for bed, but they’re still on in the hallway right outside the bars. It’s these fluorescent lights that keep flickering—it’s even worse than the ones at work. I can’t sleep with that going on, but it’s not like I can ask them to shut the lights out—plus this cell would be far more terrifying if it were pitch black. And the stench of urine is almost overpowering, to the point where I want to breathe through my mouth. The gray mystery meat I ate for dinner churns in my stomach.
When I got here, they gave me the option of changing out of my 5K T-shirt and running pants into a jumpsuit. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. But now I regret it. This jumpsuit is itching so much. I don’t know if it’s the detergent or what. At home, I use a hypoallergenic detergent, but I’m guessing the jail laundry doesn’t have that.
At least there’s a bed in the room so I don’t have to sleep on the floor, but I might as well be. There seems to be a mattress on the bed, but it’s not much better than a sleeping bag.
Also, it’s freezing. All they have given me is a paper-thin wool blanket that’s possibly itchier than the jumpsuit, yet I’m obscenely grateful to have it. I don’t even know how it’s so cold. The winter hasn’t even started yet. It’s got to be colder in here than it is outside.
I just want to sleep. Is that too much to hope for?
“Hey. You.”
I roll my head in the direction of the other bed in the cell. It’s the woman with the neck tattoos.
“What?” I say.
“It’s cold in here,” she says.
“I know.” I shiver under the itchy wool blanket. “It’s freezing. Do you think we should tell the guard?”
The woman laughs. “Yeah, what do you think he’s going to do? Turn up the thermostat?”
“I don’t know…”
“Listen, I need your blanket.”
I shift on the poor excuse for a mattress. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m cold. I need your blanket.”
“But then I won’t have a blanket.”
“Like I give a shit.”
“But…”
The woman climbs out of her bed. She straightens up and crosses the small cell, and now I am absolutely terrified. She bends down close enough to me that I can smell her stale breath. She reaches out one arm, and I flinch, sure she’s going to punch me in the face and break my nose. But instead, she grabs my blanket and yanks it clear off me.
If I was uncomfortable before, it’s a lot worse now. I didn’t realize how much warmth that skimpy blanket was providing me. Without it, I’m practically shaking. But my cellmate doesn’t care. I’m lucky she left me with my pillow, even though it’s flat as a pancake.