“Yeah.” Ava gulped. “The scariest part is that the killer was in my house the same time I was.”
Mac shuddered. It was a horrible thought. She tried to imagine the killer downstairs in her own house, right that second. Her limbs went cold with fear.
“I could have seen her—maybe I could have stopped her—if only I’d known to look.” Ava began crying heavily again.
Mac cocked her head at Ava’s words. “I’m still not sold on the fact that the killer is a girl.”
“Alex said he saw a girl going into Granger’s,” Ava said. “And . . . I don’t know. It just feels right.”
There was an awkward silence. Then Mac realized something. At least there was one upshot: There was no way Ava was the killer, and Ava had to know that Mac wasn’t, either—otherwise she wouldn’t have called her. Maybe they could start trusting each other again.
“Have you heard from the others?” Mac asked.
Ava cleared her throat. “I texted Julie but haven’t heard from her yet. I’m going to try Caitlin next.”
Mac shut her eyes, trying to imagine one of the others sneaking into Ava’s house and pushing a random woman off a balcony. They weren’t capable of that, were they? It had to be someone else.
They clicked off the call, and Mac tossed her cell onto her bed and paced the room anxiously. Her cello beckoned, but she couldn’t imagine playing. Then, her phone chirped from under the folds of the comforter. She fumbled around for it. Blake had sent her a Snapchat of a pink sprinkles cupcake, her favorite flavor. And he’d drawn little glasses and a mustache on the cupcake. The sight of it somehow cheered her up.
Mac grimaced. No, no, no. But before she even knew what she was doing, she dialed Blake’s number. It rang once . . . twice. . . .
What are you thinking? She quickly pulled the phone away and hit END before he could answer, stabbed at her phone to make sure she’d really hung up, and then turned it off so that Blake couldn’t call her back. Why would you talk to Blake ever again, after how he treated you? a voice in her head scolded her.
But the card he’d written was tucked into her underwear drawer, under a Miracle Bra she’d always been too chicken to wear. She and Claire had bought them together, giggling in a Victoria’s Secret back dressing room.
Claire. Mac felt a pull in her stomach. Claire was the only person on their list who hadn’t yet been attacked. First Nolan. Then Parker’s father. Then Ashley, and now Leslie.
Mac thought back to what she’d said in film studies that day. Maybe a hit and run, something totally accidental. She hadn’t meant that—she’d just wanted to participate in the conversation. And for god’s sake, it was all just talk! But now, if anything happened to Claire, Mac would blame herself forever.
Her heart began to rattle in her chest. What if the killer—whoever it was—planned to finish off the list, tonight?
Mac tried to think. She had to stop this. She had to protect her ex-friend. There was only one thing to do. She grabbed a sweatshirt and ran for her car, shouting out a quick “Be right back” to her parents as she raced past them.
Five minutes later, she pulled into Claire’s driveway. Blessedly, Claire’s car was parked in the garage, and there were lights glowing in her upstairs bedroom window. Mac exhaled, took a moment to compose herself, and glanced up and down the street. The only other cars were parked in the semicircular driveways. No one idled at the curb or had even turned onto the block. Okay. That was better. But she still needed to see with her own eyes that Claire was safe.
She hustled to the front door and rang the bell. High-heeled footsteps click-clacked across the tile entryway. Warm light and Beethoven on the Sonos sound system washed over Mac as Mrs. Coldwell swung the door open wide. The house smelled like homemade pasta and freshly baked bread.
“Mackenzie! What a pleasure to see you.” Mrs. Coldwell’s broad smile was so sincere, it sent a pang straight through Mac’s heart. She had always loved Claire’s parents, who were gentler and more relaxed than her own.
“Who is it, Mom?”
Mrs. Coldwell spun around and beamed at her daughter. “Look who’s come to visit!”
Claire stood with her toes curled around the top stair. She was wearing a frayed MELLO CELLO tee and pajama pants, and her hair was in a headband. Her face took on a pinched expression when she saw Mac. “What do you want?” she asked sourly.
Mac blinked hard. She hadn’t actually thought about what she’d say if she found her ex–best friend in one piece. She was just so relieved to see her standing there that she didn’t care how ridiculous it must have seemed that she’d shown up on her doorstep as if nothing had happened between them. “I . . . uh . . . I just wanted to come say hi,” she blurted.