She felt Parker’s hand brush against her shoulder and turned. Her best friend was leaning over Julie, reading the post. “Looks like everyone’s going,” Parker murmured, pointing to a list of comments under the invite.
Julie stared at the post, too. Her gaze focused on a particular name: There, halfway down the page, Claire Coldwell had written Count me in! She whipped around and stared at Parker, her heart beating hard. Had Parker seen Claire’s name? Was that a whisper of a determined smile on her face? Julie remembered how adamantly Parker had said that Claire deserved justice, too.
“We’re not going,” she said emphatically.
Parker gave Julie a crazy look, then held up her hands in a back off gesture. “Since when do I want to go to a party?”
Julie swallowed hard. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Just making sure.”
Then she shut her eyes. This Parker thing was getting to her at the best of times and putting her in full-on, hyperventilating, major-insomnia-panic mode in the worst. Just two days ago, she thought there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her friend, and she’d sworn that she would protect her at any cost. But now Julie wasn’t so sure. Parker had killed people, with her own hands. Just knowing that made Julie feel so guilty and responsible. Keeping this secret—even for Parker—was wrong.
On the other hand, how could she turn in her best friend? The only person who had been there for her through everything? Julie wished there was someone she could go to for guidance. She had even considered talking to Fielder about it, despite his questionable behavior toward Parker, but eventually she’d decided it was just too risky. She couldn’t trust him, and if anything happened to Parker, she’d never forgive herself.
“Sorry,” Julie said, casting Parker a smile. “I’m just tired and stressed. Don’t mind me.”
“Hey, I totally understand,” Parker said. “But don’t you think that being cooped up in here is probably not helping?”
Julie stiffened. “We have to stay here . . . at least until we figure out what comes next.”
“How long is that going to be?”
“I don’t know!” Julie knew she needed to make a plan—maybe an escape route for her and Parker to leave the city. She had to get out of here before the police figured it out—or before Leslie woke up and remembered that Parker had pushed her. But she just felt so stuck. And exhausted: She couldn’t even put forth the effort to take the first step.
A faint chime sounded through the closed bedroom door. Julie and Parker exchanged a look, their eyes wide.
“Was that the doorbell?” Parker whispered.
“Yeah.” Panic bloomed in Julie’s gut. They weren’t expecting anyone, and she was pretty sure Caitlin and the others had gotten the hint that she just wanted to be left alone. The bell rang again.
“Julie—aren’t you going to get the door?” Mrs. Redding screeched from somewhere down the hall.
She needed to answer it, but she really didn’t want to leave Parker alone. Finally, she cast Parker a warning look. “Stay here,” Julie hissed at Parker. “I really mean it.”
“I promise.” Parker sat back down on the bed and pulled her knees into her chest.
Julie worked her way carefully down the hall, sidestepping boxes. She opened the door to find Detectives McMinnamin and Peters, looking awkward in their suits and ties, standing amidst the wreckage of Julie’s house. Their faces were dead serious. Julie was relieved she’d told Parker to sit tight in her room.
“Hello, Ms. Redding,” Detective McMinnamin said brusquely. “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“Uh, sure.” Julie kept her voice neutral, but her mind was racing. Should she step outside and talk to them on the porch? Or would they find that weird and think she was hiding something inside? But if they came in and saw just how awful her house was, wouldn’t that make her even more of a suspect in their eyes?
“Why don’t you come inside,” she said evenly, as if she invited people into her house on a routine basis.
She pushed open the stubborn front door, nudged aside a heap of old blankets with her foot, and led them into the living room. The detectives studied the room with a detached observation. They looked unfazed, their professional poker faces intact.
Julie threaded a narrow path through the crammed space, over to the couch she had honestly forgotten was in the house. She grabbed a moldering stack of magazines and placed it atop a column of boxes nearby. She moved a tall tower of board games—Parcheesi, The Game of Life, Battleship, Trivial Pursuit—games Julie never remembered playing even when she was little. Even after all that, she’d barely cleared enough space for the two men to sit down. At least there was one positive thing in all this: The cats were all gone, Animal Control having removed them a few days before. The place still smelled like cat pee, but at least there weren’t a dozen creatures rubbing up against the officers’ legs.
“Please, have a seat.” Julie gestured at the couch.
“Thanks.” McMinnamin plopped down with a heavy sigh, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket.