I search his face for some hint this is a lie, that he’s only saying this to win me over. There’s nothing but apology in his eyes. I sip my coffee just to look away. It was amazing the things Gretchen could get perfectly nice people to do. And as terrible as this makes me feel, I’m guilty of following suit. No one wanted to be on Gretchen’s bad side.
“Why don’t we focus on the photo and work backward.” I pull out my notebook, ignoring his frustrated frown. He’s clearly eager to forgive and forget, but this is too much at once. I’m going to need more time. “If we’re assuming whoever killed Gretchen is the same person who left the photo in my locker, why don’t we start by seeing where our lists overlap.”
Reluctantly, he hands over his pad of paper, and I give him mine.
Kip Peterson Marcus Perez
Kirsten Meyer Reva Stone
Tyrone Wallace Kirsten Meyer
Aisha Wallace Tyrone Wallace
Haley Jacobs Yuji Himura
Reva Stone Kevin Fowler
Kip Peterson
Person Unknown
“Haley and Aisha? I don’t think so.” I almost laugh.
“Why not?”
“For one thing, Haley wasn’t even at the party. She was grounded.”
“Reva wasn’t at the party either,” he says. “That didn’t stop you from adding her.”
My temples throb. “Right, but Reva leaving the photo makes sense. Haley and Aisha wouldn’t—”
“Do yourself a favor, Sonia. Stop looking at these people as your friends and start seeing them as suspects. Haley hated Gretchen’s guts. Aisha lived next door to her.”
“Haley didn’t hate Gretchen.” I say it, but I’m not sure. “And since when does living next door to someone make you a murder suspect?”
“What you should be asking yourself is, do either of them have a problem with you?”
I open my mouth. He waits.
“Of course they don’t.”
“Not that you know of.”
I fold my arms tighter. Haley and Aisha had their issues with Gretchen—quite a few people did—but I know my friends. I’ve never given them reason to fall out with me.
“I don’t see Yuji on your list.”
“He stayed at Brianne’s till after midnight. She and a bunch of other people verified that.”
“So, in your world, everyone’s guilty till proven innocent.”
“I know how it feels.” A shadow passes over his face. “Anyone as gorgeous, charming, and intelligent as Gretchen is bound to have her share of enemies. That being said, I’m sure you do too.”
I blink, trying to decide if he meant that as a compliment or an insult.
“I don’t have enemies. Or if I do . . . it’s neither Haley nor Aisha.”
He hands back my notebook. “Okay, fine. Why is Kip Peterson underlined on your list?”
I hesitate, flipping through empty pages so I won’t have to look at him. “Because he says he was in the woods with Gretchen right before she died . . . and because he posted that photo online.”
Marcus pounds his fist on his knee. “That fucking idiot. I knew—”
“But he wasn’t the one who took it.”
“Did he tell you that? It makes perfect sense to me.”
I shake my head. “Not when you think about it. The composition is bad. It’s grainy and dark. Kip’s a good photographer. I don’t think he could take a picture like that if he tried.”
“Then why would he post it? Why would he even have it?”
“He said someone took his camera at the party.”
Marcus rolls his eyes. “Let me see it. I want to look at those scratches again.”
“I don’t have it with me.”
He straightens. “I hope that’s because you took it to the sheriff.”
“No . . . but it’s in a safe place.” I reach for my latte and find what’s left of it cold. “I don’t want to show him unless I have to.”
“You’re serious? Two minutes ago, you think you might be next on the murderer’s list, but now you’re telling me you don’t want Sheriff Wood to know?”
I flinch. There’s no way I can explain this so it will make sense to him. But if I show the photo to Sheriff Wood, I lose what little control I have. He’ll take it from me and tell me nothing about the investigation, just like he’s doing now. I might have to turn in Gretchen’s SD card on top of that, which I’m not ready to do. I’m guessing Marcus and everyone else featured on it aren’t ready either.
“It’s complicated—he and my mom are close. But yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
He sits back in his chair. “What’s complicated about telling people you’re being threatened?”
“I don’t even know if it is a threat, or a prank, or . . . something else.” I steel myself as I say this, maybe because I need to believe it. “If someone wanted to scare me, don’t you think they would’ve been more explicit? Written on it in blood or something?”
“Is that what it would take to scare some sense into you?” His voice rises.
“What would it take to make you consider you’re overreacting?”
His jaw is hard, but he doesn’t say anything.
I cross my arms over my chest, trying not to let on how scared I really am. “I’ll show it to the sheriff if I get worried, but so far nothing else has happened.”