She wraps her arms tight over her chest, her nostrils flared. “I mean, this is my closet. What were you even doing snooping through my stuff?”
I step back at her tone. She hardly sounds like herself . . . or not like she has in a long time. When we were in middle school, Aisha went through this phase where she would take things at the mall. It was stupid stuff, a headband, a pair of socks, sometimes just a tube of lip gloss. Always little things she insisted no one would ever miss. Any time Haley or I tried to say something about it, this is how she sounded. She finally got caught one day, shopping with Gretchen. For whatever reason, that was the day Aisha decided to aim bigger. She took a sapphire ring from a jewelry store and was stopped the second she walked out the door. The police were called; Gretchen’s and Aisha’s parents had to come get them. It took a bit of smooth talking from Mr. Meyer, but the store finally agreed not to press charges. I only heard about it later, from Gretchen. Aisha never brought it up and I didn’t know how to ask her about it.
“How did you get this?”
“It’s mine, okay?”
“You just said it wasn’t.”
“I’m hanging on to it for a friend.”
“Aisha, c’mon—” My voice breaks. “We both know it’s Gretchen’s.”
She nearly backs into her floor lamp. “Maybe you should go home.”
I stand my ground. “Not until I know—”
Heavy footsteps clomp up the stairs. Aisha’s eyes widen. She shakes her head at me, panicked, gripping the purse like it’s some kind of bomb. I snatch it out of her hands and shove it to the back of the closet just as Tyrone steps through the door carrying a pizza box.
“Yo, I paid for this thing—gave the guy a twenty-dollar tip for waiting around on your ass. You can pay me back now.”
The air fills with the scent of cheese and pepperoni. I try not to gag. Aisha stoops, pulling a crumpled wad of cash from a pair of jeans I somehow missed. She smooths out several twenties, handing them over to her brother.
Tyrone takes them, his gaze shifting back and forth between us.
I wait for Aisha to say something, but she just stands there looking sick.
“Thanks, Tyrone, I’m starving.” I grab the box and usher him out the door. The scent of pepperoni wafts up at me. I open my mouth to breathe.
Aisha sinks onto the bed and stares at the closet. “Thanks.”
“He cared a lot about Gretchen.” I close my eyes.
“So did I.”
I don’t say anything.
“I was on my way home from the party . . .” Aisha exhales. “Derek had just gotten into Cornell—we’ll be there together in the fall. We were planning a big date Saturday to celebrate. I was thinking about what I wanted to wear, and when I walked by Gretchen’s car, the purse was just sitting there. I was going to ask if I could borrow it, I swear. I waited outside her house for a while, but she never came out . . . so I took it.”
I lean against the doorframe. “I’m just going to assume the sheriff doesn’t know about this.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t realize it was full of cash until I got home. I couldn’t figure out how to bring it back, and when I heard what happened to Gretchen . . . I got scared.”
I tap my fingers against my lips, the glaring issue finally dawning on me. “Why would Gretchen have five thousand dollars in her purse?”
“I don’t know. The car was unlocked. If I hadn’t taken it, it could’ve been stolen.”
“It was stolen.” I swallow. Because I know Gretchen hadn’t left her purse in the car when she went inside the house. She must’ve left it there for some reason on her way out, before she went into the woods. Before she could get it to . . . whomever. “What time was this? Do you remember?”
“Maybe like eleven fifteen? We didn’t stay long at the party after you left.”
Every time I think back on that night, the details seem more scrambled. At the very least, what she’s saying makes sense based on when I left Gretchen and when her parents came home. “And you didn’t hear or see anything while you were stealing Gretchen’s purse?”
“I didn’t steal—” She sighs. “I might’ve heard some yelling, I don’t know. It just sounded like the typical stuff you hear in the park at night.”
I go to the closet, pull the purse out, and dump the contents on the bed. In addition to five thousand dollars, there are some cosmetics, a receipt for gas, a set of keys, and a couple of tampons.
“You have to take this to the sheriff.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to, Aisha.”
“They caught the guy who did it—this has nothing to do with anything.”
“They still have to prove he did it.” I hold up the cash. “What if this is tied to him somehow?”
“What if it isn’t?”
I grip her shoulders, speaking through my teeth. “Did you kill Gretchen?”
Her eyes get huge. “Of course not!”
I let go. “Then there’s no reason you shouldn’t turn it in.”