“I didn’t just remember the accident. I remembered being in the hospital right after,” she reveals. “And Chace’s mom was there. She—she threatened me into staying away from Chace and keeping quiet about this family secret they had. She would have done anything to keep the truth hidden.” Nicole gives me a pointed look. “Anything.”
“Wait, what?” I stare at her through the glass, bewildered. “You think Mrs. Porter killed her own son? That’s crazy. She practically lived for him.”
“I don’t think she did it on purpose, but…Chace was going to expose a cover-up from almost two years ago, the kind of thing that would have gotten the congressman kicked out of office and tarnished the family’s reputation. It was a constant source of fights between them, his desire to tell the truth and his parents’ desperation to keep the lie going.” Nicole takes a deep breath. “I think Chace’s death could have been a fight gone too far. And now Mrs. Porter is trying to pin it on me.”
I shake my head.
“I really don’t know about this—”
Nicole leans forward, ignoring my protest.
“We both lost, Lana. Chace is gone. I don’t expect us to ever be friends again, but we both cared about him, and if we have any hope of putting this behind us, we need his real killer in here instead of me. Your mom has the power to help make that happen.”
I bite my lip in guilt. She has no idea the extent of my mom’s power, and how it likely helped dig Nicole further into this hole.
“So you want my mom to hunt down evidence on Mrs. Porter?” I ask.
She nods fervently.
“But what if…what if I have another theory?”
Nicole stares at me, as I pull out the phone Ryan swiped from the Dumpster.
“This might sound crazy, but just listen. Ryan and I were at Pete’s Canteen, and we overheard Brianne yelling at someone over the phone—”
Nicole lets out an outraged sputter.
“My Brianne? You’re not actually suggesting—”
“Let me finish,” I interrupt her. “Brianne was freaking out, acting different than I’d ever seen her, and something about it gave me pause. Ryan and I followed her outside and watched her throw her phone in the Dumpster. It was so weird and dramatic…something just seemed off…and I made Ryan get the phone.”
Nicole folds her arms across her chest, clearly more offended on Brianne’s behalf than curious about what I have to say.
“Anyway,” I continue. “We saw that it was one of those cheapo disposable phones. We redialed her last call, and it went to a guy’s voice mail. A Justin Jensen.”
Nicole freezes in place. I watch the color drain from her face, and realize I just might be on to something.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I recognized the name Jensen from what Chace said the day you guys…you know, had that talk with me. And then I remembered how I saw you wearing the silver cardigan the night of Tyler’s party—but I only saw it from the back, and you weren’t wearing it earlier. Could someone else have had access to your sweater? Someone we both know is close enough in height and hair color to pass for you from behind?”
Nicole’s lower lip begins to quiver.
“I—I let her borrow whatever she wanted,” she whispers. “She knew I kept an extra key under the mat.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hardly able to believe it, even though it was my own theory. And then Nicole gasps, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.
“JJ,” she says, staring at me. “That was Brianne’s old boyfriend. She was crazy about him, and devastated when they broke up. JJ must have been a nickname for—”
“Justin Jensen,” I chime in. “But what does he have to do with Chace?”
“Justin is the one who took the fall,” Nicole says. “He was the one charged in the hit-and-run and sent away. Maybe—maybe that’s why he broke up with Brianne, and why she never explained it to me. The timing all lines up.”
“What hit-and-run?” I ask.
But before she can answer, the cop who escorted me in appears at my shoulder.
“You have one more minute, and then visiting hours are up.”
I nod quickly, then turn back to the glass.
“Look, I’ve learned a few things from my mother. If Brianne really did this…I might be able to trick her into confessing.”
At the sound of the knock, I grab my iPhone and fire off a quick text message, before shoving the phone into my bedside drawer. With a deep breath, I answer the door. Here goes.
“Hey, Brianne.”
“Hi!” She gives me an eager smile as she walks into my room, clutching her cello case.
“Have a seat.” I gesture to the bed, then turn to the mini-fridge next to my desk. “Want anything to drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” She perches on the edge of my bed. “It was so nice of you and your mom to think of me. I have to say, I got pretty excited when I saw your text.”
I try not to smirk.
“Yeah, well, Nicole was such a hit when she performed at the New Year’s party last year, that my mom was hoping for a repeat performance. But obviously now we need a different performer, so I thought of you.”
Brianne nods.