The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,89

sense for it to be Lauren. Now, anyone else seems unlikely. But maybe that was my problem all along. Lauren made such perfect sense that I didn’t expend enough energy looking anywhere else. Sure, I followed Gia to the grocery store and met with Rachel, but I didn’t really do anything.

I don’t know what to do or where to look. I feel as though I’m falling through the dark into a great gaping maw. I want—

I scramble for my phone and dial, barely letting my mom say hello. “What are you up to tonight?” I say, summoning every bit of calm I can.

“Not much. I was planning to go to the Avenue to do a little shopping,” she says. “Why?”

“Want some company?”

There’s a pause, then she says, “Sure.”

But she doesn’t sound sure at all. I tear at a cuticle. It’s me, I know. There’s nothing wrong with her tone or her words. So I tell her I’ll meet her there, and she says that’ll be nice.

For the rest of the afternoon, I focus on my patients. It’s a pleasant fiction, but it makes me feel better to think so. At the end of the day, I pack up and text Mom to let her know I’m on my way. I turn the music loud in the car, attempting to drown out my thoughts, but I can’t stop thinking about Lauren’s wary eyes, about someone bludgeoning her to death, about the bystander who said she deserved it. About my house with everything moved out of place.

Mom’s waiting outside Starbucks, so I wipe away the worry, and we get coffees before puttering around Old Navy. We’re next to a display of skinny jeans in autumn colors when she touches my forearm.

“So what’s wrong?” she says.

“What?” I say, inspecting tags to find my size.

“Sweetheart, I know you better than I know myself sometimes. For you to want to come shopping, something must be wrong.” She’s watching me closely, and I shrug.

“Work stress got a little unbearable today,” I say. “But this is helping. Plus, I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

Her gaze bores through me, and I feel caught with the cookie jar. I tug a pair of pants free, hoping they’re the right size. But I’m not lying. Not completely. Here, with her, I do feel a little better.

After Old Navy, we grab new mascara and lipstick at Ulta, a few books from Barnes & Noble, and slices of pizza for a quick dinner. I don’t want to leave, so I order a cannoli. After I finish it, I suppress a groan and the urge to unbutton my pants.

“So how did Ryan’s meeting go?” Mom says.

“His what?” I say, head cocked to one side.

“His meeting last Wednesday.”

Did he have a meeting? I don’t remember that at all. “I … have no idea,” I say, pinching crumbs between my fingertips.

“Oh, when I ran into him at Grinds—I was meeting Cathy there—he was wearing a suit and said he had a meeting. Didn’t he tell you he saw me?”

“No,” I say, but hasten to add, “Work’s been busy, and he’s been getting home late.”

I don’t recall him wearing anything to work recently other than his usual jeans, T-shirt, and boots. I catch the sidelong look Mom is giving me, but the waitress interrupts with the check.

As we approach her car, I say, my voice as bland as I can make it, “Did you happen to see the news?”

She stiffens. “Sure, why?”

“Did you see that Becca’s mom died? That she was killed?”

She says nothing, puts her bags in her trunk, and turns, face tight. “Is that the real reason you wanted to come with me? To talk about this? Still?”

“No,” I say. “Not at all. But I saw the news, and someone killed her, Mom.” And someone’s coming after me.

“So it’s over and done with, then.”

“But—”

She stalls my words with a chop to the air and slams her trunk shut. “Stop this, I mean it. I don’t understand why you’re doing this to yourself. It isn’t good for you, you know that.”

My thumbnail finds the skin of my index finger. Begins to scrape. “I’m not doing anything, Mom.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart. Always have been.”

How wrong she is.

She presses a quick kiss to my cheek and says, “Let it go.”

I give her a half-hearted wave as raindrops start to spatter. So much for the nice weather. By the time I get on 97, it’s raining in earnest and visibility is nearly nonexistent. People