The Good Girls (12 page)

AFTER DROPPING CAITLIN OFF, AVA
gripped the steering wheel hard, her vision steady. Instead of turning off toward her house, she took a left up a steep road that wasn't regularly traveled. Unless you were going to the Upper Washington Correctional Facility—which Ava was. It was where Alex was being held. Bail was set at twenty-five thousand dollars, and his parents, two teachers, were still trying to raise that kind of money.

There were all kinds of things she should be doing this evening, like studying for a history exam or updating her Lady Macbeth Facebook page—a project for AP English.

But something inside her had cracked today. It was something she couldn't really explain, a trigger she couldn't put her finger on, but all of a sudden she'd realized, she
had
to go see Alex in prison. No matter how many newscasts she watched of kids saying how Alex had violently beaten up that kid at his old school, she needed to hear
him
tell her that. More important, she needed him to tell her that he wasn't guilty, that he hadn't killed Granger.

Her phone buzzed, and she looked down.
Hey, I still have your lip gloss,
Caitlin texted.
Wanna swing back for it?

Ava had let Caitlin borrow the lip gloss in the car, but there was no way she was going back now—or explaining what she was about to do.
I'll get it at school, no biggie,
she replied. It was weird: She probably
could
tell the girls that she was visiting Alex. But she wanted to keep this to herself, until she figured it out a little more.

When she pulled into the police complex fifteen minutes later, she was still trying to figure out what she was going to say. Rolling back her shoulders, she walked through a door marked
VISITORS
and wrote her name down on a clipboard.

After a terrifying check-in and pat-down process, during which Ava was pretty sure the female officer gave her an extra squeeze or two while no one was looking, she sat in the visitors' room. The concrete floor was mottled and stained by mysterious substances, and the cold metal tables and chairs were bolted to the floor. The air had a sharp tang to it, as if urine and toxic cleaning fluids had melded together to create a new brand of oxygen. Ava's
nose burned. The thought of Alex alone in this place sent a pang through her.

A heavy metal door creaked open at the back of the room, and Ava reflexively jumped to her feet. A linebacker-sized guard lumbered through first, then stepped to the side, revealing a pale, exhausted, and handcuffed Alex. Ava's heart leaped into her throat, and she choked back a sob.

Alex raised his head and looked up at her. His gaze was so intense, so desperate, and so sad. He seemed heartbroken. Ava resisted the urge to run over and wrap her arms around him.

“Alex—” she started.

“I'm sorry,” he said at the same time. “Ava, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn't mean to get you in trouble. I know you didn't do this—any of it.” He held his breath, trying to stem the tide of emotion. Ava suspected he was trying hard not to cry. Alex was the emotional one in their relationship: God, he'd cried during
Toy Story 3
. That memory made
her
want to cry, suddenly, but she held it together.

“You didn't do it, right?” she whispered.

Alex shook his head fiercely. “Of course not. I would never—Ava, I could never
kill
someone. You know me better than that.”

Ava nodded. “I know. I just needed to hear you say it.” She plopped down into the hard seat. “But why did you
go over there? Why did you
text
Granger? And what happened at your old school?”

Alex sat across from her and leaned over the table toward her before continuing. “Well, I'll start with the easiest one. I texted Granger,
Don't touch my girlfriend again or I'll kill you
because you told me he'd hit on you, and then the police didn't even
believe
you.” He lowered his eyes. “I'm sorry. It was stupid. I just . . . felt so, helpless, you know?”

Yeah,
Ava thought.
I do know.

“I'm sorry I never told you about what happened at my old school,” he went on. “I couldn't, really. But I beat up that guy because he
raped
my ex-girlfriend.”

Ava gasped.

“She came to me right after it happened,” he went on, “and she begged me not to tell anyone. Her parents were crazy, and they would have flipped out if they found out she wasn't . . . anyway. I didn't tell anyone. But I couldn't just let it go, either. I wasn't going to tell anyone her secret, but that asshole deserved to
pay
for what he'd done. I mean, I
saw
the bruises on her.” He shook his head and closed his eyes at the memory.

Ava exhaled slowly. She wanted so badly to believe him, and she could definitely identify with how he wanted to take matters into his own hands with the guy who'd hurt his ex—she and the others had done that with Nolan, after
all. But she realized she was still really angry, too. “Okay. But why did you tell the cops you saw me that night?”

“Because I
did
see you.” Alex looked away. “And you weren't exactly . . . clothed. I was pissed.”

Ava glared at him. “So you assumed the worst, without asking me?”

He held up his palms. “No, I didn't call them until later. I'll explain. But Ava . . . what
were
you doing there?”

Ava exhaled and steeled herself. “It wasn't how it looked,” she began, her voice quavering.

“So explain to me what it
was.
”

Her heart was pounding hard. She needed to come clean, she realized. It was the only way they could ever rebuild the trust they'd once had. But could she do that? She looked at him. “Alright,” she said quietly. “I'm going to tell you. But you're not going to like it.”

Alex nodded, but a nervous look washed across his face. “Okay.”

“You remember what Nolan did to me sophomore year? The rumors he started about me sleeping with teachers to get higher grades?” she said, and Alex nodded again. “Well, I wasn't the only victim of his bullying, not by a long shot. Some of the other girls and I got to talking in film studies, that day we watched
And Then There Were None
.”

Ava gained confidence as she spoke, emboldened by the sense of sheer relief she felt just saying the words out loud.
She told Alex about the prank they'd played on Nolan, and how someone had used that opportunity to kill him. About how they suddenly looked guilty—really, really guilty—in Nolan's death. She told Alex how Granger had hit on her when she went to his house for help with her paper. Alex grimaced and shut his eyes for that part.

Then she told him about the pictures and texts she'd found on Granger's phone—and how Nolan had been blackmailing him. “Wow,” Alex said, a little shocked. “Those two deserved each other.”

“Totally,” Ava said. She explained how they'd gone to Granger's house to dig around for evidence they could use against him, but he'd come home before they could get out. Finally, her cheeks burning, Ava described how, in an effort to save her friends, she sacrificed her last shred of dignity and fooled Granger into thinking she wanted to sleep with him. When she sent him to take a shower, they had all slipped out—though Ava had raced into the backyard and dug up the flash drive with proof of Nolan's blackmailing, which Granger had buried. Then she had run to join the others in the car. Which was exactly when Alex saw her sprinting across the lawn, her dress still half-unbuttoned.

“I feel sick just telling you all this,” Ava said, her voice catching. “I hate myself for putting this whole thing in motion in the first place.”

Alex shook his head. “I wish you'd told me about the
prank, but I get why you did it. Nolan was really shitty to you. And Ava.” He looked her in the eye. “None of the rest of this is your fault.”

Ava's lips parted. “Thanks,” she whispered. It was amazing how calmly Alex was taking all this. She'd expected much worse.

“So, all of you were in there,” Alex said. “And
all
of you left?”

“Yes,” Ava nodded. “Why?”

“Well,” Alex said slowly. “I saw you leave. But then I saw someone run
back
across the lawn to Granger's afterward.” He looked apologetic. “I thought it was you again.”

Ava frowned. “I went right home. And took a long, hot shower.”

Alex ran a hand through his curly hair and shot her a sheepish look. “
That's
why my prints were on Granger's door. I ran over there when I thought you went back in.” He shifted on the metal bench. Ava noticed for the first time how his orange prison shirt hung loosely off him. “I wanted to catch you, but the door was locked. Then I heard a scream—I thought it was
you
screaming, and I was so scared. I thought maybe he'd”—Alex choked up, then regained control of his voice—“I was afraid he'd done something. To you.
That's
when I called the police. I told them I'd seen you go inside and that there were screams. But when the cops showed up, Granger was dead, and whoever was
really
in there was gone.”

Ava stared at him, her heart pounding hard. “And you didn't see who it was?”

“Nope.” Alex looked frustrated. “She slipped out without me seeing.”

“You're sure it was a girl, though?”

“Definitely. She had on a hood, or maybe a hat. But she was built like a girl, I'm sure of it. I—I thought maybe you had gotten a sweatshirt and gone back in.”

Ava ran her hand across her forehead, trying to process what he'd told her. “Didn't you tell the police this?”

He stared at the table. “Of course I did. But they don't believe me. They think I made up the other girl to cover myself for the murder.”

“But what about the prints on the kitchen knife? Yours aren't there, right?”

He shrugged. “Apparently there are
no
prints on the knife. Whoever did it was wearing gloves.”

“Oh my god,” Ava whispered. She leaned back, feeling sick. Things were even more messed up than before. She had no idea how to feel.

Alex leaned forward and took both of Ava's hands in his. The guard cleared his throat pointedly, and Alex sat back again. “I'm so sorry, Ava. I should have trusted you. I shouldn't have kept any of this from you.”

“I shouldn't have kept any secrets from
you
, either.” Ava studied his deep brown eyes, smooth skin, and perfect
features for a moment. She had missed him so much, it was physically painful. “And I forgive you,” she whispered.

Alex gave her a bittersweet smile. “I forgive
you
,” he whispered back. “And for now, that's all that matters.”

They held each other's gaze for a long moment. There were so many things Ava wished she could undo, but for right now, she was just happy to have Alex back. But she didn't
really
have him back: He was still in prison. And until she figured out who had really killed Granger, there he'd stay.

JULIE SAT ATOP THE LIFEGUARD
stand, twirling her whistle. She was at the Beacon Rec Center, where she worked, watching a pool full of kids below. Suddenly, a little girl in a pink tankini looked up at her and pointed. “Cat lady!” she cried.

Julie flinched. How did that little girl know about her?

“Cat lady!” a boy joined in, climbing out of the pool and standing at the bottom of the lifeguard chair. “Dirty, dirty cat lady!”

All at once, the whole pool was in an uproar. Everyone was laughing, from all of the kids to the people swimming laps to the other lifeguards patrolling the space. When Julie looked down at herself, she wasn't wearing her Juicy tee and Adidas shorts but a nightgown seemingly made of cat hair. And what was she
doing
here, anyway? Hadn't
she vowed not to leave the house ever again, even begging off sick from work? And when she looked across the pool, a girl stood there, her mouth open in a loud, mean laugh. It was Ashley. She was rounding up the kids, pointing at Julie. “There's the cat lady!” Ashley taunted. “Go get her!”

“No!” Julie screamed. She looked around for Parker, whom she understood, inherently, must be close by. “Parker,
help
!”

Just as the kids ran for Julie, she woke up, shooting up straight in her car. She looked around. It was Tuesday, late afternoon.

Her phone, which was somehow clutched in her hand, was ringing. She stared at it, still disoriented. The dream felt way too real. She hated when that happened.

The phone bleated again. It was a local number, one that Julie had seen before but couldn't place. “Hello?” she mumbled into the phone, her head still fuzzy.

“Ms. Redding?” a stern voice intoned.

She blinked hard. The voice was familiar, but her brain was too muddled to know why. “Yes?”

“This is Detective Peters. I understand you were not in school today.”

“That's right,” Julie replied cautiously, growing more awake and wary. Since when did homicide detectives care about truancy?

“Ms. Redding, I'm going to need you to come down to
the station. Your friends are on their way as well. I can send a patrol car over for you if you need me to. I'm assuming you're at home?”

“Uh, thanks. I mean, no, that won't be necessary.” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “What's this about?” she repeated.

“I'll explain everything when you get here. Which I suggest you do quickly.” He paused. “And Julie . . .” His voice had suddenly shifted from professional and firm to dark and threatening.

“Yes?” she asked nervously.

“Don't even think about not coming.” He hung up before she could reply.

Thirty-five minutes later, Julie stumbled into the police station in sweatpants, a bulky hoodie, and running shoes. Her hair was twisted into a loose bun piled on top of her head. She had no makeup on, and she couldn't have cared less. What did it matter anyway? All anyone saw when they looked at her was cat hair, like in that dream.

Detective Peters stood in the lobby, scratching his pointy chin, a serious look on his face. He had deep bags under his eyes and fast-food crumbs on his shirt. He looked haggard, like he'd been pulling all-nighters ever since Nolan died.

The other girls huddled together nearby, looking as confused and worried as Julie felt. Julie was relieved to see
Parker there, her hoodie pulled down over her face. She seemed less upset than she had been in the school parking lot the day before, after Ashley had pranked Julie, but Julie could tell from the way she shifted from one foot to the other and clenched her jaw that she was tense. Julie met her friend's eye, and Parker looked back. Julie wondered where Parker had spent last night—she hadn't ever shown up at Julie's. In fact, Julie hadn't spoken to her since the kitty-litter prank outside school. Parker had turned her phone off again. It was beginning to get pretty frustrating.

Then Julie cast her eyes around at the others.
What's going on?
she mouthed, raising her eyebrows. Caitlin shrugged. Mac frowned.

“Now that you're all here,” Peters said gruffly, “let's go on back.”

He led them through the same maze of desks and cubicles they'd passed through the other day, into the same interrogation room with the same one-way mirror. “Have a seat, ladies.”

Parker sat closest to the door, and Julie sat down next to her. Peters dropped into a chair at the opposite end of the table. His scalp was visible through his thinning hair as he flipped through a stuffed manila folder on the table. Then he looked up and slowly moved his gaze around their half circle, studying them one by one.

Finally he spoke. “Alex Cohen has been released from custody.”

Ava let out a gasp. “That's wonderful! What happened?”

Peters's expression was blank, a perfect poker face. “What you girls should really be worried about is all the evidence that's pointing at
you
.”

Parker's head shot up, and Julie put a cool hand on her wrist to calm her. Caitlin and Mac audibly gulped. Ava's face fell. Julie's heart began a steady beat against her ribs, and her head spun a little. She'd been expecting this, though. Hadn't she?

“After forensics finished their investigation, your involvement in the crime seems clearer than ever,” the detective went on. “Your prints are all over that house.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. “If you killed Hotchkiss, then maybe Granger was on to you. Then you needed to get rid of
him
so he wouldn't talk.” He tapped his pen on the table, clicking and unclicking the button on the end. “Now,” the detective finished, “does anyone want to tell me the truth, once and for all? If you talk now, things will be much easier for you. I highly suggest you tell us what you know.”

Julie didn't dare look at any of the other girls. She could feel Parker practically vibrating with anger and frustration in the seat next to her.
Don't say anything,
she willed to the other girls. Because what
could
they say? Everything they'd
done made them look guilty. She was dying to know if the cops had found the note on the yellow legal pad, the one that described how they'd kill Nolan
and
all those other people. She prayed they hadn't.

Peters turned back toward Julie. Their eyes connected for a moment before he looked down to her hand patting Parker's arm. His expression was quizzical for a moment, then he jotted down a quick note in the folder. After another minute of silence, he breathed out. “All right, ladies. We'll do things the hard way.”

He rose from his chair, stepped across the room, and motioned at someone outside the door. A middle-aged woman in thick glasses, a terrible pantsuit, and mid-height heeled loafers stepped in briskly, her lips pressed together, and nodded in the girls' direction.

“This is Dr. Rose,” Peters said. “She's a psychological profiler, and she's going to speak to each of you one by one. Then we'll see if your stories match.” He looked carefully at all of them. “I know you're putting up a unified front, but you don't know everything about one another. And trust is a tricky thing.”

Ava frowned. “What are you implying? That one of us did it and isn't telling the others?”

Peters shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “You said it, not me.”

He turned to leave the room. Just before he reached
the door, he spun back around and looked straight at Julie. “We'll start with you,” he said matter-of-factly, with a nod to Dr. Rose. Then he pulled the door shut firmly behind him.

Julie could feel the other girls' eyes on her, but she said nothing. She clutched Parker's arm and stared at the table.

“Julie Redding, right?” Dr. Rose said crisply, fixing her steady gaze on Julie. Her eyes looked huge behind her glasses, like she was holding a magnifying glass up to her face. “Let's go into my office. The rest of you, I'll call to schedule.”

Ava's hand shot up. “Will our parents know about this?”

“Yes, after the interviews we'll have to tell them,” Dr. Rose said. “Now, Ms. Redding, with me.”

Dr. Rose whirled on her heel and headed out the door. Julie swallowed hard and stood, too. She glanced at Parker, and her friend gave her an encouraging nod. “It'll be okay,” she whispered. But then Julie glanced at Ava, Caitlin, and Mac. They looked terrified.

Julie turned to Parker. “Meet me outside after?” she whispered. Parker nodded, and the other girls looked at one another worriedly. Julie wondered if she should ask them to meet her, too, but Dr. Rose cleared her throat impatiently before she could.

Julie followed Dr. Rose down a long hallway and into a small, dimly lit office. The room was practically bare
except for a handful of framed degrees clinging to the walls, a metal desk with a faux wood veneer top, and two chairs. Julie inhaled, exhaled.
One
. . .
two
. . .
three.
She felt calmer immediately. She even managed to smile at the doctor as they sat down on either side of the large desk.

“Alright,” Dr. Rose said. “Let's begin.”

Julie looked around the office. “Where's the lie detector?”

“I'm sorry?” Dr. Rose asked.

“Aren't you going to give me a lie detector test or something?” Julie waved her hands in the air as she spoke.

“No, Julie. That's not what I'm going to do.” Dr. Rose took off her glasses and placed them on the table between them. She looked nicer, almost friendly. “We're just going to talk.”

We're just going to talk.
For a moment, Julie thought about telling Dr. Rose that she already had a therapist, until she remembered that Fielder was a huge, freaky jerk. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, for starters, tell me a little bit about your life. Your home life, I mean.”

It felt like Julie had a pebble lodged in her throat. Why on earth would the woman want to know
that
? She cycled through a series of lies, but then realized they would probably get her nowhere. Dr. Rose surely knew everything, anyway. And if Julie
did
lie, she would be seen as unreliable—most likely a killer.

“Uh, my mom and I moved here from California a few years ago,” Julie started. “My mom is . . . um . . . she has some . . . issues.”

Dr. Rose nodded and pulled out a white spiral-bound notepad. “And those have been hard for you, haven't they?”

Julie winced. So Dr. Rose
did
know. But there was something so kind about her voice. So soothing. Suddenly, a dam broke loose in Julie's chest, and she couldn't get the words out fast enough. “She's a hoarder. A serious, like, diagnosable hoarder. Our house is filthy, and I think there must be twenty-six or twenty-seven cats living there. And my mom—she's just . . . really messed up. And she hates me. She makes me feel like I'm the cause.”

Dr. Rose nodded, listening closely. “And how does all of that make you feel?”

Julie considered that for a moment. “Ashamed. Embarrassed. I didn't want anyone in Beacon Heights to know, because when people found out in California, they were—” Julie shuddered. “God, they were so cruel. I was just a kid, you know? They called me such mean things, and no one stopped them. Not the teachers, not their parents. It was . . . it was awful.”

“And you were afraid that would happen again here, weren't you?”

“Yes. So I tried to prevent it this time.”

“How did you do that?”

She took a breath. “I kept my home world and the outside world totally separate—I lived two lives at once. I never invited anyone to my house—ever. Except for Parker, she knew.”

“Parker Duvall?”

“Uh-huh.” Julie cleared her throat. “I told Parker my secret. And from then on, she was welcome. But no one else was—I couldn't risk anyone else knowing the truth.”

Dr. Rose made a note on the pad. “Go on.”

Julie tried to peek to see what Rose had written, but the pad was out of view. “So, um, I never dated much, because I couldn't bring anyone over. And it worked, for a long time. No one knows—at least no one knew, until the other day.” Her eyes welled up.

Dr. Rose made a few more notes. “What happened the other day?”

Julie let out a sad chuckle. “Ashley Ferguson. That's what happened the other day.”

“Who is Ashley?”

“She's this girl at school who, kind of, worshipped me, I guess. She dressed like me, she dyed her hair like mine. She followed me around . . . it was really weird.”

“Sounds like she really looked up to you. Isn't that flattering on some level?”

Julie shrugged. “I guess, maybe at first. But it was really too much. I mean, she showed up in the bathroom of a
restaurant when I was on a date, stole a lipstick right out of my purse.”

Dr. Rose scribbled furiously. Julie was tempted to lean over and see what was important enough to jot down, but she resisted the urge.

“The other day, she sent out an email to the entire school telling them about—” It was still hard to say the words out loud. “About my mom. And my house. And me. So now everyone knows.”

“And what is that like for you?”

“It's awful. I can't even go to school. Well, I tried yesterday, but that b—I mean, Ashley filled my locker with cat litter. She's like the new Nolan.” As soon as she said his name, Julie regretted it.

Sure enough, Dr. Rose's eyebrows shot straight up. “Nolan Hotchkiss?”

Julie swallowed hard, her heart rate picking up.
One
. . .
two
. . .
three
. . . “Yes.”

“Are you saying Nolan did things to you, just like Ashley?”

Julie looked away, studying the frames on the wall.
Letitia W. Rose, PhD, University of Washington.
“No, he did things to Parker. I hated him for what he did.” Julie's voice cracked, and her throat burned with anger. “But I didn't
kill
him.”