“What?” Sean’s smile was both incredulous and predatory.
“Animal cruelty!” Shelley’s voice cracked on the second word. “All the serial killers start with animals!”
Cici spun so fast her ponytail swung out in a high arc. “Exactly! How many Henriettas have there been again?”
Sean shook his head. “There’s a big difference between a chicken and a person, ducks.”
“See? You even call us ducks!” Shelley said.
“You’re not making any sense,” Sean hissed.
“Don’t tell me what I’m doing,” Shelley hissed back. Her hazel eyes flashed.
“Dudes,” Dude said, in a conciliatory tone. His narrowed eyes still circled the group warily. He held out his hands.
“Yeah,” Jude agreed. “Let’s not fight.”
“Or if you’re gonna, make it more interesting at least,” Warix drawled.
“That’s rich coming from a tosser who tippy-taps on his keyboard all day.” Sean poured himself another scotch.
“Some of us are trying to get through the firewall!” Warix shouted.
“Settle down, people,” Marlowe called out. “You’re falling into a trap they always have in these kinds of movies. Everyone goes at each other’s throats. It makes it that much easier for the killer.”
“You really think the killer is one of us?” Jude asked anyone, or rather asked everyone.
His transparent hope, and seeming near inability to even ponder that one of them had deliberately poisoned Brittlyn, was painful to witness.
“Dude,” Dude said, gently, for them all. “I mean, I don’t know, dude.”
Of course, they knew; they just couldn’t wipe that hope off his face. Like telling a kid about Santa when they hadn’t even asked.
Jalen stuck a hand out to Jude’s shoulder. His voice was sad, the opposite of his usual polished and unsettlingly eager podcasting voice.
“Yeah, Jude. The killer is one of us.”