28

Beau

The news of another dead girl isn’t what shocks me the most. It’s the fact that they didn’t find her body for two days. She was too deep in the swamp, too far in the thick mangroves. Her body was bloated with water and infested with decay brought forth by the relentless Georgia sun. Word around is that her eyes were crawling with worms and her body was heavy with mosquito bites, looking like chicken pox. Luckily, a gator didn’t get her. They tried, though. They colonized in the water like a leathery, scaly tarp, waiting for a good rain to wash her into the deeper waters where they could feed.

This time it was Jackie Wales, another girl from our high school who I’d known. We’d dated. A few times together, quickly over.

They say she was murdered late in the evening two nights ago. A shiver crawls up my spine.

“What’s bothering you?” Grandpa asks.

He’s on the couch, remote in hand, TV on, but watching me instead. Black circles rim his eyes.

“Nothing,” I say as I take a seat at the window chair.

I stare at Willow’s house.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says.

My lies are harder to tell when they’re told to him. But I want to lie. I don’t need him thinking I’m in deep with Willow. Already, he and Charlotte suspect I like her, as opposed to her filling a use for the time being. But unlike Charlotte, Grandpa doesn’t mind my dating the next-door neighbor.

“Okay,” I say, biting the bullet. “The murders aren’t stopping. They obviously have something to do with me. Do you think Willow’s safe?”

“I knew you cared too much,” Charlotte says, coming into the room.

The earring still bothers me. I still haven’t questioned her about it. Mostly because I don’t believe Charlotte is the killer. Or maybe I don’t want to believe it. Either way, I haven’t had time with her until now.

“I don’t want her to die, Charlotte. Why is that so hard to understand?”

“Because you’ve never cared enough to let your thoughts wander this far.”

“There’s never been a murderer until now,” I say, exasperated.

She grabs pots from the shelves and cooking utensils from nails in the wall, then lays them on the counter along with a cutting board and knife. She goes to the fridge for meat and butter. From a wicker basket on our counter, she removes fresh vegetables. I join her in the kitchen to help prepare dinner.

Grandpa pulls himself off the couch and takes a seat on a barstool at the kitchen island, which is nothing more than a wooden table with storage underneath that I made myself, wheels on the bottom to roll it out of the way when we need more room.

I slide past Charlotte and begin chopping vegetables.

“I think you’d better keep an eye on her just in case,” Grandpa says.

Sometimes, it hurts to look at Grandpa. He and Dad are far too similar. They have the same eyes, same slant of their cheekbones, equally strong jaws.

“Do you think the killer will target her next?” I ask.

He scratches the scruff on his face, thinking over my question, long and deep as is his way with things.

“I think these girls all have something in common. You, to be exact. Did you have messy breakups with each of them?”

“No.” Matter of fact, I can’t find a common thread. “For as many rumors as people spread about me, I didn’t actually break all their hearts. Sometimes the girls wanted to split from me. Or we both decided it was time.”

“So broken hearts aren’t the motive,” Charlotte says, seeming genuinely concerned.

“I’ve thought it over. None of the victims lived close to one another. They had no friends in common. They aren’t all even in the same grade. I can’t figure it out.”

“Do you think someone’s jealous?” Grandpa’s voice sounds like Dad’s. “Maybe a guy who wishes he could date the girls you have, but they’ve rejected him.”

“Maybe.” I pace the floor, trying to find the missing piece of the puzzle. Pax and Grant sometimes seem envious. But they’re my friends. They wouldn’t hurt innocent girls, would they? “If only I knew why the victims were targeted, I might be able to figure out if Willow is in the killer’s sight.”

“You’re really worried about her, aren’t you?”

The truth slips free. “Yes, Grandpa, I am. What if I can’t protect her?”

Charlotte and Grandpa have no reassurances for me, which tells me they’re worried about the same thing.

Looking for the killer so far has done us no good. I want to stop him before he hurts another girl. I want answers.

Why was there an earring in Charlotte’s room that matched the one dropped in the forest? Why is each dead girl someone I’ve known?

If it’s me the killer is targeting, then why doesn’t he just come for me instead?

Or maybe it’s not a “he” at all.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the only evidence I’ve found so far.

“Charlotte.” It’s time I ask her about the earring. “Whose is this?”

I drop the green-amber onto the counter and watch her eyes hone in on the earring.

“Mine.” Her tone sounds relieved, but that doesn’t make any sense. “Where did you find it? I’ve been looking for it for a month.”

Grandpa runs a finger over the smooth stone. A smile touches his face. “These used to belong to your grandmother.”

“Which is why I was so worried when I lost one,” Charlotte says. “You know I don’t have much from her. Just the jewelry box.”

“You lost the earring?” I can’t keep the doubt from seeping into my words. “Any chance you lost it in the forest while running from me?”

Her eyebrows knit in confusion. “What are you talking about? I never wear these or even take them out of the house. They’re too valuable, and I don’t want to lose them, which is why I couldn’t believe it when one went missing. I discovered it was gone the same day I came home to my window being open, when I could have sworn I’d shut it before we left. At first, I considered the idea of a robber. But why would they only take one earring?”

“So you thought you misplaced it instead?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t make sense, right? A robber would have taken the pair, not just one, and would have likely taken more than just my earrings. Are you saying you found this in the woods after chasing someone?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Actually, the one I found in the woods is now in police custody. This is the one from your jewelry box, but they’re a match. Why were they separated?” I lean against the counter and rub my temples, trying to make sense of the situation. “You’re saying someone snuck in the house, took one earring, and fled to the forest. Why? Who would do such a thing?”

Grandpa clears his throat. “Answer that and you have your killer.”