“What?” I ask incredulously. “We were there; we—”
“I know, I know.” He sighs again. “Remember that truth or dare game we used to play?”
I nod. It’s why Tomas went into that lake in the first place. Nothing good came of that game.
“Well, one night in Cairns, the three of us were hanging out, andEllery hit Tomas with a dare. She’d been drinking and she was half kidding, but he took it seriously.”
I pause, waiting for him to go on.
“She dared him to buy drugs off these seedy German backpackers who were staying in our hostel, and well, Tomas did.”
“Really?” I ask. Aside from me, Ellery and Tomas were the two most innocent people on the trip. I can’t picture either of them doing drugs.
“Yeah. I think it was MDMA. Apparently, their original plan was to buy some for everyone to take together, but the lads they bought it from didn’t have enough. So Ellery and Tomas decided to do it themselves—”
“During the camping trip,” I finish for him. I remember Tomas following Ellery away from the fire under the pretense of needing the restroom, Ellery’s odd body movements when they returned, how I kept catching Tomas staring off into nothing. I figured it was just from the whiskey Kyan had been passing around, but I was wrong.
“Ellery and I talked about it after Tomas’s…accident,” Declan continues. “She said he would never have agreed to Phoebe’s dare that night if he hadn’t been tripping. She was convinced his death was her fault, not Phoebe’s.”
I think of the guilt I’ve carried all these years. My constant obsession over how blame should be allocated. The array of circumstances—of choices—that can ultimately lead to someone’s death. Where do we draw the line at who’s guilty?
I picture once again the expressions I would catch on Ellery’sface when she’d look at Phoebe in Jagged Rock. Was it guilt? And then something else clicks into place, like a fire lighting a blaze. The whispers I overheard the other morning at Kyan’s. It was ten years ago, and no one even suspected back then.
“I overheard you two whispering at Kyan’s the other morning,” I say bluntly. I want him to clear up why he’s hidden this from me, yet another breach of trust.
“I didn’t realize you heard that.” Declan sighs, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t feel like it was Ellery’s fault, I mean itwasan accident. But she was adamant I never tell anyone else about the drugs. And that morning at Kyan’s, she wanted to make sure that I was going to keep my promise, that I wouldn’t say anything to the police or the rest of us. Although, I suppose I just broke that.”
“Maybe something happened,” I say after a moment, struggling to fit all the pieces into a neat puzzle. “Maybe Ellery changed her mind, realized Phoebe was really to blame. Or maybe she confessed to Phoebe about the drugs and Phoebe threatened to tell the others,” I say, spiraling. “Maybe Ellery killed her to make sure Phoebe kept her mouth shut.”
“But, I mean, it’s Ellery,” Declan says. “Good Samaritan, dedicating her whole life to making the world a better place, Ellery. Do you really think she could have…?”
“Yes, I do.” Despite the threadbare assumptions, I believe she is the one who killed Phoebe. I don’t know whether the certainty comes from a need to save myself or a desire to make this all make sense. To finally have an answer. “We need to go back,” I say in the same breath.
“Back where?” Declan looks at me with confusion, a second before clarity seeps into his eyes. “You can’t mean the Inn, surely?”
“There were other videos from Randy’s hidden cameras that we didn’t get a chance to watch. We didn’t even see any videos of Ellery’s room. There could be something on them.”
“But you heard Detective Allen, it’s a crime scene.”
Before I can stop myself, I wrap my palms around his forearms, pleading. “I need this, Dec. I either find a way to show that Ellery killed Phoebe, or the police are going to arrest me tomorrow as a murderer.”
And suddenly, I realize how desperate I am. A few days ago, there was nothing in my life that felt worth living for. But things have changed so much since then. For the first time in ten years, I can see a future. A way to move forward, if not guilt-free, then at least capable of enjoying the life around me.
And just as I’m close to getting it, it’s about to be torn away.
“The only way the police won’t arrest me is if I prove that someone else murdered Phoebe,” I urge. “And to do that, I need to go back to the Inn. Tonight.”
41
Claire
Now
“I’m coming with you,” Declan insists after a brief pause. “But how will we get inside? Randy must have closed it up after this morning.”
“Maybe he hid a spare key somewhere. If not, then I’ll break a window. I’m about to be arrested for murder; I think the police are going to be a bit too preoccupied to be concerned with a vandalism charge.”
My answer reflects a confidence I don’t quite feel.
