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The street took her toward a wrought iron gate with the letters MV built into the iron. She was in Marshview, a neighborhood many people talked about, and a place designated for the rich. She stopped the car and studied the gates, then her eyes wandered to one of the houses behind it. It was massive. All brick, two stories high, with an enormous front yard.
There was a security box to her left that required a pin. She checked her phone again and Brynn was definitely around here somewhere. The Green Dot said she was an eight-minute walk away. But there was a gate and a code required. How was she going to get in?
“Crap,”she whispered. She put the car in reverse and drove until she saw a large dirt patch next to a bush. She bet this spot was used for police to park and surveil the neighborhood. She hoped none would come while she staked out.
About twenty minutes went by and not a soul had come in or out of the neighborhood. Fair enough when you’re rich during the summer. If you are home and not spending thousands of dollars on vacation, everything you need can be delivered to you and there’s really no need to leave home unless you want to leave. Fortunately, Brynn’s Green Dot hadn’t moved.
To her luck, a FedEx truck drove along the back road. It stopped at the gate and a man stepped out of the truck, reading something from his phone before pushing one of the buttons on the security box. The box beeped and the gates spread apart for him.
Shavonne sat up straight, starting the engine of her car and driving behind the FedEx truck. She hoped the gate was the delayed type. When the driver rolled in, she made sure to stick close behind him. Cameras were pitched atop two poles on either side of the gate, but she kept her head down and was glad she wore her hoodie. When she was past the gates, relief sunk in. She pulled to the side of the road after the distance of the Green Dot lessened. The app was now telling her that Brynn was less than two minutes away by foot.
She climbed out of the car, taking a thorough look around. No one was out. Not even a person walking their dog. Shavonne walked along the sidewalk, following the app as Brynn’s Green Dot glowed. When the app told her she was less than a minute away, she hustled forward. She threw her hood over her head and stood in front of a gate to one of the houses.
This house was the last one on the end of the street, swallowed up in trees and holly shrubs. From the end of the drive, she couldn’t see much, just the tips of the house and a square chimney. She checked for cameras. There was one, but it was pointed down at the ground instead of near the front of the gate, which she found odd. That camera would only catch someone’s feet as they passed by—if the lens was wide enough.
Shavonne’s gaze swung left and there was a brick column attached to the gate. In the brick column was a built-in mailbox. She opened the mailbox, lifted a foot, and stepped on it. It gave her enough leverage to swing her other leg over the brick wall and hop down. When she landed, she rushed forward, and that’s when she noticed the luxury sedan parked in front the house. Someone was around. But Brynn’s car wasn’t.
She hid behind a tree trunk, checking Brynn’s location again. The Green Dot was now telling her she was on top of Brynn’s dot. That meant her best friend was somewhere around this house. Or inside it.
Panic rose in Shavonne’s throat as she contemplated what to do next. She could’ve just knocked on the door and asked if Brynn was there. But what if this person lied? What if they’d done something to Brynn? Shavonne was all about instinct and trusting her gut, and something about this did not sit well in hers. Brynn wasn’t the type to risk it all for a one-night stand. She had priorities and she often kept to them.
Instead, Shavonne crept along a grassy path to the right of the house until she approached a window. The window revealed a kitchen. It was vacant but in pristine condition, all chrome and white marble. She went to another window. The living room. No one was there. Her heart raced a bit faster as she rounded the back of the house, expecting to hear people gathered and chatting, or Brynn with this random ex of hers, but as she popped her head around the corner, no one was in the back. All the outdoor furniture was covered up with gray weatherproof fabric, pollen, and fallen leaves. It was almost like this house wasn’t used much at all.
She spotted a trellis clad with ivy attached to the house. It was tall and white, leading up to the second level. She rushed for it, climbing it carefully, thankful there was nothing behind or next to her but trees and sky.
There was a window to the left, at the top of the trellis. She stopped when she was high enough, gripping one of the slats with one hand and leaning over a bit. The trellis creaked beneath her weight, and she prayed it would hold her hundred and fifty-six pounds.
From this window, she could see an oversized landing. Lights were on inside, and she spotted a bedroom. A person moved back and forth in the room, his phone in hand. It was the guy from the picture Brynn sent. Her ex. She couldn’t remember his name—Donte or something. But it was him. He was running his hands over his face, clearly in distress. He stopped pacing to check his phone, then paused, bringing the phone to his ear.
When he walked away, Shavonne couldn’t breathe. Because in that bedroom behind him was a pool of blood and a body in a red dress. It wouldn’t take a genius to know it was her best friend.
Shavonne’s fingers trembled as she withdrew her phone, went to the camera, and snapped a picture of the scene because men like him didn’t get caught unless there was proof. This ex of hers had clearly become somebody based off this fancy house and the car parked up front. There was no telling how long Brynn’s body had been there, or what he’d done to her. She stared a moment longer, hoping this was some sick prank or game—hoping Brynn would roll over and start laughing (she did have a dark sense of humor) but she didn’t. And her worst-case scenario had proven to be true.
Through tears, she climbed down the trellis and ducked around the house. She jumped the brick wall again and hurried to her car, slamming the door behind her with wild breaths.
She needed to call the police, but she couldn’t stop herself from breaking down and sobbing first.
FORTY-FIVE
SHAVONNE
Four years ago
Shavonne sat in her car, ready to call the authorities. She had to pull herself together. She picked up the phone, hands trembling, and pressed the numbers in the keypad slowly.
9 . . . 1 . . . 1.
But before she pressed the call button, a black pickup truck drove past her, stopping at the gate of the house she’d just run from.
She sucked in a breath and lowered in her seat, watching as the truck waited for the gate to open. When the gates were spread, the truck drove straight in and moved out of sight.
Wait a minute. Was someone returning to the house? Did this mean they’d find the man who hurt Brynn? Find her body? Perhaps she could corroborate with whoever was in the truck and put Brynn’s ex in jail. She waited a few minutes before climbing back out of the car again, jumping the fence again, and landing with a soft grunt.
Hurrying toward a cluster of trees, she watched as a burly man stood on the porch and knocked on the door with a large fist. The man turned a fraction, peering over his shoulder, and Shavonne crouched behind one of the live oak trees, fingers deep in the tree bark, breaths erratic as she focused on the house ahead.
Mosquitos buzzed around her while gnats fought for her attention. She swatted them away with one hand, and with her hoodie on, she could feel sweat accumulating on her forehead and beneath her bra.
The man faced forward again as the front door opened and she watched Brynn’s ex appear on the other side. She couldn’t deny he was a handsome man, but it was always the pretty ones with rotten souls. Who just stood around while a body surrounded in blood was near them? The door closed and she waited, pulling out her phone, ready to dial the police. Her fingers hovered over the number. She wasn’t sure what was stopping her. To her, none of this felt real. In her mind, Brynn was still alive, and this was all some sick, twisted joke.
