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Damn, Bestie. Look at those claws, I heard Dylan’s voice cheering in my head.
“This is insane.” She tossed her hands to the ceiling. “Just because I picked Tucker up doesn’t mean anything.”
“Listen to yourself.” I shook my head. “You really think anyone is going to believe you? Tucker has his own truck; he doesn’t need a ride. And he deliberately gave Dylan a different return date so he could have a little time with his mistress.”
My eyes swept over her body. I was sure I looked as disgusted as I felt. “Out of all the men in town, you had to go for the engaged, father-to-be one? And you have the audacity to call me a slut?”
I hated the s-word. Had never used it before. But to hurt Allison, I afforded myself this one-off.
Allison’s entire demeanor changed. She sneered, trying to seize back control. “Tuck and Dylan don’t even like each other!” she growled ferally, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder. “They never stood a chance. Tuck and I are childhood friends. Our families went on vacations together. We babysat each other’s siblings. She was an elaborate booty call that…that…got out of hand! A plaything—”
“It must be so hard to forever come in second place.” I jutted out my lower lip, feigning sadness. I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to her talking shit about my best friend. “Not with Franco at the time, not Row. Now Tuck made you his sidepiece…” I trailed off, watching her wincing again, getting ready for a blow. “I’m sensing a theme here. Wanna know why?” She didn’t, but I was about to tell her anyway. “You’re always so busy tearing other women down, you never stop and work on becoming a better one yourself. No one in this town is going to forgive you for running around with an engaged man and a new father. You and Tucker will be written off for good. You will no longer be seen as a pillar of the community. But that’s the least of your concerns.”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “What other concerns do I have? And just so you know, I’m going to deny it through my teeth and so will Tuck. Besides, there is no such thing as bad publicity. People will play the did-she-or-didn’t-she guessing game before letting it go and moving on.”
“All right.” I shrugged. “Let’s say you can survive the reputational damage—nice delusion, by the way, really complements your dress—you still have the small problem of having to defend yourself from the criminal charges that will be pressed against you for sending people to stab Row.”
Allison tipped her head back, laughing manically. I hoped she was a better mayor than she was an actress because she wasn’t about to win any Oscars for this performance. “You’re making some grand accusations here, don’t you think, little Calla? Seems like you forgot your place in the world—you’re the girl with the tics and social anxiety who is so scared of her own shadow, she can’t even look people in the eye. No one will believe you.”
“Why wouldn’t they believe me?” I placed a hand on my hip. “After all, it’s not the first time you tried to have someone killed.” I motioned toward myself for emphasis. “Although, I have to say, you do a really bad job of offing people. I’m glad you didn’t choose it as a career path. Your Yelp page would be a disaster.”
Allison rolled her eyes, which glimmered with unshed tears. She shook her head. “Don’t be so dramatic. We were dumb kids. No one tried to kill you. We were just messing around.”
“You let me crawl back to safety with a shattered bone, covered in mud and dirt.”
She stomped. “You survived, didn’t you?”
“No thanks to you. And your little minions are grown women now. If I drag them to trial and make them testify, they’ll sell you out in no time. The statute of limitations hasn’t passed for our case. I checked.”
Every night before I’d gone to bed for the past nine years, to be exact. My true crime love was partially due to the fact I had almost gotten killed myself. I had nearly become a statistic. Something you heard about in podcasts. That had inspired me to look closely into my own case.
Every obsession had an origin. I suppose I owed this to Allison—she’d helped me figure out what I really wanted to do with my life.
Allison’s back was plastered against the door now. I hadn’t even realized I was ambling toward her and she was retreating farther away from me.
“Good luck stitching this case up.” She gasped, a thin layer of sweat covering her face. A knock came from the other side of the door, making her jump in surprise.
“Everything okay in there, ladies?” a female voice—her mother?—inquired in a fake singsong voice.
I arched an eyebrow toward my nemesis, who inhaled a greedy breath. “Yeah, Mom. Fine.”
“Do you need me to—”
“Leave me alone!” Allison barked, looking and sounding like a mean teenager again. “Just go away.”
At least now I knew Allison didn’t discriminate when it came to being a brat. Everybody got the same treatment. She waited until the padding of feet on carpet diminished before picking up where we’d left off. “You were saying?”
“I’m saying you sent people to threaten and stab Row,” I said calmly.
“And how did you reach this conclusion?” She barked out a laugh, folding her arms.
“Glad you asked.” My eyes bore into hers, and I was no longer nervous. I’d found my strength. It had been there all along. Buried deep inside me. “When I went to visit Row at the hospital, I thought about who could do such a thing. Only someone with high stakes. And who is going to suffer the most if he sells the lot? You, as the mayor. All anger would be directed at you. Plus, I knew you had the guts to go the extra mile to make a statement. So far, so circumstantial. But I decided to do a little digging myself.” Specifically, I had asked Taylor to give me access to the restaurant’s security cameras that showed the edge of the car the attackers had disappeared into.
I reached for my coat, pulling out the footage I’d printed out and a paper I had scribbled at home before I came here. “This is the part where I should tell you that, unfortunately, you messed with a true crime junkie. One with a passion for unearthing and solving mysteries. I’m a long-standing member of an amateur crime-solving forum and posted the picture, asking if there were experts who could help me figure out the make of the car. Turned out that it was an Acura RLX, which is widely unpopular in our part of the woods. Only eighty-three Acura RLXs are currently registered in Maine, and out of them, only seven are in our area. Since I could clearly tell the car was dark—navy or black—I found the license plate and the man it belonged to in no time.
“Niall Burks is the husband of your assistant, Lucinda, and the owner of the car. The person who normally drives it is his stepson, who lives all the way down in Massachusetts—which I guess was why you thought he wouldn’t be recognized—but that’s some interesting connection.” I offered her the papers I was holding. She tore them into shreds without looking at them. Staring at her pitifully, I let out a sigh. “That’s okay. I have extras.”
Allison knew she was caught. Her mouth screwed into a grimace; her eyes were five times their normal size. Her sins had finally caught up with her, and not a moment too soon.
