Page 23 of They Say a Girl Died Here

24

Anna took a moment as she closed the door and stood in the room that hadn’t changed in three years. It was a hybrid bedroom, somewhere between teen and womanhood, nothing pink or cheesy but still with a string of lights around the mirror on the wall and a worn teddy bear up on a bookshelf rather than on the bed. The contents of Bonnie’s wardrobe were as expected—a few smart blouses and skirts that must have been for work, and then the usual mix of party clothes and jeans and too many shoes.

There was a jewelry tree on the dresser, but instead of the gold and silver she’d imagined Lila would have worn, these were mainly chunky pieces, a little more rebellious in style. She quickly searched in the drawers and under the mattress, but found nothing unusual. Despite the fact that Anna was here to understand how grief had affected Sandra, she was also curious to know if Bonnie had secrets. What had been causing her moods? Could it have anything to do with her getting killed? She studied the room. Where would she herself have hidden something when she was younger?

Anna found the romantic cards tucked into a hidden homemade paper pocket taped to the back of the mirror. There were three, all with images from that Netflix show that had been a big deal a few years back, Love Until We Die. Anna hadn’t watched it, but it was about some secret romance. She remembered the #relationshipgoals memes that were everywhere for a while.

She opened the first card, her heart thrumming hard. You are the sweetest thing. Thank you for being mine. The second just had three kisses in it. And the third said Can’t wait until Tuesday. You drive me crazy. I love you. The last was written in lilac ink. Anna stared at the cards. The words were printed in small block capitals rather than cursive, and she wondered if that was so the writing couldn’t be identified. Why no name at the bottom? If this were a normal boyfriend, the cards would be out on her desk, not hidden away, and Bonnie’s mom had just said she didn’t have a boyfriend. This was a secret, cautious lover. Now, that was interesting.

She took photos of the cards with her phone before carefully replacing two behind the mirror and slipping one into her backpack. Sandra was right. There were no average people. Everyone’s lives held their own secrets and surprises.

She’d taken a couple of yearbooks down from the shelf and was about to browse through them when Sandra knocked on the door. “You nearly done? Don’ll be home soon and I don’t want him to know you’ve been in there.”

“Yes, thank you.” Impulsively, Anna quickly added the two books to her backpack before joining Sandra, who chewed her bottom lip nervously between vapes, in the hallway. “You’ve been very kind.”

“Will you let us read your article?” she asked. “First? Before you send it in?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She meant it. She knew how it was to have your pain out on display for people to judge or treat as cruel entertainment and laugh at you. If she ever finished the piece, Bonnie’s parents would be the first to read it, she decided. Sandra led her back to the front door, and, out in the baking heat, Anna took a last look at the tree.

“How did you feel when Michael Cairns was shot during that robbery?” she asked.

Behind her, Sandra leaned against the doorframe, eternally exhausted. “Angry.” She pulled on the vape again and looked down at her tatty house shoes underneath her trackpants. “We didn’t get any answers. No confession. We don’t know how much she suffered. That was all stolen from us. We’re stuck in the hell of not knowing. He got away easy.”

“I heard Jamie isn’t convinced he was guilty. Do you believe it?”

There was a long pause before Sandra let out a sigh of vapor that obscured her face. “I think they got the right guy. The autopsy said both girls’ murders were identical.” She paused. “And I have to believe it,” she said softly. “Otherwise I’d go crazy.”

Anna watched as the broken woman went back inside, closing the door without a goodbye. She touched the tree, a small thank-you, and then headed into the baking heat. Maybe she’d stop at the grocery store or diner and pick up a cold drink for her walk. She knew where she had to go to next.

Sandra had said that Bonnie was convinced Jamie hadn’t killed Lila. Maybe Jamie would have some idea who Bonnie might have been seeing. He said he didn’t know her well, but there weren’t that many kids in town. He probably knew her better than he thought. Anyway, it was worth a try.

25

“Jamie?” Anna’s throat was dry from the relentless heat. She waited but got no answer, the sun burning through the back of her T-shirt.

“Jamie?” she repeated. “It’s me. Anna.” His motel room door was cracked open, maybe for some air, but she couldn’t hear any movement from inside. “You awake?”

She knocked, then pushed the door a little. “I just went to Bonnie’s—” She stopped, staring into the gloomy room, knowing immediately that something was wrong. The bed was messy but empty, and in the quiet all she could hear was trickling water. Get out, her senses screamed at her. Run.

“Hello?” The door to the bathroom was half open and as she stepped forward, ignoring her own internal red-light warnings, she could see the linoleum inside was soaking and the bedroom carpet near the doorway was sodden, liquid spreading outward, the water still running over the edge of the tub.

As she got closer, the hum of the electric light was too loud, buzzing like an angry wasp. The constant trickle of creeping water threatened to consume the room like a terrible fungus. The sharp stench of shit and piss hung in the air. She knew from all these things that there was nothing good to come from looking further, she was already sure of what she would find, but holding her breath, and on unsteady legs, she forced herself closer.

She saw Jamie’s bare feet on the wet bathroom floor, and as she came around the edge of the bed, her breath trapped in her chest, the rest of him came into view, sprawled naked and face down on the bedroom carpet, head turned sideways. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, but his thin arm was stretched out as if he’d been reaching for something, and the old lace doily from the small bedside table was on the floor nearby.

She stepped backward, head spinning, her sweat suddenly ice-cold. “Jamie?” she whispered, even though she knew he couldn’t answer. He’d never be answering again. Despite black spots of panic forming in the corners of her vision, she fought the urge to run as far away from this room as she could and went through to the bathroom, up on her tiptoes so the water didn’t soak her shoes, trying not to think about whatever of Jamie’s bodily fluids might be in it, and turned off the faucets. The water was cold. It had been running awhile. She moved back carefully, seeing the needle and syringe on the soaked linoleum. Had he found the lure of the drugs too strong?

In the terrifying silence, she stared at Jamie’s body. What had he dragged himself out of the bath and across the floor for? She looked again at the doily on the carpet. Maybe he’d pulled something down from the table. She crouched, revulsed by being so close to the corpse, and looked under the bed. There, just an inch or so hidden, was his phone. She carefully held it in front of his open eyes. It unlocked.

I ws right, An

She stared, her stomach in her mouth. I was right, Anna. She dropped the cell and gasped, getting to her feet and backing away, banging hard into the TV table, crumpling onto it, his words coming back to her. They’ll have murdered me to shut me up.

The syringe. If it hadn’t been Jamie OD’ing, then had the killer had come to finish what they’d started years ago? Maybe the clown story was real. She needed to call the police. She needed a cigarette. She needed to get out of this awful room. She straightened up on unsteady legs, and as she turned toward the door and sunlight, she saw a small stack of his posters by the TV. She grabbed them, stuffing them into her backpack alongside the stolen yearbooks, and headed for the daylight. If the killer was still out there, then girls needed to be warned.

Outside, she fell into one of the chairs, gratefully sucking in the sticky air as if it were a cool mountain breeze, and waited until the heat consuming her became a shivering chill and her vision cleared. She took several deep, shaky breaths before lighting a cigarette, needing to lose the ghost of the smell from inside, and then called 911.

She waited for the siren wail and pressed herself back into the chair, willing them to come quickly.