Chapter Forty-Five Delaney

Chapter Forty-Five

Delaney

Now: Monday, 5:50 a.m.

Well, fuck.

I'd pegged Piper for the petty sort who would accept the Camille explanation without question. But here we are. She knows, I know that she knows, and with my literal name on the wall, there's no denying it. This is my grandmother's vacation home, plus all the evidence anyone needs to prove the killer isme.

After I'm done here, I'll kill those stupid MurderGals for their wretched podcast. This is their fault. Making ordinary idiots like Piper into amateur detectives, too clever for their own good.

Piper's frozen like a deer in headlights, backlit by the bulb from the closet. I know I can take her. She's injured, after all.

I grab her by the good arm, really dig my nails in.

"Quiet," I hiss, to buy myself time more than anything. I need to think. She's stupid enough to obey.

I glance back to check if Liam and Willa are still sleeping. Can I dispose of Piper without them noticing? How will I explain that? It was so perfect once I'd pinned it all on Camille. I don't know if there's a way to go back to blaming Piper.

"I—I won't tell," she stutters out. Quietly, at least. Scarcely above a whisper.

I don't buy that for a second, but maybe the best move is to make her believe that I do. The thing about being smarter than everyone else is that you think of these things. I planned out this week with incredible precision, right down to the Al'more in the pantry. Even the puzzle in Eden's welcome box held clues. It's a shame the others weren't detail-oriented enough to notice. But at least the cards made a dent. And I heard Piper and Willa discussing the scented candles earlier. I outdid myself there.

It's really all worked out brilliantly.

Except for Piper, I amend.

Well, don't forget that I'm an actress. The drama club never recognized my talent, but screw them. The best part is that Piper won't realize I'm acting—I'm that good—and that's the magic trick.

I gulp a bubble of air, blink my pretty lashes rapidly.

"You have to understand why I did it, right? Camille was just…so awful. You know, right?" I work my throat muscles, swallowing thickly. Crying's really just a physical reaction, a series of systems working in concert. It's easy to trick yourself into waterworks. When I feel the first hints of wetness on my lashes, I have to pinch my thigh hard to stop from grinning. "After years and years of abuse…and backstabbing, and comments!" I raise my voice slightly above a careful whisper for impact. I tighten my grip on Piper's arm, pulling her close so she can see the ferocity in my eyes. I push some vulnerability through too. Let my lip tremble just so.

"When I realized what she'd done to Silva, Wyatt, Declan…" I let my voice choke before the final name. "Eden." Look down, deep breath, allow that tear to fall. "I had to do it. The fake suicide was stupid, but what else was I supposed to do?"

I'm so good, my stomach does a somersault. I'm literally making myself ill.

"You killed Camille?" Piper's voice is flat; I can't read her.

I nod like a petulant toddler, one of Willa's favorite moves. I'm an amazing study; I've cataloged all my friends' go-tos over the years. When you mirror someone back at them, subconsciously they like you more, trust you. Everyone's a self-involved asshole at heart.

I wish I knew Piper well enough to reflect her back at herself, but she's rarely warm or vulnerable. And I can't be a bitch right now. So I drop my grip on Piper's arm. But I keep her close. The stairs are to her back, and I hover as near as I dare.

"So it was you I heard dragging the heater upstairs?"

Sneaky, sneaky. She must have been in the basement then. When I hadn't seen Piper on the ground floor, I'd hoped she'd gone upstairs for a nap. The plan was to take out three in one fell swoop. Then stubborn Willa zombie-walked down two flights of stairs. But, actually, four survivors does look better than two. If I can get Piper on my side, that is.

"It was all I could think of," I say. "When I found all the other stuff under there, I knew it had to be Camille. She's the only person I told about this house and that secret cubbyhole." I sniffle, selling it. Poor Delaney, betrayed by her best friend, the murderer. "I knew she was still angry about getting drugged at that party, but I didn't realize the extent. I don't know how she found out about Eden putting the drugs in the drinks, but she must have. The rest is obvious." Another sniffle. I wipe my nose for good measure. In the shadows, she can't tell that my eyes are now bone-dry.

"Declan's party, Wyatt's drugs," Piper supplies. I see her fiddling with something in her hoodie pocket and tense. Does she have a weapon? But then she stills. Relaxes. Becomes almost…cocky?

"What about Yale, then?"

"Yale?" My tone is nonchalant, but ice grips my heart. My stomach does another lurch. How does she know?

"The killer emailed Silva about being rescinded. It's the whole reason Silva set up this Senior Excursion trip last minute. So it can't have been Camille."

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

But I keep a straight face. I flip through my repertoire of reactions, settling on slowly dawning horror. "Liam…?" Small gasp, hand clasped over mouth.

I'm spinning up an alternate story, about how, actually—I forgot!—I also told my boyfriend about the closet under the stairs, but Piper scoffs.

"Delaney, come on."

Fine, I'm exhausted anyway. It takes energy to keep up this charade. So I dispense with formalities. Sigh—for real this time—and let my mask drop. It's so much more comfortable this way.

"You realize the shuttle's not coming, right? They don't prioritize plowing this far up the mountain, not immediately after a storm. And private plowing isn't free. That shuttle driver won't give two shits about a tip from Silva. He's probably tucked up safe and warm in his bed right now, not giving us a second thought."

The way Piper stills, eyes opening wide, I know I've thrown her. She thought she had me backed into a corner, but it's me with the upper hand. I picked this out-of-the-way place for a reason. The storm obliterating the roads and knocking out of the power was a bonus. Okay, maybe I scouted the weather reports too. I'm thorough. Ivy League material.

Rage pulses up my sternum, a familiar sour surge. This has to work. I'll final-girl my way back into Yale. I've worked too hard for too long to fail at the last hurdle.

"They know we're up here, though. Our parents. They'll come for us."

"Eventually," I say, letting the word's bleak temporal quality land. "It's nothing personal," I add, because it's not. "You weren't meant to be here, but seeing as you're so goddamn nosy, you'll have to go all the same."

I slam a hand over her mouth. With the other I grab hold of her uninjured arm. I push-steer her backward, my brain forecasting a new plan. An old wooden toy to the head should do the job. I'll hide the body in the hidey-hole and then I'll—

"Delaney, stop."

It's Willa's voice behind me.

Then Liam's strong arms wrenching mine back.

I am pulled out into the open.

Well, fuck, again.