“Do you know how awkward it will be, just showing up on campus? The media’s going to be called. The only ones I know who won’t betray me are my frat brothers.”
“So go to them,” I spoke up. I couldn’t believe I was agreeing with sending Corrigan along with Mena, but—
“Bryce is right. Go there. Have them ask around for you, that’s considering they agree with you and think I’ve been framed.”
“They do. They told me right away when you were taken in. They said if I needed anything, not to hesitate.”
“There you go then. Ask them now. Have them scout around campus for you.”
“I could just call to do that,” Corrigan grumbled, shooting Mena a dark look. “I don’t have to drive to campus to get that done.”
“Just go.”
Corrigan sent Bryce a withering look. “You go.”
Bryce sighed, rolling his eyes before he turned back to the coffee pot. Filling his cup, he came over to the table and slid into a chair beside mine. “It doesn’t hurt to have eyes and ears on campus. You know we’re right.”
“Screw all of you,” Corrigan burst out.
He was going. We all saw it then, and Bryce relaxed next to me. I said, “Just ask questions. Don’t do anything stupid when you’re there.”
Corrigan rolled his eyes. “I will probably have an hour before someone calls the press. People are going to be taking pictures of me, just to sell them to those tabloids.” His gaze locked with mine. “You know I’m going to be harassed like crazy when word gets out I’m on campus.”
“So go in disguise.”
Corrigan froze. Denton whipped around. Bryce sucked in a breath, and I lifted my own eyes. All four of us turned at the same time to Mena, who had just spoken. She bit her lip at the sudden attention, but shrugged one of her dainty shoulders. She said again, “Go in disguise. Isn’t that what you guys did for the hotel? You snuck in just fine. No one knew you were there, at first.”
Denton looked around. “You could, you know. I could do a different disguise, or I could call in my makeup girl. She could change your ethnicity if you wanted.”
“That is an option,” Bryce added. “Even if we already used disguises, that’s the thing with them. You can change them, and people won’t know.”
Corrigan grumbled, knowing he had lost. When he finally agreed, I was still watching Mena. She flushed, ducking her head down as she continued eating her toast, but she was right. Denton had a makeup girl. If she could make Corrigan a different ethnicity, she could do the same to me. Then my ankle monitor suddenly felt like it gained thirty pounds. It was weighing me down.
But if I could get it off, if I needed to for some reason, I could disguise myself. That thought was tucked to the back of my mind.
If I could get it off, if I ever had to get it off.
I didn’t want to think about that time, for what reason that could be, and I took Bryce’s coffee from his hand and gulped half of it down.
“Sheldon! That’s hot.”
I didn’t feel it and pushed it back over to him. “Thanks.” Then I left and went back to my room. Denton was in the hallway on the phone. As I passed him, I heard him say, “Hi, Monica? Yeah, can you come over with your makeup kit? I have a favor to ask.”
I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. Sliding down to the floor, I sat there. My elbows rested on my knees, and I rested my head in my hands.
I needed a moment, just a moment.
A sense of dread like I had never experienced stirred in me. It was filling me up and somehow, someway, I knew there’d be a time when I would have to get the ankle monitor off.
That was when I knew—the killer was coming to me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE KILLER
“Sheldon Jeneve, dubbed The Queen Bee Killer, was at the Palloy Hotel earlier today where it looked like she had her own impromptu press conference.” The newscaster on the news glanced to her co-anchor. Folding her hands together on the desk, she asked, “Is that what you thought, Derek? It seemed like a spontaneous idea of hers.”
Her co-anchor, his hair combed neatly back, wearing a tailored grey suit and purple tie, gave her a polite smile in return. He shrugged, tapping one finger against his chin. “You know, if it was planned or not, it worked. Sheldon Jeneve is all over the news reports today and not in a bad way. She had some interesting points, and if they’re true, the police may need to look further into her case.”
“That’s very true.”
No, no, no.
This was all wrong. All wrong. I shook my head, slow at first as I listened to the news report, then faster at the end. I couldn’t stop.
“We’ve kept our viewers up-to-date with any new developments in the murder of Grace Barton. Sheldon Jeneve has been the first and most pivotal suspect for her murder. The police have seemed very confident in their case against her, but she made a plea for the public today, and I have to admit, I think the public heard her.”
The female reporter frowned. “You think so, Derek?”
He nodded, organizing his stack of papers in front of him. “I really do, Nancy. She was very passionate, but we only report the news.” He held his hand up toward the camera. “Take a look for yourself. If you think Sheldon Jeneve might be wrongly accused, tweet us at #channelyessheldon or #channelnosheldon. Let us know what you think, folks. And on that note, here’s a part of her press conference. You can watch the entire video on our website.”
They switched to a video of Sheldon at the hotel, but I tuned it out. I had watched it many times already. I could recite it word for word. They were blaming Sheldon. As her beautiful face came to the screen, a scream started to build inside me. I hadn’t framed her. Grace’s death wasn’t meant for this. It was meant for more, so much more. This couldn’t happen. I couldn’t allow this.
No, no, no.
Then a reporter asked Sheldon, “Who cut your brakes?”
The screaming in my head stopped. My hands were clenched to both sides of my head, pulling at my hair, but the answer was given to me. Right there. Handed to me on a silver platter. I almost laughed. That reporter, whoever it was, just gave me a way to save Sheldon. I moved my hands and looked up, all of my inner turmoil turned off, and I waited with my breath held.
“Guadalupe Ramirez,” she answered.
“So go to them,” I spoke up. I couldn’t believe I was agreeing with sending Corrigan along with Mena, but—
“Bryce is right. Go there. Have them ask around for you, that’s considering they agree with you and think I’ve been framed.”
“They do. They told me right away when you were taken in. They said if I needed anything, not to hesitate.”
“There you go then. Ask them now. Have them scout around campus for you.”
“I could just call to do that,” Corrigan grumbled, shooting Mena a dark look. “I don’t have to drive to campus to get that done.”
“Just go.”
Corrigan sent Bryce a withering look. “You go.”
Bryce sighed, rolling his eyes before he turned back to the coffee pot. Filling his cup, he came over to the table and slid into a chair beside mine. “It doesn’t hurt to have eyes and ears on campus. You know we’re right.”
“Screw all of you,” Corrigan burst out.
He was going. We all saw it then, and Bryce relaxed next to me. I said, “Just ask questions. Don’t do anything stupid when you’re there.”
Corrigan rolled his eyes. “I will probably have an hour before someone calls the press. People are going to be taking pictures of me, just to sell them to those tabloids.” His gaze locked with mine. “You know I’m going to be harassed like crazy when word gets out I’m on campus.”
“So go in disguise.”
Corrigan froze. Denton whipped around. Bryce sucked in a breath, and I lifted my own eyes. All four of us turned at the same time to Mena, who had just spoken. She bit her lip at the sudden attention, but shrugged one of her dainty shoulders. She said again, “Go in disguise. Isn’t that what you guys did for the hotel? You snuck in just fine. No one knew you were there, at first.”
Denton looked around. “You could, you know. I could do a different disguise, or I could call in my makeup girl. She could change your ethnicity if you wanted.”
“That is an option,” Bryce added. “Even if we already used disguises, that’s the thing with them. You can change them, and people won’t know.”
Corrigan grumbled, knowing he had lost. When he finally agreed, I was still watching Mena. She flushed, ducking her head down as she continued eating her toast, but she was right. Denton had a makeup girl. If she could make Corrigan a different ethnicity, she could do the same to me. Then my ankle monitor suddenly felt like it gained thirty pounds. It was weighing me down.
But if I could get it off, if I needed to for some reason, I could disguise myself. That thought was tucked to the back of my mind.
If I could get it off, if I ever had to get it off.
I didn’t want to think about that time, for what reason that could be, and I took Bryce’s coffee from his hand and gulped half of it down.
“Sheldon! That’s hot.”
I didn’t feel it and pushed it back over to him. “Thanks.” Then I left and went back to my room. Denton was in the hallway on the phone. As I passed him, I heard him say, “Hi, Monica? Yeah, can you come over with your makeup kit? I have a favor to ask.”
I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. Sliding down to the floor, I sat there. My elbows rested on my knees, and I rested my head in my hands.
I needed a moment, just a moment.
A sense of dread like I had never experienced stirred in me. It was filling me up and somehow, someway, I knew there’d be a time when I would have to get the ankle monitor off.
That was when I knew—the killer was coming to me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE KILLER
“Sheldon Jeneve, dubbed The Queen Bee Killer, was at the Palloy Hotel earlier today where it looked like she had her own impromptu press conference.” The newscaster on the news glanced to her co-anchor. Folding her hands together on the desk, she asked, “Is that what you thought, Derek? It seemed like a spontaneous idea of hers.”
Her co-anchor, his hair combed neatly back, wearing a tailored grey suit and purple tie, gave her a polite smile in return. He shrugged, tapping one finger against his chin. “You know, if it was planned or not, it worked. Sheldon Jeneve is all over the news reports today and not in a bad way. She had some interesting points, and if they’re true, the police may need to look further into her case.”
“That’s very true.”
No, no, no.
This was all wrong. All wrong. I shook my head, slow at first as I listened to the news report, then faster at the end. I couldn’t stop.
“We’ve kept our viewers up-to-date with any new developments in the murder of Grace Barton. Sheldon Jeneve has been the first and most pivotal suspect for her murder. The police have seemed very confident in their case against her, but she made a plea for the public today, and I have to admit, I think the public heard her.”
The female reporter frowned. “You think so, Derek?”
He nodded, organizing his stack of papers in front of him. “I really do, Nancy. She was very passionate, but we only report the news.” He held his hand up toward the camera. “Take a look for yourself. If you think Sheldon Jeneve might be wrongly accused, tweet us at #channelyessheldon or #channelnosheldon. Let us know what you think, folks. And on that note, here’s a part of her press conference. You can watch the entire video on our website.”
They switched to a video of Sheldon at the hotel, but I tuned it out. I had watched it many times already. I could recite it word for word. They were blaming Sheldon. As her beautiful face came to the screen, a scream started to build inside me. I hadn’t framed her. Grace’s death wasn’t meant for this. It was meant for more, so much more. This couldn’t happen. I couldn’t allow this.
No, no, no.
Then a reporter asked Sheldon, “Who cut your brakes?”
The screaming in my head stopped. My hands were clenched to both sides of my head, pulling at my hair, but the answer was given to me. Right there. Handed to me on a silver platter. I almost laughed. That reporter, whoever it was, just gave me a way to save Sheldon. I moved my hands and looked up, all of my inner turmoil turned off, and I waited with my breath held.
“Guadalupe Ramirez,” she answered.
