Cupid's Guide to Murder

Chapter 8: Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun

"I feel so terrible for Diane. Her poor baby girl." Mom shook her head. "No parent should have to go through that."

I thought of Natasha's pristine mom and couldn't imagine her being emotional. I couldn't wrap my head around any of it.

"If you want to stay home from school today, I understand," my mom said. "How about after later we head over to Natasha's? She was an old friend. I'm sure her mom would appreciate us being there."

I thought of the last conversation Natasha and I had, a conversation that had drifted into a vague memory of cruel words shared.

My mom knew that last night had been an unfortunate tragedy. She thought the two of us had distanced, as regular friends do. But I knew the truth and that Natasha wouldn't want me at her house.

Not anymore. Still, I forced a smile and nodded.

"I'm going to go to school," I said. "I don't think I want to be alone today."

Mom shot me a sympathetic smile as I hurried upstairs. I picked out an old t-shirt and jeans before heading to the shower. As soon as I stepped in, the hot water enveloped me and distracted me from my thoughts. I scrubbed my body harder and harder, still feeling dirty. Tears threatened to prick my eyes, but they didn't. I couldn't cry. Steam built, fogging up the mirrors, but I stayed under the running stream of water, feeling the water trail down my back.

Every action had an equal and opposite reaction. It was Newton's law.

Maybe if I had answered Griffin's call, maybe if I had reached out to Natasha, maybe she wouldn't be dead right now.

I lathered soap underneath my fingernails, obsessively cleaning any dirt that might've accumulated from last night's party. As soon as I blocked Natasha's face from my mind, all I could think about was Cupid's Guide to Murder. The notes were intentional, but I couldn't make sense of the twisted riddles.

I didn't know who sent them or why they sent them. I had kept all the notes, aside from the one at the crime scene, in a jewelry box underneath my bed. The last thing I needed was for some creepy, anonymous stalker to freak me out.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. A sleepless night had led to dark circles forming under my eyes, and leftover eyeliner still fringed my eyelids. I looked like a former shell of myself.

Almost as bad as Natasha.

As soon as the thought came, I hated myself. I grabbed the yellow towel from the shower rack, placing it around my body. I swiped concealer underneath my eyes almost mechanically, brushed my hair, and even added lip gloss. Even with the subtle changes, I knew I still looked rough. My phone was still on the counter, and I scrolled through my messages until I found Griffin's name.

What would I even say?

I started typing out a message.

Hey, are you okay?

Stupid question. Like he'd be okay after this.

What did the cops ask you at the station last night?

Nope. Too interrogative, as if he hadn't had to deal with that enough already.

I deleted the message altogether, groaning. I changed into fresh clothes and ran downstairs, spotting breakfast already set out on the kitchen island.

Dev glanced at me, letting out a whistle. "Why do you look like death?"

I guess he didn't know yet.

"Dev," my mom scolded. "Learn to be a little more sensitive."