The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm, buttery aroma of croissants filled the pastry café. More than two dozen people had walked in and out of the café over the past forty minutes, yet I hadn't even seen so much as a strand of Trish Nash's blonde curls.
At this point, I started to think she wouldn't show up.
"Here you go." The waitress placed a plate of apple turnover—my third pastry of the day—next to the half-drunk glass of iced coffee on the table and took my empty plate.
I gave the waitress a thank-you smile. As soon as I was alone, I sank my knife into the puff pastry triangle, cut a large piece, and stuffed it into my mouth. Within minutes, my plate was empty, save for some pastry flakes. My stomach wanted more, but my wallet screamed for me to stop.
The sensible thing to do was to leave the café, yet a part of me clung to the hope that Trish Nash would show up.
I pulled up my phone and checked my messages. There weren't any new ones.
Bored, I opened TweetyGram. The first thing that appeared in Louise's feed was a post by the Wolf. It was a photo of a hand holding a strawberry ice cream cone.
Hot sunny day = time for ice cream 🍨
I brought my phone closer to my face and scrutinized the picture. The Wolf had thin, long fingers, polished nails, and a skinny forearm, her wrist bone sticking out. It suggested they might be an underweight person, like Harriet or Almond; but if there was one thing I'd learned over the past few weeks was that I shouldn't believe everything I saw on TweetyGram.
The Wolf might've edited the photo to look thinner, so I couldn't be sure if the Wolf was skinny.
There was, however, one thing that was unlikely to be edited: their charm bracelet.
Various charms hung from the silver bracelet; a shooting star, a four-leaf clover, a trophy with an engraved number 1, an opened book with a bookworm on it, and a sunglasses-wearing pineapple.
Wait a second. That charm. I've seen that charm before.
While I tried to recall where I'd seen the pineapple charm, a car horn blared outside the café. A polished, berry-pink Porsche cut off a truck. Luckily, the truck driver stepped on the break just in time and no one was hurt. The driver of the Porsche didn't seem to care about the commotion they'd caused and proceeded to pull over to an empty parking spot in front of the café.
Hmm? Could it be?
Trish Nash stepped out of the berry-pink Porsche, dressed in a red tweed coat, chic white-and-black dress, and sparkly yellow tights, a plaid headband perched on top of her lustrous curls. The 17-year-old girl turned heads as she swaggered toward the café, but not in a good way.
Stopping by the door, she took her oversized sunglasses off. As she glanced around, I stood up and waved at her from across the room. She dropped her sunglasses into her black Luc Valbon bag and approached me.
"You're Liv's reporter friend?" She scanned me from head to toe, a condescending glitter in her eyes.
"Yeah." I extended a hand for her to shake. "I'm Lindsey Darling."
She merely placed her palm against mine for a second before she took a seat across the table from me. As I sat down, she snapped her fingers twice at the waitress, who came rushing over. "One iced caramel macchiato with soy milk, twelve pumps sugar-free vanilla, twelve pumps sugar-free caramel . . ."
The waitress's mouth twitched with irritation as she jotted down Trish's ridiculous order. I'd only met Trish less than a minute ago, and I'd already felt a pinch of annoyance at the back of my throat.
No wonder the Wolf targeted her.
I waited until the waitress left before saying, "Thanks for agreeing to talk to me."
"No biggie," Trish replied. "Liv told me you're closing in on the Wolf. Is it true?"
"Yes."
"Good. I wanna see that creep behind bars." She leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. "So, what d'ya wanna know?"
"Let's start from the beginning." I opened my notebook and clicked my pen. "Could you tell me when and how the Wolf first got in touch with you?"
"April thirtieth. That creep pretended to be Eleanor Clarke and congratulated me and my team for making it to the Worlds final."
"To clarify, you're talking about the Cheerleading World Championships in Florida, right?"
"Uh-huh. Pretty awesome, right?" Her peach-glossed lips tipped into a proud smirk that was eerily similar to Charity's.
I plastered a smile on my face. "Congratulations. I assume you posted a picture of you and your teammates on TweetyGram that day?"
"Duh. Of course, I did. We just made it to the finals! RBA's cheer team hasn't made it to the finals in, like, ever!"
The last time Rietveld-Beaumont Academy's cheerleading team made it to the finals—and won—was seven years ago. I knew because I'd been a part of that team.
A part of me wanted to set the record straight, but I stopped myself and feigned awe instead. "Wow. That's amazing. Your parents must be proud."
"Of course, they are. They're super lucky to have a beautiful, uber-talented daughter like me instead of some ugly loser who can't even do a back handspring."
There was nothing wrong with not being able to do basic gymnastic moves. It certainly wouldn't make someone a loser. It irked me how some people, like Trish, thought otherwise.
I restrained the urge to lecture the girl and focused on the questions I'd prepared. "Did you happen to leave a comment on Malibu, 90265's official TweetyGram page that day?"
She barked a derisive laugh. "Lady, I used to comment on thousands of posts every day. I can't possibly remember each and every one of them."
"Fair enough. Do you remember what you and the Wolf talked about?"
"Yeah. We talked about lots of things. Hollywood, being a TweetyFluencer, fashion tips. Eleanor is, like, my fashionspo, so I was uber excited to discuss fashion with her." As soon as the words left her lips, she twisted her mouth in thought. Frown lines nestled between her eyebrows.
"Something wrong?"
"Well, now that I think of it, yeah." She pulled her phone out of her bag and started tapping the screen. "I once asked them about what outfit I should wear to my bae's birthday party, and they said I should wear a neon pink leather jacket and a lime dress. I mean, what is this? The eighties? They must've been trying to get me to commit fashion suicide, but the joke's on them because I totally nailed the look. See?"
She shoved her phone in front of my face, making me jerk my head back.
Up until yesterday, Trish's TweetyGram account had still been temporarily deactivated, but now it was up and running again.
I observed the TweetyGram post she was showing me. Trish looked like a clown in the mismatched outfit. The colors of her jacket and dress clashed with one another, and they were too bright for her alabaster skin. If the Wolf had wanted to humiliate Trish, they'd done a pretty good job. Yet, considering how they always tried to gain their victims' trust by befriending them, I couldn't help but wonder if they simply had a terrible fashion sense.
"I got five thousand, four hundred and seventy-six likes," Trish added, directing my eyes to the number of likes below the photo. "Everyone at school copied my look after that."
goodgalriri, OliviaMWalker, and 5,474 others like this post
Suspicion rose in me when I saw Harriet's username.
The Wolf no doubt had a personal vendetta against Trish, not that I could blame them, and that meant they were someone who knew Trish personally. I could easily cross off some names on my list by asking Trish if she knew any of the suspects. The problem was Trish was a loose cannon. If I told her who the suspects were, she might jump to conclusions and hurt an innocent person.
That was why I decided to use the tricks I'd learned from shadowing Zoe over the past week.
I faked a gasp. "Oh, my gosh. You're friends with Riri Richards?"
"Uh-huh, we're BFFs," she replied as a waitress placed a glass of caramel macchiato and a plate of croissants in front of her. "Riri was my mentor at TweetyFluencer camp. She taught me everything I know about being a TweetyFluencer. She's awesome."
Harriet was beginning to move up my suspect list. Not only that she had been a member of Model UN club like the Wolf, but she also knew Trish. The two seemed to be on good terms though. Trish didn't suspect Harriet of being the Wolf, and Harriet even took the time to like Trish's post.
But then again, Charity liked my posts too.
"Speaking of Riri Richards . . ." I put my pen down and folded my hands under my chin, pretending to be a starstruck fan. "Have you ever met Char—Cher Quinn too? I looove their TweetyTube show."
"Of course! I wasn't on Cher's team in TweetyFluencer camp, but we're total BFFs. She's invited me to her birthday party tomorrow, but my family's leaving for Italy this evening, so I have no choice but to skip the party."
Looks like I can't cross Charity off the list yet. "When exactly was this TweetyFluencer camp?"
"Spring break. About . . . late March, I think?"
Trish got wolved a month after the TweetyFluencer camp. Something might have happened between her and the Wolf in the camp that drove them to develop an elaborate plan to humiliate her.
"Why? Interested in joining next year?" Trish sipped her caramel macchiato through the straw.
"Two of my cousins dream of being a TweetyFluencer, so I'm thinking of signing them up for the camp next year. For their sweet sixteen birthday present." I didn't have any cousins, but a little white lie never hurt.
"Ooh." She leaned forward, her face glowing with interest. "What kind of TweetyFluencer? Fashion? Beauty? Travel?"
"Brooke wants to be a beauty influencer. She's been obsessed with make-up since I bought her her first make-up kit for her thirteenth birthday. She wants to be like Serafina Martin when she grows up."
"Oh! That's the runner-up on last season's Glam Up, right?"
Shoot. Don't tell me Sera knows this girl too. "Yeah. She doesn't happen to be a mentor at TweetyFluencer camp too, does she? Because Brooke would be thrilled to have to have Serafina Martin as a mentor."
"Not this year, unfortunately. I heard she'd been invited to be a mentor, but she had a scheduling conflict or something. But maybe she'll say yes next year." She sighed in awe. "Gosh, I love her work. I still can't believe she lost to that untalented dude."
"Tell me about it." I bit back a relieved smile and made a mental note to move Sera down the list. "What about bookishgrammers?"
The sparkle of interest in Trish's eyes died. She picked up her fork and knife and started cutting her croissant.
"Brooke's sister Louise is somewhat of a nerd. She always talks about this girl who reviews novels on TweetyGram," I continued. "Hey, I heard the girl just graduated from Rietveld-Beaumont Academy. Maybe you know her too."
"I doubt it," she replied in a condescending tone. "What's her name?"
I pretended to think for a moment. "Alison . . . Monday?"
Trish's hand stopped moving, and her jaw tensed. Hmm?
She quickly put on a smile and shook her head. "Nope. Never heard of her."
Trish was lying—and that meant she was hiding something.
"Right." I clicked my pen and made a note to find out more about Trish and Almond. "I'm sorry, we went off-topic. Now, about the Wolf's posts. Do you remember what they were?"
"Photos of the Malibu set . . . Eleanor's selfies . . . Ice cream?"
I jotted down the information in my notebook. The person who wolved Trish followed the same M.O. as the Malibu Wolf: posting pictures of the Malibu set and befriending the victims for two weeks before launching a final attack. It became more and more likely they were, indeed, the same person.
There was just one difference between the Trish's case and the others.
"Okay, I know this is hard," I said, cautious, "but I need to ask you a few questions about the incident."
She inhaled and exhaled. "Ask away."
"As I understand it, the Wolf tricked you into believing Eleanor Clarke had invited you for a private studio tour."
"Uh-huh."
"Whose idea was it to livestream the event?"
"Theirs. They said they wanted to thank me personally for the book I'd given them, and they wanted to help me gain more followers by doing a livestream with me at the studio. They also told me to bring Fish with me to film the whole thing." She rolled her eyes and grunted. "It was awful. What have I ever done to deserve such humiliation?"
Let's see. Driving recklessly? Placing the most obnoxious order at a café? Being a snob?
"I'm so sorry," I said, trying to be as sympathetic as possible. "You mentioned something about giving them a book?"
"Uh-huh."
"What book was it?"
"Moonlight."
What is it with teenagers and glow-in-the-dark wolves?
I ignored the burning question in my head and focused on getting some information that could help me catch the Malibu Wolf. "Did they ask you for the book? Or did you just want to give Eleanor a friendly present?"
"Well . . . both, really."
I knitted my brows together. "What do you mean both?"
"So," she began, folding her arms on the table, "one night, we were chatting, and they told me they—well, Eleanor was invited to audition for the new Moonlight movie. We both love the Moonlight novels, and we ended up discussing the books for hours. Long story short, they told me they had misplaced their signed book, and they must've used some creepy black magic on me because the next thing I knew, I offered to get a new signed copy for them."
"An autographed copy?"
"Uh-huh. My dad owns the publishing company that publishes Moonlight, so it's not that big of a deal."
If the Wolf did bear a grudge against Trish, it was possible they still kept the book she'd sent her as a trophy. If they did, then it would be an incriminating piece of evidence. Of course, they could easily claim they'd gotten it at a regular book signing, which was why I hoped Trish had left a little more than an autograph in the book—like any narcissistic person would've done.
"Did you, by any chance, ask the author to write a personalized message to Eleanor?"
She gasped in awe. "How did you know? Are you a psychic?"
I shook my head, chuckling. "It's just a hunch. Do you remember what the message was?"
"Yeah. It was, 'To my dearest Eleanor, from your BFF Trish.'"
Oh, I love it when I'm right. I suppressed a grin. "Alright, now, this is important. Where did you send the book?"
"I didn't send the book."
I furrowed my brow. "Pardon me?"
"We were supposed to meet at Eleanor's agency's office. But when I got there, they DMed me, saying they couldn't make it because Hex, one of Eleanor's cats, got food poisoning and they had to take him to the vet. They asked me to drop the book off at the receptionist, so I did."
Eleanor's agency's office, huh?
"When exactly was this?" I asked.
"It was a Saturday. A few days before . . . you know." She lowered her gaze to her caramel macchiato and took a sip. "The Wolf posted a picture of the book the next day and asked me to come to the studio for the tour."
If the Wolf had picked up the book at Eleanor's agency's office, then the Wolf must've been an employee—or a talent—at the agency. That certainly could narrow down the suspects.
"Other than the book, did the Wolf ask you to send them any money?"
She let out a mocking laugh. "What am I? An idiot? If they did, I would've known right away that they were a wolf."
Trish had lied to me before, so I couldn't take her word for it this time either. She might've been too embarrassed to tell the truth and decided to lie.
Once Trish left the café, I reread my notes. So far, Sera was the only one on the suspect list who had never met Trish in person. But I couldn't rule her out just yet.
A signed novel was worth a few hundred dollars. Some might even be worth thousands of dollars. Sera, or any of the other suspects, could easily sell it on eBuy for some quick cash. I couldn't figure out why Sera would want to humiliate Trish, but I wouldn't be surprised if the girl had said something that infuriated her—and no one wanted to get on Sera's bad side.
The other three suspects also had motives to want to trick Trish into humiliating herself.
Charity might've seen Trish as a possible rival who needed to be eliminated, seeing how Trish had 11.1 million followers, around 100,000 followers shy of Charity's.
Harriet might've had the same motive, especially considering she only had 10.6 million followers on TweetyGram. It was also possible she saw Trish as a younger version of Charity, whom I was sure she resented. She might've been stuck with Charity for her career, but she could've dumped her anger on Trish.
As for Almond, I had no idea what Trish had done to her, but it couldn't have been good. Trish wouldn't have lied about not knowing Almond if there wasn't any bad blood between them.
The key to cracking this case was the book Trish had sent to Eleanor. If I could find it, or if anyone had seen who had taken it, then I would be able to figure out the Wolf's real identity.
I opened the browser on my phone and searched the web for the name of the talent agency Eleanor Clarke was signed to. Surprised washed over me when I read one of the results.
Natalie Winters and Eleanor Clarke Sign with Artistic Artists Agency
A quick visit to the agency's website told me they also represented Charity and Harriet, which meant those two had access to the agency's office building. The possibility that either of them—or even both—was the Malibu Wolf grew stronger.
Now, all I needed was the proof, and to get that, I needed Nat's help.
Author's Note:
So, any thoughts about Trish?
Lots of clues in this chapter! Did you spot all of them? Based on the clues so far, who do you think is the Malibu Wolf?
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, please vote and/or leave comments :) Thanks for reading!