“I just…I just want to show you something.” She held up her phone as if it was the smoking gun. “I wouldn’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
I finally met her gaze. She did actually look hurt. “Too late.”
Erin opened her mouth, then just closed it again. Then she pulled up whatever she wanted to show me on her phone. I saw Aunt E grip Kitty even tighter. She needed to stay where she was. I shook my head, hoping she got the hint.
We were all silent. Me waiting for the cops. Aunt E waiting for my cue. Erin nervously tapping at her screen. She must’ve found what she wanted because she took another step in my direction. Luckily, Erin would have to get through two couches, a coffee table, Gram’s recliner, and a dozen knickknacks to get to me.
“Can I just show you this?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just hit PLAY and held the thing up. I glanced at the clock again instead. One more minute. I could force myself to be interested for sixty seconds. I put on my best I’m interested face. The one I always wore during Quantitative Analysis. But I couldn’t make out much. Then I heard it.
The sound was guttural, like someone choking. Had she filmed Desiree dying? Really?
“Throw it.” I could sense her hesitation, so I repeated myself, barely containing the shake in my voice. “Throw. It.”
There was a pause then and finally she did as told. Her lob was light but made it, dropping softly on the light blue carpet a few inches in front of me. I picked it up with my left hand. The right was still reserved for Desiree’s. I watched the video, then recoiled. Erin was sucking dick like she’d planned to upload the video herself to Pornhub. I paused it, not sure if I should be relieved or disgusted.
“Check the date,” she said as I averted my eyes.
I really didn’t want to, but looking at the phone again, I tapped the screen with a right knuckle. Manhattan, New York. June 5, 2019, 4:08 a.m.
Leave it to Erin for even her alibi to be fucked up. Still, it didn’t explain Desiree’s phone. Didn’t explain why she’d been lying for six days. I threw her phone back with nowhere near the same courtesy. She jumped as it hurled past her. “Great,” I said. “You can show it to the police when they get here.”
“I’m still here because I want to help you. I wasn’t lying about that.”
I rolled my eyes, thinking of her “help” this morning. There was no doubt she was the one who’d called the police to scare me away.
“I can help you,” she said again. “Help you put Zarah away for killing Desiree.”
The doorbell rang.
Twenty-Two
Turned out the police came and went as quickly as a one-hit wonder. My story was half-baked—the person threatening me had left to threaten someone else. They were happy to follow suit without a single follow-up question. The one time I was happy the police could be so apathetic.
After they left, Erin was still staring at me like she wanted to cry. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was sad about what she’d done or just that she’d gotten caught. We were still on opposite sides of the room. She sat on the couch. I sat in Gram’s recliner. The one usually untouched, like a memorial. Instead of it feeling strange, I felt empowered. Like Gram was holding my hand. Aunt E was in a chair of her own midway between, like a referee. Her Hello Kitty bat lay across her lap.
My cell went off in the kitchen. All three of us ignored it. There were already too many phones in play.
“You have two minutes to give me the TL;DR version of why Zarah killed Desiree before I call them back,” I said, and Erin leaned forward like she actually believed me.
“I loved Freck. Like a sister.”
I was tired of the same old lines, the same old bullshit. “You don’t get to say that. Not anymore. Not when you lied to her about who you were.”
“What makes you think I lied to her?” She paused, like an actor waiting for her costar to deliver the next line. But my mind went blank. She kept on. “When Mel cut her off, your sister was dead broke. Anything she earned from that silly reality show she’d spent on clothes to wear on it.”
She was right. Desiree had never had a reason to save, running through Mel’s bank account like it was a treadmill. But still, I objected. “She had money coming in. I saw the #spon tags on her posts.”
“Any sponsored posts were paid with more clothes, not money. And before you bring up the influencer trips, they’re great when you’re there but don’t keep a roof over your head when you aren’t. Your sister was broke, homeless, and had no one to turn to.”
She paused just long enough, I knew the jab had been directed at me. I said nothing, just put Desiree’s phone down so I could rub my wrist.
“She could have come to us,” Aunt E said. “She knows we would have done anything for her.”
You could tell by the smile Erin gave Aunt E that she liked her, didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “And what? Stay in the spare bedroom? With all due respect, Aunt E, this place doesn’t fit the Instagram aesthetic. Even if you’re going for vintage.” The smile was long gone by the time she turned back to me. “I was able to take care of us while we figured out how to get her some cash. First thing we did was use the credit card.”
“My credit card,” I said, even though we all knew damn well I hadn’t paid for it.
“Credit cards are great for small things, but you can’t slap a credit card down for office space. Especially one that didn’t have either of our names on it. We needed a larger chunk of money. And that’s where Free came in.”
“We’re supposed to be talking about Zarah.”
Erin moved her bare leg slightly so it peeled off the plastic on the couch. “I’m getting there.”
“This has to do with Desiree’s pregnancy?”
“Pregnancy test. You can get a fake one on Amazon for $9.79. Gets here in two days if you have Prime.”
My gasp started loud, but I caught myself midway, faltering into a strangled intake of breath. Desiree hadn’t had a miscarriage. She hadn’t had an abortion. She hadn’t had a baby in any form.
“And you both thought this was okay?” I said. “Conning people for money?”
“He could afford it. All of them can.” For the first time since I’d exposed her, she sounded defiant.
Desiree had been many things. Selfish. Narcissistic. Addicted to the spotlight as much as she was to any drug. But the Desiree I had known—loved—didn’t steal credit cards and fake pregnancy tests. It made me scared for what else she’d done. What Erin was about to tell me. What had gotten her killed.
A phone rang again—Aunt E’s house line. I waited until she went to answer it before I said anything else, pretended it was because I didn’t want Aunt E to hear when I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear myself. “How does Zarah play into this?”
“The accident. Two years ago. Freck wasn’t driving.”
“I know that.” Now. It was why I had been desperate to find Zor-El. Then I realized what Erin was trying to say. “Desiree told you Zarah was driving the car?”
I’d assumed it was some man. Some stranger. Some random hookup. Not a girl Desiree had known her whole life. The one who’d been there her first day of school. First dance. First date.