The Good Girls

Chapter 21

TEARS LEAKED FROM THE CORNERS of Audrey's eyes faster than she could wipe them with her sleeve. She blinked to clear her vision and voice-dialed Chad on her car's Bluetooth. When he picked up, her composure fell apart again. "She's so awful!" she sobbed. "I can't take it anymore!"

"Whoa . . . slow down," Chad said. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

Audrey took a few deep, slow breaths, steadying her voice. "I'm fine. It's just—Leslie. She just attacked me in public, and now I have to go home and see her again, and this whole weekend is going to be full of family time and it's going to be so terrible." She couldn't imagine what Leslie's mother was going to be like—if she had even a tenth of Leslie's attitude, she'd be unbearable.

Chad groaned. "I'm sorry. She's so freakin' evil."
"Look, I'm sorry to ask you this, but can you meet me at my house? I need a buffer. And I don't feel like I can rely on my dad right now." She winced, thinking of what Leslie had said about him not wanting her around. It wasn't true, was it? He didn't think she was guilty, did he?

"Of course," Chad said. "I'm at work. Be there in fifteen."

"Wait, you're at work?" Audrey asked, sniffing. "You shouldn't come over, then." Chad's boss at the ice cream shop had given him his job back as soon as the charges were dropped, but she knew it would take longer for people's trust in Chad to be totally restored. This was not the time for him to be pushing it.

"Are you sure?" Chad asked. "Why don't you go to my house instead? I can bring over double-double caramel fudge later," he offered.

Audrey sighed, slowing at a stoplight. "I wish," she said, imagining the scene, hanging out and eating ice cream and being normal. "But I should probably face this."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? I'm out of here in . . ." She heard him pull the phone away from his cheek so he could check the time. ". . . ninety minutes. I'll come straight to you. Okay?"

"Okay." Audrey was flooded with relief and gratitude. "I love you."

"I love you, too. It's going to be okay. I promise."
They clicked off the call just as Audrey pulled into her driveway. Her heart sank at the sight of Leslie's car, parked at a crazy angle, its front tires on the lawn. How could Ava face her? Then again, what was her alternative?

Just as she put her foot on the bottom step, she heard Leslie's voice in the kitchen, rising and falling in an emphatic tirade. She couldn't make out the words, but she could hear the tone—angry. Audrey knew Leslie was telling her father about her, and sure enough, a moment later, she heard her father's low murmur in response. His voice sounded soothing. Maybe he was agreeing with everything she said.

Horrified and definitely not ready to face the music, Audrey ran upstairs to her room and slammed her bedroom door. She fell forward onto her bed, misery washing over her. A knock on her door made her jump. To her relief, her father's head peeked inside, not Leslie's.

"Audrey?" He sounded unsure.

Audrey turned away, facing the wall. "What?" she asked woodenly.

He took a few steps into the room. "We were hoping you could come downstairs and help set up for the party."

Audrey said nothing. It was just about the last thing she wanted to do.

"You know I expect you to put on a good face this weekend," her father said. "It would mean a lot to me and Leslie."

"Uh-huh," Audrey answered, without intonation.
Then he cleared his throat. "Leslie told me you were mouthing off to her," he added softly. "Is that true?"

Mouthing off. So what was Leslie doing to her? Audrey looked down at the rug. As she moved, her father gasped. "Audrey," he pleaded, reaching for her arm, where there were still deep red marks where Leslie's nails had dug into Audrey's skin. "Where did you get those marks?"

Audrey looked at her father, then quickly turned away. She wanted desperately to tell him the truth. But even if she did tell him, Leslie would make up something to get herself off the hook and figure out a way to punish Audrey for it later. What was the point?

"It was an accident," she muttered. "Just some dumb thing at school."

Audrey's father just looked at her, his eyes wide and sad. "You've become so different," he said.

"So . . . withdrawn. It's like I don't know you anymore. Leslie is worried about you."

Audrey stared at him. Leslie had him so convinced, and she was freaking sick of it. Something inside her cracked, like a dam breaking. "I'm not different!" she burst out.

"You're the one who's changed! You're the one who doesn't spend time with me anymore, or give me the benefit of the doubt, and it's like you've just forgotten Mom, and—"

A loud, sickening thump cut through Audrey's words. Audrey and her father jumped off the bed and ran to look out the window—where the sound had come from. Audrey gazed out across the yard but saw nothing amiss. Then she looked straight down, and screamed.

Leslie lay limp and still on the grass. Her body had fallen at an awkward angle, her knees pointing one way, her torso the other. Her neck was twisted in a sickeningly unnatural direction.

Audrey made a small gurgling sound at the back of her throat. Mr. Rose pushed around her at the window. When he saw his wife, his face paled. "Dear god," he whispered. His knees buckled, and he clutched the windowsill to keep himself upright. Audrey pulled him to his feet, and together they raced downstairs and outside.

The ground was wet with early evening dew. Leslie was in the same crooked position, but up close her face looked lined and haggard, and a thin dribble of chardonnay bubbled at the corner of her mouth. "Oh my dear," Mr. Rose said, dropping to his knees and throwing himself against her chest. "Oh my sweet, sweet dear."

"Dad, don't touch her!" Audrey screamed. "You could hurt her!"

Mr. Rose backed up, his eyes full of fear. Audrey knelt down and put her ear to Leslie's mouth, listening for breath. She heard a faint inhale, then a wheezing exhale. "Call 911," she said shakily. Then she looked up at the house. Above them, the doors of the master bedroom balcony were wide open, as if they'd been flung outward. Had Leslie stepped out for some air? Lost her balance, toppled over?

Audrey looked back down at Leslie, who had turned a ghostly shade of gray. Her heart began to pound as she remembered her words about Leslie from that day in film studies. Maybe she could fall off her balcony after she finishes her nightly bottle of chardonnay.

Someone had done this.

And then something else gripped her: That same someone might still be in the house right now.

Audrey jumped back up and faced the front door. Something moved at the corner of her eye, and she turned. Was that a shadow, creeping toward the backyard? Stumbling forward, Audrey rounded the rose bushes at the corner of the house and burst onto the patio, which was half-decorated with elegant tables, place settings, flowers, and candles in elegant silver candlesticks, all for the party. But there was no one there.

Everything was still. Audrey sucked in deep, gasping mouthfuls of air, terror and confusion and horror coursing through her. She wanted to tell herself that it was an accident—that she hadn't seen anything at all back here.

But she knew, deep down, that this wasn't an accident.