The Good Girls

Chapter 35

SEVERAL MUFFINS AND SOME LEFTOVER pad Thai later, Jane stepped out of Audrey's house, debating whether or not to head straight home. She stood with her hand on her car door handle, staring up at the bright blue sky, the first clear, sunny day they'd had in weeks. The air felt thinner, crisper, cleaner. The leaves on the trees swaying in the light wind were saturated with greens, yellows, and oranges richer than any colors she'd ever seen. Even the sky seemed more endless, the small puffs of clouds softer. It was as if all her senses had been reawakened and reinvigorated. But she still felt unsettled. Unfinished. There was something she needed to do.

Screw it, Jane thought.

Ten minutes later, she pulled into the Coldwells' driveway. Lonnie's car sat near the garage. Jane took a deep, steadying breath and strode to the front door. She prepared herself for a cold reception—even a door slammed in her face. But she knew she had to try.

She rang the bell, listening to the familiar tone. After a moment, she heard a soft shuffling sound as someone approached on the inside. She held her breath as the door swung open.

Lonnie wore flannel pajamas decorated with dancing musical notes. Her hair was pinned back on either side of her face, and her feet were ensconced in giant, fluffy bunny slippers. The left sleeve of her baggy top was rolled up to the shoulder, and below it her arm was bent at the elbow and encased in the thickest, sturdiest, most alarming cast Jane had ever seen. It extended from just below Lonnie's shoulder all the way down to her fingertips.

The two girls stared at each other for a beat. "Oh my god," Jane burst out. Which was totally not the tone she was going for to break the ice.
But when she looked up, Lonnie was smirking, not crying. "I know. Pretty impressive."

Jane blinked hard. Lonnie hadn't kicked her off the porch yet. "Um, I was thinking more like terrifying."

Lonnie sighed. "It's like a medical device and a weapon all rolled into one. And it itches already. Like, really, really bad."

"That sucks."

An awkward silence fell. Lonnie shifted. "Do you want to come in?"

Jane wouldn't have been more surprised if Lonnie had pulled out her cello and conked her over the head with it. "Um, are you sure?"

"Well, actually, I need a favor." Lonnie turned and started down the hall. "Maybe you can open a frozen pizza for me? It's amazing what you can't do with only one hand."

They headed for the kitchen, where Jane busied herself with the freezer and the oven. She'd been in this kitchen hundreds of times, heated up a gazillion pizzas over the years. She turned back around and found Lonnie watching her, a curious look on her face.

"So was that why you were following me around all night?" she asked.

Jane swallowed hard. "Well . . ."

"Did you know Evie Grimhilde was coming after me? I mean—I barely know her. And yet you were following me around like you were protecting me."

Jane stared at the floor, her stomach churning with guilt. Because I put you on a list of people we wanted to die.

How could she explain to Lonnie that what she had thought was an innocent—if totally harsh—conversation turned out to be a serial killer's instruction manual? That it was all her fault that Lonnie's fingers were totally crushed, her musical career probably over for good? Jane wondered if she should crush her fingers, too—maybe that would be a punishment that fit her crime. It didn't seem fair that she would get to go to Juilliard unscathed after all this.

But she couldn't tell Lonnie the truth. Not now. Maybe not ever. "Um, Evie said something that made me realize you were her next target," Jane muttered. It wasn't exactly a lie. "And I couldn't let that happen to you."