The Perfectionists

  She barely remembered driving to the cupcake store. She parked out front and was about to push through the door and call his name. But when she saw Blake behind the counter, she froze on the sidewalk.

  Another girl’s arms were wrapped around him. A girl with short, curly hair, dressed from head to foot in concert black. Claire.

  “It was perfect,” Claire said, gazing up into Blake’s eyes. There were two open windows at the front of the shop; Mac could hear every word. “I totally nailed it. And I saw her go in, too. She was super pale. Probably freaked that I’d done the Tchaikovsky.”

  Mackenzie’s blood curdled. She turned away, her hands on the door handle, when Claire’s voice rang out.

  “Oh, hey, Macks.” Her voice oozed sarcasm. “How was your audition? You weren’t unprepared or anything, were you?”

  Mackenzie turned to see Claire’s ugly smile. Then she peeked at Blake. His eyes were lowered. He’d turned pale. All thoughts in her brain froze.

  But then she blurted, “I thought you guys broke up.”

  Claire unwound herself from Blake and stepped out from the back of the counter. “I knew you’d fall for it,” she sneered at Mac.

  Mac blinked. “F-fall for what?”

  “I told Blake to hang out with you, schedule a few extra band rehearsals.” Claire grinned. “I knew you’d drop everything. Even practicing for your audition.”

  “You . . . what?” She glanced at Blake, but he still wouldn’t look at her. None of this was making any sense.

  “I wanted him to distract you before the audition.” She smirked. “And he did. Oh, and all your confessions to Blake? He told me everything. Including that you were playing Tchaikovsky.” She reached across the counter and clutched his hand. “And we aren’t broken up. We’re stronger than ever.”

  Mac stared at Blake, her heart pounding fast. “Is that true?”

  But Blake still had his eyes lowered. He didn’t answer Mac, but he didn’t stand up for Claire, either. He looked trapped and humiliated. “I . . . ,” he started, then looked away.

  “Yes.” Claire spoke for him. “Every single word is true.”

  Mac could feel the tears forming in her eyes. But then she realized: She could give Claire exactly what she wanted and bawl her eyes out right now, or she could beat Claire at the only game either of them had ever really cared about. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at her ex-friend. “Well, maybe Blake doesn’t want me,” she heard herself say. “But I’m pretty sure Juilliard does. Good luck at Oberlin,” she said with a sniff for good measure.

  Before Claire could get another word in, Mackenzie turned on her heel and pushed out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  FRIDAY EVENING, JULIE STUDIED THE miniature windmill in front of her, biting her lip. She and Carson were at the Beacon Heights mini golf course, where they were playing a girls-versus-boys tournament with a bunch of kids from school. She’d have to time this shot just right to get the ball through the moving slats of the windmill and to the other side, where a tiny white flag fluttered on the Astroturf, marking the end of the putt-putt hole.

  She stepped forward, squared her shoulders, and pulled back the putter to swing.

  “Don’t miss,” Carson teased just as the golf club made contact.

  Julie’s neon-pink ball went wildly off course and landed in the water hazard on the far right. “Hey!” she cried. “That’s not fair.” But the words died in her throat as she came face-to-face with Carson’s wry smile.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re playing fair now?” he teased, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Julie shivered and closed her eyes. It felt so good.

  “Come on, Wells, it’s your turn,” James Wong called out from behind them. Julie stepped aside, feeling lighter than normal. She knew why: Ashley wasn’t here.

  She glanced over at Carson, her eyes drifting to where the hem of his pale blue T-shirt grazed the top of his Bonobos cargo shorts, revealing a thin strip of stomach. Carson caught her staring and winked. For a moment, nothing else mattered.

  It was Carson’s turn next. He gripped his putter and took an expert swing, sending the ball easily into the hole in just one shot. “Yes!” Carson exclaimed. The other boys fist-pumped him in victory.

  As everyone started toward the next hole, Carson fell into step next to Julie, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. Her heart raced at the contact.

  “I’m sorry for playing dirty,” Carson said, his voice low. “What if I make it up to you? I could help you on this hole, show you the proper technique.”

  “Oh you will, will you?” Julie crooned, liking the sound of that. Then she looked up . . . and froze. Standing underneath the bright red-and-white umbrella of the snack stand was Ashley. She stared hard at Julie and Carson, her eyes blazing.

  Julie dropped Carson’s hand. “Um, you know what?” she stammered. “I actually need to go change out my putter.” It was a stupid excuse—all the putters were the same. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Um, okay?” Carson said, confused. But Julie was already halfway down the sidewalk, anger coursing through her veins.

  “What do you want?” she snapped at Ashley, who was lounging at a metal picnic table drinking lemonade. Julie noticed that Ashley was wearing the Alice + Olivia turquoise jeans that Julie hadn’t been able to afford, and a billowy white top almost the same as her own, except that Ashley’s was too low-cut and had some kind of stain on the shoulder.

  Ashley smiled. “Can’t a girl come say hi to her friend? You know, Julie, I just think you’re the cat’s pajamas.”

  “Please, Ashley.” Julie hated the tremor in her voice. It sounded like weakness. She tried to stand up a little straighter. “Please don’t tell anyone about what you know. What can I do to change your mind?”

  Ashley’s eyes flashed. “That’s not how this works. Unlike the rest of your little army of minions, I don’t blindly follow orders.” She nodded in the direction of the group, then broke out into a smile. “I just wanted to see you in your natural habitat one last time. Enjoy your final moments of freedom.”

  “Ashley—”

  “Save your breath for someone who cares.” Ashley threw her lemonade in the trash and walked out.

  Julie stood there, watching Ashley’s retreating form, stunned. Surely she wouldn’t really reveal her secret. But what if she did? What would happen if everyone found out—if Carson found out? Suddenly, all Julie could think about was her last school, after word of her secret got out. No one would talk to her. She ate lunch alone in the bathroom. People cleared a wide path for her in the halls, worried they would catch a disease from her, her house was so dirty.

  The worst part was, she’d known better. She’d been distracted with Carson, and she hadn’t noticed Ashley following her home that day. Normally, she was so vigilant and protective of her secret—it was how she’d maintained her status for so long. This was why she had rules not to date. Not only because she couldn’t let anyone in, but also because she ran the risk of losing her head. And now she had.

  She turned back to the rest of the group, pasting a smile on her face. Enjoy your final moments of freedom. Whatever Ashley was going to do, she was going to do it soon.

  And then everything would come crashing down around her. Again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  FRIDAY NIGHT, ALEX AND AVA stood beneath the glowing marquee of the Majestic Theater, out on their first dinner-and-a-movie date in far too long. Raindrops glittered in the multicolored lights. A small crowd of moviegoers milled around beneath the overhang, most of them college kids dressed in thrift-store sweaters and chunky scarves. They talked in animated voices and passed around clove cigarettes.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet all night,” Alex said, taking Ava’s hand.

  Ava looked up at him, her heart humming in her chest. He was wearing a soft flannel shirt and dark-wash jeans. Tonight, his unkempt curls and five o’clock shadow didn’t look scruffy s
o much as . . . arty. She noticed some of the college girls glancing their way enviously, and smiled.

  “Oh, I’m just thinking about the movie,” she said. They’d just gotten out of a showing of Wings of Desire. Ava had never seen anything like it. It didn’t have much of a plot, but it was about angels following people around Berlin, listening to the humans’ thoughts. She wasn’t sure she’d understood it, but it was weird and sad and beautiful, and it made her miss her mother.

  Alex fumbled with his umbrella and held it high over her head as they walked toward his car. “Isn’t it cool? I saw it for the first time in German class and it blew my mind. I wish Granger showed us more foreign stuff like that. All the old Hollywood movies he shows are great, but they’re all kind of the same, you know?” His lips twisted into a slightly arrogant smirk. “Of course, I don’t think he’s smart enough to teach anything really challenging.”

  An icicle formed in her gut at the mention of Granger. “He’s smarter than you think,” she murmured. Maybe even smart enough to get away with murder.

  Alex glanced at her sidelong. “Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not,” Ava snapped. “You know I don’t like him. I just don’t think that because he’s an asshole, he’s dumb. He’s clearly smart, to get away with what he’s been doing.”

  “Okay, okay.” Alex raised his hands, palms up, and looked apologetic. “It’s just that that guy gets creepier all the time. Yesterday morning he was up at six AM digging in the backyard.”

  Ava felt a chill crawl up her spine. “Did you get a video of him or anything? Something to send to the cops?”

  Alex looked chagrined. “I ran to grab my phone, but by that time, he’d gone back inside. Still. It seemed really sketchy. Wonder what he’s hiding back there.”

  Ava tapped her fingers against her Hermès cuff bracelet. Obviously Granger wasn’t burying Nolan . . . but what else could he be doing? She suddenly wished she could tell Alex everything. She hated having these secrets.

  They drove home in a companionable silence, the swishy sound of the windshield wipers lulling Ava into a dreamy sort of calm. The rain blurred the scenery, the car was warm, and her favorite National song crooned softly from the stereo. After about ten minutes, Alex pulled into her circular gravel driveway. The lights in the front hall were on. It wasn’t even ten yet—her father would still be awake, watching the nightly news in the den. She bit her lip, feeling reckless. Would Leslie really say anything if she brought Alex in just for a little bit?

  “Do you want to come in?” she asked, turning to face him.

  A shy smile broke across his face. “That sounds nice.”

  “It won’t be, honestly.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I mean, Leslie will be a bitch. She’ll be pissed off that I’m disobeying her strict orders.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I’ve handled her before, and I can handle her again.” Alex cradled her cheek in his hand and leaned in to kiss her. But before their lips touched, the world erupted in sound and light.

  Four police cars were speeding up the drive, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Ava jerked upright as cop cars pulled up on either side of them. She jumped out of the car and almost walked into Detective Peters.

  “Miss Jalali,” he said, his deep voice serious. “Good timing.”

  “What’s going on?” Ava asked, hugging her shawl around her bare arms, eyes wide. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her father and stepmother walk onto the porch. They stared at the police car . . . and then at Ava. Alex took her hand and held it tight.

  “We’ve finally got a warrant to search your house,” the detective said smoothly. “Everyone thinks that the half-dozen witnesses who say the last time they saw Nolan Hotchkiss was when he was following you up the stairs is enough to consider you a person of interest. Between that, and the death threat you sent him . . .”

  “I never threatened him!” Her voice was a shrill, desperate shriek.

  Detective Peters didn’t bat an eye. “We have you on record telling Nolan you were going to kill him. We also have testimony that you orchestrated a plan to murder Nolan during one of your classes in school.”

  Alex dropped her hand. Ava shook her head mutely, sputtering. A testimony of their discussion in film studies class. She knew exactly who’d given it. Granger.

  “It’s not what it seems,” she said with a gasp. And then something caught her eye on the front porch. Leslie stood with her mouth drawn into a line so tight her lips were invisible. Next to her, Ava’s father stood with tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked at Ava like he didn’t even recognize her. Ava waited for him to do something, tell the cops she was a good girl, someone who would never, ever hurt anyone. But he didn’t. He just stood there.

  The cops waved the warrant to her father, and he stepped aside weakly, his form suddenly small and shrunken. Ava felt Alex’s arm slide around her waist, stabilizing her. She sagged against him, a single sob bursting up through her chest.

  “Ava,” he pleaded. “What’s he talking about? Did you do something to Nolan?”

  Ava blinked hard, tears spilling down her cheeks. She saw her bedroom light snap on upstairs. Dark silhouettes of cops ransacking her room. There wasn’t anything incriminating in the house—she was almost certain of it. The girls hadn’t left any messages, notes, or texts about their plan to prank Nolan—and she hadn’t written in her diary in weeks. But the cops were looking to pin the crime on her now, and that meant the film studies group was running out of time.

  She turned to Alex, shivering in the rain. “I can’t explain right now,” she whispered.

  He looked down at her for a long moment, a frown creasing his forehead. “Why not?” he cried. “Ava, what did you do?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not what you think. This is . . . messed up.”

  Alex stood with his hand on the car door, a tormented expression on his face as he stared back at her. Her father and Leslie turned away, following another set of officers inside.

  “Alex,” she said, her voice flat, “just go.”

  He turned without another word and got into his car. She watched his car roll out the driveway, a hollow ache in her chest. Alex believed in her—even when things looked worse than ever, he was on her side. A part of her wished she could call him back, ask him to stay. But she couldn’t. It was up to her to get out of this mess.

  She pulled out her phone and dialed Caitlin.

  “Get the others,” she whispered. “We need to get into Granger’s house and find that cyanide. We’re ending this. Tonight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  AN HOUR LATER, PARKER SAT in the back of Caitlin’s car as they neared Granger’s neighborhood. Caitlin parked five blocks from his house, and everyone quietly got out and walked as nonchalantly as they could to his little bungalow. A full moon shone down through the purple scraps of clouds, sending distorted shadows across the suburban lawns.

  Parker glanced around at the others, taking in their scared but determined expressions. Her head twinged with pain, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it. Julie had tried to talk her out of coming, but she’d insisted.

  As they walked, Julie touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really,” Parker mumbled.

  She’d met up with Julie shortly before Caitlin picked them both up, and she’d filled her in on what had happened with Dr. Fielder yesterday. Julie had been horrified, and she’d demanded to know why Parker hadn’t come to her sooner. “I needed some space today,” Parker had said . . . and it was true.

  Now Julie shook her head. “Why do you think he had pictures of you?”

  Parker shrugged. “Because he’s a stalker.” What sort of person follows a patient around, spying on her? She felt so betrayed. So invaded. It reminded her of her dad. There had been times when he’d spied on her. Found out about the mischievous things that she did. And when she came home and denied the allegations, he showed her the pictures he’d taken—and smacked her right ac
ross her face.

  Julie’s eyes hardened. “We have to turn that bastard in. We have to get him.”

  “I guess that will be next on our agenda after this, huh?” Parker gestured to Granger’s house, which they were now in front of. All the lights were off. Wind chimes clanged together on the front porch. WELCOME, FRIENDS, read a plaque on the door. Parker snorted. Only grandmas and losers had plaques like that.

  Mac placed her hands on her hips and assessed the property. “How are we going to get in?” she asked in a hushed voice. “I don’t know if I can pick these locks. And he might have a security system.”

  “We won’t need them,” Ava answered. “The one time I was here, his bathroom window was open. Maybe it still is.”

  “Let’s check it out,” Parker said.

  The gate gave a soft squeal as Julie pushed it open. Granger’s backyard was overgrown, and blades of grass scratched at Parker’s ankles. Sure enough, a double-hung window stood open about three inches. Parker could just make out a shower curtain inside.

  Caitlin stepped back and measured the height of the window with her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I can get in there if someone gives me a boost.”

  Julie stood next to the house and bent over. Caitlin took off her shoes and socks to get better purchase. Then she stepped lightly onto Julie’s back. Julie gave a soft grunt but held steady as Caitlin slid the window open a few inches higher. Then, without warning, she jumped up and hooked her torso through the open window. For just a moment, her legs wiggled behind her. Then she was in.

  “Did she learn that in soccer, or Cirque du Soleil?” Parker muttered. A moment later the back patio door slid open.

  “Hurry up,” Caitlin whispered into the darkness.

  They filed into the house and stood for a moment in Granger’s kitchen. The work light over the stove was on, giving off just enough glow to see by. Dirty dishes soaked in the sink, and crumbs dotted the stove top. On the fridge were a half-dozen take-out menus. Definitely a bachelor pad.