Page 151 of This is Why We Lied

Paul looked down. There was no flirty banter this time. His mouth went into a straight line. “All right. I guess we’re doing this now.”

Faith said, “Let’s go back inside.”

Will kept close to Paul’s heels in case he tried to run. Kevin took Gordon into cottage four. The lights came on. The door closed, but not before Gordon gave Paul a steady look. Will made sure that Faith had caught it, too.

Both men were in on it.

The living room smelled like a dive bar. There were half-empty bottles of liquor and overturned glasses. The trash can was overflowing with potato chip bags and candy wrappers. Will caught a whiff of pot. He spotted an ashtray by the chair. It was filled with the butt ends of too many joints to count.

Faith said, “Looks like you guys had quite the party. Anything in particular you were celebrating?”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Are you sorry we didn’t invite you?”

“Gutted.” Faith pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

Paul sat down with a huff. He leaned back, his arms crossed. “What’s this about?”

Faith asked, “You’re the one who said I guess we’re doing this. What are we doing?”

Paul looked at Will. “You saw the tattoo.”

Will felt like a metal spike had gone into his chest.

Paul said, “I kept watching you guys circling around all day. Was it Mercy? Did she tell someone before she died?”

Faith asked, “What did she have to tell?”

Will watched Paul unbutton his shirt, then pull back the material to show his chest. The tattoo was ornate, decorated with red hearts and multicolored flowers. From this distance, all that Will could make out was the G, but that was probably because he already knew the name.

Faith leaned forward. “That’s clever. You can’t really see the name unless you know what you’re looking for. Do you mind?”

Paul shrugged as Faith took out her iPhone.

She snapped several photos, then sat back in the chair with a sigh.

Paul asked, “Am I a suspect or a witness?”

“I can see why it’s confusing,” Faith said. “Because you’re acting like you’re not either one of those things.”

“White male privilege am’aright?” Paul reached for a bottle of liquor. “I need a drink.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Faith said. “It’s not Old Rip.”

“It’s still alcohol.” Paul took a large gulp straight from the bottle. “What are you guys looking for?”

Faith looked at Will like she expected him to take over. He assumed that his silence would outlast her, but this time, it didn’t.

Paul said, “Hello? Witness-slash-suspect calling. Anybody home?”

Will felt his face flush. He couldn’t keep being the reason this got fucked up. He asked Paul, “Did Mercy see your tattoo?”

“I let her see it, if that’s what you mean.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, an hour or so after we checked in. I took a shower. I was in the bedroom about to get dressed. I looked out the window. I saw Mercy coming toward our cottage. I thought, ‘Why not?’” Paul rolled the bottle between his hands. “I wrapped the towel back around my waist and I waited.”

Will asked, “Why did you want her to see the tattoo?”

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