Page 7 of Ruthless Riches
“What did you say?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I told them I haven’t really met any of your college friends yet, apart from Nate, so I had no idea. But obviously someone at Blackthorne has a problem with you. I remember a couple of months ago you told me you were worried that some guy was stalking you. You kept having to buy new phones to avoid him.”
My eyes flicked over to Nate. His face was etched with guilt.
“I was wrong about that,” I said carefully. “I think it was just Edward’s minions following me.”
Sascha chewed on the inside of her cheek as she considered my words. “I guess that makes sense,” she finally said. “But can you think of anyone you know who might fit with what the detectives said? Like, a friend or acquaintance who seems a bit weird sometimes?”
I slowly shook my head. “Honestly, I haven’t made many new friends this semester, because I took so much time off with Nate so we could work on our investigation into the Golden Circle.”
“But you still made some friends, right?”
“Yes. Laurel and Ruby. But they aren’t weird, unstable, or volatile,” I said, putting the adjectives my sister had mentioned in air quotes. “Trust me. They’re great.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Hm. Anyone else you can think of, then?”
I leaned back against my plump white pillows and closed my eyes. “There is one person,” I said slowly. Then I shook my head. “Actually, no. That’s stupid. Forget it.”
Sascha scooted her chair closer to my bed. “Tell us. Anything could help.”
I opened my eyes. “Well,” I said reluctantly. “I met a guy at a party a couple of months ago. Harry. We flirted a bit. He was really nice that night. But then…”
Sascha leaned even closer, brows arching. “Then what?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say he was unstable, or anything like that. But he was kind of a dick.”
“How?”
“I ran into him somewhere a few weeks after I met him. He was pretty nice to me in general, but I found out that he’s the kind of guy who calls women sluts. That sort of stuff really pisses me off.”
Sascha grimaced. “I don’t blame you. Men like that are always sexist pricks.”
“Being a bit sexist doesn’t make someone a serial killer, though. And like I said, he was still nice to me after that. His comments just left a bad taste in my mouth. That’s all.”
“You should tell the police about him. Just in case.”
I shook my head. “There’s no point. He can’t be the new Butcher.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I just remembered that he was at the frat party last night. He was there when we first arrived, and I saw him a ton of times throughout the night. He didn’t leave at any point.”
Sascha looked confused. “So?”
I raised a brow. “The Butcher didn’t just attack me last night. He dumped two more bodies in the quad as well. That means it literally couldn’t be Harry, because he was at the party all night,” I explained. “He wouldn’t have had time to kill two people, string them up in the quad, and clean himself up and go to a party for three or four hours.”
Sascha twisted her lips. “That’s not necessarily true,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
She pulled out her cell phone and tapped on the screen a few times. “I’ve been following the case on here,” she said, showing me a Twitter profile. “There’s a journalist who’s basically live-tweeting everything about the investigation as soon as she gets her hands on the information. She said that the forensic analysis showed that the bodies in the quad were probably put there around 8:00. So the Butcher—whoever he is—could’ve done that, gone home, showered, and then headed to the frat party.”
A chill ran down my spine as I pictured the killer watching me at the party, standing mere inches away from me as I danced with my friends and knocked back drinks. “They think he was there?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“God,” I muttered, leaning back against the pillows. My heart was thudding painfully fast.
