Page 88 of The Girls in the Snow

“I wasn’t.” Drinking that much would have likely caused alcohol poisoning and she certainly wouldn’t have woken up quickly, but if her drink had been spiked with liquid ecstasy, the effects wouldn’t last nearly as long. Depending on the dosage, the drug could have started wearing off after a couple of hours. But it still would have shown up in her tox screen. “You told Hardin that, didn’t you?”

Mark nodded. “He told me I was a pathetic liar.”

Anger coursed through her. Ever since Rory told her about the paramedic’s statement, she’d wondered why John would bother to drug her since they were already having sex.

Now she had the answer. He’d offered her to his buddies and planned to take pictures. Liam was right. He was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch. And Mark Todd was sitting in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

And if Mark didn’t kill her parents, she could think of only one other person with reason to come to her house—the same person Nadine heard racing down the gravel road.

Nikki couldn’t help but wonder if the photos of her were the ones that Bailey found. If Amy had seen them. That’s why she’d automatically hated Nikki.

Nikki stopped the recording and stood on weak legs. The guilt threatened to overwhelm her but wallowing in pity wasn’t going to help Mark. “Thanks for talking with me, Mark.”

“You know I didn’t do this, don’t you?”

Nikki could only nod. Mark was telling the goddamned truth.

Thirty-Six

Nikki didn’t remember driving back to Stillwater or even making the decision not to go home. She wasn’t sure she could have hidden her rage from anybody. Her stomach growled and she couldn’t remember when she had last eaten, but she wasn’t staying long, and then she’d treat herself to some greasy fast food before going back to St. Paul.

Rock salt littered the sidewalk and porch as she walked up to Rory’s house, but a fine sheen of ice still made the short walk treacherous. The curtain in the front window fluttered and the front door opened before she even had a chance to knock.

“What are you doing here?” Rory’s hair was slightly wild, like he’d been running his hands through it. His thin white T-shirt revealed several tattoos on his upper arms.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said and he opened the door to let her step inside.

An acoustic guitar was propped against the far wall. An eighties movie played on the muted television. Beige carpet, chocolate-colored furniture, a few pictures on the wall.

Common sense told her she shouldn’t be in the house, that she should have made her way back to work to find out what was going on, but it was too late for Nikki to speak to her team and Rory made her feel safe—even if Nikki had no clue why she was so terrified. Maybe it was because for the first time in her life she was facing up to what had happened to her.

This was the house Mark and Rory had grown up in. Nikki had been inside more than once, usually when Mark’s parents were already asleep and he brought three or four friends back after a party. They raided the refrigerator, and Mark’s dad always woke up and said that no one was driving if they’d been drinking. Nikki lived close enough to walk home, but plenty of kids had crashed in the Todds’ living room over the years.

“You want a drink?” Rory asked.

“Just water.” She followed him into the small kitchen. It looked just as she remembered, right down to the old flowered wallpaper and butcher-block counters.

Nikki took the bottled water he offered and sat down at the table. What was she doing at this man’s house, invading his life? It was selfish of her. If she wanted company, she had Tyler.

“What are you thinking?”

“That things have become a colossal shitshow.”

Rory sipped his beer. “Your investigation?”

“Everything. I went to see Mark.” He looked at her, surprised. “You’re right. He didn’t do it.”

Rory stared at her for several long seconds before draining his beer. The intensity in his eyes was so intimidating she looked away. “What exactly convinced you?”

How could she explain it without sounding like a stubborn fool? she wondered. “I’ve always thought of a murder investigation as a kind of patchwork quilt,” she started. “You don’t know the pattern at the beginning, but as the pieces come together, the pattern finds itself. It’s the clear way to make the quilt. That why cases built on strong circumstantial evidence get people convicted.”

“And the pattern in Mark’s case?”

“It’s a fucking mess. It doesn’t make sense that they were able to get him convicted. And Mark… I earn my living by understanding human behavior. I know a manipulative liar when I see one, and I didn’t see that in him.” Nikki swallowed the stupid sob working its way up her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Rory said. “I wanted to hate you. Hell, I have hated you, even though Mark never blamed you, I did—”

“I can never make it up to your family.”

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