Page 107 of The Life She Had

It sounds like Jasmine.

Like Jasmine... and also like Daisy.

I have told myself that I did nothing to Jasmine. I played no role in her bullying and certainly no role in her death. But I did, didn’t I? I played the role of bystander.

I saw how my friends treated her, and I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even try to stop them. I kept my mouth shut because I feared losing my new friends. My new friends who were incredibly popular... and absolute shit heels. I didn’t even like them. I just liked being with them.

For that, a girl died.

Jasmine Oleas died because I wanted to keep these cool new friends that I didn’t even like.

Now I’m doing the same to Daisy. No, it’s not exactly the same, is it? Because this time, I am doing the bullying myself. I’m framing her for murder. Top of the bullying scale, just short of holding her head underwater.

Daisy deserves it as little as Jasmine did. I managed to convince myself she did when I thought her responsible for the camera, the leak and the break-in. I had no idea what she was up to, but damn it, she was up to something. That seemed to justify it.

Once she was cleared of the camera, the break in and the leak, I had to admit she no longer “deserved” to be framed, so I changed my mind. Then I accidentally killed Liam, and the police started closing in, so I panicked. Told myself she’d be fine and planted the gun and made that anonymous call about seeing her with Liam the night of his death.

I need another solution. I have an idea; I just need to figure out how to do it.

I’m supposedto identify Liam’s body this morning, and since I’m not sleeping anyway, I do it early, with the excuse that I couldn’t sleep facing such a terrible task. The police know who he is—this is just a formality.

Yes, that’s Liam Garey, exactly as I last saw him, complete with a crater where his eye should be.

I don’t say that. It’s not true anyway. Something had been eating his face, and as much as they’ve tried to clean him up for me, there’s no hiding that. It actually helps—I don’t need to fake my horror and revulsion.

Definitely a closed-casket funeral. There’s a certain amount of poetic justice in the aftermath of Liam’s demise. He had nothing but contempt for rural Florida and everyone who lived on the swamp’s edges. I remember him telling me about a client who OD’d in the everglades and got eaten by an alligator, and even the coroner hadn’t been completely sure the guy had been dead when the gator got him. Liam thought it was hilarious. Anyone who’s reckless enough to shoot up in the swamp deserves to be gator chow. Same for anyone who decides that’s the right place to tell their captive that they’re about to lock her into an even smaller cage.

Yes, I didn’t intend to pull that trigger, but for the sake of my ego, I’m going to start telling myself otherwise. The bastard pushed me too far, and I put a bullet in him.

If the local police have me on their suspect list, they forgot to inform the Tampa coroner’s office. I identify Liam and sign some papers, and then the young clerk brings me a bag with his personal effects. She has obviously mistaken me for his live-in partner, but what the hell, sure, I’ll take his Rolex and the keys to his condo. High five to me for only leaving his car key fob in the Rover.

I now legitimately have access to Liam’s condo and his belongings, with the freedom to help myself to them. And I do mean freedom. There’s no one else who’d have a clue what should be in his condo. Not his ex-wife. Not the parents he “helped” into a crappy seniors’ home three years ago. Not the “friends” he would never let past his doorstep. Just me, the girlfriend who shot him.

I let myself in. After all, I’m going to need to collect any belongings I left behind, which amount to a toothbrush and a few pairs of underwear. While I’m at it, I might as well poke about. I have an idea about how to get both Daisy and myself out of this mess, and I’m hoping to set that in motion here. Also, while I’m at it, let’s see what else I can find.

Oh, look, here’s nearly a thousand dollars stashed in a coffee tin. Really? A coffee tin, Liam?

I also find the unencrypted recordings from that drive on my laptop. It’s exactly what I expected. Revenge porn. A little something to hold over my head if I tried to break our deal.

It seems squirreling away revenge porn is a hobby for Liam. I find more with other women, and I erase it. My gift to all those who came before me. As for the ones starring me, I keep those. I have an idea how they might come in handy.

I ransack Liam’s place and put together a nice little bag of parting gifts. I finish up in his study, where I contemplate taking his laptop. That’s when I realize the local cops haven’t even searched his condo yet.

Really, boys? Murder investigation 101.

Yep, I definitely want the laptop. No telling what’s on it. I’m picking it up when I notice a photograph beside it. An old one that makes me frown. It isn’t like Liam to keep childhood mementos.

It’s a black-and-white glossy photo, the kind I’ve only seen in old people’s photo albums. At first, I think it’s antique. But then I see the boy in it, perched on a bicycle.

I blink. Is that...?

There’s no mistaking Tom’s face. So Liam had an old photograph of Tom, and I bet it explains why he’d been hell-bent on antagonizing him Friday night. My guess is this photograph gave him some kind of blackmail fodder.

There’s a piece of paper under the photograph. It’s the printout of a report from Liam’s investigator. Seems Liam asked him to do a quick search into Tom’s criminal past. In other words, when he was needling Tom at the poker game, he already knew what Tom had been in for.

I read the report. Then I read it again.

Damn.

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