Page 82 of Dear Debbie

Then I point the gun at her forehead and pull the trigger.

The gunshot kills her instantly. Her body drops to the floor, and a pool of blood forms around the back of her head. Her eyes are open, staring at the ceiling. I’m glad she let me know that her upstairs neighbors were out of town, because I would be worried about the noise. But as it is, we’re all alone out here on this dead-end street.

I look over at Jesse, whose head is lolling on the sofa. He is now unconscious, and even the report of the gunshot wasn’t enough to bring him back. I had thought I might need to give him another shot of opium, which I’ve got handy in my purse, but he drank enough that it wasn’t needed.

It’s better he’s asleep. He almost certainly won’t remember a thing from what went on in this apartment, and it’s safer for me that way.

But I wish he could know. I wish he knew that it was his gun that I used to shoot Harley. The one I took from his house a few days ago. (The key was under the doormat, if you can believe that. Barely even a challenge.) I was smart enough to turn off my location sharing for that little heist. I didn’t want there to be any clues that I was the one who took that gun.

Especially when the police match the bullet from this gun with the one that killed Ken Bryant. Although I’m not too worried. The paper trail between Jesse and that offshore bank account with all the money that’s been stolen from the company will provide ample motive for the murder. I even sent him that text message from Ken’s phone, asking him to water the plants so he would be caught on the door cam. That camera at Ken’s door proved very useful, especially since I was able to delete the footage of my own arrival at his door. It took me less than sixty seconds to eliminate any evidence of my guilt.

Nobody will suspect me. Jesse and I hardly know each other. Why would I frame a virtual stranger for murder? Why would I kill his girlfriend right in front of him?

“You deserve this,” I whisper to the sleeping man on the sofa. “Hutch.”

For a split second, Jesse’s eyelids flicker. Did he hear me? Part of me hopes he did. Even though it would incriminate me, part of me wants him to know who I am and why I’m doing this. Of course, he hasn’t recognized me yet. It was a long time ago, and we both look a lot different. Plus, I am damn near positive that I was not his only victim. I was just one in a long line of faceless, nameless coeds.

But I had no trouble recognizing him. The second I laid eyes on Jesse when Cooper arranged that double date with him and his wife, I immediately recognized that face. And that cologne—the same one he wore in college, the same one that was clinging to that T-shirt. It still haunts me. Those olfactory associations are so powerful.

He held out his hand to me, a grin playing on his lips. It’s so nice to meet you, Debbie. Cooper talks about you all the time.

I took his hand because it would have given me away if I didn’t. His skin felt like it was scalding me. When I finally pulled away, my palm was damp. I had to excuse myself to run to the bathroom at the restaurant, where I breathed through the worst panic attack I’d had since college.

Pull yourself together, Debbie, I told myself. You can’t let him know it’s you.

I pulled myself together. I came out of the bathroom, smiled up at the man who wrecked my future, and pretended I was having a great time, although after the second time my shaky hands knocked over my drink and had to be cleaned up, I thought the waitress and I were going to have words. That night, I went home and screamed into my pillow until my throat was hoarse.

The next day, I dug into the slush pile of emailed letters addressed to Dear Debbie. For once, I decided to tell people the real way to solve their problems. Everyone knows you don’t get your family to sit down for breakfast by asking “pretty please.” Of course, Garrett never would have printed those replies, so I saved all of them in a file on my desktop.

That was about eight months ago, and in that time, I’ve composed dozens of emails to women who had been taking abuse for far too long, just like I have. But I’m not a hypocrite. I couldn’t send any of those messages until I paid back the man who ruined my life.

Please stop!

Don’t worry. This will be over in a minute.

I couldn’t burn down Zeta Pi. I grabbed my purse from where I left it in the bedroom, then I went downstairs and left the frat with the cigarette and matches still in my purse. In my head, it had seemed like a good idea, but once I was there and talking to that nice kid, I couldn’t go through with it. Besides, it wasn’t their fault what happened all those years ago. It wasn’t fair to blame them.

There was only one person who was to blame for that night.

Jesse Hutchinson’s eyes flutter shut. There is more than enough evidence to tie him to Ken Bryant’s murder and now to the murder/suicide that will soon be discovered at this apartment when I call the police and ask them to check on my friend whose jealous boyfriend was threatening her. When Jesse is gone, I will finally be able to move past this. I will finally be at peace.

Don’t worry. This will be over in a minute.

67

COOPER

The address is not exact, which means that I’m basically driving around a small area in Rockland, keeping my eye out for Debbie’s car. This is getting more and more challenging as the sun drops in the sky.

And of course, I have no reason to believe she’s actually here. She has turned off location sharing, which means she could be anywhere. But this is the last address that she’s been to recently that is unfamiliar to me. So I’ve got to check it out.

It’s my only hope to find her.

I’ve been driving around the general area for about twenty minutes when I come across a dead-end street. There are two houses on the street, one of which looks completely abandoned. The other one looks like somebody does live there, but all the windows are dark. It doesn’t seem like anyone is home.

I almost turn around, but then I notice it. There are cars parked here. Around the side of the second house.

And one of them looks familiar.