Cynthia lives in a brown brick building in the west village with fire escapes zig-zagging back-and-forth across the front of it. I find the last name Holloway and press the button. After a moment, a loud buzzer sounds off and the door to the building unlocks.

The apartment is on the fourth floor and it would be too much to hope for an elevator. I huff it up the stairs, the blisters multiplying on my poor toes. I ignore the pain though. I need to talk to this woman. She’s the key to everything—I’m sure of it.

Cynthia Holloway turns out to be a petite girl around Monica’s height with a funky black pixie cut and a nose ring. She smiles broadly at me when she opens the door, revealing a crooked incisor. “So you’re a victim of Monica’s, huh?”

“Abby,” I say, as I struggle to catch my breath.

“Right.” She nods, and glances at the back of the apartment. “My other roommate Ellie is here too. She wants to get in on dishing on Monica too.”

“Are we doing Monica stories?” Another voice rings out from the back of the apartment. A girl with light brown hair swept into an effortlessly messy bun comes into view, wiping her hands on her skinny blue jeans. “Can I go first?”

Cynthia winks at me. “Why don’t you have a seat, Abby?”

I sit down on a bean bag chair in the middle of their living room. I don’t know if I’ve ever sat in a bean bag chair before. I gingerly settle down into the middle of it, clutching my purse in my lap, and I immediately sink down amongst the beans. I don’t know how I’m going to get up from this stupid thing. It is pretty comfortable though.

“So how do you know Monica, Abby?” Cynthia asks me as she settles into a Papasan chair.

The whole story would take more time to tell than the time I’ve got. Better keep it quick. “I worked with her. Until she got me in trouble with our boss, and I lost my job.”

The two girls exchange looks. “Sounds like a Monica special,” Ellie comments.

I cough into my hand. “So, um, what was your experience like with her? She was… a difficult roommate?”

Cynthia laughs bitterly. “‘Difficult’ doesn’t even describe it. She was a psychopath. Honestly, by the end, I was scared she was going to murder us in our sleep.”

My heart skips in my chest. Okay, this sounds promising.

“She wasn’t going to murder us in our sleep.” Ellie rolls her eyes. I suppress the urge to tell her what I know. “But yeah, she was nuts.”