“I lied,” I said. “The night Kate died, I lied about where you were.”

He looked like he might throw up or sink to his knees, but he did neither as he stared at me, his hands shaking. “We went for a drive,” he said. “You and me. Together. That’s what you told me.”

“I know, but it wasn’t true. I went to the beach looking for driftwood and you said you were going out alone because you were angry with Kate. You said you had to sort things out in your mind.”

“Angry about what?” he said, but I looked away. “Maya, why was I angry?”

“Because she slept with Keenan,” I said quietly. “She cheated and you found out the day before because...because I told you.”

He ran his hands through his hair, and I imagined what was going through his head. He’d found out his girlfriend had cheated on him with his archenemy. The next night he’d gone out alone, she’d died, and I’d given him an alibi. He was struggling now. I could practically see the scene of what might have happened forming in his head: him leaving the house at the same time Kate arrived. His accusations. Her denial. Their confrontation. Did he wonder if he’d struck her? Killed her by accident before throwing her off the cliffs to hide what he’d done? Could he picture himself watching her body being swallowed up by the dark waters below, only to be found battered and bruised the next morning?

“Maya,” he said, his voice so strained I barely heard him. “Did I hurt Kate?”

“No. No, I’m sure you didn’t.”

“But you don’t know for certain?”

“I know you. You wouldn’t do something like that. It was an accident.”

“Was it my idea to lie? Did I ask you to cover for me?”

“No, it was mine. It didn’t look good for you. If we’d admitted you’d gone out alone...”

He put his head in his hands and I thought he was going to let out a sob. I felt guilty for telling him about his fake alibi, but it was the truth, same as it being me who’d found out about Kate and Keenan sleeping together. It hadn’t necessitated me being any kind of sleuth, not considering how loudly Keenan had bragged about it at the Cliff’s Head one night, when he’d—surprise, surprise—had too much to drink. I’d stood in the doorway, out of sight, listening to him boast to his friends about how he’d come on to her and how she’d gone along with it for old time’s sake. Once confronted, she broke down, pleading with me it was a mistake, she’d been drunk, and had begged me not to tell Ash.