Tenashe's body was found in the woods near the company nine days after she was reported missing. I hated the woods so much . It feels like a place that was invented to describe where bodies were found or the witches are dwelling . Her face was decomposed beyond recognition and her long blond hair cut off.
They had to identify her by dental records, of which there were plenty,because Tenashe never missed an appointment. She'd been strangled and stabbed, the police said, in a manner that indicated that the murder was personal.
And the worst part?
We were the last to know.
By the time Sophie and I even got wind of the new update on the case, every other outlet had already published their version. Mrs. McWell was furious — the kind of furious that didn't need yelling. Just one glare from her could make your stomach twist.
She let us off with a warning, though her words stung more than any punishment could.
"Go back out there and get me something real. Talk to the police, dig deeper — I don't care how. Our reports are always coming in last lately. We're drowning," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We used to be at the top."
I was more concerned about the dead girl than this Danm reporting work not to lie I was dissappointed
Then I logged on to the forum where they took Tenashe's death as the opportunity to solve a homicide.
"Do you want to go to lunch?" Claire asked me.
I looked up at her. She wore a flowered caftan.
"I can't," I said. "We have to figure out who killed Tenashe."
"She's a victim of misogyny," I said.
Most of the forum still believed that Tom was somehow guilty.
Someone had managed to run a background check and discovered that he'd gotten a misdemeanor for public intoxication when he was an undergraduate in addition to being a member of a fraternity that hadnumerous infractions over the years, including claims of women being roofied at their parties. None of those things pointed to murder, but they did indicate some sort of moral corruption that could lead to it.
I spent the rest of the day alternating between refreshing the forum and wandering into the break room under the guise of refilling my water bottle.
I was making a post on Instagram in honor of Tenashe's life when I saw Max's post. Max didn't post personal things online, or that's what he told me after I posted a picture of us together and he said that he preferred. that I take it down.
"I don't like the surveillance state," he said.
Most of his posts were advertising shows at which his band was playing that got three or so likes .
if it meant they were surveilling the shows that his band played at. Itsurprised me to see an actual picture, one of Max with his arm around Reese, the girl that I caught him cheating on me with.
"My best girl," the caption said.
The post had been liked by forty people.It was then that the true sadness hit me, an emotion so intertwined with anger that he really left me to be with that girl.
Two days later, we were still chasing shadows — running in and out of police stations, grabbing half-truths and cold coffee along the way. Then came the news that froze everyone mid-breath.
Another body.
Kimberly.
A private chef for the rich — the kind who smiled through exhaustion while plating perfection. They found her in the woods, strangled and tied to a tree, just like Teneshe. The scene looked like something out of a nightmare — pale skin against bark, ropes digging into flesh, her eyes open as if still asking why.
At the time, no one knew she'd been working for the same CEO whose brand Teneshe once influenced for. Not yet.
That morning, I was in Mrs. McWell's office, pretending not to hear the clock ticking louder than her voice. She stood by the window, arms folded, face tight.
"You know the only thing I ever see you do is press that damn phone," she snapped, turning toward me. "You're a journalist, Zee. Find out what and why. That's your job."
Her voice rose, sharp enough to make me flinch. Then she added, "And Sophie's been telling me you're leaving all the work for her. That you're slowing her down."
Of course she did.
I clenched my jaw, muttering under my breath, "That bitch…"
Mrs. McWell didn't hear me — or maybe she did and chose not to care. She just gave me that look, the kind that makes you feel smaller than your own shadow.