Out of the blue, Lucy texted me, asking to meet at a coffee shop near campus. She said it was important.
When I got there, I almost walked right past her. It had been so long that her face was almost unfamiliar.
She waved me over to a quiet table tucked away in the back. "Phoebe, over here."
She was acting like nothing had ever happened between us, like we were still the same old friends. The nickname "Lulu" stuck in my throat. I just couldn't say it.
But we were both grown-ups. We could play the part.
"So, what's this about?" I asked, cutting to the chase. "This is pretty sudden."
Lucy leaned in, her gaze intense. "It's about Tiffany."
Hearing that name made me flinch. A dozen questions instantly popped into my head. "Tiffany? I haven't heard a peep from her in weeks."
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about this," she said, her voice low and urgent. "You have to admit, her behavior has been seriously off."
I nodded for her to go on.
"Look, my first thought was that it was all about you. You were the one who suggested we go out that night, and their timing was just a little too perfect."
I couldn't help but let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. Of course that's where her mind would go.
"But the more I've replayed it, the more nothing adds up unless Tiffany is involved."
"I mean, sure, she'd complained her husband was useless in bed, but that doesn't turn a woman into a raving lunatic at the first sight of a good-looking guy, does it? Think about it. Wasn't she acting completely unhinged that night?"
Her words dragged me back to that evening a month ago. It was my idea to blow off steam with a spa day. But it was Tiffany who specifically recommended that massage parlor, raving about the great reviews.
Lucy and I just went along with it.
Once we were there, she was the one who requested the male masseurs. And when those drinks showed up, Tiffany knocked hers back like a shot, practically pressuring the rest of us to do the same. Now it seemed obvious—they had to have been drugged.
The specific location, the male masseurs, the drinks... it all pointed back to her. She was even the one who started handing over her credit card details, making it seem like a normal next step. How could we not have seen it?
I laid out my fractured memories for Lucy, and the look on her face told me everything. She saw it, too. Tiffany was in on it.
Lucy slammed her hand on the table, her face flushed with anger. "That backstabbing witch. I want my money back, and I want that place burned to the ground!"
I shushed her, pressing a finger to my lips. "Keep your voice down," I whispered. "I think I'm being watched. If we make a scene, we'll just paint a target on our backs."
She took a deep, shaky breath, forcing herself to calm down. "If they're still watching us, how are we supposed to do anything?"
I pursed my lips, my fingers tapping a silent rhythm on the table. Then it hit me.
"We get a private investigator to follow Tiffany."
Our eyes met. The plan was set.