“If you all believe Jenica was murdered,” I mumble, sucking down some sugary goodness, “then who do you think murdered her?” The boys all exchange a look before glancing down at me. “We have our theories,” Church says, watching me carefully, “but no real answers.” He sighs and sets his coffee down. “Just … don't trust anybody.” “Not even you?” I ask, quirking a brow. Slowly, so very slowly, Church turns to look at me, and all the emotion drains from his face, leaving him a beautiful but scary looking statue. “Especially not me,” he says, and I shiver, turning back to my orange juice. Not sure
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