All day, Sutton’s dad had continued to be sharp with Emma, and so had Grandma. The two of them had been snippy with each other, too, making everyone else in the family uncomfortable. By the time Grandma had left, she and Mr. Mercer were barely speaking. Grandma had given Emma a big hug before she got in her car, squeezing her tight. Then she’d leaned in and whispered, “Don’t go getting into any trouble.”
Emma hadn’t known what to make of Sutton’s grandmother’s warning. Did Grandma know what her son had done to Sutton? But that seemed inconceivable. Grandma might have been tough as nails and as prickly as a cactus, but she wasn’t a killer.
Emma kept picturing Mr. Mercer hitting Thayer with Sutton’s car, then abandoning it for the cops to find. Had he disposed of it before or after he’d killed Sutton? How exactly had he killed Sutton? And where had he stashed her body?
I was wondering all the same things. And I kept racking my brain for clues that my dad had been having an affair. Had I ever seen him skulking around, acting weird? I remember having a flicker of us not being so close anymore—could that be why? Maybe I’d sensed something was off before Thayer and I had come upon my dad and the woman at Sabino Canyon. Maybe I’d even confronted my dad, and then kept my distance. But frustratingly, I couldn’t put my finger on a specific memory.
Footsteps crunched toward the bench, but Emma didn’t flinch. She’d texted Ethan on her way over, asking if he’d meet her here. His and Nisha’s houses were just a few blocks away. He sat down next to her, slipped his hand into hers, and tipped his face skyward.
“How are you holding up?” he asked softly.
“Not great,” Emma admitted.
“You look exhausted.” Ethan shut his eyes. “I’m guessing you didn’t sleep at all?”
Emma shook her head. “How can I? He’s right down the hall. I think he tried to come into my room last night,” she said, fiddling with the cuff of her jacket.
Ethan’s jaw dropped. “But he didn’t?”
“No. Drake stopped him.”
For a while they were just silent. A brisk wind whipped through the canyon, brushing Emma’s hair off her shoulders. She glanced at the myriad of trails leading up into the mountain range. It was so beautiful in daylight, but now it looked like a hulking mass, ready to swallow whole anyone who dared hike it.
“I can’t believe it all happened here. I can’t believe that Mr. Mercer hit Thayer, then went after his daughter right here,” Emma whispered, looking around cautiously, like Mr. Mercer might leap out at them at any moment. But aside from a roadrunner darting across the lot, they were alone. “I need real proof. Only…how?”
Ethan swallowed, looking sick to his stomach. “There has to be some hard evidence somewhere,” he said. “Research he did on you before contacting you. Or maybe someone else knows about what he did—like this woman he’s having an affair with. Maybe he wrote an incriminating email. Or maybe he plans to see this woman again, and we could follow them.”
Emma nodded. “She was there that night in the canyon. What if she helped him cover it up? If I could figure out who this woman is, maybe I could get her to corroborate the story.” Then she frowned. “But how do I find out that stuff?”
Ethan thought for a moment. “Does your dad use Gmail?”
Emma shrugged. “I think so.”
“He might have a calendar on there.” Ethan asked for Sutton’s cell phone, logged into her email, and then looked at the shared calendars she had with the rest of the Mercer family. “Here,” he said, showing her the screen. “Your dad shares his work schedule with your mom and you. It looks like he’s out of the office Thursday afternoon for a conference.”
“So?” Emma asked, peering at the screen. “He really could be going to a conference. Not meeting with a woman.”
“Yeah, but either way, he’s not in his office—that’s a perfect opportunity for you to sneak in. You don’t think he’d keep that kind of information at home, do you?”
Emma paused. She’d never thought about that. “I guess someone having an affair would want to hide it, wouldn’t they?” she murmured. “Will you come with me?” The idea of breaking into Mr. Mercer’s office freaked her out.
Ethan gave the phone back to Emma, looking chagrined. “I can’t. I have to take my mom to another doctor’s appointment that afternoon.”
Emma bit her lip, not wanting to complain. “Okay. But can I call you after?”
Ethan squeezed her hand. “Of course.”
“I wish it was sooner. I don’t know how to make it until Thursday,” Emma said softly.
“You can do it, Emma. You’re so close.”
Emma closed her eyes. “After my mom left, I wished every night that she would come home and pick me up. She used to love treasure hunts,” Emma said, remembering the little notes Becky would leave under her pillow or in the egg tray in the fridge. “I thought if I could just figure out the clues, I’d find her again. We’d move into our very own house, get a golden retriever, and be a real family. We’d be happy. But I’ve lived with dozens of families now, and not one of them seems happy.”
A cloud shifted over the moon, momentarily plunging them into complete darkness. “My family certainly isn’t happy,” Ethan muttered. “But I don’t think it’s the way it has to be. At some point, you get to choose who you’re with.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Like we’re choosing to be together.”
Despite her stress and exhaustion, Emma couldn’t help but smile. “Well let’s choose to be together, here, for a little while longer. I’m not ready to go home yet.”
Ethan leaned back into the bench and put his arm around her shoulder, settling in. “We can stay here as long as you want.”
Hours later, Emma lay in bed, glancing every so often at Sutton’s bureau, which she’d once again pushed in front of the door. To stay calm, she’d started a Cute Couple Stuff I Want to Do with Ethan list, which included making each other iPod playlists of meaningful songs, and a Most Romantic Things Ethan Has Ever Said to Me list, which featured Ethan telling Emma that he would protect her from Sutton’s killer, no matter what.
“Come out and play,” a voice suddenly sang.
Emma sat up straight in bed, looking wildly around.
“Come out…” the voice sang again. But it wasn’t Mr. Mercer. And it wasn’t coming from the hall, either.
Emma went to Sutton’s window and drew back the curtain. And there in the front lawn, standing underneath the large oak tree, was a woman with stringy dark hair and a round face. Emma’s jaw dropped. It was her mother, Becky.
She was so much paler than Emma remembered, her skin a ghostly white against the night sky. Tattered rope bracelets crossed both of Becky’s wrists. Her worn jeans were rolled up at the bottom to expose her long, thin bare feet. Her faded red T-shirt hugged her slim shoulders and flared out at her stomach. The words on it were blurry, but the shirt suddenly felt achingly familiar—Emma knew she’d seen it before.
So had I. I couldn’t place it, but I knew the T-shirt like it was one of my own—maybe I’d seen it in one of Emma’s dreams?
“Mom?” Emma called. She leaned forward and squinted, trying to get a better glimpse of her mother, but Becky kept her eyes cast down at the wet earth. Emma could barely make out her face in the darkness.
“Hold on, Mom. I’m coming!” Emma said, shimmying out Sutton’s window, grabbing onto a tree branch, and swinging to the ground. Rainwater soaked her feet and ankles, dampening her nightgown. As soon as Becky saw her, she took a step backward, like a scared animal.
“No, Mom, wait,” Emma called, pushing through the thick night air. “I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk. I want to play,” Becky said in a childish voice.
“Please?” Emma said, reaching out. “I need you to help me. I need you to make sense of all this.”
Becky lifted her gaze to meet Emma’s. Her eyes were an icy, ghostly blue. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “For everything I’ve done. For disappointing you.” She swiped a dark lock of hair away from her eyes, leaving a streak of mud like war paint across her forehead. “For leaving you.”
Emma reached her arms out. “Please hug me,” she begged.
But Becky just stepped back. “I’m watching you. I’ve been watching you this whole time, Sutton.”
Emma blinked. “I’m not Sutton.”
Becky tilted her chin as though she didn’t quite believe what Emma told her. “What do you mean?”
Emma tried to rest her hands on Becky’s arms, but they were too slippery—as though a slick, icy substance covered her skin. “I’m Emma,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”
Becky shook her head vehemently. “You’re in Sutton’s house,” she said, inching farther away from Emma. “You have to be Sutton!”
She suddenly looked furious. She stepped forward and grabbed for Emma’s wrists, missing them. “Tell me the truth! Tell me who you are!” She swiped again, this time slashing Emma’s skin with her long nails. But as soon as she touched Emma, Becky disintegrated into a heap of ash. Someone laughed in the distance. It sounded like Mr. Mercer’s throaty, baritone chuckle.
Emma woke with a start, cold sweat soaking Sutton’s pajamas. She was back in Sutton’s bed, nowhere near the windows. The glowing numbers on Sutton’s alarm clock read 2:03 A.M. She wrapped the covers around her and tried to catch her breath. She rubbed her eyes again and again, but she still couldn’t completely rid her mind of the dream images that flitted behind them. Becky had seemed so close, like she’d been lurking around the Mercers’ house, just waiting for a glimpse of her daughter.
It was the same wish she always had—that Becky was somehow keeping tabs on her and still cared about her life—especially during times of stress. But it was foolish. Becky didn’t care about her twins. She was reckless and self-absorbed and capricious. She had abandoned both of her girls without looking back.
Now one of her daughters was dead. And the other was living with her killer.
21
WANDERING MINDS
“Okay, major breakthrough for our party on Friday!” Charlotte trilled as she flopped into a seat next to Emma in the library on Monday afternoon. “I talked to the guy at Plush, and he can be our bouncer. And I got this awesome deal on hors d’oeuvres from this caterer my mom uses. Isn’t that amazing?”
Emma tried to muster a smile, though she was surprised at how loudly Charlotte was talking. Not that the librarian on duty, a college-age boy who had big headphones over his ears, seemed to care. Study halls at Hollier, Emma noticed, involved very little studying. Even the kids who were reading were looking at dog-eared copies of Vogue and Sports Illustrated.
“I got a lot done, too!” Gabby exclaimed, pulling up a chair. “Lili and I sent out invites over the weekend, and everyone seems really into it. Some people seemed a little nervous, since it’s on school property, but I have it on good authority that Ambrose and all the administrators are going to be in Sedona at that conference.”
