Mia’s eyes gleam as she lines one of her men up for a shot. “I have no such concerns.”
We play for a few minutes without speaking. My mind keeps racing along the Declan-Daisy theory that I didn’t say, testing it for holes. There are a few, admittedly. But it’s such a true-crime staple when girls go missing or are harmed: it’s always the boyfriend. Or a frustrated wannabe. Because when you’re seventeen, and beautiful, and you’re found murdered in a place known for hookups, what could it possibly be except a crime of passion?
So that leaves Declan. The only other person I’m even remotely suspicious of is the guy Lacey never noticed—Officer Ryan Rodriguez. I can’t forget his photo in the yearbook, or Sadie’s description of him breaking down at Lacey’s funeral. Still, Officer Rodriguez doesn’t fit like Declan does—he makes perfect sense, especially now that we know about him and Daisy.
I don’t believe for one second that they’re a new thing. The only question in my mind is whether Malcolm’s willing to admit it.
I steal a glance at Malcolm as he twists his handles, fully concentrating on the game. Brow furrowed, green eyes crinkling when he makes a good shot, lean arms flexing. He has absolutely no idea how attractive he is, and it’s kind of a problem. He’s so used to living in his brother’s shadow that he doesn’t believe he’s the kind of guy who could’ve snagged the attention of a girl like Brooke. Anybody else can see it from a mile away.
He looks up and meets my eyes. Busted. I feel myself go red as his mouth lifts in a half smile. Then he glances down again, pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking the screen. His face changes in an instant. Mia sees it too and stops spinning her handles. “Any news?” she asks.
“A text from my mom. Nothing about Brooke,” Malcolm says, and we all relax. Because from the look on his face, it wouldn’t have been good. “Except there’s a search party tomorrow. During the day, so Echo Ridge students aren’t supposed to go. And there’s an article in the Boston Globe.” He sighs heavily. “My mom’s freaking out. She gets traumatized any time the news mentions Lacey.”
“Can I see?” I ask. He hands the phone to me, and I read the section framed within the screen:
The small town was already on edge after a series of vandalism incidents beginning in early September. Buildings and signs were defaced with messages written as though they were from Lacey Kilduff’s killer. The anonymous threats promised another attack on one of the girls elected to homecoming court—a short list that included Brooke Bennett. But those who’ve been following the story closely don’t see any real connection.
“Even if someone was unhinged enough to get away with murder and brag about it five years later, the MO’s are completely different,” says Vivian Cantrell, a senior at Echo Ridge High who has covered the story for her school paper. “Strangulation is a brutal crime of passion. The threats are public, and they require planning. I don’t think there’s any relation at all to what happened to Lacey, or what’s going on with Brooke.”
I grip the phone more tightly. That’s almost exactly what I said two weeks ago at lunch. Viv basically stole my entire spiel and used it to replace her original point of view. Before this, she’d been telling everybody that Lacey’s death and the anonymous threats had to be related.
Why did Viv suddenly change her tune?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ellery
Wednesday, October 2
It’s the first week in October, and starting to get dark earlier. But even if it weren’t, Nana would insist on driving Ezra and me to our shift at Fright Farm after dinner.
I don’t bother reminding her that it’s only a ten-minute walk as she plucks her keys from a hook next to her wall-mounted phone. Brooke has been missing for four days, and the entire town is on edge. Search parties all day, and candlelight vigils at night. After two days of heated debate at school, homecoming is still on for Saturday—but without a court. I’m no longer technically a princess. Which is fine, I guess, since I still don’t have a date.
The same few theories keep circulating: that Brooke ran away, that she’s the victim of the Murderland killer, that one of the Kelly boys did something to her. Everything in Echo Ridge feels like a thick, bubbling mess that’s about to boil over.
Nana is silent on the ride over, clutching the steering wheel and driving fifteen miles below the speed limit until we near the entrance. Then she pulls to the side of the road and says, “The House of Horrors closes at eleven, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ll be outside the gates at eleven-oh-five.”
That’s two hours past her bedtime, but we don’t argue. I told her earlier that Malcolm could give us a ride, and she insisted on picking us up anyway. I don’t think she believes he’s involved in Brooke’s disappearance—she hasn’t told us to stop hanging out with him—but she’s not taking any chances, and I can’t blame her. I’m a little surprised she’s still letting us go to work.
Ezra and I climb out of the car and watch its taillights recede so slowly that a bicycle passes it. We’re halfway through the gates when my phone rings with a familiar California number.
I hold it up to Ezra. “Sadie must’ve heard.”
It was only a matter of time. Brooke’s disappearance has become national news, and Nana’s been hanging up all week on reporters angling for a “One Town, Three Missing Girls” story. Hamilton House Rehabilitation Facility allegedly bans Internet access, but since Sadie’s already used her borrowed cell phone to check out Ezra’s Instagram before FaceTiming us, she’s obviously flouting that rule, too.
I slide to answer and press the phone to my ear. “Hi, Sadie.”
“Ellery, thank God you picked up.” Her agitated voice crackles across the line. “I just read about what’s happening there. Are you and Ezra all right?”
“We’re fine. Just worried about Brooke.”
“Oh my God, of course you are. That poor girl. Her poor family.” She pauses for a beat, her breath harsh in my ear. “So the article … it said there were threats beforehand? Toward three girls, and that one of them was someone who … who was related to … Was it you, Ellery?”
“It was me,” I confirm. Ezra gestures like he wants me to FaceTime, but I wave him off. It’s too crowded here.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The bitter laugh springs out of me without warning. “Why would I?”
Silence on the other end, so complete that I think she’s disconnected. I’m about to pull the phone away from my ear to check when Sadie says, “Because I’m your mother and I have a right to know.”