I feel a stab of nausea, because she’s not wrong. The Homecoming Stalker made Mr. Bowman’s hit-and-run fade into the background a lot faster than should have been possible for such a popular teacher. “But why pull you into it?” I ask. “And herself, and Brooke?”
“Well, Katrin and Brooke make sense because if they’re targets, nobody would think they’re involved. Me, I don’t know.” Ellery keeps tracing the pattern, her eyes trained on her hand like if she loses concentration for even a second, the entire couch will disappear. “Maybe I was just a way to … thicken the intrigue, or something. Because my family is loosely tied to tragic homecomings, too, even though Sadie was the queen and not Sarah.”
“How would Katrin even do it, though? She was in the cultural center when the sign got vandalized,” I point out. “And onstage with the rest of the cheerleaders when the screen started flashing all that stuff at Fright Farm.”
“The screen could’ve been set up beforehand. But for the rest … she’d have needed help, I guess. Brooke was already pulled in, and Viv and Theo would do anything Katrin says, wouldn’t they? Or was there a time at the cultural center when you lost sight of her?”
“I mean … yeah.” I think of Katrin slipping away as soon as all eyes turned toward my mother and me. Oh, there’s Theo. How long was she gone? I rub a hand across my temple like that’ll help me remember. It doesn’t. The more Ellery and I talk, the more agitated I feel. “Maybe. But if I’m being honest, it’s kind of a stretch, Ellery. And it still doesn’t explain what happened to Brooke.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Ellery says in the same low voice. “I keep thinking that while Katrin was distracting the town, Brooke was working up the courage to tell people what happened. And she wanted to get the proof back. What if Katrin knew that and … did something to keep her quiet?”
A chill settles over me. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. And I really, really hope I’m wrong.” Ellery speaks quickly, in a rush, like she hates what she’s saying but needs to get it out anyway. “But Katrin had motive. She had opportunity. That’s two out of the three things you need to commit a crime.”
My stomach feels like lead. “What’s the third?”
“You have to be the kind of person who would do something like that.” Ellery finally looks up, her expression pensive.
“Katrin wouldn’t.” The words spring out of me without thought.
“Even if she thought she’d lose everything?” I’m not as quick to speak this time, and Ellery presses on, “It might explain why she threw out that random accusation about you and Brooke, right? Anything to deflect.”
“But, Ellery … Christ, what are you even talking about here?” My voice drops to a tense whisper. “Kidnapping? Worse? I can get on board with the rest of it, sort of. The hit-and-run, even planting all those messages around town. That’s extreme, but I can imagine someone doing it under pressure. Making Brooke actually … go missing is a whole other level.”
“I know,” Ellery says. “Katrin would either have to be so desperate that she lost all sense of right or wrong, or be a cold-blooded criminal.” She’s back to tracing patterns on the sofa again. “You’ve lived with her for a few months. Do you see a possibility for either of those?”
“No way. Katrin leads a charmed life.” But even as I say it, I know it’s not entirely true. Peter might dote on Katrin, but in the four months I’ve lived here I’ve barely heard anything about the first Mrs. Nilsson. Katrin doesn’t just not talk to her mother, she doesn’t talk about her. It’s almost like she has only one parent. It’s one of the few things we have in common. It sucks, but it doesn’t mean you’re warped for life. Probably.
Ellery and I are silent for a few minutes, watching the robotically enhanced Defender mow down his former nemesis. That’s what made this series so popular, I think: that a regular guy who’s constantly beaten down could suddenly become special and powerful. In Hollywood, no plotline is impossible. Maybe Ellery’s spent too much time in that world.
Or maybe I don’t know my stepsister at all.
“If any of it’s true, you’d think she’d make another move with the anonymous threats, wouldn’t you?” I finally ask. “They stopped when Brooke disappeared. If you wanted to distract people, now would be the time.” The TV screen flickers as the Defender extinguishes all the lights on a city block. “Right now, actually. At homecoming.”
Ellery sends me a cautious look. “You know, I was thinking that, but … I didn’t want to say anything. I kind of feel like I’ve already said too much.”
“I don’t like hearing it,” I admit. “But … there’s a lot about Katrin lately that doesn’t fit. Maybe we should pay more attention to what she’s up to. And where she is.”
Ellery raises her brows. “Do you think we should go to homecoming?”
“We could.” I glance at the clock on the cable box. “It’s been going on for less than an hour. Still plenty of time for her to make a move, if she’s going to.”
Ellery gestures at her black shirt and jeans. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
“Do you have anything at home that could work? We could stop there first.”
“Nothing super formal, but … I guess so.” She looks uncertain. “Are you sure, though? I feel like I kind of sprang a lot on you at once. Maybe you should let it sink in for a while.”
I give her a half grin. “Are you trying to get out of going to homecoming with me?”
She flushes. “No! I just … it’s, um … huh.” I’ve never seen her at a loss for words before. It’s cute. Ellery might be a walking Forensic Files episode, but there’s still something about her that I can’t stop thinking about. Lots of things.
It’s not just that, though. Earlier today it seemed like a no-brainer to stay home. All I wanted was to keep my head down and avoid conflict. Except now I’m stuck here watching a bad ’90s movie like I have something to be ashamed of, while Katrin—who at the very least has been shady about her car—put on a bright-red dress and went to a party.
I’m tired of watching my life turn into Declan Part Two. And I’m tired of doing nothing while my friends try to figure out how to dig me out of trouble I shouldn’t even be in.
“Then let’s go,” I say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ellery
Saturday, October 5