Probably? I scan the photo in my hands. I’ve never looked anything like Sadie except for the hair and dimple. But those near-black, upturned eyes, the sharp chin, the smile—it’s what I see in the mirror every day.
Officer Rodriguez clasps his hands in front of him like he’s getting ready to pray. “Maybe we should get your grandmother.”
I shake my head emphatically. I don’t know much right now, but I do know that Nana’s presence wouldn’t do anything except up the awkward quotient by a thousandfold. Instead, I hold the frame out to Ezra. “You need to see this.”
I feel as though all seventeen years of my life flash in front of me as my brother crosses the room. My brain races at the same pace, trying to come up with some explanation for all the parts that now seem like a lie. Like, maybe Sadie really did meet up with someone named Jorge or José at a nightclub, and genuinely believed everything she’d ever told us about our father. Maybe she didn’t even remember what now seems like a pretty obvious precursor to that—a fling with a married guy while she was in town for her father’s funeral.
Except. I remember her expression when I’d first mentioned Officer Rodriguez’s name—how something uncomfortable and almost shifty crossed her face. When I’d asked her about it, she’d told me that story about him falling apart at Lacey’s funeral. Something that I’d built an entire criminal theory around until two people told me it didn’t happen.
Ezra sucks in a sharp breath. “Holy shit.”
I can’t bring myself to look at his face, so I dart a glance at Officer Rodriguez instead. A muscle twitches in his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have— Well, I don’t know what I should’ve done, to be honest. We could … get a test or something, I guess, to make sure. …” He trails off and crosses his arms. “I don’t think he knew. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think he would’ve said something if he had.”
Would’ve. Past tense. Since his father—and ours, I guess—has been dead for three months.
It’s too much to take in. Voices buzz around me, and I should probably listen because I’m sure they’re saying something important and meaningful, but I can’t hear the words clearly. Everything is white noise. My palms are sweating, my knees shaking. My lungs feel like they’ve shrunk and can only hold spoonfuls of air at a time. I’m getting so dizzy that I’m afraid I’m going to pass out in the middle of the Rodriguezes’ living room.
And maybe the worst thing about it all is this: how horribly, childishly, and desperately I want my mom right now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Malcolm
Sunday, October 6
It’s one of those dreams that’s really a memory.
Mia and I are on her couch, our eyes glued to her television as we watch coverage of Lacey’s funeral from the day before. We’d been there, of course, but we couldn’t tear ourselves away from reliving it on-screen.
Meli Dinglasa, an Echo Ridge High grad who’d been toiling in obscurity at a local news station until someone got the brilliant idea to put her in front of the camera for this story, stands on the church steps clutching a microphone. “Yesterday, this shattered New England town came together at Lacey Kilduff’s funeral, mourning the loss of such a promising young woman. But amidst the sorrow, questions continue to whirl around those who knew the teen victim best.”
The camera cuts to video of Declan leaving the church in a badly fitting suit, tight-lipped and scowling. If he’s trying to look the part of “Disreputable Ex with a Chip on His Shoulder,” he’s doing a great job.
Mia clears her throat and leans forward, clutching a pillow. “Do you think whoever did it was at the funeral yesterday?” She catches sight of my face and hastily adds, “I don’t mean any of her friends. Obviously. I just mean— I wonder if it’s somebody we know. Right there with us, in the middle of the crowd.”
“They wouldn’t show up,” I say, with more certainty than I feel.
“You don’t think?” Mia chews her bottom lip, eyes flicking over the screen. “They should give everybody there the killer test.”
“The what?”
“I heard about it at school,” Mia says. “It’s a riddle about a girl. She’s at her mother’s funeral, and she sees some guy she doesn’t know. She falls in love with him and decides he’s her dream guy. A few days later, she kills her sister. Why’d she do it?”
“Nobody would do that,” I scoff.
“It’s a riddle. You have to answer. They say murderers always give the same answer.”
“Because she …” I pause, trying to think of the most twisted answer possible. I feel comfortable about doing that with Mia, in a way I wouldn’t with anybody else right now. She’s one of the only people in Echo Ridge who’s not staring accusingly at Declan—and at me, like I must be a bad seed by association. “Because the sister was the man’s girlfriend and she wanted him for herself?”
“No. Because she thought the man might go to her sister’s funeral, too.”
I snort. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Do you have a better way to tell who’s a cold-blooded killer?”
I scan the crowd on-screen, looking for an obvious sign that somebody’s not right. Something twisted lurking among all the sad faces. “They’re the most messed-up person in the room.”
Mia curls deeper into her corner of the couch, pressing the pillow tight against her chest. “That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? They are, but you can’t tell.”
I startle awake so violently that I almost fall out of bed. My pulse is racing and my mouth is cottony dry. I haven’t thought about that day in years—Mia and I sneak-watching news coverage of Lacey’s funeral while I hid at her house because mine was already bubbling over with angry tension. I don’t know why I’d dream about it now, except …
Katrin would either have to be so desperate that she lost all sense of right or wrong, or be a cold-blooded criminal. Even after catching Katrin doing nothing worse than looking for a quiet place to puke, I can’t get Ellery’s words out of my head.
I run a hand through sweat-dampened hair and flip over, trying to sink back into sleep. No good. My eyes keep popping open, so I roll over to check the time on my phone. Just past three a.m., so it’s surprising to see a text from Ellery that’s time-stamped ten minutes ago.
Sorry I didn’t reply sooner. Stuff happened.
It only took her fifteen hours to get back to my I had fun last night text. Which was making me paranoid for a different reason.