I shut the door and gesture toward the living room. “Please have a seat. I’ll get my mom.”
“Thanks,” says Detective Sawyer, continuing through the foyer, toward the sofa. I scurry down the hall to my parents’ room, my heart thumping.
When I return, following in my mom’s wake, the detectives introduce themselves again. My mom nods nervously, and I cower two steps behind her. Detective Reyes stands. “This shouldn’t take too long, ma’am. We just need to go over your daughter’s statement from the day Melody disappeared.”
My mom turns to me with an uncertain look. “Maybe I should call my husband.”
He smiles warmly. “It’s just a routine follow-up. Cassidy is a witness, nothing more.” He points to a photo on the mantel. “Is this the rest of the family?” My mom perks up and follows him to the other side of the room, no doubt eager to blab about Asher.
That leaves me with Detective Sawyer. She looks nice enough. Her head flicks to the empty space beside her on the sofa, and I sit. “So Cassidy, Sheriff Henderson gave us your statement. We’re just here to follow up on a few things. We spoke to your friend”—she flips through a notepad like she can’t remember—“Gideon Hollander. Why was it you didn’t want to talk last night?”
Someone is pinning this on me. “I wasn’t feeling well. I think all the stress from everything with Melody got to me.”
Detective Sawyer stares at me, unblinking for a long beat. “Sorry to hear that,” she says, flipping back through her notepad. “Now, there’s one thing I’m still a little unclear on.” Her lips twist. “Why did you and Mr. Hollander go to Melody’s house instead of the sheriff’s station?”
“Like I told Sheriff Henderson, I couldn’t be positive about what I’d heard. The forest was noisy, with the birds and the creek. And I didn’t see anything. I didn’t want to alarm everyone until I was sure.”
“If you weren’t sure what you’d heard, how did you know the voice belonged to Melody Davenport?”
I pick at my fingernails. “She and I were in varsity volleyball together last year. She was—is—very loud, and she has this high-pitched laugh. It’s…unusual. One girl at school called it a kookaburra bird call, so we looked it up on YouTube and it sounded exactly like Melody’s laugh.” My foot refuses to stop tapping against the wood. “Anyway, Gideon and I heard that sound in the woods. Melody made it, but then, she got quieter. They sounded like they were”—my eyes divert to the wall—“doing other things after that.”
“What kinds of other things?” Detective Sawyer’s face is stoic.
Seriously? “Like kissing, I don’t know. That’s what kids sometimes do in that spot.”
“And do you sometimes listen?”
If I touched my face right now, my hand would scorch. “No! No.” I lower my voice. “Gideon and I usually go out there because it’s quiet. We weren’t expecting people.”
My mom stirs from her conversation with Detective Reyes. “Cassidy, is everything all right?”
“Yes, Mrs. Pratt,” Detective Sawyer answers. “Everything’s fine.” She smiles and turns back to me. “Just a couple more questions for now.” Her chin rests on the end of her pen. “Did you recognize the voice of the other individual?”
My teeth clamp together so hard my jaw hurts. Detective Sawyer’s eyes are fastened on mine. My tongue itches to push out the name Brandon Alvarez. But then I remember the wink of light in Seth’s window. The truth is I don’t know who’s doing this. Giving the cops false information will only make things worse. “I couldn’t hear it well enough, ma’am.”
“So, no idea?”
If the guy with the notebook gets arrested, he’ll hand it over. I tug harder on my fingernail. “No, sorry.”
Detective Sawyer frowns. “Mr. Hollander wasn’t with you the entire time. Is that correct?”
Terror locks my spine into a stiff, upright position.
“For example, he wasn’t in the”—she pauses—“clubhouse when you heard the cry for help. Or when you heard the other voice.”
This lunatic already got to the detective. He handed over the notebook. She knows I have no alibi.
“So it’s possible,” she continues, angling her head in thought, “that the second voice could’ve belonged to Mr. Hollander.” Her lips curl smugly.
A crack resounds in my head. Black. Tiny flickers of light. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. Was this what the threat meant the whole time? Or burn the ones you love. Is he going to pin it all on Gideon? “No!” I finally say with too much force. “Gideon was sending a text. We both heard Melody talking to someone before he left. She wasn’t talking to herself!”
Detective Sawyer flinches and leans back toward her side of the sofa. Like she’s afraid of me.
This is exactly what Melody always wanted. For everyone to believe I’m dangerous. Now that she’s missing, she’s finally getting her way.
But is she missing?
Am I being threatened because I was there the day she was taken? Or am I simply the target of Melody’s most brilliant scheme yet? The photo was on her phone, after all.
I’ve ripped this fingernail tip off too low. Stinging pain shoots up to my elbow. My mom rushes over. “I think Cassidy’s had enough, Detectives.”
“Yes,” Detective Sawyer says, her eyes shining with fascination. Or satisfaction. She turns to my mom. “Thank you, Mrs. Pratt. We’ll be in touch.”
My mom walks the detectives out, and I retreat to my room. I shut the door behind me and call Gideon, but he doesn’t answer.
10
When I arrive at school, Gideon’s bike is chained to the rack in front of the school steps. He has a truck, but he only uses it when the weather’s bad. Normally, he’d be waiting for me by the fountain, but he’s obviously still mad at me. I need this argument between us to end so I can have my best friend back.
As I enter the double doors, an array of red curls accosts me. “Hey, Cassidy!” Emily glances quizzically from one side of me to the other. “Where’s your other half?”
“I was actually just looking for him. You didn’t see him?”
“No. I’ll help you look, though. I was putting up these posters, but I’m finished.” She points to the walls adorned with her handiwork.
I glance up at the colorful butcher paper advertising the Sadie Hawkins dance in three weeks. “Nice. Are you heading the dance committee again?”