by Sara Shepard
Jeff closed his fist around the crystal. “I guess you heard about that on the news?”
Seneca leaned forward. “Yes, and there have been posts about you on a website called Case Not Closed, which we’re involved with. Someone posted that they saw you and Chelsea fighting at the party. Is that true?”
Jeff rubbed the bottoms of his feet into the carpet in a regular, lulling rhythm. “Chelsea posted a picture of herself on Insta that was so…”
He waved his hands helplessly as though searching for a word. Revealing? Maddox thought, thinking of Chelsea’s see-through dress. He didn’t say it out loud.
“Anyway, I made a comment about how I wished she respected herself a little more,” Jeff went on. “But that just exasperated the situation.”
Maddox pressed his tongue into his cheek, noting Jeff’s gaffe. It’s exacerbated, dude. “Where were you when you had this disagreement?” Seneca asked smoothly.
“On the beach, near the bonfire. She got mad and took off up this path that leads to a parking lot next to the condos.”
“Did you follow her to the parking lot?” Maddox asked. That was where the cops found the blood.
“Not right away. I probably waited about twenty minutes. Hung out at the bonfire while I calmed down, got my head together.”
Seneca nodded. “Anyone at the bonfire stick out in your mind? Who saw you guys disagree? Who might have posted about your fight on a crime website?”
Jeff looked dazed. “Well, Alistair was there—he’s this Jamaican cat I surf with sometimes. And then there was this guy who works at Wawa who everyone calls the Jolly Green Giant because he’s really tall. And then this other guy, Cole? Awesome filmmaker from Japan. And the stoners were there, of course. But they were so out of it.”
Maddox glanced at Seneca. Was one of them Brett?
“And I can’t see those guys selling me out on a crime site,” Jeff added, frowning. “What do the cops say about that, anyway? Has anyone come forward saying they wrote the post?”
If only it were that easy, Maddox thought. “I don’t think so. I doubt cops even got the tip from the crime site. From my experience, the cops don’t pay much attention to our discussions on CNC unless we come up with some hard evidence and go to them directly with it.”
“So let’s go back to that night,” Seneca said. “What time did all this happen?”
Jeff stroked his chin. “I sent Chelsea the text at eleven twelve. I already told the cops that.”
Seneca frowned. “Did you give them your phone records?”
He shook his head. “No, my lawyer said they would need a warrant for that. But I let them see my texts from that night.”
“And how long after you guys disagreed did you send the text?” Maddox asked.
“Probably like ten minutes. Long enough for me to drink a beer. And then it was another ten minutes before I followed her.”
“So Chelsea went down that path at about eleven p.m., more or less,” Seneca said.
“And you followed her twenty minutes later,” Maddox added, with a sinking feeling. Twenty minutes was a long time. More than enough time for Brett to take her.
Jeff lifted his hands up, then let them fall. “I really cared for Chelsea. Even after we broke up, I tried to protect her….” His voice cracked. “What’s happening to her right now?” His lip trembled.
“I know exactly how that feels,” Seneca said gently. “I’m really sorry you’re going through this. We’re going to do everything we can to find her.”
“Do you have any enemies?” Maddox asked after a beat.
Jeff looked surprised. “No way. I’m a pacifist.”
“Any secrets?”
A muscle twitched at Jeff’s jaw. “I—”
“The cops already asked him this stuff,” Marcus interrupted loudly. “I told you, Jeff. This is just a waste of time.”
Maddox glanced Marcus’s way, wondering why he’d cut Jeff off. “Whose party was this, anyway?” he asked.
“Gabriel Wilton’s,” Marcus boomed.
“Cool guy,” Jeff jumped in. “He’s shocked this happened at one of his events.”
“Do you think Gabriel would talk to us about the guest list?” Seneca asked. “We heard there was one for the party.”
Jeff shrugged. “Probably.”
Seneca crossed her legs. “So why did you follow Chelsea? To apologize?”
Jeff smoothed his hair. He looked conflicted. “Yeah. And also…” He clamped his mouth shut.
Maddox frowned. “What?”
Jeff ran his fingers over the jasper. “When we were dating, I had this feeling she was cheating on me.”
Seneca hitched forward. “With whom?”
“I never knew. But I thought if I went after her, I’d finally see. She was texting someone all night. Or I thought she was—I kept seeing her fiddling with her phone, but the cops said they got her phone records already and she hadn’t sent a single text during the party.” He raised a despondent shoulder. “I just wanted to see who she was into. Who she chose over me.”
“So what happened?” Seneca pressed.
Jeff crossed his arms over his chest. “I remember getting to the parking lot, looking around, and not seeing her. And then I took another step…and things went black. Next thing I knew, I woke up, and it was morning.”
Seneca shifted in her seat. “And you told the police that?”
“I did, but there were no witnesses. Kids were nearby, grabbing rides home, but no one can vouch that I was there. The police just think I was drunk, or that I’m lying about the whole thing.”
“Do you think you were that drunk?” Seneca’s face lit up with anticipation.
Jeff shook his head. “That’s the thing—no. I feel like something weird happened to me, though I don’t know how. It was like all of a sudden, bam. Nothing. It was like someone took out my batteries.”
Seneca’s eyes danced. “You said you had a beer at the bonfire. Were you holding it the whole time?”
Jeff’s jaw shifted back and forth. He snuck a peek at Marcus, then looked back at them again. “I don’t remember. I might have put it down.”
Maddox glanced at Seneca. He could tell what she was thinking—could Brett have slipped something into Jeff’s beer to ensure he wouldn’t look for Chelsea? “The cops didn’t do a drug test on you, did they?”
Jeff shook his head. “Was that a mistake?”
“If you’d had a test, it might have showed why you suddenly passed out.”
Jeff stood up. “Could I go get a test now?”
Seneca smiled ruefully. “The chemicals only stay in your system for a day or two. It probably wouldn’t show anything.”
Jeff slumped back to his seat, his expression suddenly breaking. “I can’t go to jail. I have an internship next year at the Nature Conservancy. And I’m…” Sobs overtook him. Maddox tapped his toe. He wanted to feel for the guy, he did. But there was something about his sobs that felt over the top, almost like they were a deliberate display.
“We’re going to try to help,” Seneca said. “But tell me one more time—at the party, was there anyone there you didn’t recognize?”
“There were some newish faces, and I didn’t know everyone’s names, but I’d seen everyone around before.” Jeff finally lifted his head from his hands. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his skin was blotchy. “You seriously solved a murder on your own?” He looked at Seneca intently, like he was studying her. Maddox followed his gaze, not sure he liked it.
“More or less,” Seneca said.
“I want to help you investigate.” Jeff plopped the jasper back into the bowl. “I know everyone around here. I could give you local knowledge.”
“Dude, bad idea,” Marcus said. “Clarence will kill you.”
Maddox bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure it was a great idea, either—there was something about Jeff that set him on edge—but he was their best point of entry.
Seneca smiled. “We
’d love your help. Let us talk to the rest of our group, and then I’ll call you so we can meet this afternoon.”
WHEN THEY CLIMBED back into the Jeep, Maddox wanted to crank up the radio so he and Seneca didn’t have to speak. But then Seneca said, “What do you think?” Suddenly, Maddox knew this was no time for shutting down on her. They had a mystery to solve and a killer to find, and he needed to put that above his feelings. Translation: He needed to man the hell up.
He shrugged. “About Man Bun? I just couldn’t get past that crystal.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And why didn’t he put on a shirt? I kept having to avert my eyes from his man nipples.”
Seneca’s gaze was on her phone. “I don’t think he had a clue he was shirtless. He’s a surfer. Don’t those guys walk around without shirts all the time?”
Maddox stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes shone. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was flashing back on Jeff’s abs. She wasn’t attracted to Jeff, was she? No. That had to be the rejection talking.
He twisted his mouth. “If Man Bun were a candy, he’d be something cool, something we’re supposed to like, but something that’s actually not so great. Like those ginger chews they sell at Whole Foods.” He was playing their what-candy-are-you-most-like? game. “And did you hear how he said exasperated instead of exacerbated?”
Seneca snickered. “I knew that was going to bother you.” When they used to chat, Maddox regularly complained when people confused the two words; posters did it all the time on Case Not Closed. “So do you think he was drugged the night of the party?”
Maddox thought for a moment. “I could see Brett doing that. But I also feel like Jeff wasn’t telling us the whole truth about something. I just don’t know what.”
“Oh my God.”
Maddox thought Seneca was reacting to what he’d said, but Seneca was clawing at her chest. “My necklace. The one with my mom’s initial.” Her hands moved under her shirt. She frantically checked the pockets of her cardigan and leaned over to peer into the footwell. “It’s gone.”
“What?” Maddox pulled over and put the car in park. “Are you sure?”
Seneca was pawing at the seat. “I don’t see it anywhere.”
Maddox started to look on his side, too. “I don’t see it, either.” Seneca let out a small whimper, and he placed his hands on the wheel again. “We’ll find it,” he said with purpose.
“I—I took it off before I went to bed last night and put it on the nightstand,” Seneca said. “Now I can’t remember if I put it on this morning or not.”
“So let’s check the B and B. And if it’s not there, we’ll check the pizza place from last night. Or Jeff’s.”
The B&B’s parking lot was empty. When they pulled into the first space, a black-and-white-striped cat slinked around the front tires. Seneca shot out of the car and hurried to the back door. By the time Maddox crossed the threshold, Seneca was already inside the room she was sharing with Madison. She’d taken everything off the nightstand, but the necklace wasn’t there.
Maddox opened a drawer to the bureau. It was filled with silky underthings. He slammed it shut again quickly, then peered under the furniture. Nothing.
Seneca made a beeline for the windowsill. Something small and flat sat on the ledge—an envelope. She pulled it open and made a small yelp. When Maddox pivoted, she was lifting out something on a chain.
“Whoa.” Maddox rushed over. The pendant was twisted, the small, flat disk now bent in half. “Shit, Seneca, I’m so sorry. Maybe we can fix it.”
But Seneca’s eyes were scanning a sheet of paper inside the envelope. Maddox leaned over her shoulder. It looked like it was from the same off-kilter typewriter that had produced the letter he’d received two days before. Blood began to swim in his ears.
I see you when you’re sleeping,
I know when you’re awake.
Better be more careful, S.
“Oh my God.” Maddox stepped away. “Brett was here? He was”—a horrible image came to mind—“watching you sleep?”
And Brett must have watched Madison, too. The single slice of toast Maddox had eaten that morning roiled in his stomach.
“What’s going on?”
Madison and Aerin paused in the doorway, looking sweaty and flustered. Maddox shoved the note at them. “Brett’s been here. Inside this place. He messed with Seneca’s necklace.”
The color drained from Aerin’s face. “What?”
“Oh my God.” Madison skimmed the note. “He could have killed one of us!”
“No.” Seneca’s voice was calm. “He wants us here. This is all part of the game.”
Maddox rounded on her. “Why aren’t you freaking out? Brett was in your room. Next to your bed.” He shuddered at the thought.
Seneca closed the mangled necklace in her palm, then slowly walked across the room, stood on her tiptoes, and pulled something from the top of the windowsill. “It’s exactly what I was hoping he’d do.” She held a tiny metal rectangle that looked like a miniature computer motherboard. Everyone leaned forward to inspect it.
“Is that…?” Madison cried.
Seneca pointed to a small window in the middle of the rectangle. “A surveillance camera. I’ve had it up in my room all summer, just in case. I wasn’t going to take any chances here.”
Maddox’s mouth dropped open. “You bugged the room?”
“Of course I did.” Seneca rummaged in her backpack and extracted a laptop. With impressive poise, she inserted a cord from the micro device into the laptop’s USB port. A video window appeared along with a grainy image. The room swam into view on the screen. Seneca rewound the video, stopping when a shadow popped up in the corner. The clock at the bottom read 5:42 a.m. Sunlight was just beginning to stream into the room. To Maddox’s horror, a figure in a black sweat suit and a face mask stepped into the space. He tiptoed over Madison’s huge suitcase. Kicked aside Seneca’s Converse sneakers. Hovered over Seneca’s bed as she slept.
Maddox’s stomach knotted. The person was Brett’s height, though it was difficult to tell what his build was under the bulky clothes. Aerin groaned. Madison made a choked gasp. To Maddox’s surprise, Seneca grabbed his hand and squeezed hard.
The figure placed the envelope on the windowsill. Then he turned and glanced up at the little camera as though he knew it was there.
“Wait.” Aerin stabbed the pause button on the screen. Brett froze in place, gloved hands at his sides. “Those eyes,” Aerin said, pointing at the two bright orbs peering out of the mask. They flooded back into Maddox’s memory: round, very blue, piercing. Nausea roiled through his gut, but after that came an almost disbelieving exhilaration.
“There he is,” Maddox said, his voice faint.
“There he is,” Seneca echoed, her voice full of determination. “And we’re going to find him.”
BRETT FLIPPED THE switch that operated the microphone. “Good afternoon,” he said.
Chelsea did her predictable shuffle and spin as she searched for the source of his voice. Her movements were more languid today—she hadn’t been eating any of the meals he’d left for her. Her hair hung in greasy clumps, and the bottoms of her feet were dirty. “Don’t you look lovely,” he said icily.
Her eyes were large and wet. “Can’t you just let me go?”
“Now, now. I wanted to let you know that you’ve gained quite a few Instagram followers. Would you like to know how many?”
She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t care about Instagram. I just want to go home. See my family.”
“Turn to your left.”
Chelsea peeked in that direction. A new full-length mirror stood near the window. Brett had placed it there while she was sleeping last night, finally knocked out from the sedative he’d given her. When she took in her bleary-eyed, withered reflection, she winced and looked away.
“Perhaps that might inspire you to finally shower and change,” Brett said gently. “Have you noticed I left mak
eup in the bathroom for you? And there’s a hair dryer in the cabinet, and a curling iron, and some styling products, too. All the brands you like.”
Chelsea flung herself onto a pillow. “If you’re going to kill me, you should just do it. Get it over with.”
“I know you like to look pretty.”
She glanced up. Her features sharpened. “If you think I’m going to make myself look good for you, you’re insane.”
Brett tried not to feel offended. “This isn’t for me.”
“Yeah right. Who are you, anyway? What do you want with me? Do you think I’m going to have sex with you? Do you watch me sleep and fantasize about what we’d do together? Is that what you do, you sick asshole?”
Brett rolled his eyes. “You’re all over the news. Everyone in the country knows who you are. Isn’t that exciting? Doesn’t that make you want to…oh, I don’t know, fix yourself up?”
“It’s not like they’re going to come here for an interview,” Chelsea spat. It was a while before she spoke again, but Brett could tell she was mulling something over. “Which news channels, anyway?” she mumbled. “If that’s not all bullshit.”
“All of them. I promise I’m not lying. All the newscasters talk about is how pretty you are. That you’re a social media icon. Your name is trending on Twitter. Memorials to you are all over Snapchat. Avignon is teeming with press and police and gawkers. You should be so proud.”
Chelsea stared at her lap, the tough expression fading. Something to his left caught Brett’s eye. Last night, he’d installed a camera in the entrance of Conch B&B, next to a prince frog statue among all the knickknacks in the curio cabinet. Maddox and Seneca appeared on the screen. He wheeled his chair closer, his nose almost bumping the little monitor. The feed had shown the two entering the B&B a few minutes before, Seneca looking harried and freaked. Surely they’d discovered her ruined treasure by now—and his note. Now for the aftermath.
His eyes narrowed at the pixelated image. Seneca’s hair bounced. Maddox laughed. They both practically skipped back out the door and onto the porch. Brett felt his lips pucker. Where was the fear? Where was their panic?