Follow Me

by Sara Shepard

  Grieg licked his thin lips, busying himself with stuffing the notebook in his briefcase. “I’m afraid I can’t release too many details at the moment.”

  Seneca edged forward in her seat. “Seriously? You’re going to tell us nothing?”

  “Seneca,” Maddox said softly, taking her arm.

  She wrenched it away. “We’ve been sitting here for hours,” she said, her eyes hard on Grieg. “And we were the ones who found Chelsea—you owe us an explanation. Or else…” Her nostrils flared. “Or we’re going to the press with our story. And we’ll say you aren’t listening, and that the town is in danger.”

  Grieg held up a warning hand. “There will be no going to the press. The last thing we need is to make this worse.” He gritted his teeth. “Look, I commend you guys for bringing Miss Dawson home safe. But so far, our findings on the crime scene at the vineyard are…inconclusive. There’s no sign of forced entry to the house. And no signs on Miss Dawson that she’s been tortured or even mistreated—we had our best medics look at her. There’s her mental state, of course, though that seems a little…melodramatic.”

  Seneca looked appalled. “Meaning?”

  Grieg seemed to think something through, then said, his voice condescending, “Miss Dawson had on fresh clothes, she’d showered, and she was watching TV when you found her. That’s not exactly common for abduction cases. Moreover, the stories Miss Dawson told about her captor don’t exactly match up to what we’ve found.”

  “How so?” Maddox sputtered.

  “Miss Dawson said her captor seemed to be talking through the wall, with a microphone system. And that he seemed to know what she was doing at all times—like he had cameras. But there were no signs of any of those devices in the room she was in or in any other rooms that we’ve searched. There were no wires that they might have been disconnected from, either. We’re still looking, but we have experts on this. They would have found something by now.”

  Aerin shifted forward. “Maybe all his stuff was wireless. Seneca had a wireless surveillance camera in her room at the B and B.”

  Grieg gave Seneca a strange look as if to say, What kind of girl carries around a portable wireless surveillance camera? “I suppose that’s a possibility,” he said evenly. “But even if we do find evidence of a wireless camera, who’s not to say Miss Dawson installed it herself? As another way to film herself?”

  Seneca gawked at him. Aerin felt her stomach swoop. Was this really, truly happening?

  “But when we got to her, her room was locked,” Seneca said. “We had to unlock it for her with a credit card. How do you explain that?”

  Grieg’s brow wrinkled. “That, too, could have been staged. We found a key in the master bathroom. It was in a drawer, but it wasn’t exactly hidden. Miss Dawson could have unlocked that door whenever she wanted, and we think she did. We don’t have official data back yet, but there are a lot of fingerprints all over the kitchen. A few long blond hairs, too. Preliminary searches also found those same prints on the doorknob that led to the garage, where we found a trash bag full of garbage—mostly food. We don’t have a fingerprint match yet, and we don’t have DNA evidence that Chelsea ate the food, but that’s what we think happened.”

  Seneca shook her head. “No. That’s impossible.”

  Grieg crossed his arms over his chest. “Miss Dawson also said she wasn’t allowed access to her phone, though she saw it a few times. We found it just outside her room—that second phone, the one she used to speak to Gabriel. Her fingerprints are on that, too. When we accessed her photos, we found a lot of recent shots of Miss Dawson in the bedroom. She’s smiling in every one of them. In fact, they seem…posed.”

  “Like for an Instagram shot, you’re thinking?” Thomas murmured cynically.

  Aerin stared at him. Slowly, her mind folded around the theory. Was Grieg saying what she thought he was saying? “But couldn’t the kidnapper have arranged those photos so they look like selfies? Forced her to smile?” she asked. That sounded exactly like something Brett would do.

  Grieg jangled loose change in his pocket. “Look. Miss Dawson has gotten thousands of new social media followers since this happened. She’s on every news channel in the country. I should also add that we found a laptop in that bedroom, in a drawer. The first item on the Google search was her own name—it’s almost like she wanted us to find it.” He rubbed his eyes. “We don’t think there was a kidnapper. End of story.”

  “There was!” Aerin cried. “There had to be! Gabriel Wilton!”

  “There’s no real evidence Gabriel Wilton was involved,” Grieg explained. “Yes, they were friends—good friends. And yes, Gabriel was the last person she spoke to before she was ‘kidnapped,’ and it seemed she rejected him.” He put kidnapped in air quotes. “And yes, he wasn’t at his condo the day we went to question him, and someone tipped us off about him. But anonymous tips can be misleading. Sometimes people give false information to incriminate someone else—an enemy, perhaps. It’s even possible Chelsea left that tip to throw suspicion off what she was really up to. Gabriel could be a victim here.”

  Aerin felt sick.

  “In fact…” Grieg glanced into the hall as if mulling something over, then looked back at them. “In fact, I just got word that Gabriel Wilton’s body has been found.”

  Aerin just blinked. Seneca clapped a hand over her mouth. “What? Where?” Madison cried.

  “There was a car accident. A Toyota Prius smashed through a guardrail at a scenic overlook on one of the winding roads about a half hour away. The vehicle caught fire before anyone found it, but it’s registered in Gabriel’s name. There was one body inside—a male. And we were able to recover a license—Gabriel’s.”

  Aerin’s mouth was suddenly dry. “So he’s…dead?”

  Grieg nodded. His eyes were narrowed, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, almost as if to say, See? You kids are so, so wrong.

  Seneca pounded a fist on the table. “Are you people that stupid? It’s not Gabriel’s body in that car. It’s just someone who looks like him. Gabriel—Brett—is alive and well.”

  Grieg raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty serious accusation to make, Miss Frazier.”

  “Let me identify the body, and I’ll apologize,” Seneca growled. Her face had gone completely red.

  Grieg stood and curled his hands over the top of the chair. “Look, let’s reconvene after we collect more facts. Which, I assure you, we will get.” He scooped up his notebook and started toward the door.

  “We’re giving you the facts, and you’re not listening!” Seneca’s voice cracked. “If Chelsea faked all this, then who sent us that letter?”

  Hand on the doorknob, Grieg turned. “The one about how your guy is a serial killer? Does the letter actually say that? Does it state, in bold facts, that he murdered those two women?”

  “It…” Aerin started, but then her thoughts came to a screeching halt. Jesus. The reality seemed to drip over her, droplet by droplet. “It doesn’t,” she said finally, in a small voice. “Not really.”

  “Because he’s very, very careful,” Seneca jumped in. “But we knew what he meant. Okay, so even without the letter, why would someone send me clues? Why would someone attack me in the B and B?”

  Grieg gave her a leveling glance. “I wish you’d reported that at the time, Miss Frazier.”

  Seneca looked blindsided, her lips parted slightly.

  “We couldn’t,” Aerin managed to say. “The kidnapper told us he would kill Chelsea if we got the police involved.”

  “I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about it now,” Grieg said. There was a whisper of a smile on his face again, and Aerin could almost visualize what was going through his mind. Because they’d reported nothing, and because they could prove nothing, their story was as flimsy as Chelsea’s. What did they have to show for Brett’s wrath? Some takeout menus and flyers with numbers circled? A weird poem left on Seneca’s windowsill and another shoved into a cup of coffee
? A bent necklace that could have just as easily been damaged some other way? A few exchanges on an amateur crime-solving site?

  It was possible, Aerin realized, that Grieg thought they’d been working with Chelsea, four kids desperate to make a name for themselves as expert crime solvers, eager for the attention. Her throat felt dry. She was filled with hot, liquid rage, but she had no idea what to do with it.

  Everyone filed out in a daze. Aerin gazed around at her friends, not knowing what to say. It was like they were trapped in a nightmare, where truth didn’t matter.

  Groaning, she stomped out the double doors and stood on the pavement. It was late afternoon, and though the humidity had lifted a little, the sky was still gray. It matched her mood. A single refrain thudded in her mind: Brett had tricked them—again. Brett had gotten away, again.

  I’m sorry, Helena, she thought wearily, feeling acid rise in her throat.

  “Hey.”

  Aerin turned. Thomas had stepped onto the pavement next to her and was squinting in the cloudy glare. “Hi,” she said flatly, her eyes burning with tears.

  He slung an arm around her and pulled her tight. “That cop is a disaster. We’re going to find Brett. If he’s still out there—if he’s not dead—I’ll do everything I can to find him.”

  Aerin shrugged. “I feel like it’s a lost cause.”

  “It’s not. When I get back up to Dexby, I’ll reenroll with the police if I have to in order to get someone to look seriously into this case. This is a huge deal, Aerin. That letter Brett wrote? We’re going to figure out a way to nail him. Maybe the answer is in that paper crane, you know?”

  “Or maybe it’s meaningless,” Aerin grumbled. But she met his gaze anyway. His eyes seemed to anchor her into place, steadying her dizzy head. Slowly, she reached out and touched his hand. “Thank you,” she said, and then hugged him tightly, feeling the disappointed tears run down her cheeks.

  Only when his phone beeped did Thomas pull away. Aerin watched as he glanced at the screen, his expression slowly changing into something grim. “What is it?” Aerin said nervously. “Brett?”

  Thomas shook his head. “It’s from my grandma’s doctor.” He sounded dazed. “Sh-she’s in the hospital. It sounds…serious.” When he looked up, his eyes searched the sky as if trying to lock on to something familiar. “I—I have to get back to Dexby. Now.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Thomas ran his hand over his hair. “Okay. Great.” He glanced at her then, as if only now hearing what she’d said. “Wait. You’ll really come?”

  “Of course,” Aerin said, clasping his hand. Thomas had been there for her, after all. It was the least she could do.

  And it wasn’t like there was anything left for her here.

  MADDOX SAT IN the lobby of the Reeds Hotel gobbling down the first thing he’d eaten all day, a huge club sandwich overloaded with mayo plus a side of fries. The bathroom door at the back of the lobby opened, and his sister and Aerin appeared. He was about to ask them if they wanted to order something when he noticed a guy in a local TV news affiliate polo stroll in and ask something at the front desk.

  He sat up straighter. With his slick blond hair and gleaming smile, Maddox instantly recognized the guy as Matt Warburg, a reporter he’d watched commenting on the Chelsea Dawson Hoax, as it was now called, all day. The public thought Chelsea was a fraud. The end.

  Aerin and Madison plopped down at the table. Madison picked up a menu but then put it down again, looking miserable. Soon after, Seneca appeared, too, listlessly grabbing a roll from the basket and slowly covering it with butter. Everyone was silent, staring either at their phones or into the middle distance. “I don’t want to leave, but I told my dad I’d be back today,” Seneca finally said. “I need to at least go back and check in, but then I can figure out a way to come back here. Or wherever.”

  “Wait, what?” Aerin looked shocked. “Why would you come back here? Brett’s gone. We’ll to have to wait until he strikes next.”

  Seneca lay her butter knife on the plate. There was a sharp line between her brows. “No way. We have solid evidence he was here, even if the cops don’t believe us. Brett lived here. Someone knew him well, and someone is going to give us a clue—we just have to ask more questions. And look, that message on Aerin’s crane? Maybe it’s another clue. We just have to figure out what it means.”

  “Are we sure Brett wasn’t in that accident?” Madison whispered.

  Seneca scoffed. “Please. Brett set up that accident to make it look like he’d died so the cops wouldn’t search for him or ask any questions—and in hopes we’d drop the case.”

  “So who was in that car?” Aerin asked uneasily.

  The sandwich churned in Maddox’s stomach. He’d been thinking about that all day. Brett had taken another victim. It must have been his plan all along.

  He felt a shift behind him and whirled around, on edge. A waiter passed with a tray. A woman in a navy dress slipped into an open elevator car.

  Seneca took a bite of the roll and chewed. “I say we regroup, come up with a plan of attack, and find a lead on who and where Brett might be. There has got to be something. I can feel it.” She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Or is it just me? Am I the only one who wants to keep going?”

  Everyone shifted uncomfortably. Madison stared at her nails. Maddox placed his napkin on his plate, feeling conflicted. Then Aerin said in a small voice, “I’m in.”

  “Enough that you’ll come back and help?” Seneca’s voice was hopeful.

  Aerin nodded, her ponytail bouncing. “Yes.”

  “And you?” Seneca turned to Maddox. He felt his stomach flip over with a mix of fear and rage. “Okay,” he said, hardly believing he was doing this. Searching for Brett now seemed so futile. The guy had orchestrated a complex kidnapping, turned around to make it look like a fraud, and then pulled off a Houdini-like escape. On the other hand, Maddox couldn’t fathom going home. Lazing around the rest of the summer. Running. Packing up for Oregon. It all seemed so…illogical. Brett had hurt them. All of them. He couldn’t walk away from that.

  “I’ll come, too,” Madison said after a beat. “We should probably go home first for a few days, but then Maddox and I will come up with an excuse to get back here.”

  “Good.” Seneca’s mouth twitched, and her eyes were a little shiny—she looked so grateful, like she hadn’t expected all of them to agree.

  “I’ll get back here as soon as I can,” Aerin said. “I’ll try to get Thomas to come, too. But I’m going to need a few days.” Her face clouded, and she glanced at her watch. Then she grabbed the bag that waited next to her and stood.

  “What’s up?” Seneca asked.

  “Thomas told me to meet him outside at two. We’re driving to Rudyard—his grandmother’s in the hospital. It seems serious.” She turned to go, then hurried back to them and gave them all hugs. “See you soon. Everyone lock your doors at home tonight. And maybe install surveillance cameras, just in case.”

  Everyone laughed warily. After more hugs, Aerin tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder and strode through the marble lobby. Maddox stared at her back, feeling a twinge. Long ago, he had loved Aerin’s older sister, Helena, in that way only a dorky, misunderstood twelve-year-old could. It was astonishing how much Aerin suddenly looked like her now. From the back, the two of them could be twins. Then his gaze fell to the still image of Chelsea, frozen on the video screen. She looked so vibrant and happy. Who would she be after this? What horrors had she endured as Brett’s prisoner? The worst thing about all of this was that no one would believe a word she said.

  Madison tossed the menu to the table and stood, too. “Ugh, there’s no way I can eat under all this stress. I guess I’ll pack up so we can check out.” Then she groaned. “Maddox, why did you tell me to bring two huge suitcases? It’s going to take forever for me to collect everything.”

  “I didn’t…” Maddox started, but his sister had already spun
on her heel and headed for the elevators. Maddox watched her go, smiling wryly. When they came back, Madison wouldn’t pack so much. His stomach swooped again. He still kind of couldn’t believe they were coming back…and so soon.

  He started after her, figuring there was nothing else to do except grab his bags as well. But then he felt a hand on his arm. “Do you have a second to talk?”

  Seneca looked nervous but hopeful. Maddox’s heart lifted, and he turned toward her. “Of course.”

  THE HOTEL HAD a little patio off the lobby with couches, palm trees, a big fishpond, and a large bar. When Seneca and Maddox sank down into a chaise, she overheard a few patrons talking about Chelsea. “What kind of girl kidnaps herself?” a woman at the bar said as she sipped her red wine. The man next to her rolled his eyes. “A girl who needs to be the center of the universe.”

  If only they knew the truth.

  Seneca slumped onto a couch, feeling a fresh wave of despair. Maddox sat next to her. She pulled it together for him; there was no use wearing her extreme disappointment on her sleeve. “I just wanted to say good-bye before I head out,” she said. She checked her watch. It was a few minutes after two. “I promised my dad I’d be home by late afternoon. I’d rather things go really smoothly so that I can come back here.”

  Maddox nodded. “So he still doesn’t know about…?”

  She shook her head. “And I don’t intend to tell him. Not yet.” She wouldn’t until she had Brett behind bars. It didn’t even feel like deception anymore. It was just the way things had to be.

  She peeked at Maddox. He was hunching those muscled shoulders, and something about the lock of hair that curled over his left ear made her stomach swoop. “You know,” he said gently, “we still don’t actually know if Brett was telling the truth in that letter. He could have painted the relationship with your mom as way more friendly than it really was.”