by Sara Shepard
‘I told you we shouldn’t have come,’ he said. ‘Aerin’s a bitch. Always has been.’
‘She didn’t seem like a bitch.’ Seneca climbed in her side. ‘She just seemed upset.’
‘Well, we shouldn’t have gone in with guns blazing. Saying we were from a coalition.’
‘So I should have let you do all the talking, then?’ Seneca asked tightly.
‘Maybe we should have had a softer approach. Said we understand where she’s coming from.’
Seneca flinched. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Maddox closed his mouth. He really had no idea.
‘Why would I know where she’s coming from?’ Seneca persisted. There were red splotches on her cheeks. ‘I’m not from here. I don’t know her. Why would you say that?’
‘Dude. I was just saying some words.’ Chill out, he thought but didn’t say. He didn’t have to know that much about girls to know that telling a girl to calm down would only make her angrier.
Seneca pressed her lips together. ‘Maybe this isn’t a good idea.’
Maddox turned his head sharply. ‘Huh?’
‘Maybe I should go home.’
‘Wait, what? Just because Aerin isn’t into it doesn’t mean –’
‘If you don’t want to take me to the train station, I’ll find a cab.’
Maddox felt his stomach drop. Jesus. She was serious. ‘How about if we –’
‘No, I really just want to go.’
Maddox stared at her, but she wouldn’t look back at him. He’d never had something go so bombastically awry. Before Seneca had come, he’d relished the idea of having a buddy who was actually into the stuff he was into. But he’d been wrong about everything. The Seneca he’d known online was warm and funny – nothing like the weird, distant girl in the seat beside him. He didn’t know her at all.
What was he doing, anyway, chatting with freaks on that website? He wasn’t a freak anymore. He was cool now – and he didn’t need any more friends, much less psycho ones like Seneca. Yet somehow, he knew that if he said all that out loud, it wouldn’t sound as good as it did in his head.
‘You’re the boss,’ he said quietly, shifting into drive. ‘The station it is.’
CHAPTER 5
As evening fell, Aerin sat on the couch in her upstairs library, a time capsule to 2012. A Newsweek on the rack recapped Obama’s re-election. The DVD player wasn’t a Blu-ray. There was a thin line of dust on top of every Encyclopaedia Britannica, relics themselves. Since her sister’s disappearance and her dad’s move to the city, her mom had worked hard to keep the huge house pristine – she wasn’t falling to pieces, no, sir! – but this room was her little secret.
Downstairs, Aerin could hear her mother, in a rare appearance at home, opening a bottle of wine. Her best friend, Marissa Ingram, cheered when the cork popped. ‘Boy, do I need a glass,’ she said.
Aerin crept out of the library, shut the door, and peered over the railing. Marissa’s husband, Harris, was puttering around the great room, checking out Aerin’s mother’s coffee table books. Aerin’s mom and Marissa sat at the huge farmhouse table, toasting with their wineglasses. Marissa, who had jet-black hair cut to her chin, probably weighed ninety pounds soaking wet. As always, she had on her enormous diamond ring – big enough that it would surely put out someone’s eye if she punched them with it. As the women sipped their wine, Marissa gossiped about how her son, Heath, had gone on a date with a new girl. ‘Is she nice?’ Aerin’s mom asked.
‘You think we’ve actually met her?’ Mr. Ingram – everyone called him Skip – scoffed.
‘But the way Heath describes her, she seems kind of … oh, I don’t know.’ Marissa sighed. ‘Regular.’
Aerin resisted the urge to snort. That was Ingram-speak for lower class. Then again, no one would be good enough for Heath. Even Heath wasn’t good enough for Heath. Through the years, Marissa had glossed over the facts that Heath had (a) been suspended from Windemere-Carruthers for painting graffiti on the wall of the science lab, which his family had donated, (b) dropped out of Columbia and disappeared to Colorado to be a ski bum, and (c) moved back into the family estate three years later, not getting a job but instead participating in various protests around town, including one against killing the deer to control overpopulation. Marissa probably didn’t like the tribal tattoos on Heath’s biceps, either. Aerin had seen them at the Ingrams’ last pool party.
The wood floor creaked. ‘Honey, I think we’d better get going,’ came Skip’s gravelly voice that held just a hint of a Boston accent. ‘We have that thing at seven.’
Marissa stood. ‘I almost forgot, darling.’
Aerin kicked the railing with her boot, leaving a scuff. The smoochy way the Ingrams talked to one another was nauseating.
After some kisses, Mr. and Mrs. Ingram sauntered out the front door. Then the only sound in the house was the low drone of the classical station on the stereo. Aerin peered downstairs once more. Her buttery-blonde-haired mother, who still looked good in the skinny silk pants she had on, sat at the table, gnawing on the stem of her tortoiseshell glasses. If Aerin had to fill in a thought bubble above her mother’s head, she’d have no idea what to write.
Mrs. Kelly noticed her above and jumped. ‘When did you come in?’
‘I’ve been home for hours,’ Aerin called down.
Her mother’s brow furrowed. ‘Sitting in the dark?’
She walked to the sink and rinsed out the wineglasses. When she turned and saw Aerin still standing above her, hands in the pockets of her shorts, she cocked her head. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
Aerin’s mouth dropped open. Years ago, she and her mom had been close – even Helena had been jealous of their bond. Aerin loved to help her mom make homemade ice cream in the basement. On Fridays, Aerin’s mom brought her to her gym, where they’d do a mother-daughter spin class and get massages. They had a special handshake if Aerin was scared: a thumb to the palm followed by a thumb to the back of her hand. Her mom would follow up with three quick squeezes that meant I’ve got you. She bet her mom didn’t remember that handshake now.
‘I was arrested yesterday,’ she blurted out. ‘At Tori’s.’
Mrs. Kelly’s hands fell to her waist. ‘W-what?’
Aerin couldn’t believe it. Her mom was so out of touch, she didn’t even have an inkling that Tori’s party had been raided. ‘Forget it.’ Hunching her shoulders, she spun around toward her bedroom. ‘I made it up.’
Mrs. Kelly sped up the stairs and caught her sleeve. ‘What’s with you?’
Aerin wrenched away. ‘Do you even remember what anniversary yesterday was, or am I the only one who still remembers that Helena ever existed?’
Mrs. Kelly flinched at Helena’s name. Her lashes lowered. ‘Of course I remembered.’
‘Could have fooled me.’
Aerin closed her bedroom door behind her. She stood in the middle of the room and waited. After a moment, she heard a sigh and footsteps heading in the opposite direction. Typical.
Aerin wheeled around and surveyed her room. If an anthropologist peeked in here, he’d think she was a normal, happy teenage girl. There were pictures of Aerin and her friends on her screen saver. Yellow-and-red Windemere pom-poms from the last spirit day were pinned to the wall. A huge hippo Blake Stanfield had won for her at the Dexby Firemen’s Carnival last year was propped on her pillow. Yep, a scientist would have to do serious forensic work to find out the truth. Like test her pillow for salt content from the tears she still shed when she knew no one was listening, or look through her browser history to find the Helena memorial websites she still visited, the video of Helena from six Christmases ago that she watched nightly.
Did Aerin still dwell on her sister more than anyone else because she’d been there that last day? She’d reviewed that snowy afternoon with Helena a thousand times. Why the hell had she gone inside to get that stupid purse? What had happened to Helena in that infinitesimal span of time Aerin h
adn’t been keeping her safe? In the interviews she’d given to so many news networks, some reporters had asked if she felt responsible for her sister’s disappearance. Maybe it was just to elicit tears, or maybe it was what they really believed. Maybe everyone believed that. If Aerin had just stayed with her sister, Helena wouldn’t be dead. It was as good a theory as any.
Whether or not it was true, she’d always felt like it was her job to find Helena, especially now that the cops had lost interest. So she’d reached out to an online community, and who’d shown up? Kids her age. Talk about an insult! She hated their eager student-council faces. She hated that the girl had called them a coalition. And she hated that one of them was her nanny’s kid. That dude looked about as far from the old Maddy Wright as you could get. And what, did Maddy Wright think she owed him something, just because he’d hung out at her house as a child?
She wondered where the two of them were now. Looking at old reports, pressing on without her? Aerin grabbed her phone and pulled up Case Not Closed again. Her topic was still almost at the top, and there was a new comment. It was by TheMighty – that was the girl, right? Traveled to Dexby to check things out. This case is ice-cold. Heading home on the 7 p.m. train.
Heading home?
‘Jesus,’ Aerin whispered. She looked at her watch, then rummaged in her pocket for that slip of paper Maddy had thrown at her earlier. She’d only picked it up because she didn’t want her mom to find it and ask why Maddy Wright’s number was on the floor.
She looked at her phone again, then placed a hand over her eyes. She hated what she was about to do.
CHAPTER 6
Maddox had dropped Seneca off at the train station only fifteen minutes before, but her phone had rung about fifty times since then. Now, as she stood at the ticket machine, buying a fare home, his name flashed on the caller ID again. Maddy, said the screen. She hit IGNORE.
The whole situation had soured. Everything Maddox said and did in the car had been heartbreakingly different from the person she’d expected, girl or guy. She’d kept hoping his facade would break but it hadn’t, and that made her feel so disconnected from him that she had no idea how to even conduct a conversation.
And there were all those Dexby landmarks – she’d dreamed of those places years ago, and seeing them for real brought her own memories back in a gushing torrent. And sure, Aerin Kelly seemed put together – perfectly styled, perfectly made-up – but there was a halo of haunted, tortured sadness around her. Seneca knew the look. She had that halo, too.
And what was with that comment Maddox had made about Seneca knowing where Aerin was coming from? Why would he say that? Did he know?
Seneca wanted to be strong and keep the investigation going. Maybe if Maddox had been the person she’d built up in her mind, she could have. Or maybe if Aerin had been more receptive. But as it stood, she felt shaky and unsure, and all sorts of warning bells were telling her to bolt.
The moon was rising, creating long stripes across the platform. When Seneca looked around, she realized the platform was eerily empty. Footsteps echoed in a stairwell, and she heard whispers. ‘There she is,’ someone said.
Her hair rose on the back of her neck. All of a sudden, a figure bounded up the stairwell, straight for her. Seneca shielded her body. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘Whoa!’ a voice cried. ‘Chill!’
The figure stepped into the overhead light. It was Aerin Kelly.
Maddox stood next to her. And next to him was a guy in oversized clothes and ugly gold sneakers. Seneca knew him, but for a moment she couldn’t place from where. The train, she realized with a start. It was the creeper who’d been staring at her this afternoon.
‘What’s going on?’ She looked back and forth at them.
Aerin sank into one hip. ‘I changed my mind. Hopefully I don’t regret this.’ She thrust a thumb at Maddox. ‘So I called your friend here. And he brought his friend. And here we are.’
Seneca gaped at Gold Shoes. Maddox had never mentioned that a friend would be joining them. ‘Who are you?’
‘This is BMoney60, from the boards,’ Maddox explained. ‘He wants to help, too. I was going to tell you, but …’ He trailed off and shrugged.
Seneca knew who BMoney60 was: the guy who made the one-line guesses about suspects on the website, which often turned out to be dead-on. Actually, he’d been the one who’d introduced Seneca and Maddy, saying they both had similar theories about a case in Alabama and should talk. She looked this guy up and down, from his crooked hat to his filthy hoodie to his hideous rapper sneakers. He reeked of Axe body spray. ‘You can’t be BMoney.’
‘Well, my real name’s Brett Grady,’ the guy admitted, his voice softer and more sonorous than she would have imagined. ‘I go to Wesleyan and live in Greenwich. Maddy and I met at a Case Not Closed meet-up last fall. You’re TheMighty, right? You go to Maryland? You and I chatted about that New Mexico case, the one where the boy was killed. You said whoever the killer was might be like that lunatic in Mr. Mercedes, a messed-up guy without a conscience. I’m a big reader, too.’
Okay, so most of that was intelligible English. ‘I saw you on the train earlier today,’ Seneca said. ‘You stared at me like a lunatic.’
Maddox snickered and nudged him. ‘Way to be sketchy, bro.’
‘Sorry.’ Gold Shoes – BMoney – Brett – looked repentant. ‘I wasn’t actually sure it was you. I thought maybe, but … well, I didn’t mean to stare. It won’t happen again.’ His eyes twinkled, and he held up his hand in a salute. ‘I was going to catch up with you guys earlier, but I had a hunch about something and wanted to do some research first.’
‘Brett has a really interesting angle about Helena,’ Maddox said. ‘I think it’s worth all of us talking about … though maybe not here.’
‘Maddy thinks we’re being watched.’ Brett rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
Maddox shrugged. ‘A Corvette was riding my ass on the way here. Maybe a tail.’
Aerin snorted. ‘Do you think we’re in a Fast and Furious movie?’
‘We could head over there, talk it out in private,’ Brett said, jutting a thumb over his shoulder at a restaurant next to the Restful Inn. ‘It’s not bad – I’ve got a room at that hotel and went there for my afternoon caffeine fix.’
‘Actually, I was just leaving,’ Seneca said stiffly, holding up the ticket she’d purchased.
Aerin looked annoyed. ‘Are you guys in or out? I’m not going to work with you if you’re just going to start flaking on me.’
The wind gusted again. Seneca was intrigued, and, yes, she did want to talk to Aerin about the case details. But was it enough?
The train rushed into the station, wheels rattling. Maddox looked at her long and hard. ‘Stay, please? We need you,’ he said.
Seneca turned away. She pictured getting on the train and going back home. She’d be wondering nonstop what these guys were up to. Or if Aerin really didn’t work with them without her, she’d feel so guilty.
The train doors slid open and passengers disembarked. The conductors stepped on the platform and helped people maneuver their baggage onto the car. Seneca peeked at Aerin. There was a hopeful, holding-her-breath look on her face, the sad halo around her temporarily gone. The drive Seneca had felt back in the dorm room flickered once again.
She straightened up and picked up her bags. ‘Okay, I’ll stay for a little while. Let’s go.’
Five minutes later, they were all crowding into the diner next to the Restful Inn. It was one of those old-fashioned establishments built inside a stainless-steel trailer, the booths made of orange vinyl, the menu on placards above the counter, a jukebox spouting out oldies. A few people sat on stools, hands cupped around thick coffee mugs. The waitress, a woman with bags under her eyes and a shelf-like uniboob, gave them a twitchy smile as they walked in. A creepy feeling nudged at Seneca, but she was probably still shaken from the ambush at the station.
‘Okay.’ Aerin sat down and looked at all of them
. ‘Tell me your big theories.’
Brett gazed back and forth around the diner, took a sip of water, and cleared his throat somewhat dramatically. ‘Did you know Helena wrote her yearbook dedication in skip code?’
Aerin frowned. ‘What’s that?’
‘Kids at my old high school whose parents monitored their Twitter accounts used them all the time – they posted something that looked totally tame, but if you knew how to read it, it meant something else. Usually the codes were about who was banging who, or if someone had pills, or if there was a rager happening in the woods that night, you know.’
Seneca snickered. ‘You know this because you’ve been to a lot of ragers in the woods?’
‘I wish,’ Brett said. ‘I was a loser in high school. None of you would have spoken to me, especially not you.’
He gave Aerin what was clearly supposed to be a charming look. She scoffed. ‘How do you know I’m popular?’
‘Oh, girl, you look it.’ Brett grinned. ‘I bet everyone wants to go out with you.’
‘You too?’ Aerin asked challengingly – but maybe also flirtatiously. She was suddenly a very different girl than the one Seneca had met on her doorstep.
Brett waved his hand. ‘No way, man. I know when I’m out of my league.’
‘Anyway,’ Seneca said impatiently.
‘Anyway,’ Brett said. ‘I think Helena’s dedi contained a skip code, too.’ He passed them a xeroxed copy of the same Windemere-Carruthers yearbook Seneca had seen online. There was Helena’s dedication: I’ll miss Becky-bee, love is strong, you stay cool forever Kaylee, XOXO my ladies, LOL Samurai swordplay late nite.
‘I went down to the public library this afternoon – they have school yearbooks on file. I wanted to see the physical copy to make sure that the online image we were looking at hadn’t gotten messed up when it was scanned.’ Brett pointed to each word. ‘So this looks like a shout-out to some friends, inside jokes, whatever, right? But if you skip and only read every third word, it says something totally different.’