But I felt less than thrilled for my sister. As I watched Emma bolt through the darkness, I wished she would have thrown herself in front of Quinlan and let him haul her downtown, even if it meant getting arrested. I realized, as I watched, that I didn’t want her to go to that motel—especially alone.
Answers were waiting in that room, I just knew it. And with those answers, came danger.
29
MOTEL HELL
“You are two miles from your destination,” the portable GPS’s tinny voice rang out through the cabin of Sutton’s car. Not that Emma needed directions now—she could see the Super 8’s neon sign glowing in the distance. Her stomach was a ball of nerves as she pulled off Route 10. In 1.9 miles, she’d have her answer. Now 1.8 miles, 1.7…
She took a left at the intersection. Barely any cars were out, the streets were deserted, and the fast food restaurants that dotted the two-lane road were eerily empty. Emma passed an Arby’s, a McDonald’s, and a tired-looking diner called The Horseshoe that had a couple of rusty pickups in the parking lot. As a light drizzle turned to rain, she rolled the window farther down and let the pelting water spray across her forearms. The chill kept her present and focused. She had to keep her composure no matter what she found at the motel.
Emma turned onto a dark, slick road, and the Super 8 loomed into view. VACANCIES, a sign announced at the entrance. But the V and C had burned out, and the N had tipped over.
Emma pulled Sutton’s car around the back and angled into a parking space. Only a lone red truck shared the lot. Was it Raven’s? She squinted hard at the Arizona plates, the big tires, the naked-girl mud flaps. Would she really drive something like that? Then again, she knew nothing about the woman. She could be anyone, into anything.
Emma stepped out of the car and locked it behind her. Rain pounded the premises, and an earthy smell rose from the desert beyond. She wound around the front of the motel and followed signs for room 105. Most of the windows were curtained, but the few that were opened revealed neatly made beds and tired-looking wood bureaus. A wrapper for a Filet-O-Fish lay crumpled in the corner. A spiderweb glistened from the eaves. Her sandals rang out loudly on the pavement, so she angled up onto her toes, trying to soften her footsteps.
Finally, she approached room 105 and stopped, her heart thudding so fast she thought it might implode. Yellow light streamed through a crack in the dingy pea-green curtains. Peeking through, she saw that a television was on.
Fear twined through me. Was this it? Was my sister going to figure out what happened? I knew exactly what Emma was hoping for: a confession and hard evidence about my murder. But how likely was that?
Emma moved to the door and knocked gently, wondering what the hell she was going to say when Raven answered the door. A long moment passed, but she heard no footsteps inside. She knocked harder. Still nothing. She pounded the door so hard that the latch caught and the door inched open with a long, loud creeeeak.
Emma froze. A bedside lamp was on. The bed was neatly made with a yellow-and-green-striped comforter and two thin pillows. There were no suitcases on the hassock or clothes hanging on the small metal garment rack. The TV flickered cheerfully, showing a sitcom so old Emma didn’t even recognize it. But the room was empty.
Okay, so then leave, I thought nervously. Get the hell out of there.
Emma glanced behind her, then stepped inside. A faint smell of cigarettes and stale bread filled her nostrils. “Hello?” she called softly. “Is anyone here?”
Her whole body shaking with nerves, she moved past the television to the bathroom door, which was closed. “Raven?” She pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear movement.
“Raven?” Emma pushed the door open. Tiny bottles of motel shampoo and conditioner lined the sink. An unused bar of soap sat on the ledge next to a disposable razor. She moved to the shower and, with a flash of trepidation, tore the curtain aside. Nothing. She opened the plywood cabinet beneath the sink, hoping to find some sort of makeup bag or personal item stored there, but other than a plunger and spare roll of toilet paper, it was empty.
She padded back to the bedroom and searched the closet. There were unused hangers and an iron. The dresser drawers were just as bare.
She’s not here, Emma thought with disappointment. Running her fingers through her hair, she sat down on the bed, trying to get her bearings. Her gaze fixed on the cream phone on the nightstand. The message indicator light wasn’t flashing. Did that mean Raven had gotten her message? Had she taken off to avoid learning the “information” she’d promised about Mr. Mercer?
There was a low rumble of a passing car outside, sending a shock of fear through Emma’s system again. Pushing off the mattress, she tiptoed toward the door, pausing to shut off the TV as she passed. It was then that she noticed a matchbook sitting on top of the TV, its cover flipped slightly open and several matches pulled away. THE HORSESHOE, it said on the front. Scrawled in black pen on the inside were two words. Meet me.
Emma’s heart leapt. She reread the words, her mind scattering in a million directions. Was this message from Raven? Maybe she didn’t think meeting in the motel was safe. Maybe she worried about getting caught or maybe there was someone—Mr. Mercer?—watching.
Stuffing the matchbook into her clutch, she tore from the room and slammed the door behind her. She ran fast down the sidewalk, eager to get to her car. The Horseshoe diner was so close—she’d passed it on the way in. She’d be there in no time.
She was halfway across the parking lot when the glowing beams of headlights shot to life. Emma halted and shielded her eyes. Parked in one of the middle spaces was an SUV that hadn’t been there when she’d gone into the room. As her eyes adjusted, a hard pit formed in her stomach.
It was Mr. Mercer.
30
DINER DASH
The car door jerked open before Emma could run. She backed up against the wall of the motel as Sutton’s dad climbed from the SUV. His face was a twisted mask of frustration and fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he shouted.
Emma tried to scream, but nothing came out. Images of what Mr. Mercer could do to her flashed through her mind. “Leave me alone!” she said in a small, weak voice.
“Get in the car!” Mr. Mercer barked.
Emma inched along the side of a windowsill, feeling her way with damp fingers. Maybe she could slip into the shadows and then run. Go to The Horseshoe, talk to Raven, call the police…
“I said, get in the car!”
Emma turned on her heel and started to sprint. There was a slam behind her, and she heard footsteps. Emma’s feet slapped the pavement hard, and when her left ankle turned, she winced but kept going. The footsteps were gaining on her, though. When she dared to glance over her shoulder, she could see Mr. Mercer just a few feet away.
Go! I screamed. Run!
Emma’s throat burned as she gasped for air. Black shadows danced along the walls of the motel. She was so close to Sutton’s car—only a few more yards before she could lock herself inside it. She rounded the corner to the back lot and raced across the final distance. Mercifully, she managed to get the door open and the key into the ignition before Sutton’s father reached her. The sound of the motor revving filled her with relief.
She backed out from the parking spot and peeled toward the exit. In the rearview mirror, she saw Mr. Mercer drop his hands to his knees. He looked like he was heaving, having a hard time catching his breath. Good, Emma thought as she sped from the motel’s parking lot.
She turned left onto the main road and crushed the accelerator to the floor. She pushed the car to its max and gripped the steering wheel. The diner loomed ahead, and she made the final turn and screeched into the parking lot. This place had to have the answers she needed. Raven had to be there. Because if not—what was her next move? She couldn’t go back to the Mercers. That much she knew for sure.
Deal with all that later, I thought. Just go.
The diner was long and
thin with a dull, gray exterior, hedges that needed trimming, and windows that showed patrons eating fried potatoes, slurping coffee, or perusing menus. Dim lights flickered over the doorway, and wilted cacti lined the sidewalk. Emma pulled around to the parking lot behind the diner—she didn’t want Mr. Mercer to see Sutton’s car from the road on his way home.
The rain had let up when she stepped out of the car, and she hurried toward the entrance. A tiny bell jingled on the door, and the smell of eggs and greasy bacon was overwhelming. A line of short-order cooks behind the counter flipped burgers, and waitresses flitted between booths with coffee pots and ordering pads.
“Can I help you?” A sleepy-eyed hostess with crimped hair leaned on the hostess stand. She looked Emma up and down curiously, surely wondering why a girl in an expensive pink party dress and smudged makeup was at a down-and-out diner on a Friday night.
“Um, I’m meeting someone,” Emma mumbled. “I’ll just seat myself.”
The hostess shrugged. “Whatever.”
Barely any of the booths were taken, and the ones that were had multiple occupants: three teenage girls, an elderly couple who held hands over the table, and two guys in bright red mesh trucker hats drinking coffee. No one looked remotely like a woman Mr. Mercer would have an affair with—and furthermore, no one was looking at her cagily, preparing for a confrontation.
Emma moved past the tables, her heart thudding fast. A door marked LADIES beckoned at the end of the aisle. Emma pushed through it, her nose wrinkling with the sharp smell of lemony air freshener. “Hello?” she called through the room, her voice echoing off the pink tiles. “Is anyone in here?”
She peeked under the stalls, looking for feet, but they were empty.
She turned to the sink and splashed water onto her face. Had Raven left the note for someone else? Had someone else written on the matchbook and given it to Raven? Had she hit a dead end again?
She peered at her reflection and saw both herself and her sister staring back at her. I won’t let you down, Sutton, Emma said silently.
She exited the bathroom and stopped at the register. An overweight lady with thin blond hair was punching numbers into a calculator. “Can I help you?” she finally asked in a bored voice.
Emma straightened to full height. “My name is Sutton Mercer.”
“Good for you,” the woman said, unimpressed.
Emma wound a piece of hair around her finger, feeling like an idiot. “Um, I was supposed to meet Raven Jannings here. And it seems she’s gone already. So I was just wondering if she’d left anything.”
The woman’s expression suddenly softened. “Raven?” She glanced up at an oversized clock that hung above the entrance to the kitchen. “You’ve just missed her.”
Emma’s throat went dry. “She was here?”
“Yes.” The woman nodded. “And you were supposed to meet her?”
“That’s right.”
I waited, breathless.
The woman held Emma’s gaze for a moment, as if deciding if she was telling the truth, then reached under a stack of twenties in the register and pulled out an envelope. “She left this for you.”
Emma’s stomach fluttered. “Thank you,” she said, grabbing it from her. She looked around, feeling eyes on her back. The teenagers at the booth were staring at her. So was an old man at the counter. This place was entirely too public to examine whatever Raven had left. She had to go.
She shoved open the door and felt the humid, post-rain air swallow her body. Once she was in Sutton’s car again, she tore open the envelope, her fingers shaking. Inside was a note with a Polaroid photo pinned to the top. At first, when Emma looked at the face, she blinked hard, certain that something had misfired in her brain. The quality wasn’t perfect, but Emma recognized the narrow face, the slanted nose, the high cheekbones, and the jet-black hair. She turned on the overhead light and stared harder, but the features were the same. It couldn’t be.
I gawked, too, and my mind sparked and expanded. A new memory pieced together, and I found myself zooming back in time.
31
A FATEFUL GOODBYE
My father’s SUV tears across the earth, kicking up rocks and roots and cactus spines. I trip over mini hills and stray plants, wheeling my way into the darkness. What if my father has completely snapped? Things have been so tense lately, but I never realized it could come to this.
The moon passes behind a cloud and my eyes start to play tricks on me. Gnarled branches twist into phantomlike shapes. I take a sharp right, and just when I think I’m going to escape him, my foot smashes against a rock and I go flying. I fling out my hands to break my fall. Blood pounds in my ears. I can feel my skin stinging from where I’ve cut myself and I know I’m bleeding. I bite my lip to keep from sobbing.
My father pulls the car up beside me. “Sutton!” he says from the open window. “Are you all right?”
My palms and knees are on fire as I push from the ground and try to steady myself. A bird squawks in the air above us. The only other sound I hear is the wind whistling over the dirt and between the cacti. I suddenly feel very exposed—and trapped.
“Why are you running from me?” my dad cries. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “And where is Thayer?”
I blink at him. You know where Thayer is, I want to say. But the look on his face is surprisingly innocent and worried.
I step back an inch or two, confused.
“Did Thayer leave you out here alone?” My father sounds shocked.
The more I look at him, the more confused I feel. Despite the layer of dust on his clothes and the worry lines on his forehead, he looks like my dad again, not some crazed maniac. And his confusion seems genuine. Is it possible it was someone else? But who would try to hurt Thayer?
“Um…” I don’t know whether to tell my dad what happened. Suddenly I’m not even sure what did happen.
My dad sighs. “I’m not going to say it again. Get in the car, Sutton. It’s dangerous out here at night. You could get hurt.”
Exhaustion overcomes me, and I walk around the side of the car and let myself in. As we slowly drive back down the hill, I realize I wasn’t far from the main road at all. I can see the neighborhood across the street from the canyon easily now. Ethan Landry sits on his front porch, fiddling with his telescope and probably hoping to catch a better view of the full moon. Science geeks are into that kind of thing. Next door all of the girls on the tennis team are on Nisha’s lawn, secretly smoking cigarettes. I feel a pinch of guilt—I was supposed to be there tonight for our back-to-school team sleepover. Instead, I’d chosen Thayer. And look where that got him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Why did you chase us?”
My dad looks frustrated. “I wanted to tell you the truth. Except you ran away before I had the chance.”
“The truth about…what?”
“About the woman I was with,” my dad says. His body looks stiff as he arches forward and grips the wheel.
I whirl around to face my father. My pulse ratchets up as I put the pieces together. This was why Thayer had dragged me away from the overlook and practically pushed me down the trail. My dad was with another woman up in Sabino Canyon. Someone who wasn’t my mother.
“Another woman?” I squeak.
“I can explain, Sutton,” my dad says. “It’s not how it looks.”
But I know exactly how it looks—and what it is. Sabino Canyon is the perfect place to carry on a secret affair: It’s super-romantic and very private. That’s why I’d brought Thayer here tonight. “You’re cheating on Mom,” I spit. “What more is there to explain? I don’t need to know the gory details, like what kind of freaking lingerie your trashy mistress prefers.” My fingers curl on the door handle.
My father’s eyes open wide. “Sutton,” he says, grabbing my hand. “It’s not like that at all.” His foot slams the gas pedal and he curves the SUV into an abrupt U-turn. We’re heading back toward Sabino Canyon.
“Where a
re we going?” I shriek. The car plunges into a hole in the dirt and pops back up again, throwing me off balance. My elbow jams against the window. “Let me out!”
“Sutton, if you could just give me a second, I’ll explain everything.” He navigates the rocky road, his gaze boring through the windshield. My nerves flare as he guns the car into the Sabino parking lot and skids over the gravel. His foot lands on the brake and the car crunches to a stop. Then he glances around like he’s looking for someone. Other than that same rusted-out brown car, the lot is empty.
“Dad?” I press. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s not what you think—I’m not having an affair.” My dad shifts the car into park. “I know you’ve been curious about your biological mom for a while now. And I know the fact that your mom hasn’t wanted to discuss it is why you’ve pulled away from us in the past year.” He closes his eyes and takes a long breath. “That woman you saw me with tonight, her name is Raven, but she used to go by Becky. Sutton, she’s…your mother.”
I stare at him. The words take a few seconds to sink in. “What?” And then, “You’re having an affair with my mother?”
“No!” Mr. Mercer shakes his head quickly. His light eyes hold my gaze. “She’s your mother…and she’s my daughter. Which means you’re my granddaughter.”
I suddenly feel like my mind won’t work. Like synapses are firing in all the wrong directions. “What are you talking about?” I whisper.
“Kristin and I had Becky when we were much younger,” my dad says slowly, his eyes searching my face as if gauging how much I can handle. “And Becky was very young when she had you. You were just a few weeks old when she left you with us.” He opens his palm and reaches a hand out to grab mine, but I ball my fist against my side.
The Lying Game #4: Hide and Seek Page 17