Copycat

by Hannah Jayne

  “Can you…can you find out who hacked it?”

  “There’s nothing there. I looked at the source files, the server codes…everything I could find.”

  “And?” Addie asked.

  Colton just shrugged. “I know computers pretty well but whoever did this”—he held up his hands—“knows way more than I do. I’m so sorry, Addie.”

  A fresh wave of tears broke over Addie and her shoulders slumped. “People are going to think I’m responsible for this. They’re going to think I’m some sort of horrible person who—”

  “No.” Maya put her hands on Addie’s shoulders, stared her full in the face. “No one is going to believe for a minute that you had anything to do with this.”

  Addie swallowed, her stomach hollow. “I don’t know why someone would do this to me. To Lydia.”

  Maya gathered her best friend in a hug and a beat later, Colton’s long arms snaked around both girls. “We’re really screwed right now, you guys. Really freaking screwed,” Colton said.

  “We’re going to tell my parents.” Maya said definitively.

  “As parents, or as police?” Colton wanted to know.

  “As police,” Maya said, “and no, I don’t care what R. J. Rosen thinks, Addie.”

  Addie shrugged. “I wasn’t going to say anything about R. J.” She sucked in a breath. “This is too much. This isn’t R. J. Rosen. This is someone who…” A sob seized in her throat. “Who wants to hurt us.”

  Twenty-Four

  Addie slid her laptop into her bag. She, Colton, and Maya stood up and walked in a silent line out of the coffee shop. Addie felt like a trapped rat, like everyone was already staring her down, sure she was guilty. Humiliation and angst gnawed at her, sending a sticky heat all over her body.

  “Hey, isn’t that your housekeeper?”

  Addie squinted toward where Colton was pointing. It was Louisa, in a maroon car Addie didn’t recognize, pulling out of the spot next to Maya’s ancient Accord.

  “She drinks coffee, so what?” Maya said. “We need to do this.”

  Addie watched Louisa flip gears and click on her blinker before easing out into the intersection. She was sure Louisa’s eyes caught hers when they flicked up at the rearview mirror but she made no motion to acknowledge Addie.

  Maybe she saw the blog, Addie thought miserably. She probably thinks I’m a psycho killer too.

  “Do you guys want me to drive you?” Colton asked.

  Addie shook her head. “You don’t need to come with, Colton.” She patted the laptop in her bag. “I’ve got everything I need, I guess.”

  Maya squeezed Addie’s arm. “It’s going to be okay. My parents will know what to do. They’re going to nab this jerk and then we’ll all go to Hawaii.” She shot Addie a weak smile.

  “Sure. Let’s just get this over with.”

  Addie belted herself into the passenger seat of Maya’s car, still gripping her bag and her laptop. They watched Colton belt himself into his car, give a solemn wave, and pull into traffic.

  “You okay?”

  Addie nodded. “Let’s just do this.”

  “It’s really going to be okay, you know?”

  Addie swallowed the sob in her throat. She wanted to believe her best friend. She wanted to believe this story could have a happy ending, but it seemed like it was never going to end.

  ***

  As soon as they got to the station and were ushered into an interrogation room, Addie sat and pulled her laptop out of her bag, her dog-eared copy of Murder at Gap Lake coming out with it. She rolled her thumb over the raised lettering of the title, of the two-inch embossed letters of R. J. Rosen’s name.

  “Dad, someone crashed Addie’s blog site.”

  “Girls, we’re in the middle of an investigation—”

  “They posted pictures of Lydia all over my blog, Detective Garcia. Whoever did this posted pictures of Lydia on the day that she died.”

  The color drained from Detective Garcia’s face. “Show me.”

  Addie swallowed hard and pulled out her laptop, clicking on her site. GapLakeLove populated the screen.

  The regular blog.

  The pictures of Lydia were gone, the horrible slashes of color and the screaming, Life imitates art text was gone.

  Addie felt like she had been punched in the stomach.

  “I don’t think I understand,” Detective Garcia said.

  Addie pulled out her own phone, jumped to the site there. The lake shimmered behind the GapLakeLove logo. In the center was R. J. Rosen’s newest story. No Lydia. Just Addie’s site.

  “Girls, I really don’t have time—”

  “No,” Addie shook her head, her mind spastically pinballing. Who had ruined her site in the first place—and who had fixed it? Colton had said that all the passwords were changed and locked.

  What was going on?

  She blinked up at the detective. “Someone hijacked my website. They…they put up all these horrible pictures, pictures of Lydia Stevenson, but it wasn’t me, I swear.”

  “It’s true, Dad, I saw it. I saw the pictures on her blog.”

  “But it’s all fixed now?” Detective Garcia didn’t hide the skepticism in his voice.

  “It was there,” was all Addie could say.

  “And who are you thinking is responsible for this?”

  Addie shook her head. “I don’t know who hacked my site. I don’t know who’s doing all this.”

  R. J. Rosen.

  No.

  Someone pretending to be R. J. Rosen hacked her site. It had to be. He was playing some sort of sick cat-and-mouse game, he was framing her, he was—

  Maya pumped her head. “This deranged author had been emailing Addie—”

  Addie shook her head. “Someone wants me to believe it’s R. J. Rosen. Someone wants this story to be real.”

  The detective looked from Maya to Addie, eyes hard. “I really don’t have time for your stories today.”

  ***

  Days later, Lydia’s death was still all over the news. Every station covered it, even the satellite ones and the ones out of other states. Hawthorne High was famous, and it made Addie sick to her stomach. They flashed pictures of Lydia too, her senior portrait where she was grinning with narrowed eyes.

  Just like Crystal Lanier.

  Addie channel surfed, looking for anything other than the news—hoping for a train of reruns or the merciful drone of an infomercial—before the cover of Murder at Gap Lake flashed on-screen. A woman with a blond bouffant and a severe red suit with enormous shoulder pads was bobbing her head emphatically. Addie turned up the sound.

  “…It’s not just movies and video games anymore, or rap music with its explicit lyrics. Kids are being bombarded with messages from their peers, the internet and even in writing. This book is in the Gap Lake mystery series and it seems harmless enough. It’s a mystery about two teens who go missing. One turns up dead and the other—well, the”—and here the woman made air quotes—“mysterious author R. J. Rosen wants us to wait and see. But this book is atrocious. Basically an A-B-C of how to commit murder. Just fiction you say? Not influencing our children? Just this week there was a murder in the small town of Crescent City. A teenager—very pretty, very popular, just like the main character in this book—turns up dead. Her car was found at the banks of a local pond. And I read to you—”

  The woman slid a pair of glasses down her nose, opened up the Gap Lake book to a yellow Post-it note, and began reading.

  “They’ve found Crystal’s car. It was at Gap Lake, in the lower lot—that’s why it took so long to find. It was unlocked; the keys were in the ignition but the car was completely out of gas. Initially, the police thought that Crystal must have hit empty, then set out to walk to get gas. But her purse was on the passenger seat. Purse with wallet inside. No cell phon
e, though. They still hadn’t recovered that.”

  The woman looked up, narrowed her eyes at the camera, and cleared her throat. “Again, that was a direct quote from the Gap Lake book that has taken the publishing world by storm. Kids are gobbling this book up. Now let me read you something else.”

  The woman fumbled with something, deliberately holding it off camera.

  “Police found Lydia Stevenson’s car parked at the Percolation Ponds located behind Hawthorne High School. An anonymous call reported an abandoned car with the lights left on. Once the police arrived, they found Stevenson’s car with a dead battery. Keys were still in the ignition, and both Stevenson’s cell phone and purse were left in the car.” Here the woman looked up, pausing dramatically. “I’m not reading from R. J. Rosen’s book. I’m not reading from another author’s book. I’m reading from the Crescent City police report.”

  Another awkward pause as though the viewing audience would somehow respond with audible shock and horror.

  “Now, Lydia Stevenson is dead and the circumstances of her death seem eerily reminiscent of this book. Is it a work of fiction? Or a guidebook for murder?”

  Addie clicked off the television, an odd sense of cold engulfing her. Gap Lake was a mystery series. It was well written, sure—but a “guidebook for murder”? She should have laughed. She should have shrugged the whole thing off, but the similarities were uncanny and in the back of her head, she was thinking the same thing.

  And then there was her website.

  But who—and why?

  Addie found herself pacing, worrying her bottom lip until it was raw. A fan? Could someone actually be crazy enough to believe that killing someone—killing a real person—would prove that they were the biggest fan of Gap Lake or R. J. Rosen? She shook her head. That seemed silly. But still she had read internet posts and news stories about kids killing for less—attempting murder to pay homage to internet memes or urban legends.

  But to a book—or an author?

  Then there was R. J. Rosen.

  An anomaly. A mystery himself.

  Or a killer.

  She dialed Maya. “Did you see—”

  “That whacked-out news report? Yes.”

  Addie paced. “Do your parents think it could be true?” She shivered just saying it, pulling her sweater tighter around her and staring out the windows. They overlooked the backyard with the glowing pool, and yellow light swathed the trunks of the palm trees. Normally, the backyard was a tropical oasis, but tonight everything took on an eerie glow.

  Maya sucked in a breath. “Addie, I have to tell you something.”

  Twenty-Five

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  “I’ve got to call you back, Mys. Someone’s at the door.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to—”

  “Who is it?”

  “Crescent City police.”

  Addie dropped the phone.

  The police?

  She rolled up on her tiptoes and peered through the peephole.

  The police were at her door.

  Two officers in full uniform.

  Immediately, Addie’s thoughts turned to Lydia, to everything in the news. Maybe they were coming to tell her that her father had been killed. Addie’s heart was hammering like a fire bell, sweat dripping down her spine.

  Another knock. This one was fiercer. “Ma’am?”

  Addie pulled open the door a half inch. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Lights. Sirens. Gunfire. But the two officers just smiled at her before the first one, a woman with close-cropped hair, spoke.

  “Addison Gaines?”

  Addie nodded, her mouth full of sand.

  “I’m Officer Chadwick and you might remember Officer Olson. Is your father home?”

  Addie’s heart slammed against her rib cage.

  This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

  Not again.

  The kitchen light was off, but she could see him in there, her father, sitting at the table in the dark. She could smell the heady steam of his too-strong coffee and when she flicked on the light, he cringed.

  “Turn it off, please.” His voice was gruff, odd sounding, and she snapped the light back off immediately—more out of shock than anything else.

  “Are you okay, Dad?”

  “Your aunt Katie will be picking you up any minute. Can you throw a few things in a bag for me?”

  “Am I going to stay with Auntie?”

  “Just for tonight.”

  Addie shifted her weight. “But it’s a school night.”

  She could see her father’s hands circle the mug as he brought it to his mouth, took a long, slow sip. “Just do this for me, okay, sweets?”

  Addie nodded and climbed the stairs. By the time she reached her room and shoved her toothbrush and a change of clothes in her backpack, she was crying. She didn’t know why. Downstairs, the kitchen lights were still off, but her father was in the foyer now, his face drawn and illuminated by the police car’s flashing blue light.

  “Morton Gaines? You’re being charged with leaving the scene of an accident.”

  Addie saw the officer’s hands, the silver flash from the handcuffs he offered. And the farmer’s market flashed in front of her eyes. It was embarrassing but no one was hurt except a table of cabbages. She remembered her father stumbling out of the car, curling a fat stack of bills into a man’s hands. Then they went home and ate pizza.

  Nothing else happened.

  “I’m turning myself in,” her father had said in that same gravelly voice. “My lawyer said there would be no cuffs.”

  “Addison?” The officer tried again.

  Addison’s saliva tasted sour, and though she tried to form words, to press them over her teeth and out of her mouth, she couldn’t. All she could do was shake her head.

  “Officer Olson and I would like to ask you a few questions, but we really can’t do that without your father present. You’re not in any trouble. I want you to know that.”

  Addie heard the sounds, but couldn’t put value to them. She shook her head dumbly. “Wait, what? What is this about?”

  “We’d like to talk to you about Lydia Stevenson. Completely off the record, of course.”

  She nodded, somehow still feeling that this was wrong. “I don’t really know her.”

  “And Spencer Cohen?”

  Heat zinged across Addie’s body. She shifted her weight, feeling ice shoot through her veins. “We’re just friends.”

  “Can you tell us your impression of him?”

  Addie shrugged her shoulders. “He’s nice, I guess.”

  “And what can you tell us about GapLakeLove? What can you tell us about that site, Addison?” Olson smiled kindly but fireworks exploded behind Addie’s eyes. She wanted to slam the door and run. She wanted to slam the door, run, and forget about Lydia and Spencer and Gap Lake and, most of all, R. J. Rosen.

  “Am I in trouble?” Her voice was a soft, shaky whisper that seemed to embolden Officer Olson’s smile. Addie thought she meant it to be comforting, but there was a hint of menace to it that set Addie’s teeth on edge.

  “Trouble? No. Just asking some questions, trying to tie up some loose ends.”

  She had told the police.

  And no one believed her.

  Addie cleared her throat, then winced when the glare of headlights washed over her, sending a wave of black dots in front of her eyes. Her father pulled into the driveway at a dizzying speed, parking askew, hopped out of the car, and came charging toward the house.

  “Addison! Addison, are you okay? Officers, what is going on here?”

  Mr. Gaines engulfed his daughter in a hug that Addie found overly protective and awkward, but she was glad he was there.

  “Nothing, Dad, they just wanted to talk.�
�

  Addie saw the color raise in her dad’s cheeks, the tightening of his jaw. “Were you questioning my daughter?”

  “Mr. Gaines, we—”

  “Because I’d hate to think that the Crescent City Police Department was doing something untoward—interviewing a minor without the benefit of her parent present.” His voice was a baritone that Addie recognized from calls that ended with a phone slam, or a slew of words she wasn’t allowed to repeat in the house, and heat itched across her scalp.

  “We were simply asking some informal questions, but now that you’re here, if you’ll allow it, we could go on the record. Addison, where were you at 4:00 p.m. on the night Lydia Stevens went missing?”

  Addie felt the color drain from her face. “Am I a suspect?”

  “Honey, you don’t have to answer that. Officers, I did not give you permission to interrogate my daughter.”

  Addie pushed in front of her father’s outstretched arm. “Am I a suspect? I was in school, and then Maya and I went to Starbucks. That’s it. I didn’t…I found her.”

  “Addison!”

  “Dad, I want to answer them. I have nothing to hide. I had nothing to do with this, and the sooner they know that, the sooner they can find out who really killed Lydia.” Addie didn’t know where the speech, where the little bit of courage, was coming from, but she couldn’t stop talking. “Please, Dad, I just want to get this over with.”

  Officer Chadwick scratched the back of her head. “We think it might be a good idea to shut down your website.”

  “My blog?”

  “You post fan fiction there, right? Fan theories, that kind of thing?”

  Addie nodded, deeply aware of her father’s eyes firmly on her. “But it’s not big deal.”

  “You posted a pretty detailed murder scene, did you not?”

  “It was just…” Addie’s mouth was dry. “Fiction. A story.”

  “Addison?” There was something in her father’s eyes that stabbed at Addie’s heart.

  “I just wrote a piece of a story where a girl from Gap Lake High was murdered.” She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. “It was ages ago.”