Glaring up at her was an all-too-familiar typewriter font.
Some secrets are never safe.
The paper dropped soundlessly onto her lap as realizations slammed into her, one after another. Kyla had a stalker. Kyla had received notes in a typewriter font. The darer had been after Kyla. Five years ago.
It only solidified the awful suspicion that she, Tenley, and Emerson shared: The same person had been haunting Echo Bay all these years.
Sydney’s heart was pounding as she turned to the next note. This one was newer, crisper. Guinness had scribbled two lines on the Post-it on the front: Left on my car. Same person??? Sydney opened the paper to find a line of identical typewriter font.
You know what happens when you keep digging? You fall down a hole.
Kyla was what Guinness had known too much about. Kyla was what had almost gotten him killed. She’d wondered it before, but seeing the proof right in front of her… She stood up, pacing restlessly through the apartment.
This was a lead. A solid one. The darer clearly wanted to keep the truth about Kyla’s death buried. Maybe if she found out what really happened to Kyla, it would be enough to force their stalker out of the shadows.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday, 2:30 PM
Pulling into the parking lot of the Echo Bay police station made Tenley’s stomach hurt. She’d hoped her next trip to the station would be to see the darer in handcuffs. Instead, she was the one being questioned.
“Ten Ten!” Her mom was already there, leaning against her huge SUV. The wind ruffled the bottom of her very short, very pink skirt.
“You didn’t want to go with pants?” Tenley eyed the thin white sweater and shiny stiletto booties that accompanied her mom’s barely-there skirt. “Maybe a suit?” She herself had worn the drabbest outfit she could find in her closet. A black skirt that nearly reached her knees, black tights, and a striped blazer.
Her mom tossed her expertly curled hair. “Someone has to win over our cop! Just doing my motherly duty to keep my little girl out of jail.”
Tenley fought the urge to roll her eyes. When the police had called the night before to tell her she was needed at the station after school the next day for questioning about the video, Tenley had asked if she could go alone. But in true Trudy fashion, her mom had ignored the request. “You’re still a minor, Tenley!” she’d trilled. “You need your mommy!”
“Tell me the story again, Ten Ten,” her mom ordered now.
“To the best of my knowledge, it was a caffeine pill,” Tenley recited. Lanson, Tenley’s CEO stepfather, had a whole team of lawyers on retainer. After the call came from the police, he assigned every one of them to the “Tenley situation” until they could concoct an acceptable legal explanation for her very illegal behavior. “I was just trying to help Jessie out,” Tenley continued. “It was something I did for my best friend, Caitlin, sometimes.”
“Perfect.” Her mom’s Botox-smooth face broke into a creaseless smile. “The lawyers said that without any evidence proving what the pill was, it’s unlikely anyone will press charges. But we can always stop the questioning at any point and return with a lawyer if we feel the need.”
Tenley nodded. She knew her mom would have preferred to have a lawyer with them now, but Lanson’s team was in court this afternoon, and the whole family wanted this over with. The sooner the better.
“Remember,” her mom added as they crossed the parking lot. “Don’t be afraid to bring up Caitlin’s death. A little pity never hurt anybody.” She paused outside the door to tug up Tenley’s skirt. “Neither did a little skin.”
“Hello!” Her mom threw open the door as if they were arriving at a party instead of a police station. “Tenley Reed is—”
“Three minutes late,” a woman barked. Or at least Tenley thought it was a woman. With her broad face, frizzy hair, and standard-issue cop uniform, it was hard to be sure. Tenley read her name tag. Officer Funley. Doubtful. “Come with me.”
Tenley’s leg was aching, but she refused to limp as Officer Funley led them through the police station and down a long, winding set of stairs to a small, windowless room in the basement. “Our questioning room is full,” the officer explained. “But this will be fine for our purposes.” Harsh fluorescent lights bore down on Tenley as she took a seat next to her mom. Officer Funley glared in the direction of her mom’s skirt, which was riding up to a nearly indecent level. Her mom’s win-over-the-cop plan was clearly off to a great start.
“Thanks for seeing us, Officer,” her mom chirped. She leaned forward in her seat, allowing Officer Funley a front-row view of her ample cleavage. Tenley shot her a warning look, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I’m Trudy Reed, Tenley’s mom, and I just want to start by thanking you for your honorable, brave service to our beloved town.” She curled her lips down in a serious expression. “I’m so sorry if this little episode has caused any inconvenience in your busy day, but as you’ll soon see, this is all just a big misunderstand—”
“I’ll have to ask that you let your daughter do the talking, Mrs. Reed,” Officer Funley interjected.
Trudy snapped her mouth shut, looking miffed. Before Tenley could mouth a warning at her, her mom’s phone rang from inside her oversize purse. Officer Funley let out an irritated cough.
“Sorry about that!” Her mom fumbled through her bag. “Let me just find… where is that… ah, got it.” The ringing cut out.
“If we’re all done receiving personal calls, we can get started.” Office Funley went over to a computer in the back of the room. “Tenley, please start by stating your full name and birth date.” As she spoke, she logged on to the computer and opened a new file. Tenley watched as she titled it Reed, Tenley. Seeing her name on the screen made Tenley’s stomach twist. How had she ended up here, with a police file of her own? The more the darer toyed with her life, the less she recognized it.
“Thank you,” Funley said once Tenley had choked out her information. “Now, please state for the record what occurred in the video played at Winslow Academy’s assembly yesterday.”
“I just wanted to help Jessie out—”
Before Tenley could continue with her story, her mom’s phone rang again. “Sorry, sorry,” Trudy trilled. “I guess I’m popular this afternoon!” Officer Funley’s face hardened as her mom dug into her bag once again. “Let me just… here we go.…” The ringing stopped. “I’ll turn it on vibrate,” she said graciously.
“How kind of you,” Officer Funley grunted. She turned back to Tenley. “Please proceed.”
Tenley had just opened her mouth to launch back into her story when a loud buzzing penetrated the room.
“Oh, just answer it!” Officer Funley snapped.
Trudy extracted her phone from her purse. “Hello? Yes. Uh-huh. I see.” Across the room, Officer Funley coughed pointedly. “Can you hold on for a second?” Trudy asked. “It’s about Guinness,” she whispered to Tenley. “I should—”
“Go take it. I’ll be fine. Really.” Tenley gave her mom a pointed look. They’d practiced her story at least fifteen times. There was no messing this up.
“Okay. But just shout if you need me.” Trudy already had the phone pressed back to her ear as she slipped out of the room.
“Now,” Officer Funley said wearily. “Let’s try this again.”
Tenley went carefully through her story. As she spoke, Officer Funley typed notes into her file. “And you’re sure it was a caffeine pill?” she asked when Tenley finished.
“To the best of my knowledge,” Tenley repeated.
Funley sighed. “So then it’s possible it wasn’t a caffeine pill?”
“I guess anything’s possible,” Tenley said carefully. “To the best of my knowledge it was a caffeine pill; but believe me, the whole thing has haunted me every day since.” That part, at least, was the truth. Tenley looked up, meeting Officer Funley’s eyes. She remembered her mom’s advice. A little pity never hurt anybody.
“And then my best fri
end, Caitlin, died so soon after,” Tenley continued. “Now it’s like I have no break from my own thoughts.” A surprise tear worked its way down her cheek, and she angrily swiped it away. Pity was one thing, but losing control in front of some random cop? That wasn’t in the playbook. But as Tenley watched Officer Funley shift in her seat, looking supremely uncomfortable at the sight of a tear, an idea crept its way into her mind.
She could use this.
Here she was at the one place in all of Echo Bay that held information about Caitlin’s kidnapper. It was probably right there on that computer—in a file labeled Thomas, Caitlin.
Back when Caitlin was in sixth grade, the police had concluded that a local man named Jack Hudson had been responsible for her kidnapping. But according to Caitlin’s diary, her real kidnapper hadn’t been Jack at all, but a woman. A woman who, as far as Tenley could tell, was now also their darer. What if there was something in that file that could lead Tenley to her?
“I have nightmares every night,” she continued, talking a little faster now. “Just last night I dreamed about Caitlin.” This time, when a fresh tear fell, she didn’t try to hide it.
Officer Funley cleared her throat, looking more and more uncomfortable. Tenley let tears gather in her eyes. They were surprisingly easy to call up, as if they’d been just waiting under the surface all this time. Soon her shoulders were shaking with soft sobs.
“I just miss Caitlin so much,” she blubbered. “S-sometimes I wonder if losing her was a punishment for what I accidentally did to Jessie. Like maybe I deserved it.” Her voice rose to a fever pitch. The tears were coming fast and furious now, rising from the darkest part of her. “I—I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’ll try to pull myself together so we can finish. May I just have some tissues first?”
“Sure. Of course.” Officer Funley leaped out of her chair, clearly relieved to escape Tenley’s sobs. “I’ll go get some from upstairs.”
Bingo.
Tenley waited for the door to click shut before hurrying over to the computer. She was suddenly grateful for the lack of windows in the room. Funley had left the computer logged on. Thanks to its search feature, it didn’t take long to find the file she was looking for.
There were too many documents to read before Funley got back. She glanced over her shoulder. The door was still firmly shut. Officer Funley had to go all the way upstairs, probably to the bathroom in the very front of the building. Biting down on her lip, she hit Print.
She glanced at the door again as the printer began spitting out the file. On the screen, the computer counted out the pages. Halfway there… Now more than half…
Through the door, she heard her mom wrap up her phone call. “Oh, hello, Officer Funley!” Trudy called out. “Sorry again for the interruption. What are the tissues for?”
Tenley glanced nervously at the screen. Still six pages to go. “Come on,” she whispered. She clicked out of the file, ready to grab the papers and bolt. Out in the hall, two sets of footsteps made their way toward the door.
The printer spit out one more page, then another.
The door handle turned. The door creaked open a crack.
“Are you in there for questioning, Funley?” At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, the door halted in its path.
“Yeah,” Tenley heard Officer Funley reply. At that moment, the printer shuddered, then fell silent. “Shouldn’t be much longer, though.”
Tenley grabbed the papers and dove back into her seat. She’d just jammed the stack into her purse when Officer Funley strode into the room, followed by her mom.
“Thank you,” Tenley said when Funley handed her the tissues. Her heart was hammering wildly as she wiped at her eyes.
“What happened in here?” Trudy huffed. She went over to Tenley and put a protective hand on her shoulder. “In the few minutes I was gone, you managed to reduce my daughter to tears?” She squeezed Tenley’s shoulder, hard. “I will not have that, Officer. We’re leaving. If you’d like to continue this line of questioning, you can do so in the presence of our lawyer!”
“I don’t think—” Officer Funley began.
“Come on, Tenley.” Trudy tossed her hair. “We’re going home.”
Tenley made a big show of dabbing at her eyes as she followed her mom out of the station. “Of all the nerve,” her mom was muttering. “Making my baby cry! Are you okay, Ten Ten?”
Tenley nodded absently. There were a million explanations she could give her mom, but she was too busy thinking about the stolen pages inside her purse.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” Her mom patted Tenley on the head, the Trudy version of a hug. “I can come back later with Lanson to get your car.”
“No,” Tenley said quickly. “I’ll be okay. I actually have an errand to run for school, so I’ll just meet you at home.” She hurried to her car before her mom could protest. She couldn’t wait a second longer to get her hands on those pages. She sped away from the station, driving to the first place with a parking lot. Alone outside the minimart, she dug the file out of her bag.
The first few pages were nothing interesting: photos and notes documenting the DNA on Caitlin’s coat, which had been discovered abandoned on the beach not long after her return home. The evidence had been all over the news back in sixth grade. The DNA belonged to Jack Hudson. It was the evidence the police had used to name Jack as the prime suspect in the case. Tenley shuffled through more pages. There was a police report, some official-looking documents about Jack’s suicide, and—oh my god.
Tenley froze, the pages shaking in her hands.
She was looking at Jack Hudson’s suicide note. It held just five words: I can’t be this man. But it wasn’t the words that struck Tenley; it was their shape. They were typewriter letters: boxy but curved and slightly faded. Just like in all the notes she’d received.
Delancey’s suicide letter had been typed in the same way—because the darer had faked it.
The air in the car suddenly felt much too thin. There was no way this was a coincidence. Which left only one logical conclusion.
Jack Hudson didn’t commit suicide. He was killed by their darer, too.
CHAPTER SIX
Tuesday, 3:15 PM
They’d all seen the video. As Emerson stretched with the cheerleading squad and sweat her way through warm-up laps, not a single person met her eye. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the silence or the insults. Because there had been those, too: catcalls and so many comments on her Facebook wall that she’d had to take down her profile.
Years ago, when she lived in Florida and still had gangly legs and frizzy hair, Emerson had been an outcast at her school. But that was nothing compared with this. It wasn’t an outcast the darer had turned her into; it was a leper.
As the squad went through the last rounds of warm-up, Coach gestured for Emerson to join her. A pit formed in Emerson’s stomach as she jogged across the field. She could feel Jessie and the others watching her, making her cheeks burn. She was panting a little as she stopped in front of Coach. “You wanted me?” she asked, her voice coming out much too high-pitched.
Coach gave her a brisk nod. “I want to talk to you before we start practice, Emerson.” Her gaze dropped to her white sneakers. “I’d like to think this goes without saying, but maybe we all need a reminder sometimes.” Her eyes flitted up briefly to meet Emerson’s, then dropped down again. “When you wear the Winslow Lions cheerleading skirt, you’re not only representing our squad, but our whole school. You and the team are the face of Winslow, and with that comes responsibility.” This time, when Coach lifted her gaze, she didn’t look away. Emerson flinched at the unmasked disappointment in her eyes. “Wearing this skirt is a privilege. I’m going to need you to think long and hard about whether you can live up to that privilege.” She paused. “If you can’t, I think it’s best you turn in your uniform.”
Emerson’s heart plummeted to her shoes. Coach had obviously seen the video.
Emerson opened her mo
uth. She closed it. She opened it again. “I…” she began. But the words wouldn’t come. A giggle drifted over from across the field. Jessie, probably. She was sure they were all watching her right now, guessing exactly what Coach was saying. She wanted to close her eyes and disappear, vanish into nothingness. “I…” she tried again. Once again words failed her. “I—I still don’t feel well,” she finally choked out.
She didn’t wait for Coach’s response. She didn’t wait for anything. She just ran, away from the field and away from her life.
Tears blurred Emerson’s vision as she changed out of her uniform and drove home. Caitlin was gone. Everyone at school hated her. Now, even Coach wanted her off the squad.
She inhaled deeply as she headed into her house, breathing in the familiar home smell. Maybe she’d tell her mom she was sick. She’d curl up on the couch and let her mom feed her chicken soup and stroke her hair. She could stay home all week, wrapped in the blanket knitted by her grandmother, a cocoon from the outside world. “Mom?” she called out wearily. She wandered into the kitchen. “You home?”
“In the living room, Emerson.” The voice that replied wasn’t her mom’s, but her dad’s. What was her dad doing home in the middle of the afternoon?
“Dad? Is everything okay?” She hurried into the living room to find her parents on the sofa, matching frowns on their faces. “What is it?” Emerson asked. “Is someone hurt?”
“Everyone’s fine.” Her dad studied his hands as he wrung them together, and for the briefest of seconds, Emerson was relieved.
Then all at once, reality hit her. A tidal wave dragging her down.
Her parents had seen the video.
“Someone sent a video to my work e-mail,” her dad continued, confirming her suspicions. His voice cracked slightly as he said it.
Emerson’s thoughts were caving in on her. Bare skin. Heavy breathing. Matt’s salt-and-pepper hair. “Who?” she whispered. “Who sent it to you?”
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