people in the world who really knew her, but she forced herself to hit SEND , then powered down the BlackBerry. In Sutton’s underwear drawer she found a box of tampons—her go-to hiding place from her foster kid days. No one ever thought to look in someone else’s tampon box. She shoved the phone inside and stuck it in the back of the drawer.
There. Hopefully Alex would keep a low profile until this was all over and Emma could explain. The last thing she needed was for her best friend to end up on the murderer’s hit list—or get Emma herself thrown in jail.
But I couldn’t help wishing Emma had broken the BlackBerry and thrown away the pieces. After all, they’d found the Greyhound locker. Nothing was safe, not anymore. Emma needed to hurry up and prove that Garrett killed me—before he pinned it on her.
12
DOWN THE DRAIN(PIPE)
“It’s like she was lying to her journal,” Emma said, sprawled on her stomach across Sutton’s luxurious bed. With no other clues, she had turned back to Sutton’s cryptic diary for answers. But it was just as confusing as all the other times she’d read it—even with Ethan’s help trying to interpret it. It was around ten that night, and they’d been on the phone for almost an hour, sifting through the various entries with no luck.
“ July 20—C is being a real c-word if you know what I mean. She needs to get over it. ” Emma turned the page. “ July 21—Yum yum yum, got G Burberry Sport for our 1 mo. anniversary and he smells so good. Nothing about Garrett’s temper or the fights they had or the fact that she was still sneaking around with Thayer. She had all these secrets, and she didn’t even admit them to herself.” She snapped the book shut in frustration.
“It makes sense, though.” On the other end of the line she could hear a soft crunching sound. She pictured Ethan with his legs up on the railing of the porch, a bowl of salted popcorn in his lap, wearing the blue flannel shirt that always smelled like vanilla. She couldn’t help the little shiver of pleasure that trilled along her spine at the image. “Her friends were always looking for ways to get her. She wouldn’t want to give them anything that they could use to prank her.”
Emma sighed, rolling over on her back and flipping through the book for the hundredth time. What would it have been like if their situations had been reversed—if Sutton had been forced to figure out who Emma was through her journals? Her twin would probably be as annoyed as Emma was now—after all, none of her cutesy fake headlines or lists had any real information in them. Emma had always been careful not to put in too many details or names. In a foster home you never knew who was going to get into your stuff.
“It just feels like the harder we look, the less we find,” she said. “I’ve dog-eared all the pages that say anything about G , but none of them are of any use.”
“We have to keep looking. This guy is smart—but somewhere, somehow, he slipped up. I’m sure of it. We just have to figure out how.”
A soft knock sounded at the door. “One second!” she yelled, covering the receiver. Then she dropped her voice.
“Hey, I need to go. See you tomorrow, okay?”
“Love you,” he whispered.
Her toes wiggled at the sound of his sexy baritone saying those two little words. For a moment after she ended the call, she clutched the phone against her heart and smiled. Then she got up off the bed, smoothed her hair, and went to the door.
Mr. Mercer stood in the hall, dressed in a short wool jacket and holding Drake’s leash in one hand. “Looks like the media have gone home for the night. Want to come on a walk?”
“Yes!” Emma had never felt so stir-crazy in her life. She was almost relieved to have to go back to school the next day. Anything would be better than doing nothing.
Drake had caught sight of the leash and was skidding in circles around the entryway when they came down the stairs. His tail
There. Hopefully Alex would keep a low profile until this was all over and Emma could explain. The last thing she needed was for her best friend to end up on the murderer’s hit list—or get Emma herself thrown in jail.
But I couldn’t help wishing Emma had broken the BlackBerry and thrown away the pieces. After all, they’d found the Greyhound locker. Nothing was safe, not anymore. Emma needed to hurry up and prove that Garrett killed me—before he pinned it on her.
12
DOWN THE DRAIN(PIPE)
“It’s like she was lying to her journal,” Emma said, sprawled on her stomach across Sutton’s luxurious bed. With no other clues, she had turned back to Sutton’s cryptic diary for answers. But it was just as confusing as all the other times she’d read it—even with Ethan’s help trying to interpret it. It was around ten that night, and they’d been on the phone for almost an hour, sifting through the various entries with no luck.
“ July 20—C is being a real c-word if you know what I mean. She needs to get over it. ” Emma turned the page. “ July 21—Yum yum yum, got G Burberry Sport for our 1 mo. anniversary and he smells so good. Nothing about Garrett’s temper or the fights they had or the fact that she was still sneaking around with Thayer. She had all these secrets, and she didn’t even admit them to herself.” She snapped the book shut in frustration.
“It makes sense, though.” On the other end of the line she could hear a soft crunching sound. She pictured Ethan with his legs up on the railing of the porch, a bowl of salted popcorn in his lap, wearing the blue flannel shirt that always smelled like vanilla. She couldn’t help the little shiver of pleasure that trilled along her spine at the image. “Her friends were always looking for ways to get her. She wouldn’t want to give them anything that they could use to prank her.”
Emma sighed, rolling over on her back and flipping through the book for the hundredth time. What would it have been like if their situations had been reversed—if Sutton had been forced to figure out who Emma was through her journals? Her twin would probably be as annoyed as Emma was now—after all, none of her cutesy fake headlines or lists had any real information in them. Emma had always been careful not to put in too many details or names. In a foster home you never knew who was going to get into your stuff.
“It just feels like the harder we look, the less we find,” she said. “I’ve dog-eared all the pages that say anything about G , but none of them are of any use.”
“We have to keep looking. This guy is smart—but somewhere, somehow, he slipped up. I’m sure of it. We just have to figure out how.”
A soft knock sounded at the door. “One second!” she yelled, covering the receiver. Then she dropped her voice.
“Hey, I need to go. See you tomorrow, okay?”
“Love you,” he whispered.
Her toes wiggled at the sound of his sexy baritone saying those two little words. For a moment after she ended the call, she clutched the phone against her heart and smiled. Then she got up off the bed, smoothed her hair, and went to the door.
Mr. Mercer stood in the hall, dressed in a short wool jacket and holding Drake’s leash in one hand. “Looks like the media have gone home for the night. Want to come on a walk?”
“Yes!” Emma had never felt so stir-crazy in her life. She was almost relieved to have to go back to school the next day. Anything would be better than doing nothing.
Drake had caught sight of the leash and was skidding in circles around the entryway when they came down the stairs. His tail
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