Aerin winced. ‘Thomas, I’m really sorry.’
He glanced at her for a moment, his face full of longing … and then disappointment. ‘Yeah, me too,’ he said sadly. He whipped the door open and walked through.
And then slammed it in her face.
CHAPTER 32
Seneca’s heart was hammering. She kept staring down at the marshmallow Peep in her hand and squishing his pliable little head. She hadn’t moved from Maddox’s couch, mostly because she was trying to process what had just happened.
Was she crazy because just for a moment she’d thought about kissing Maddox again? Did he mean all those things about liking her? No guy had ever said anything that nice to her before. What was she going to do when he came back?
She felt a goofy smile spread across her face. Okay, so she liked him. Really liked him, despite everything. Her feelings surprised her, and the whole thing felt terrifying – it was difficult for her to get attached to anyone, she acknowledged that. But maybe liking him – and maybe going with it – meant she was growing as a person. Healing, even. Maybe she should give it a shot.
She watched more coverage of Mr. Ingram’s arrest on TV. The media was focusing on Skip’s story that he and Helena had allegedly planned to return to Dexby in the winter. It was probably a huge lie, right? Because if Skip had big, happy plans with Helena, then why did she turn up dead on his floor? It didn’t add up.
Seneca heard the sound of an engine outside and jolted upward, certain it would be Maddox. When she looked out of the window, a black sedan rolled past, not stopping. She frowned and slumped to the couch again. Who the hell had running practice at Easter anyway? That coach was a slave driver.
Bored and anxious, Seneca typed in Google on her phone and then Catherine + track coach + Dexby, CT in the search window. Hits for someone named Catherine Markham appeared. Seneca clicked on the first one, a profile through the Dexby Rec Center. This had to be her. At the top was a picture of a muscled, sweaty brunette pulling ahead in a New York City 10K, and then another of the same girl on a medal stand, her arms in a powerful V. Seneca scrolled down and noticed a close-up of the woman, this time dressed in an Oxford shirt with her hair down over her shoulders. She looked much prettier out of her running gear. And really … familiar.
It came to her almost instantly. Wasn’t that Katie? The girl who desperately wanted to be on camera during all the reports about Helena?
Her head started to whirl. She remembered the text she’d seen from Katie on Helena’s phone: Thanks for nothing. How Aerin had said Helena had told her mom absolutely not when she asked if Helena wanted Katie at her birthday dinner. What had been going on between them?
Throat dry, she pulled up the number for Becky Reed, Helena’s old best friend, whom the group had spoken to several times already, and dialed. Miraculously, Becky answered.
‘Was there a girl in Helena’s class named Katie Markham?’ Seneca blurted after she apologized to Becky for calling at Easter.
There was a long pause. ‘Uh … yeah,’ Becky said.
‘And did she and Helena have a falling out?’
‘Kind of,’ Becky answered. ‘She dropped us. Seemed to hate us. I always thought it was just friends growing apart, though after that, she could be sort of creepy.’
Seneca’s stomach tightened. ‘Creepy how?’
‘She’d show up at places she wasn’t invited, send nasty texts, burn us on Facebook, that sort of thing.’ Becky made a noise at the back of her throat. ‘You don’t think …?’ She trailed off. ‘She was cleared years ago. Besides, didn’t you hear about that Ingram guy? He’s the one who did it – it’s all over the news.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Seneca said quickly, hanging up. The world felt upended. She could be sort of creepy, she heard Becky say. She’d show up at places she wasn’t invited.
And now Maddox was practising with Katie. Did he know any of this? He couldn’t – he surely would have said something. Why did she want Maddox to practice today? What did she know about Maddox and what he did when he wasn’t running?
She has an alibi, Seneca told herself, but it wasn’t comforting. Alibis weren’t the end-all-be-all proof of innocence.
Fingers trembling, Seneca dialed Maddox’s number, but he didn’t answer. Her stomach started to hurt. She heard that voice outside her hotel-room door again. That raspy, angry, feminine voice: Go home. Maddox had said his attacker seemed like a woman, too.
What if they were wrong about Skip? What if it was someone else they needed to be afraid of?
Seneca rushed to the driveway, drizzle blurring her vision. It was empty; even Madison’s car was gone. Pivoting, she darted into the garage and wheeled out a red bike. The tires were flat, and the seat was set too low, but it would have to do.
Thirteen minutes later, now thoroughly soaked, Seneca cycled up to the rec center. She stuck the bike into the rack and took stock. There was a track around the back. She rushed toward it and scanned the cars in the parking lot. No one was walking the track’s outer rings in the rain. Breathing heavily, she dialed Maddox again. Voicemail. She tried Brett, Madison, and Aerin again, too – same.
She wheeled around, scanning the tennis courts, an empty sports field, and a huge building marked Gymnasium & Swimming Pool. She hurried toward it and pushed through a set of heavy double doors. They creaked open, revealing an indoor track and a bunch of basketball hoops. A man in a turban shot hoops toward the back. An older lady walked the track, talking on her cell phone.
A plaque caught Seneca’s eye.
Directory, it read, and then listed names of people who worked on staff at the rec center. Halfway down was a Catherine Markham; her office was in room 107. A sign across the gym announced that offices 105 to 108 were through a hallway next to the women’s locker room. Seneca hurried over, her shoes leaving wet marks on the gym floor. She knew she was being absurd, but she couldn’t stop picturing Catherine tying Maddox up in her office, taping his mouth closed, telling him that he’d taken this investigation too far …
The hallway of offices was lit by harsh fluorescent panels and smelled like socks. The cement floor and walls intensified all sounds; Seneca could hear every raspy breath she took. Finally, at the end of the hall, she noticed a light under a door. Catherine Markham, read a nameplate next to the knob. When Seneca peered through the mottled glass, she caught sight of two fuzzy shapes inside. Her stomach swooped queasily. It had to be Catherine – Katie – and Maddox.
She tried the knob. It turned. She yanked the door open and stared into an office filled with trophies. Maddox’s back was to her. He was standing, not bound and gagged, as she’d imagined. Catherine, who faced the door, was in front of him. Then Seneca did a double take. Actually, she wasn’t just in front of him; she was kissing him.
And Maddox was kissing her back.
Seneca must have let out a small sound, because Catherine raised her gaze and pulled away. ‘Um, can I help you?’ she said sweetly.
Maddox twisted around. ‘Oh my God. Seneca.’
Seneca tried to speak, but no sound came out. She felt huge and obtrusive in the doorway. She gazed again at Catherine’s slender legs, her ample breasts, her pretty face. It suddenly made perfect sense. Tara from track wasn’t the only pretty girl in this town.
She spun around and walked out.
‘Seneca!’ Maddox called after her.
‘Don’t you dare leave, Maddy!’ Catherine yelled at him. But Maddox must have ignored her, because Seneca heard her footsteps behind her.
‘Seneca, wait!’ he cried.
Seneca passed a cart of basketballs, contemplating upending it. Her mind spun as she stomped over a big seal of the state of Connecticut on the gym floor. She heard footsteps, and Maddox caught her arm. Of course, can’t outpace the track star, she thought sourly. She turned around, fuming. ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ he gasped.
Seneca just glared at him and wrenched her arm from his grip. Behind Maddox, Catherine had e
merged from the hall, too. Her hands were on her hips, and her face was red.
Maddox looked nervously at Catherine, but kept going. ‘We were … a thing, sort of,’ he said. ‘But I’d been trying to tell her I’m not interested. I like you. But then, she was going to revoke my college scholarship if I dumped her.’
Seneca gawked at him. ‘Are you trying to get me to feel sorry for you?’
‘No!’ Maddox cried. ‘Absolutely not! I told her I didn’t care – Oregon wasn’t worth it.’ He glared at Catherine. ‘I also said I could report her inappropriate behavior to her boss at the rec center. I have a lot of texts from her that are pretty far from professional.’
Catherine snorted. ‘Like I’m afraid of you.’
‘I’ll just be going,’ Seneca said through her teeth. The last thing she wanted to witness was a lover’s quarrel.
‘No!’ Maddox turned back to Seneca. ‘I told her all this, and I was ready to leave, but then she just … kissed me again. That’s what you saw.’
Seneca felt a sensation and looked down. Somehow, during that last part, he’d grabbed her hands. An hour ago, the sight of their fingers entwined would have delighted her, but now they filled her with disgust.
She pulled away. She felt stifled in this echoing gym, in her own body. ‘Actually, I only came because I was worried about her hurting you, Maddox,’ she said smoothly and loudly, not really caring that Catherine heard. ‘Did you know she was Helena’s rival in high school? Catherine hated her.’
Maddox blinked. He turned and looked at Catherine, who’d frowned and stepped back.
‘What were you doing, spying on me?’ Catherine snapped.
Seneca ignored her, concentrating on Maddox. ‘But I guess she’s not out to hurt us, is she? You seem fine. Better than fine.’ And then, with a tight smile, she turned away and walked calmly toward the exit. ‘See ya.’
Maddox rushed toward her. ‘Wait! Are you angry with me?’
Seneca’s first instinct was to scream, but she pulled out all her best tricks and managed to compose herself. ‘No,’ she said airily. ‘It’s your life, Maddox. I’m just your friend from online. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.’
Maddox’s jaw dropped open. Whatever, Seneca thought. As long as he bought her lie, she didn’t care.
Outside, dusk had fallen, and the rain had stopped. The only sounds were Seneca’s footsteps on the wet pavement. When someone grabbed her arm, she lashed out, assuming it was Maddox again.
‘Whoa!’ Brett materialized in front of her. ‘Hold up!’
‘What are you doing here?’ Seneca cried, her heart in her throat.
‘You called me. Said you were going to the track, that Maddox is in trouble?’ He looked at the door, then at the expression that Seneca guessed was on her face. ‘Is he okay?’
‘He’s fine,’ Seneca said coolly. ‘Just fine.’
She walked to the tennis courts, lit up by huge overhead floodlights, then slumped down into a crouch, staring blankly at the nets. The door to the rec center creaked open, and Maddox stepped out and looked around. Seneca hunched her shoulders and hid her face, praying he wouldn’t see her. After a moment, Maddox jogged off.
Brett slid down next to Seneca, his gaze on Maddox’s receding form. ‘What an idiot.’
Seneca gritted her teeth. ‘It’s not worth discussing.’
Brett drummed on his knees. ‘Okay,’ he said gently. ‘I gotcha.’
His sudden mercy was too much to bear, and Seneca felt a wave of sadness and desperation. ‘It doesn’t matter, anyway,’ she said brusquely. ‘I’m due home tonight. I was planning to leave on a train in a few hours.’ It wasn’t true: she’d actually been composing a text to her dad about buying a day or two more. She was glad she hadn’t sent it.
‘Well, don’t let Maddox cloud what we figured out,’ Brett said. ‘We caught a killer, remember? That’s pretty huge. I bet we changed Aerin’s life.’ Then a thoughtful look came over his features. ‘If only we could help you with your mom, huh?’
Seneca felt a dart of exasperation. He was seriously going to bring up her mom now? Then again, maybe it was better than talking about Maddox. And in a way, Brett was also right.
‘I’m really sorry again about ambushing you with all that in the café,’ Brett went on. ‘I just wanted to connect with someone who had gone through the same thing, you know? But it was selfish. If you’d wanted to talk about it, you would have talked about it. I get that now.’
In this light, Brett’s bruises on his jaw looked even worse, garishly purple and puffy. Seneca pushed her finger into one of the chain links in the fence. She’d never once asked Brett how he’d gotten through his grandmother’s death. Her indifference seemed callous – maybe she was the selfish one.
‘Do you think about your grandma a lot?’ she asked.
Brett pulled his cap down low. ‘Hell yeah. Do you? With your mom?’
‘Well, sure. Of course.’
‘You know what I’d love?’ Brett stared at the silhouettes of trees. ‘One more day with her. Just an ordinary day – nothing even that special. We’d have breakfast, I’d go with her on her power walk, and out to see the horses. We’d read the paper, I’d watch her needlepoint, whatever.’
Seneca laughed lightly. ‘Your fur-diva grandma was into needlepoint?’
‘I just meant that as a generic example,’ Brett said quickly. ‘But you get my drift. Just one more day to hug her, tell her I love her, all that shit. I’d trade that for anything.’
Seneca felt tears come to her eyes. She fantasized about the day she’d have with her mom, too. Ordinary would be fine. They could talk about nothing. Watch an awards show. Fold laundry. She’d make her mom her favorite dinner – linguine with clam sauce.
Brett leaned back on the fence with a clank. ‘Did they ever find out anything about your mom’s killer? I don’t follow her case on the boards.’
Seneca shook her head. ‘Nothing. Nothing weird was going on at my house – even my dad attested to it. My mom hadn’t been getting any weird phone calls, and there was no indication that someone had been following her. She wasn’t even acting differently leading up to it, like she was afraid of someone. It was just … senseless.’ She breathed out. ‘Meaningless.’
Brett pointed to her P necklace. ‘But at least you got that back to remember her by, right?’
Seneca’s fingers closed around it. ‘That’s what I tell myself.’
Slowly, tentatively, she let memories of her mom flood her mind, particularly that last memory of her in the morgue. She’d been covered with a sheet from the waist down, but Seneca could still tell that parts of her mother weren’t laying right under there, not hanging together like a normal skeleton. A few months ago, when she’d first logged on to Case Not Closed, she’d finally read her mother’s coroner’s report. The thing was so shocking, she’d never been able to return to her mom’s file. Among other things, the report said that some of her mom’s lower bones had been broken very badly – shattered, the coroner had written. Presumably from an act of violence.
She let out a whimper at the back of her throat, the pain too great. ‘It’s okay,’ Brett said softly, pulling her in for a hug. ‘It’ll be okay.’
The hug was comforting, but Seneca still felt an empty, unsatisfied longing. There was a skip in her brain, something not sitting right, but it was probably the confusion of all that had happened today, the push and pull of too many emotions. It was also frustrating to realize that as much as she liked Brett, she wished the hug was from someone else. She glared at the road Maddox had taken home. Stop wishing he was still here, she thought angrily.
She had to be done with him.
CHAPTER 33
As the rain poured down, Aerin sat in the back of the limo on her way to the Easter Bunny party. The dress she’d picked out months before, a black Narciso Rodriguez, had a halter neck that circled her throat like a noose and a bodice that constricted like a straitjacket. Her mother was at one wi
ndow, clean and polished in an off-white dress, but Aerin could still see the drawn cords in her neck, the quiver of worry around her mouth, and the tremor in her hand as she lifted the champagne flute to her lips. Her father sat by the other window, dressed to perfection in a black tux, his hands folded in his lap. So they were a happy little family again … except not really. Her parents hadn’t said a word to each other the whole drive here. Even the driver had been giving them odd looks, probably wondering why they were acting like they were going to a funeral instead of the biggest party of the year.
They pulled up to the Morgenthau Estate, a palatial mansion on a wide swathe of bright green lawn. Searchlights swirled in the front drive. There was even a covered red carpet up the front walk sponsored by Dexby Living magazine with the party’s official name, the Morgenthau Estate Easter Charity Auction and Gala, written across the green backdrop. Guests emerged from waiting limos and sports cars and everyone posed on the carpet for the photographers like they were actually important. Aerin hated all of them.
Across the lawn, a few girls in bunny ears and skimpy dresses were running tipsily toward the guesthouse in the rain. Colin Woodworth and Reed Cristensen, two Windemere seniors, huddled under an umbrella, beer bottles in hand. And there was Dax Shelby, who, as the rumor went, got lab-quality ecstasy from his big pharma CEO dad – Dax always staged an egg hunt, hiding plastic eggs full of pills around the grounds. Last year, he’d sidled up to Aerin, shaking an egg tantalizingly, and said, ‘Wanna find my eggs?’ Thank God Aerin had dragged Thomas into the pantry. Everyone else in this circle was such a loser.
Thomas. She felt an ache, then pushed it away.
The driver opened the door for Aerin’s family. Minnie Morgenthau, who had a long, horsey face and plumped, fake lips, was standing there with an umbrella. ‘Elizabeth. Derek.’ Minnie took Aerin’s parents’ hands in hers. ‘My goodness, you didn’t need to come, considering all you’ve faced today.’