“Whoa.” Tenley had zoomed in on the team’s photo until Meryl Bauer’s blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty filled the whole screen. “Calum clearly got the short end of the Bauer family stick. Meryl was hot.”
Emerson glared in Tenley’s direction. “Not helping.”
“Sorry.” Tenley returned her attention to the box. “Let’s see if there’s anything else in there.”
Emerson felt itchy all over as she and Tenley went carefully through the rest of the box. If Matt was the darer, then what they’d had together had meant nothing. Less than nothing. It had just been a magic trick, a sleight of hand—his way of sucking Emerson into his game. She thought of their one night together at the Seagull Inn, how carefully Matt had pulled her onto the bed, as if she were a porcelain doll. At the time, she’d thought it was sweet, protective even. Now she wondered if it had all just been strategy.
There was nothing else useful in the box, and Emerson wasted no time in shoving it back under her bed. “It makes sense in a lot of ways, doesn’t it?” Tenley asked slowly.
Tenley slid off the bed and began pacing the room. “We already knew the darer had to be someone older, someone who was involved with the Lost Girl charade, someone who’s been sending notes for a long time.…”
“Matt,” Emerson whispered. She flopped back on her bed. “It really could be Matt.”
Tenley was silent for a minute, the only sound the plodding of her shoes against the carpet. “What I don’t get is the kidnapper. We know she’s involved somehow. The darer sent Sydney her ring! And it was the darer who framed Jack Hudson. But if it’s been Matt all along, where does that leave the kidnapper? It has to be someone connected to him—pretty closely.”
“Tracey.” Emerson bolted upright in bed. The thought had slipped out before she’d fully formulated it.
“Sydney’s mom?” Tenley abruptly stopped pacing. “No.” She gave Emerson a sharp look. “It’s not possible. Matt’s clearly a creep, but her mom… She and Sydney are really close.”
“You’re right.” Emerson’s voice cracked, and she coughed to clear it. “Of course you’re right.” Her cheeks were flaming at having suggested it. She’d seen Tracey with her own eyes. She looked kind and happy, like a woman who’d fallen back in love with her ex-husband.
Unless… it was all part of an act.
“Except, it could fit, couldn’t it? Just in theory?” The words kept tumbling out; she couldn’t seem to stop them. “Matt didn’t just cheat; he went after high school girls. What if Tracey found out, and it broke her? What if she kidnapped Caitlin as some kind of sick revenge, and Matt was forced to cover her tracks?”
“The scorned woman gone mad…” Suddenly Tenley froze. “In fact… maybe Matt’s not involved at all. Think about it. If Tracey found out what a scumbag her husband was, maybe she decided to go after the girls he’d dated as revenge. Then we would have been right all along: The kidnapper really is the darer.”
“But why protect Matt from discovery, then? And why bring Caitlin into it?” Emerson’s head was spinning. “I get targeting Matt’s girlfriends, but how would kidnapping some random girl punish Matt?”
“It wouldn’t.” Tenley shook her head forcefully, as if to banish the thought from her mind. “It can’t be Sydney’s mom. Because even if we could find a reason to explain Caitlin’s involvement, there would be no way Tracey would bring her own daughter into this.”
Emerson looked down. Tenley might be wrong about that. The darer was twisted and hell-bent on revenge. If it was Tracey, Sydney would be the ultimate leverage—the final straw in Tracey’s revenge. Take his lovers one by one, then take his daughter. But where did Caitlin fit in? And what about Tenley? “You’re right.” Emerson practically yelled the words, hating herself for even having the suspicion. “If it’s anyone, it’s Matt. We already know he’s twisted.”
“Maybe he was working with a different woman,” Tenley offered. “Or a high school girl—one of his conquests. Maybe she’s the one who kidnapped Cait. Or they could have done it together. Crazy does love crazy.”
Emerson jumped up, adrenaline surging through her. If the darer had been Matt all along, if he’d not only tortured her and killed her best friend, but made her think he cared about her while doing it…
“Enough!” She practically shouted the word. “We’ve been victims for too long. If Matt really is the mastermind behind this, then we have our name. Which means we can finally, finally end this.” She met Tenley’s eyes. In them, she saw the same fury she felt burning in her own. “It’s time we stop being the puppets and start pulling the strings.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Friday, 4:00 PM
Everyone was smiling. That was the first thing Sydney noticed when she stepped into the cavernous, brick-walled room housing RISD’s Prospective Students Fair. Everywhere she looked, from the RISD representatives fawning over pamphlets to the eager students rushing from booth to booth, everyone was wearing wide, toothy like-me! smiles. A mother-daughter pair pushed past her, bickering over dining-plan options. Nearby, a dad cooed over a RISD photo book with his son. Sydney felt a pang of longing. Her own mom was stuck at work. And it wasn’t as if she could ask her dad to go, even if she’d wanted to. Not when he was suddenly at the top of Tenley and Emerson’s Most Wanted list.
She stopped at the first booth and picked up a pamphlet about RISD’s class offerings. Her gaze went immediately to the photography ones. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to losing this chance.
No! There would be no thinking about that here. RISD was supposed to be her escape.
But as she moved from booth to booth, admiring class syllabi and peppering professors with her most intelligent questions, those same thoughts kept creeping back in. Tenley and Emerson really believed her dad could be responsible for everything. It wasn’t just the possibility that scared her, it was why they thought it. She knew her dad had cheated on her mom; it was the reason they’d divorced. She also knew he’d been seeing Emerson lately. But to find out there had been more… The worst was how young they’d all been. Her age—long before she was her age.
She thought about what Emerson had said about there being a trophy box. How could her mom not know? Had she turned a blind eye? Or had he just been that good at hiding it? Sydney stared unseeingly at a video screen flashing facts about RISD’s top professors. Even if her dad was that sneaky, even if he’d kept everyone in the dark all this time… that still didn’t make him their stalker.
Right?
She moved on to a booth featuring RISD student projects. She had to stop thinking like this. Her dad was a scumbag, yes. A high school girl addict, apparently. A class-A creep, definitely. But a murderer? A torturer? Her torturer? Of course not.
She picked up an amazing photograph of the beach after a storm: trash piled so high it looked like a sculpture. LUCY CANDOR, SOPHOMORE, the label on the bottom read. If Sydney played her cards right, soon it would be her photographs at this table. And then her dad and the darer would be nothing more than blips in her past. She dropped the photo. It was time to do what she’d come to do.
An hour later Sydney had spoken to four professors, including the head photography professor. It was the most schmoozing she’d ever done in her life. But it was worth it, because she’d shown the head of the photography program a copy of her portfolio, and he’d called her photographs “quite unique.”
Now, Sydney kept hearing that word in her head. Unique unique unique unique. She pulled out her phone and dialed her mom’s cell to leave her a message. The voice mail picked up after just one ring. “Mom,” she said breathlessly. “Guess what. The head of the photography program just called my photos unique!”
“Sydney?”
At the sound of her name, Sydney ended the call and spun around. Standing before her with a RISD information packet tucked under his arm was Joey Bakersfield. Except it wasn’t the Joey she remembered.
This Joey was no longer hidden behind chin-length hair and a huge hoodie sweatshirt that drowned him in fabric. Instead, he had a short, buzzed haircut that showed off his chocolate-brown eyes and sharp jawline. He wore a school uniform of khakis and a well-fitted blazer that called attention to his surprisingly broad shoulders. He looked taller, too, probably because he wasn’t hunched over his ever-present notebook. In fact, that ratty green notebook was nowhere to be seen.
“Wow!” she managed to croak. “You look different! Good different,” she corrected hastily. Joey’s lips curved up a little. She couldn’t help but notice how nice they were without a mask of hair to hide them: heart-shaped and full. She let out a nervous cough. “What are you doing here?”
“Danford’s college counselor suggested I come. He thinks RISD’s drawing classes could be a good fit for me.” Even his voice sounded different. It was still soft, but it was clearer now, so different from the mumble he’d adopted at Winslow. “I’m sorry I haven’t e-mailed you back yet. I’ve been meaning to, but we’ve had exams at school and…” He trailed off as, across the room, a petite, doe-eyed girl waved to him. She had a pixie haircut and milky skin. The way she glided across the room toward them screamed ballerina. “You coming to the party tonight, Joe?” ballerina-girl asked.