Secrets and Lies(37)

“Who else?” She handed Tenley the photo Lacey had given her, with the note facing up.

“Blue…” Tenley read. She looked up sharply. “Isn’t that what Guinness calls you?”

Sydney nodded. “But before you go all crazy on me, it can’t be Guinness. I was starting to think it was, too, but the bartender told me a girl paid for everything.”

Tenley and Emerson exchanged a startled look. “Oh my god,” Emerson whispered.

Sydney glanced back and forth between them. “What is it?”

“We went to Tricia’s house after school… and we found something,” Tenley said. “We’ve been trying to call you all night to tell you about it—and ask you about this weird party—but your phone’s been off.”

Sydney’s forehead furrowed. “No, it hasn’t.” She reached into her purse and felt around for her phone. “I just used it earlier, when I was shooting photos.…” She trailed off. Her fingers hit up against her wallet, a roll of film, a memory card, a tube of hand lotion, and a smushed package of gummy bears. But there was no phone.

She yanked her bag up and looked inside. Her phone was gone.

“The darer stole it,” she whispered. “To keep me from hearing about the party.”

“Honestly, we have bigger things to worry about than a missing phone right now.” Tenley pulled a photo out of her pocket. “Take a look at this.”

Sydney lapsed into a stunned silence as she stared down at the image of Tricia and Abby, standing together on the deck of a yacht. She flipped it over, her eyes widening as she read Abby’s friendly little message.

“Remember on the Justice, how Tricia said she’d been taking boating lessons?” Tenley asked. “Well, apparently, Abby was taking them with her.”

Sydney’s heart skipped a beat. “Does that mean it’s her?”

“It would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Tenley pushed a strand of chestnut-brown hair behind her ear. “Abby was the one who planned the whole Tricia memorial.”

“And she benefited more than anyone from Caitlin’s death,” Emerson added. Her fists clenched at her side. “She finally got her wish to be student-body president.”

“And the darer’s latest ploy exposing that girl and her gym teacher was the best news of the year for Abby and her beloved Purity Club,” Tenley finished. “Almost as if she’d arranged the whole thing herself.”

Sydney leaned against a white limestone table to steady herself. High above her, colorful beams of light danced off a stained-glass window. “So what do we do?”

“I’m not sure what we can do,” Tenley replied. “We spent the past few hours driving around trying to find Abby, but we had no luck. Her house was dark, she wasn’t at school, we didn’t see her in town—”

“Did you ask Delancey?” Sydney interrupted. “I think she’s here.”

“I just did,” Emerson said. “She hasn’t heard from Abby all night. Said she’s been M.I.A. since the end of the school day.”

Panic raced through Sydney. She suddenly felt freezing cold, as if the temperature had just dropped twenty degrees. “It’s because she’s planning something. She’s got to be. We have to find a way to stop her!”

“I agree, but first we need to make sure it’s her,” Tenley said. “The last thing we need is Joey Bakersfield 2.0.”

Emerson nodded. “We need some kind of tangible proof, more than just a photo of her with Tricia.”

“The record book!” Sydney clasped her hands together in excitement. “The bartender said there’s a record book downstairs that should show who paid for the party. If we can find that—”

“Then we get our proof,” Emerson finished. “That’s brilliant!”

“Thanks.” Sydney gave her a small smile before she even realized what she was doing.

“Sydney Morgan!” Sydney jolted at the sound of Calum’s voice. She looked over to see him walking toward her, a test tube in hand and his trademark lopsided grin on his face. He was wearing a sweater vest with a bow tie, in what must have been his attempt to dress up. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Why didn’t you tell me you were throwing such a delightful party?”

“Because I didn—” Sydney began. Tenley interrupted her with a swift kick to the ankle. “—didn’t know I was going to until the last minute,” Sydney finished lamely. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad.” Calum held out the test tube shot. “Anyone want? I’ve heard these are scrumptious. Not that I personally have imbibed. I want to keep my wits about me. You know”—he looked at Tenley, his grin widening—“in case anyone here is dared to kiss me.”

Tenley cocked an eyebrow at him. “If that’s what you’re waiting for, you should probably down that drink yourself. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re in the middle of some girl talk.…” She made a shooing gesture with her hand.

Calum exchanged a look with Sydney. Dictator, he mouthed. Sydney managed a halfhearted smile in return. “I’ll come find you in a bit,” she promised.

Calum gave her a strange look. “Is everything okay?”

“Girl talk, Calum!” Tenley snapped.

“Well, then. Looks like I’ll leave you ladies to it.” With an awkward bow, he backed away.

Tenley shook her head, watching him go. “Geniuses,” she muttered. “They have no social graces.”

“Neither does half our grade, apparently,” Emerson pointed out. She glanced around the room. Almost every square inch was filled with people spilling drinks and bumping into one another and grinding much too closely on the marble-tiled dance floor. It was clear the test tube shots had done their job.

“Which,” Tenley said thoughtfully, “makes it the perfect time to find that record book. Everyone’s too drunk to notice we’re gone.” The words were barely out of her mouth when Mason Willis, the star of last year’s musical, stumbled past them, singing the lyrics to “Ice Ice Baby” at the top of his lungs. “Point proven,” Tenley said.

“You’re right.” Sydney swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sharp nerves prickling their way through her. “It’s time we nail this darer.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Friday, 10:32 PM


Emerson bounced nervously on her toes as she peered across the Vault at the crowded bar area. “Sydney’s talking to Calum,” she told Tenley. It was part of the plan they’d constructed to get their hands on the record book: Sydney, the girl of the moment, would keep up appearances in the club while Emerson and Tenley sneaked down to the office. Emerson frowned as she watched Sydney lift her arms in the air and wave them furiously around. “What is she doing?”

“I can’t see a thing,” Tenley grumbled. The room was alive with movement, and even standing on her toes, Tenley was still a head shorter than everyone else.

“Good thing you’re with a giraffe,” Emerson muttered. It was what Tenley had called her in the past, before the darer had forced them into being semifriendly. She gave Tenley a small smile to show she was joking. By the bar, Sydney lifted her voice. Emerson caught a few snippets of what she was saying—something about homecoming. A group began to gather around her. Sydney swiveled as she spoke, her eyes sweeping the crowd. It looked as if she was making some kind of speech.

“Winslow forever!” Marta cheered, joining the crowd with Sean. Nate, Hunter, and Jessie were close behind. It was more Winslow students than Sydney had probably ever spoken to in her life. There was an uncomfortable expression on her face as she raised a test tube shot in the air. Everyone followed suit in some kind of toast. But Emerson knew it was more than that. It was a distraction.

“Now!” Emerson exclaimed. She grabbed Tenley’s arm, pulling her toward the stairwell in the back of the room. “If anyone spots us, we’ll say we’re looking for the bathroom,” she whispered as they jogged down the stairs.

“I do a very convincing I-have-to-pee dance,” Tenley whispered back.

It was musty and dimly lit downstairs. They were in a wide hallway, with low ceilings and several large silver doors lining each side. Each door had an intricate, round lock system displayed on the front. The bank’s old vaults, Emerson realized. She reached for a light switch, but Tenley grabbed her wrist, shaking her head sharply. Emerson dropped her hand. Tenley was right; the less attention they drew, the better. “Which one do you think is the office?” she whispered.

Tenley shrugged. “Guess we start opening doors.” She pulled at the first one in the hallway. It opened into a small, windowless room. Every inch of wall space was covered in metal lockboxes. Shelves lined the center of the room, stuffed with supplies for the bar. The next few vaults were more of the same: lockboxes around the sides and shelves in the center; napkins, straws, and coasters crowded among cases of alcohol and mixers.

Emerson crossed the hall, opening door after door. They were all the same: stacked with bar supplies. At the second-to-last vault in the row, she paused. Instead of metal lockboxes, the walls were covered in a purple velvet fabric. There was a row of silver filing cabinets along one side and in the back sat a rolltop desk, stacked high with papers. Emerson’s eyes went instantly to the leather ledger lying open in the center.