Aerin took huge gulps of oxygen. “We have to get out of here. There are weapons in the backyard. And bones.”
Still holding the shovel, Thomas shot off the porch and grabbed her, first hugging her tight, then looking at her with fear. “Where?”
Aerin led him around the side of the house. She pointed past the flies on the slab. “There,” she said, averting her eyes.
Thomas crept over. He glanced down at the bones, then lowered the shovel. “It’s okay. These aren’t human. I think it’s a deer.”
“Are you sure?”
Thomas nodded. He eyed the rusted pile of saws and mallets. “I don’t know what to make of that stuff, but I’m not sure it qualifies as a weapon.” He touched her arm. “Are you up for checking inside the house?”
“Uh, no.” Aerin wiped her eyes. The smell of death was making her stomach turn. “But I don’t want to wait out here alone, either.”
On the porch, the rats squeaked and moaned. Aerin willed herself not to look in their direction. Thomas touched the doorknob with his thumb, and the whole piece crumbled and fell to the porch with a thump. He gingerly tapped the door with his foot. A cloud of dust billowed, and half the structure crumbled inward, leaving a small space for them to climb through into the room.
Aerin was instantly greeted by a stale, earthy, rotting stench. She glanced at Thomas, and he nodded encouragingly. Holding her breath, she stepped over the boards and into the space. Thomas followed behind her, holding her hand.
The room was dark, wet, and stinky. Aerin cocked her head and listened for sounds, but she heard nothing. Thomas clicked on his flashlight and shone it across the floorboards. An ancient wood-burning stove was barely attached to the wall. The corners were littered with spiderwebs, dry leaves, and animal droppings. The bones of a carcass lay against another wall, but when Aerin turned fearfully to Thomas, he squeezed her hand. “They’re a mouse’s, or a squirrel’s. Not a person’s.”
He stepped into the room, shining his light to the windows and the ceiling. The floor creaked precariously. “I don’t see a basement,” he said. “Or a trapdoor. Or…anything.”
Aerin licked her lips, then nodded. It seemed like a dead end. But suddenly, she noticed a flash of something bright on the windowsill. She crept over, careful of the rotting floorboards. When she saw what it was, her heart stopped…then pounded in double time. It was a red paper crane.
“What the…?” Thomas murmured.
Aerin held it in her trembling hands. It was exactly like the paper crane she’d found on Helena’s dresser after she went missing…except more faded, the creases folded and refolded until they’d turned almost white. She flipped it over, half expecting to see the initials H.I. on the bottom. Instead, there was something else, written in a cramped, tight hand: Jackson.
Thomas stared at her. “Do you know what this means?”
Aerin shook her head, swallowing hard. Instantly, she was transported to Helena’s bedroom, smelling her floral perfume, surrounded by her vintage clothes, feeling her sheepskin throw rug under her feet. It seemed like a million heartbreaking years ago. And now, as she stood in the musty, moldy shack, she slowly undid this new crane’s every fold, desperate to find another clue under a wing, or inside a beak—evidence that it was from Brett, and what it could mean. But in the end, all she was left with was a deeply creased square of origami paper, nothing more.
SENECA USED THE flashlight on her phone to illuminate the basement. There was a pool table in the middle of the room, an air hockey table in one corner, and what looked like a pinball machine on the far wall. In another corner was a huge television and at least four different types of video game consoles. The beam of light swept across a bar stocked with every type of liquor imaginable and a tabletop slot machine.
“Here are the stairs,” Madison whispered from the left. Seneca and Maddox tiptoed toward her. The three of them crept up to the first floor, carefully pushing the door open to reveal a gleaming modern kitchen. There wasn’t a single item on the counters. The trash can didn’t have a liner in it. A fruit bowl was empty. The only sound in the room was the gentle buzz of the appliances.
Seneca looked at the others. “Why aren’t alarms blaring? Is this a trap?”
“Or maybe she isn’t here,” Madison said.
Maddox cocked his head to the left, then pointed down a long hall full of windows. “Wait. I hear something.”
Seneca strained to listen. After a moment, she did hear something: Faint voices. An electronic hum. Her skin prickled. She met Maddox’s gaze and nodded.
But Madison took a step toward the basement door. “Maybe we should leave.”
Seneca gaped at her. “What are you talking about? We have to see what that is!”
“Hello?”
A voice drifted from down the hall. Seneca’s heart froze in her chest. She wasn’t sure the voice was real…but then someone called out again. “Hello?” It was a girl. “Wh-who’s out there?”
Seneca rushed toward the sound. “Seneca!” Maddox called out behind her, but she kept going. At the end of the hall was a closed door; someone was pounding on it from the inside. “Help me! Help me, please! I’m locked in!”
Seneca’s hands trembled on the knob, but it didn’t turn. Hurriedly, she pulled a credit card from her wallet. She jammed the card below the bolt and swiped up quickly. The knob didn’t budge. She swore under her breath.
“What’s going on?” the voice cried.
Seneca tried the card in the door again, thrusting upward even more forcefully this time. The bolt released. The knob turned, and the door swung open. A girl huddled on the carpet, a girl whose face she’d memorized so intensely and thought about so continuously it was jarring she was actually a real person.
Chelsea.
The girl trembled as she stared at them. Her hair was clean and styled, there was color in her cheeks, and she was wearing a dress that looked like it had been ironed only moments ago. But her eyes were wide and full of tears. Her limbs were trembling. As Maddox took a step inside, she cowered back, shielding her chest. “Are you with him?”
“With who?” Seneca asked, even though she already knew.
“No,” Maddox said at the same time. “Of course not.”
Chelsea’s eyes darted back and forth. “Then he’s going to find you. He’ll hurt you.”
“Where is he?” Maddox peered around the room. There was a strange look on his face. “Is he here?”
Seneca peered around, too. It was only then she noticed Chelsea was being held in a luxurious master suite. A huge four-poster king bed sat in the middle of the room. The shades were drawn, but the television was on, tuned to Bravo. A pretty mirror, draped with a bra and several changes of clothes, stood in the corner. Past that was a massive marble bathroom, the counter messy with bottles and jars and powder puffs. The air smelled like perfume and fresh coffee.
She looked back at Chelsea. Her shiny hair bounced. Seneca also noticed she had makeup on: eyeliner, mascara, pink lipstick. There was a gold necklace at her throat and several bangle bracelets on her wrists. The terror on her face was positively incongruous. “H-he usually talks to me from another room,” she said, wobbling as she stood. “It was only yesterday that he came out and I saw his face.” She gazed into the hall in terror. “He’s going to hurt us if he finds out. I know he will.”
“It’s okay,” Seneca said as she rushed to her side. “We’re getting you out right now. All right? Do you think you can walk?”
Chelsea nodded shakily. Seneca held out her hands and helped the girl through the door.
Behind her, Seneca heard the sirens. Out the window, police cars kicked up dust in the driveway. Maddox opened one of the French doors and stood on the balcony. “We found someone inside!” he shouted at the officers. “It’s Chelsea Dawson!”
Seneca and Madison held Chelsea up as they walked down the hall. Seneca’s heart pounded the whole time, expecting Brett to appear. But as they opened the door and pu
shed Chelsea into the fresh air, nothing happened. Cops swarmed her immediately. She stepped back into the house, letting the emergency technicians look Chelsea over. They’d made it. Chelsea was safe. Now it was time to find Brett.
She spun around and got to work quickly, opening doors, peering into alcoves, bounding up staircases, knowing full well that Brett might attack her at every turn. But all she found was emptiness. The house smelled immaculately clean—the same sandalwood/cleaning products mix, she realized with a jolt, that Gabriel’s condo had smelled like. Uneasy, she thundered down the stairs and swept over Chelsea’s bedroom again. Peeked into the pool area. Ambushed a kitchen pantry. Nothing.
“Where are you?” she whispered, standing in the middle of the kitchen. It was clear he wasn’t going to answer. This was another part of Brett’s plan, and he’d executed it perfectly.
A police officer appeared out of nowhere and took her arm. “Miss, you have to leave,” he urged. “We need forensics in here. This is a crime scene.”
“But…” Seneca protested. Listlessly, she stepped aside and let the cops swarm in. She knew they wouldn’t find anything. The house was empty. And as that realization slowly seeped in, Seneca felt empty, too.
IT WAS AFTER eleven by the time Aerin and Thomas pulled up to the house on the vineyard, and the place was swarming with police cars, K-9 vehicles, paramedics, a fire truck, the bomb squad, and news vans from several local affiliates. Aerin gasped. Forty minutes ago, Seneca had sent her quite a few frantic texts, saying they were checking out the vineyard and that the shack might be a trap. Aerin hadn’t noticed them because she’d left her phone on silent while checking out the shack. When she’d gotten back into the car she’d reached out to Seneca, but she hadn’t been able to get through to her. What if something was wrong?
Thomas had barely thrown the car into park when Aerin spied Seneca, Maddox, and Madison standing under the carport. Her heart lifted with relief, and she bolted out of the car toward them. “What’s going on?” she cried, gesturing at the police vehicles.
Seneca just stared at her emptily. Maddox stepped forward. “We found Chelsea.” He sounded proud but also shaky. “She was in the house. Locked in a bedroom.”
A mix of happiness and disbelief shot through Aerin. “You’re kidding!”
“But not Brett,” Seneca interrupted, her voice wooden. “He’s gone.”
Aerin stared at her, the words not quite making sense. Swirling lights from the bar atop a police car flashed against Seneca’s face. “A-are you sure?” she asked.
Seneca lowered her head. “I looked everywhere. He’s not in the house. I mean, I’m not surprised, really. Of course he’s gone. I just thought…I just hoped…”
Aerin felt her heartbeat thudding powerfully at her temples. “Where’s Chelsea now? Is she…alive?”
“She’s fine,” Maddox said. “The cops are questioning her inside.”
“That’s good!” Aerin cried, feeling a flare of optimism. She looked around at the others. “That means they’ll get information about Brett and where he went, right?”
Madison smiled weakly. “A group of cops already started through the vineyards in hopes that Brett took off in that direction.”
“This is all really good!” Aerin said, staring at Seneca, praying for her spirits to lift. But Seneca just shrugged. She seemed so disheartened.
Then Aerin remembered. She rooted around in her pockets until she found the origami, which she’d folded into a crane shape again. “This was at the shack.”
Seneca opened her eyes and stared. Aerin turned it over for her. “Jackson,” Seneca read aloud, sounding baffled. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But maybe it’s got his fingerprints on it. The cops could check.”
Seneca sniffed. “I’m sure Brett wasn’t stupid enough to leave a fingerprint.” But she still inspected the weathered crane carefully, holding it gently under its wings as though it might shatter.
A group of police officers broke through the vines, empty-handed. One noticed Aerin and the others and trudged over. It was Grieg, the same freckle-faced man they’d spoken to after Jeff’s death. “This is going to take a while,” he said in a gentle enough voice. “We’re going to need statements from Seneca, Maddox, and Madison at least, though maybe from Aerin and Thomas as well. How about we take you over to the station?”
“I’d rather wait here,” Seneca said firmly. She was staring at something indeterminate out in the vines, her eyes glassy.
By the way Grieg shifted, it was clear he would rather they leave. The last thing Aerin wanted to do was make waves with the cops, so she trudged over to the police SUV. After a moment, Seneca followed. No one spoke as they buckled their seat belts. The only sound was the staccato raindrops as they pelted the roof.
Aerin stared at the house. Shadows shifted behind the windows—tons of cops were inside, canvassing the place for evidence. What would they find in there? What did Brett leave behind?
The SUV rolled out of the gravel drive. The air conditioner began to blast chilly air into the backseat, and the car soon smelled vaguely of mildew and wet upholstery. Aerin pressed her head to the door, feeling sick. Suddenly, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Maddox had group-texted them.
What are we going to SAY?
Madison wrote first: We should come clean. Tell them everything.
Agreed, Maddox pinged next. It’s the only way they’ll be able to find Brett. We’ve done all we can.
Aerin watched as Seneca frowned at her phone’s screen and started to type. On Aerin’s own phone, three little dots kept appearing and disappearing as Seneca struggled with what to write. Aerin could guess at what was going on in Seneca’s mind. Her friend wanted Brett, and she wanted to do it on her own—without the cops.
Except now they’d been pushed into a corner. There was nowhere left for them to turn. They needed the police to help. This was bigger than all of them.
Seneca stared at the screen for a long time, as though in a trance. Finally, she lowered her eyes and sighed deeply, as if letting something go. The three dots appeared on Aerin’s screen again, and then came Seneca’s reply. Okay. I guess we have no choice.
SEVERAL HOURS AND three bad cups of police-station coffee later, Aerin sat in the waiting room, cupping the paper crane in one hand and flipping through a year-old Time with the other. The others were strewn about the small, cramped space, perusing their phones (Maddox and Madison), glowering at the closed interior door to the offices (Seneca), and, in Thomas’s case, stroking Aerin’s hair, which made Aerin oscillate between feeling pleasantly sleepy and feeling guilty for feeling pleasantly sleepy. Despite a few clipped they’ll be right with yous from the officer at the front desk, it seemed as though the cops had forgotten about them. Which was maddening. Didn’t they realize they were wasting valuable time?
Finally, Grieg appeared in the doorway. “Let’s go, guys.”
Everyone shot up and followed him down the hall. Aerin mentally rehearsed how they were going to tell their story…and what it would mean. Would the cops be able to find Brett with the details they provided?
Grieg opened a door to a small room not unlike the one they sat in after Jeff Cohen was murdered. He shut the door behind him, slapped the same notebook he always seemed to carry around on the table, and said in a distracted, unenthusiastic voice, “Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s been a busy day. So yeah, if you want to sum up what you know, we can probably get you out of here soon.”
“Excuse me?” Seneca said sharply. She scoffed. “We have no interest in skimming over what happened. We want to tell you everything.”
Grieg’s eyebrow arched, and the look on his face was a mix of exhaustion and irritation. “Okaaaay.” He turned on a recorder. “Please state your names and ages.”
They did so, and when Grieg asked his next question—describe how you found Chelsea today—Seneca blurted, “Because her kidnapper sent us to her.”
Grieg’s face
clouded. He sat back and laced his hands across his waist. “Explain.”
There was a long, awkward silence. Aerin glanced around. Seneca raised an eyebrow at her, and Aerin took a breath.
She walked Grieg through how she’d met Brett, the search for Helena’s killer, and how they’d realized after the fact that Brett had fed them every clue that indicted Marissa Ingram. Maddox jumped in next, telling about receiving Brett’s letter. Seneca, Madison, and Thomas filled in the gaps of what the letter actually meant. Grieg’s pen hovered over the notebook, but he refrained from writing anything down. After about five minutes, he held up a hand. “I’m sorry, what does this have to do with Chelsea Dawson?”
Seneca looked like she was going to explode. “That’s what we’re getting to.”
She explained about Brett luring them to Avignon, how he broke into the B&B, how he fed them clues, and how he pushed Jeff to his death because Jeff had figured out his identity. “Then he fed us more clues that led to finding Chelsea at the vineyard. He knew when we were going to show up, so he cleaned up beforehand and got the hell out. But look, he’s killed others. If you don’t go after him now, he’s going to do it again.”
Then she sat back with a grave look on her face. Oddly, though, Grieg seemed completely emotionless. At one point, his gaze had even slipped to his phone. It was baffling. Maybe cops all had to develop a strong sense of stoicism, but Aerin had expected some reaction—shock, certainly, and then gratitude. After all, they’d basically done Grieg’s job for him, hadn’t they?
There was commotion in the hallway, and Aerin peered out the little square window. A K-9 dog sauntered by, its tongue wagging. A woman cop passed, her ear pressed to a cell phone. Finally, Grieg shut his notebook with a slap. He hadn’t written down a single word. “That’s all very interesting. But I don’t think you’re on the right track.”
Aerin blinked rapidly, her mouth suddenly tacky and dry. “Excuse me?”
“You think someone else did it?” Seneca blurted. “You have another suspect?” She laughed incredulously. “Whoever you think it is, you’re wrong.”