by Sara Shepard
Aerin felt breathless. “Are you stalking me?”
“No,” Thomas said quickly. “I just had a hunch you’d come, and I didn’t have anything going on, so I decided to check things out, too. And then when I was driving into town, I saw you and Seneca climbing up these steps. And then, well, I asked the lady at the front desk where you were staying. I said I was a friend.” He looked sheepish. “I’m sorry—I just felt like I needed to talk to you, now. Do you think that Brett guy has something to do with Chelsea’s disappearance?”
Aerin felt the blood drain from her face. She’d forgotten that she’d told Thomas about Brett—it had been months ago, right before they’d gone on their singular date to Sully’s Pizza. “You didn’t tell anyone about that, did you?”
“Of course not,” Thomas said. “But I think—”
“Because I’m wrong. It’s a crazy theory.”
A breeze blew through the open window, and Aerin got a noseful of salt-scented air. All of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe. She thought of the disastrous dinner at Sully’s. It had been shortly after Marissa Ingram was arrested. All the hubbub about the case was beginning to die down, and Aerin had hoped she and Thomas could settle into…well, something.
Listen, Thomas had said. I liked being a cop, but it was always a means to an end. I needed a way to pay for college. A few days ago, I got an acceptance letter for the New School, in the city. It’s a partial scholarship, including room and board. I think I’m going to do it. I’d start summer semester.
Aerin had stared at him. Wait, you’re leaving?
Not right away, Thomas had said. Even when I do, you can visit. It’ll be fun! And, hey, maybe you can go to school in the city next year!
Aerin had imagined Thomas living in a college dorm. Decorating it with his grandma’s afghans and tchotchkes—his parents struggled with addiction, so his grandma had more or less raised him. A pretty girl from down the hall also there for the summer semester would find him charming. They’d have late-night study sessions in some adorably seedy Greenwich Village diner; one thing would lead to another. By the end of the night, he’d barely remember Aerin’s name.
And then it would be over. Aerin could see it all unfurled before her, practically a foregone conclusion. Why endure that? She’d stood from the table. Sorry, but I don’t do long-distance relationships. Too messy. Then she’d left. Only when she got home did she slump onto the round nursery-rhyme rug she’d had since she was a baby and let the tears roll down her cheeks. Everyone always left her. Helena. Her parents. Now Thomas.
“Listen, you need to get out of here, Aerin,” Thomas said now. “Brett sounds nuts. It could get dangerous.”
Aerin jolted at Brett’s name, a horrible thought striking her. What if Brett didn’t know Thomas was no longer a cop? If Brett saw them talking, he might assume she was telling on him. Chelsea would not die because of her. And Brett couldn’t slip away.
“You have to leave,” she said. “Now.”
Thomas’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”
Aerin glanced around frantically. What if Brett had bugged this room? What if he’d seen Thomas come into the B&B? It all suddenly seemed so likely. “Thomas, get out of here. I mean it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Chelsea looks exactly like your sister, and that’s…weird. Too weird to be a coincidence. Your hunch about Brett might be right.”
“You’re not hearing me. Leave right now, or I’ll scream.”
Thomas blinked. “Wait, really?”
She stared at all the junk in the room so she wouldn’t have to look at him—the large portrait of a mostly naked mermaid, a stack of vintage books all with Sex in the titles. “Yes. Really.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas raise his hands in surrender and back into the hall. “Fine,” he grumbled. As he turned, she heard him faintly mutter, “Excuse me for being worried.”
And then he was gone.
“OH, RIGHT,” SENECA heard a voice call as she stood over the espresso machine in the B&B’s tiny kitchen Tuesday morning. “I forgot about your love of macchiatos. No drip sludge for you, huh?”
Maddox slumped in the doorway, looking sporty—and admittedly cute—in a University of Oregon Nike tee that showed off his broad shoulders, and gray board shorts that accentuated his muscular calves.
“I’m a snob,” she said, shooing away Kingston the dog as he tried once again to stick his nose in her crotch—it seemed to be his way of getting to know people. Then she grabbed her cup from under the gurgling milk steamer. “We’re taking your Jeep, right? I’m ready.”
Aerin and Madison were spending the morning checking out the search party for Chelsea on the beach, so Seneca and Maddox were going to track down Jeff Cohen—aka the police’s person of interest. As Seneca climbed into Maddox’s Jeep, she looked at her texts. She had two new ones. Brian was cool about her taking a few days off, but her father was proving to be a tougher customer. Can you send me address where you are staying? Phone #?
Seneca tried not to jump into defensive mode. It was a miracle her dad was even allowing her out of his sight. Not that she’d told him the truth of why she was here, only that she was going to the beach with Aerin for a few days—it would be a nice vacation. Her dad agreed and even got kind of nostalgic. He said that the family had visited the Jersey Shore area when Seneca was little and really enjoyed it, not that Seneca remembered. She hated lying again—it had been dreadful when her dad had ambushed her in Dexby—but what could she say? Hey, I think I’ve found Mom’s killer, and I’m going to Jersey to hunt him down?
She wanted to tell her dad about Brett. Desperately. The thing was, Brett’s letter held a lot of power, but not enough proof—and her dad needed proof as much as she did. After Collette’s body was found, their neighbors, parents from Seneca’s school, other accountants at her dad’s work—well, they’d all acted sort of strange around her father. Standoffish, definitely, but also kind of…suspicious.
Aunt Terri, her dad’s sister, had stayed with them for a month after her mom’s body was found. One night, Seneca overheard Terri murmur something in the kitchen, while drinking a glass of wine. People aren’t going to say they think you did it, but you know that’s what some of them are thinking.
Her father hadn’t replied. Aunt Terri had sniffed, like she thought he was being naive.
Seneca had frozen on the stairs, where she’d been listening in. Her father definitely wasn’t guilty. They were blaming him because he was the husband, and the husband was always the first suspect.
Because the murder was never solved, little things in their lives never quite shifted back to normal. From then on, proving her dad’s innocence to everyone, anyone, was almost as important a reason to solve the murder as finding justice for her mother was.
But while she almost had Brett, she didn’t have him yet. And until she did, she didn’t want her father to know what she was up to. She needed uninterrupted time to look for Brett if she ever wanted a chance of catching him.
“Hear anything from Brett?” Maddox asked.
Seneca shook her head. She’d been checking her CNC in-box like a fiend. “Not yet.”
Maddox nodded, then looked at her again. There was a small smile on his chiseled, tanned face. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but he just opened and closed his mouth a few times.
“What?” Seneca finally said.
Maddox’s throat bobbed. “I, um, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. This summer.”
Seneca blinked, then became very still.
“About what you must be going through. With Brett, with your mom—I can’t imagine it. And, well—” He paused and stared at his hands on the wheel. His face crumpled with misery. “It kills me. But I also realize it might be something that’s so big and awful you don’t have the words to talk about it. Which is totally okay. But just know…I’m thinking about you. And…I’m here, in case you want to talk.”
Seneca’s face felt hot with a
mix of gratitude and something else—embarrassment, maybe, because her past made her feel like a freak show on a good day, and Brett had just amped it up another few notches. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Maddox nodded, but by the set of his jaw, she could tell he wasn’t done with what he had to say. “I made a huge mistake in Dexby, too. That kiss you saw with my coach, and how you and I left things—I was such an ass. You mean so much to me, Seneca. I’ve never met anyone like you. And I’d love to be with you. No complications. No mixed messages. We just get each other, you know? And I just wonder…well, if you want to give this a shot.”
Seneca made a big deal of adjusting her seat belt, too stunned to reply. On one hand, it was tempting. She missed their old connection, and there was still a part of her that felt drawn to him, her gaze resting on his sharp, handsome features and toned body, her nose twitching at his familiar, pleasant smell, her mind cycling through their kiss at the oddest of times. She was touched, too, that he’d felt brave enough to admit he still liked her—looking uncool wasn’t Maddox’s MO.
But when she tried to process them as a couple, her mind stalled. She swallowed hard and glanced at Maddox. He looked so earnest and expectant that her heart broke a little.
“You’re right,” she said gently. “There are no words to describe what Brett’s letter is doing to my head. But with us searching for him…well, it’s the only thing I can think about right now. I don’t really have any room inside for anything else, you know?”
“Of course you don’t!” Maddox said brightly—almost too brightly. “You’re totally right. We need to focus on the case. No worries.”
Then he stared straight ahead, his expression forcibly cheery. Seneca gnawed on her lips. She longed for something to say to erase this awkwardness, but she couldn’t come up with anything.
They passed the boardwalk, an arcade, and several huge houses on the beach in silence, neither of them saying a word. Finally, they pulled up to Jeff’s address, a white bungalow about half a block from the beach access ramp. The driveway was empty, but a news van was parked at the curb. A reporter and a cameraman stood on the front porch.
Someone answered from inside. A discussion ensued, and the door shut again. The reporter stepped off the curb and trudged back to the truck. Maddox frowned. “So much for that plan.”
“Hold on.” Seneca waited for the van to pull away, then slid out her door. She walked up the front path and onto the porch, head held high. When she twisted the doorknob, Maddox caught her arm. “Breaking and entering?” he whispered. “Really?”
“It’s already open. We’re fine.”
The front room was dark and littered with coffee cups, beach towels, bottles of sunscreen, and other random items that indicated whoever was staying here wasn’t a huge fan of tidying up. A long floral couch was pushed up against one wall, and the TV seemed to be playing a local public-access channel, because it only showed a shot of the flat gray ocean. There was a Gibson Les Paul guitar propped up against a wooden chair, and a beat-up acoustic lying on the table. She heard voices murmuring in the back room and called out, “Excuse me?”
The voices stopped. “We need to get out of here,” Maddox whispered.
“We need to talk to Jeff,” Seneca said through the corner of her mouth.
“What if this dude had some hand in kidnapping Chelsea, too? Maybe he helped Brett. Brett doesn’t frame innocent people. This guy could be bad news.”
“Trust me, I’ve been wondering about that, too,” Seneca said. “But I think it’s worth it to talk to him, even if it’s for a second. We need to see what he’s all about.”
“Hello?”
A shirtless guy in floral swim trunks appeared in the hall. Seneca couldn’t help but notice that his stomach was so toned that she could make out every ab bump. He had a scruffy almost-beard, and his wavy dark hair had been pulled into the same bun she’d seen in his picture on the news yesterday.
“Who are you?” the guy finally asked.
Seneca blinked, then stood a little straighter. “I’m Seneca. This is my friend Maddox. Isn’t this Sadie’s house? We’re visiting for the weekend.”
The guy shook his head. “That’s not us. Try next door.”
“Okay, thanks.” Seneca counted to three in her head, then widened her eyes. “Wait. You look familiar. Are you the one on the news who—”
“Nice try.” Someone appeared behind Jeff. He was shorter, with thick muscles, an enormous neck, and pale, almost-translucent skin that probably turned pink the moment he stepped on the beach, but he and Jeff shared the same square jaws and round, brooding eyes. “Like we just told the news guys, my brother’s not answering questions.”
“Yeah, Seneca, let’s go,” Maddox said through his teeth.
“Listen, my friend’s sister disappeared five years ago,” Seneca blurted. Maddox could leave if he wanted, but she definitely wouldn’t. “We helped figure out what happened to her. I know the police are questioning you, but I also know you didn’t do anything to Chelsea Dawson.”
There was a long, pointed silence. Jeff’s brother groaned. “Get out of here, or we’re calling the cops.”
“Wait, Marcus.” Jeff walked a few steps toward her. Even in the dim light, his green eyes sparkled. A million years ago, Seneca had gone to a rocks and minerals exhibit in Baltimore with her mom, and though the diamonds and other precious gems were pretty, they lingered at a huge chunk of aventurine—its cool, calm, bottomless celery-green hue put them both at ease. Jeff’s irises were the same color. “Do you know what happened to Chelsea?” he whispered.
“No. But I know you didn’t hurt her. I think someone is setting you up.”
“Who?”
Seneca looked away. “I can’t tell you that. But if you work with us, we’ll help prove your innocence.”
Marcus sighed dramatically. “Just leave, okay? This isn’t doing my brother any good. I’m counting to ten.”
“Please?” Seneca asked. “Look, I know how this must feel for you. You’re worried about someone you care about.” She licked her lips, not wanting to say what she was going to say next—but also knowing she needed to. “I was in the same situation,” she blurted. “My mother disappeared five years ago. She was murdered.”
“Seneca!” Maddox hissed, giving her a look that said, Are you sure that’s a good idea?
But Seneca didn’t take her eyes off Jeff. His lips were trembling; she could tell he was softening. “And if we don’t work quickly to find Chelsea, who knows what he’ll do to her,” she added. “So please. Please. Help us.”
“I’m counting to ten,” Marcus said. “One…two…”
Jeff fiddled uncomfortably with a black Fitbit on his wrist. Seneca was wearing the same exact one; she knew that the rubber got sticky if you sweated too much. When he met Seneca’s gaze again, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll tell you what I know.”
JEFF GESTURED FOR Maddox and Seneca to sit on the faded couch. As Maddox plopped down, the cushion billowed dustily around him and he could feel stray grains of sand finding their way into his shorts. Seneca chose wisely to perch on the couch’s arm, her gaze pointedly avoiding his. He could tell she was shaken. Her voice had quavered when she’d mentioned her mom in exactly the same way it had when she told him there was no space in her brain for anything but finding Brett.
He sucked in his stomach, briefly reliving the supreme awkwardness that had been Seneca’s gentle brush-off. He’d never put himself so nakedly out there before…and he’d never felt so rejected in his life. At least talking to Jeff provided a distraction.
“Do you mind giving us some background information about Chelsea and how you got involved with her?” Seneca asked, her eyes narrowing keenly.
Marcus clucked his tongue. “This is a mistake, dude. Dad’s going to be pissed. And Clarence told you not to talk to anyone.”
Jeff gave him a tortured, pleading look. “I’m just going to tell them the truth. The s
ame story as I told Clarence.”
“So your family is here?” Seneca asked. “And who’s Clarence?”
Jeff plucked something from a woven basket by the chair. At first Maddox thought it was a seashell, but as Jeff turned his palm over, it looked more like a pointy red crystal. “My brother and I came down last week, but my parents are on their way from Philly. And Clarence is my lawyer.” He squeezed the stone hard, his expression pained.
Seneca pointed to it. “What is that?”
“Red jasper. It’s supposed to have centering properties. Give you strength.” He stared down at it. “I’ve been sort of…hanging with it. Letting its power seep into me.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep, centering breath through his nose. Maddox resisted rolling his eyes. New Age stuff always made him uncomfortable—did Jeff really buy into it, or was this all a weird act? He glanced again at the crystal. One end was dagger-sharp; it could do some damage. With the drawn shades, the tightly closed front door, and Marcus’s looming presence, he began to grow uneasy.
“I’ve known Chelsea for two years,” Jeff said. His voice was low. Gravelly. Almost trancelike. “We met here, but we go to colleges close to each other in Philly. She’s at Villanova, and I’m at Temple. Things were great for a while.…We were so connected. Until she got into the whole Instagram thing.”
“She posts a lot,” Seneca encouraged. “She has a lot of followers.”
Jeff opened his eyes. His mouth became small and pinched. “Have you seen some of their comments? It’s disgusting.”
“So when did you break up?” Maddox asked.
Jeff stared at the carpet. “Three months ago.”
“Was there a reason?”
He shrugged. “We just…drifted.”
“Was the breakup contentious?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But you were fighting the night of the party,” Maddox argued. “What was that all about?”
