by Sara Shepard
He slumped back in the chair, feeling sour and sick. Clutching his cell phone, he checked Case Not Closed. No new messages. Fine. Whatever. You’re hiding it well, but I know this kills you, he mouthed to Seneca’s tall, straight back as she waltzed into the sunshine. And what’s coming next will bring you to your knees.
“Um, hello?”
On Camera A, Chelsea sat on the couch with perfect posture, staring at a brush in her hand—a brush he’d left for her on the bedside table. It made a pretty sound as she pulled it through the knots in her hair. “How many new followers?” she said in a quiet, sheepish voice. “If you don’t mind telling me.”
Brett smiled deliciously, his mood slowly shifting. “Nothing would delight me more.”
AERIN, SENECA, MADDOX, and Madison stood in the Conch B&B’s side yard, talking with a sweaty and flustered Bertha, who’d just returned home from the grocery store. “I’ve never, ever had a break-in,” she said, lovingly grabbing the scruff of Kingston’s neck. “This guy barks so loud he wakes up the whole neighborhood.” The dog let out a phlegmy snuffle.
Seneca shifted from foot to foot. “Well, someone got into my room. Maybe it was someone Kingston is familiar with? You said he’s friendly once you get to know him.”
Bertha narrowed her eyes, seeming to consider this.
“Do you have a dog walker?” Maddox asked. “Someone who does repairs on the place? Someone who stays here a lot?”
Bertha absently stroked Kingston’s fur. “I don’t have any regular guests except for Harvey, the gentleman you met in the dining room yesterday. He rents by the month.”
Aerin exchanged a glance with the others. Harvey had to be about eighty years old. Definitely not Brett.
“I use a few service people,” Bertha said. “I keep a list in my office.”
“Can we see it?” Seneca asked. “I promise we won’t call them and make accusations or anything. I just want to know how my necklace got bent. I’m sure you understand, right?”
Bertha muttered something under her breath, disappeared into the house, and returned with a crumpled list. Phone numbers for plumbers, electricians, a veterinarian, and something called a “paranormal spirit cleanser” stretched to the bottom of the page. Seneca took a photo of it and then everyone stepped off the porch.
After Bertha went back inside, Madison gritted her teeth. “I’ve called every other hotel, motel, and B&B up and down the coast. Everything’s fully booked. Even the local campground is too crowded. This is one of the most popular weekends of the summer. Should we sleep in our cars?”
“It doesn’t matter where we’re staying, Brett’s going to find us,” Seneca muttered, kicking at some gravel in the yard. “We might as well just stay here.”
“We’ll have to make sure every window is locked,” Maddox advised, peering up at the B&B. “And I think I saw an app that senses movement—we could activate it in our doorways when we go to sleep.”
Seneca slumped inside to tell Bertha they were keeping the rooms. When she returned, she said, “Okay, so this is what we know. Brett’s still here. Chelsea is probably still alive. And Brett’s definitely been to this inn if the dog knows him.”
Aerin tapped a line on the list. “Maybe he’s the guy who delivers her groceries? Or the handyman?”
“It could also be someone the dog comes in contact with on daily walks.” Madison gestured across the street, where a couple leaned down to pet a passing beagle. “Brett might not be on that list at all.”
“We also know that Brett was at the bonfire, overhearing the argument between Jeff and Chelsea,” Maddox said.
“And maybe spiking Jeff’s beer,” Seneca added.
Maddox nodded, though he looked less certain. “Jeff also said Chelsea was cheating on him, and he saw her texting someone all night.”
“She might have been communicating with someone,” Seneca pointed out as an SUV waved them across the road, “but it wasn’t by text. Her phone records show she didn’t write a single text all night. They’re still checking other social media apps, though.”
“We need to talk to all the kids at the bonfire.” Maddox sidestepped a big blue mailbox. “And the guy who threw the party.”
“Gabriel Wilton.” Seneca pointed to the surf shop on the corner. “Maybe someone who works in there was at the party and knows how we can contact him.” Then she looked at Aerin. “Did you learn anything from the cops?”
Aerin made a face. “Not really.” That morning, she and Madison had checked out the Chelsea Dawson search party on the bluffs near where the party had been held. People scoured the tall grass, and every time one of them found something—a coin, a bottle top, a gum wrapper—they put it in an evidence bag, though Aerin guessed it wasn’t evidence at all. They’d asked the cop in charge, Officer Nelson, if he could share investigation details, but he had shut them down.
Everyone headed for the surf shop, but Aerin stopped at an unoccupied bench. “You mind if I hang out here for a little? I need a few minutes to chill.”
Maddox looked at her worriedly. “Is it safe to stay out here by yourself?”
“I’ll hang out with you,” Madison volunteered. “If that’s okay.”
Aerin shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”
She watched as Seneca and Maddox crossed the street and walked into one of the surf shop’s entrances. Then she sat back, tilted her face to the sun, and tried to breathe calmly.
“Just so you know, I’m freaked as hell,” Madison murmured next to her. “Want to smoke some weed? That might help.”
“Nah.” Aerin hugged her chest. “I just can’t believe he was in the B and B.” Yet, paradoxically, she felt a little disappointed she hadn’t seen him when he’d snuck in. She had this perverse fantasy of tackling him in the hall and punching him in the face. I’m not going to let you live, she would say between blows. Vengeance for Helena would turn her superhuman. Her sheer will would knock him out cold.
But then she thought of Brett’s muscular arms and shoulders and felt a wave of hopelessness. She couldn’t take him. Maybe she couldn’t do this at all. And what if they never found Brett? Or worse, what if he got to them first?
She threw back her shoulders. Pull it together. She looked at Madison. “Want to start searching Instagram? Maybe we can find something in Chelsea’s account.”
“Definitely.”
Aerin opened Instagram on her phone and found Chelsea Dawson’s last post from the party the night she vanished. Chelsea’s resemblance to Helena was uncanny—she was even making the kind of face Helena would have made, a gleeful, happy smile with just a hint of flirtation.
She clicked on Chelsea’s profile, and other photos appeared. One was of Chelsea in a red bathing suit lying on her belly on a pool raft; she peered at the camera from over her shoulder, her sunglasses half-lowered.
“Whoa,” Madison said, pointing at the post. It had received 60,549 likes. It was an even bigger number than Aerin had seen when she first checked on Chelsea’s account.
Monthly, Chelsea did a special “update” video where she talked about what was going on in her life, her favorite makeup finds, and a silly feature called “The Cutest Cat on Planet Earth.” Some of the videos took place in a large, airy living room with floor-to-ceiling windows; Chelsea thanked someone named Ophelia at the end for letting her use the space. In the comments section, fans chimed in that they loved Benefit Benetint, too, that Chelsea looked gorgeous, and that they wanted to be her. In another photo, Chelsea’s hair was pulled into a topknot, her makeup was perfectly done, and she wore a ropy necklace. Aerin pressed the screen to view more comments. I love you so much, read one. And, You’re so beautiful. And, Girl crush! Then her gaze stopped on one that said, Love that dress. If you ever need a shopping buddy, I’m your guy.
The wording was so familiar. Where had Aerin heard that phrase before?
A light snapped on in Aerin’s mind. Brett. He’d said that to Aerin in Dexby. She clicked on the poster’s account. Hi
s name was Barnes Lombardi. All his photos were darkly lit, his face illuminated by candlelight, his eyes wide, almost all whites. She clicked on the first photo; Chelsea’s account was tagged on the very first photo. All I do is think of you, @ChelseaDFabXOXOX, he wrote in the caption. Someday, you’ll be mine.
Chelsea had replied. I already AM yours. Barnes replied with a tongue-wagging GIF.
Madison rolled her jaw, reading the comments, too. “So they know each other?”
“Not sure,” Aerin murmured.
Barnes had written several other odes to Chelsea, and Chelsea had flirtatiously and cheerfully commented on all—including quite a few comments the night of the party. But there was something overly blatant about her responses, almost like she was pouring it on too thick, like it was some kind of game between them.
Madison reached over and clicked on another of Barnes’s photos. Aerin could make out broad shoulders and a flat nose. Brett had those features, too. If only the pictures showed his eyes, but most of them were in shadow. Another photo showed a large purple fish swimming in a huge tank. Shittiest job ever, but at least I get to hang out with this beauty. The location was tagged at the Avignon Boardwalk Aquarium. Aerin recalled the poisonous fish in the tank at the B&B. Barnes’s name wasn’t on Bertha’s list, but perhaps she used him to feed the fish when she was out of town?
When she clicked on Barnes’s most recent post, she almost dropped her phone. It was of a beach bonfire and a close-up of a beer bottle. Party hardy, read the caption. The location was a few blocks away—at the condos where the party had been held.
Madison breathed in. “Is this him?”
The sun came out, sizzling the part in Aerin’s hair. She stared toward the blue horizon. The boardwalk was less than a mile away. “Should we check it out?”
“I think we have to,” Madison said.
Aerin ran her hand through her hair. “I feel so exposed, though. I want to see if it’s him…but I don’t want him to see us.”
A wrinkle formed on Madison’s brow. She rummaged through her oversized purse and pulled out a baseball cap. “Here.” She tossed it Aerin’s way, then slid on a pair of dark sunglasses. “I’ll pick up a hat once we get to the boardwalk.”
“Okay,” Aerin said, feeling a little steadier. She sent off a quick text to Seneca and Maddox to let them know what they were doing. As she rose, her phone bleated. She expected it to be Seneca’s response, but the phone was ringing. The screen read, Thomas. Her heart flipped over, but then she felt a surge of irritation. Hadn’t she made it clear she didn’t want him to contact her? She stabbed at the screen, ignoring the call, then jutted her chin into the air and started toward the boardwalk.
TEN MINUTES LATER, Aerin stepped onto the boardwalk. “Grease city,” Aerin mumbled to Madison, who’d picked up a tie-dyed baseball cap at a souvenir shop on the way and had the brim pulled down over her face. Aerin wasn’t talking just about the brightly painted stalls that sold funnel cakes, french fries, and fried Oreos, either—there was also an obscene amount of sweat glistening on the exposed skin of practically every tourist that passed.
Madison looked around cautiously. “If Brett really works here, where does he grab lunch? Wasn’t he always saying his body was a temple?”
Aerin shrugged, feeling too jittery to make simple conversation about the nutjob formerly known as Brett. “Come on. The aquarium is at the other end of the boardwalk.”
“But do you really think we’re going to recognize him?” Madison hurried to keep up as Aerin ducked around ambling tourists, kids on hoverboards, and a guy enthusiastically aiming a remote control at a drone in the sky.
“I will,” Aerin said in a steely voice.
They passed an arcade and an ice cream parlor, the sickly-sweet smell of waffle cones turning Aerin’s stomach. As she edged around a woman walking three large Labradors, someone by the railing caught her attention. A tall, brown-haired guy in a hoodie way too warm for the weather peered across the boardwalk. Aerin frowned. He was setting off every sketchy alarm in her head. She grabbed Madison’s wrist. “How do we know that guy?”
Madison stopped and squinted. “I don’t think we do….”
Aerin’s gaze remained on the figure. She’d met him. She could feel it. But before she could figure out where, the guy abruptly left the railing and strode quickly toward the parking lot, hood pulled tightly over his head. She watched him for a few seconds, trying to jar her memory, still feeling unsettled, until he disappeared into the crowd.
Madison’s phone pinged, and she looked at the screen. “It’s an update about Chelsea. The cops found very little, forensically. There were no witnesses in that parking lot where they found the blood. No stray hairs or strange footprints or additional clues. They interviewed kids at the party, witnesses who saw Chelsea. She hadn’t been acting strangely beforehand, no one could think of any enemies she had, and her parents didn’t have any enemies, either. They haven’t received a ransom note.”
Aerin recalled Chelsea’s parents, a fit, attractive couple in their midforties, scouring the grassy bluffs behind the condos that morning. Chelsea’s mother had dark circles under her eyes. Her father looked like he wanted to beat someone up. It had reminded her of her own parents when Helena had vanished.
Aerin pushed her hands into the pockets of her shorts and tried to process this information, but she was so addled and frightened by the task at hand, her brain felt like mush.
They ducked out of the way of an approaching tram, then walked down an empty stretch. The ocean was clearly visible over the railing, the tide coming in. Then Madison gave her a pointed look. “So are we going to talk about how you ignored a call from that cute Dexby cop, or is that not important?”
Aerin felt her cheeks sizzle. She hadn’t realized that Madison had noticed her screen. “I don’t know why he’s calling me,” she said quickly. “I didn’t tell him to.”
“Is he investigating the case?” Madison widened her eyes. “You didn’t tell him about Brett, did you?”
Aerin skirted around a couple holding hands, concentrating on the wooden slats in the boardwalk. There was no way she could tell Madison the truth. “Of course not. And anyway, he’s not a cop anymore.”
“So what does he want?” Madison had a knowing tone. When Aerin scoffed, she added, “I thought he was your boyfriend, once upon a time.”
Aerin jutted her chin high, feeling stung…and a little sad. “Thomas decided to go to college in New York a few months ago. So I ended it.”
Madison stared at her. The only sound was a thrumming techno song spilling from one of the junky T-shirt shops. “What school? The priesthood?”
“Of course not. It’s the New School. In the Village.”
“And for some reason that means you can’t be together?”
“It’s complicated, okay?” Aerin snapped. Beads of sweat had broken out on the back of her neck.
Madison squinted. “Try me.”
A lump formed in Aerin’s throat. “Long-distance relationships don’t work, okay? It’s just a fantasy. My dad moved to the city and was all, You’ll spend every weekend here! But I see him basically never.”
“So this is about your dad,” Madison said sagely.
“No!” Aerin practically roared. She slapped her hands to her sides. “Look, Thomas and I are too different—that’s why I broke up with him. And I didn’t want to talk to him today because he used to be a cop, and I worried Brett might figure it out somehow and get pissed.”
“Uh-huh.” Madison didn’t sound very convinced. Then she pointed. “Is that it?”
Ahead of them was a long stucco building that stretched for a full ocean block and smelled like bleach. Fourth Street Aquarium, read a tired-looking banner. Free to the public. The lobby was dark and murky, and just inside, two tunnels branched to the right and left. Fish tanks glowed eerily. A glassy-eyed stingray flapped past. An angelfish had a huge chunk missing from its fin.
Madison made a face. “I hop
e they’re giving the fish antidepressants.”
Aerin swallowed hard. The seedy vibe wasn’t helping her growing fear. She adjusted her cap to make sure all her hair was hidden.
They headed to the right, avoiding the rambunctious kids. Some of the fish tanks were empty, and others were dirty with algae, the creatures only half-visible through greenish scum. The farther they got down the tunnel, the colder and darker the air became, almost like they were walking into a giant freezer. Aerin searched for Brett’s face swimming up from the darkness, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She was grateful for Madison walking next to her, though, and almost reached for her hand several times. She couldn’t imagine doing this alone.
“This is a dead end,” Madison said once they’d walked past endless tanks. “And I don’t see anyone working here.”
Aerin caught sight of a door in the distance, figuring it was a way out. She headed for it and noticed it was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and hurried through, eager for warm air and light. To her surprise, she found herself in a long black hallway, not the sunny boardwalk she’d expected. She wheeled around, disoriented.
Slam. Suddenly, Aerin was enveloped in darkness.
“Hey!” Aerin lunged for the door handle. It didn’t turn. “Hello?” she screamed, banging on it with her fist. “Madison? Get me out!”
“I’m trying!” Madison called from the other side. “It’s stuck!”
Aerin heard a small sound from the other end of the dark hallway and stiffened. Her heartbeat was swishing in her ears. Settle down. No one had shut her in here on purpose. Right?
“I’m going to get help!” Madison cried through the door.
Aerin whipped around. “No!” She didn’t want to be left alone. She clawed at the knob again. “Madison?” she called. “Madison!” There was no answer.
Nausea roiled in her gut. She tried to control her breathing, but it was as though she’d forgotten the mechanics. Then she heard the faintest noise down the hall. Someone was there. Goose bumps prickled on her arms. “H-hello?”
