by Sara Shepard
A girl named Hailey Garafalo uploaded pics of pretty blond girls singing into a karaoke machine, a montage of people’s feet, and Gabriel giving a speech. The pictures were time-stamped between 9:05 p.m. and 9:14 p.m., hours before Chelsea went down that path. They waded through more, finally coming to a picture of the bonfire at 10:45—around the time Jeff said he and Chelsea argued. Alistair provided a photo of three guys sitting on a log, holding their beers up in a toast. One of them was photo-tagged J.T. While most of his face was in shadow, there was something reminiscent about his posture. He was about Brett’s height and weight. Maddox felt a chill.
“Has anyone talked to him?” Aerin murmured, her gaze on J.T., too.
“He hasn’t uploaded pictures yet,” Madison murmured. She found his number on the guest list, called, and put it on speaker. Everyone was silent as the phone rang. Maddox heard a sleepy voice answer. Madison introduced herself as a friend of Chelsea’s who was trying to figure out what went down the night of the party. “We’re putting together a PhotoCircle. If you want to share anything—”
“I didn’t take any pictures,” J.T. interrupted, his voice flat. “And really, I don’t understand how another PhotoCircle is going to help anything.”
“We’re just trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle,” Madison said smoothly. “Do you at least remember Jeff and Chelsea fighting that night?”
“Yeah. They were near the dunes. She seemed pissed.”
“And then she ran away?”
“Yep. Down the path.”
“Did anyone follow her?”
“Not that I remember.” J.T. let out a yawn. “Except for Jeff.”
Madison picked impatiently at her fingernails. “Do you remember who else was sitting with you at the bonfire?”
“Not really.”
The silence felt desolate. Everyone exchanged skeptical glances. “Well, thanks anyway,” Madison finally said. She hung up and looked at the group, clearly at a loss.
“He sounded stoned,” Aerin grumbled.
“Or he could be lying,” Madison said. “Maybe he’s Brett.” Her fingers flew. She typed his full name, Justin Thomas Rose, into Google. A Periscope account came up. At first, the video was of a shaky ride down a street in midtown New York City, probably filmed on a GoPro. But then J.T. turned the camera on himself and started narrating. With his olive skin and wide-set eyes, he didn’t really look like Brett. Then Madison pointed at the date that popped up on a digital scroll snaking around the outside of NBC Studios. It was April 19, a few months ago.
“Even if this guy did look like Brett, he can’t be Brett,” Madison concluded. “On April nineteenth, we were in Dexby, at Kevin Larssen’s engagement party. Not even Brett can be two places at once.”
“So he’s telling the truth,” Maddox said. He was about to ask if they’d gotten anything useful from J.T. when a knock sounded on the door. Madison opened it, and Seneca and Jeff strode through. They weren’t walking very close together, but their posture was friendly and relaxed. “Hey.” Seneca’s gaze drifted to Maddox for a split second. He looked away quickly, then scolded himself and gave her a small smile.
“Good idea about the PhotoCircle,” Madison announced. “People are sending in a lot of pictures.”
Everyone sat and flipped through more images. At the end of a long stream of pictures from a girl named Brianna Morton of the same four friends sitting on a chaise, a blurry photo popped up. “Huh,” Seneca said, stopping on it anyway. Maddox leaned in. The shot showed a view out a window of the intersection in front of the condos. It was time-stamped 11:02 p.m.
Seneca pointed at a figure in the upper right corner, half-hidden behind a parked car. Though he was in the distance, the image was clear. The guy seemed tall and lanky.
Aerin gasped. “It’s him.” She looked at Madison. “That kid we saw on the boardwalk. The one I swear we knew from somewhere.”
Jeff squinted. He made a face. “I think it’s…Corey Robinson.”
Seneca scrunched up her nose. “Why do I know that name?”
Jeff’s eyes darted. “I doubt you’ve met him. He keeps to himself. He wasn’t invited to the party as far as I know. People…talk about him.”
“What do they say?” Madison asked.
“Someone told me he brought a gun to his high school in Delaware a couple years ago. Got expelled immediately.” Jeff rubbed his temples. “He always comes to parties and just sits on the chair with a beer. Stares. It makes some people uncomfortable.”
Seneca widened her eyes, and Maddox knew they were thinking the same thing. He looked at the time again. 11:02 p.m. If Jeff’s timeline about that night was accurate, that was right when Chelsea walked down the path. Why was Corey standing on the street by himself? Was he trying to crash the party?
“Was this kid at the bonfire?” Maddox asked.
Jeff shook his head. “I don’t remember seeing him, but…”
Seneca suddenly had a light in her eyes. “Does Corey work at the Island Time Café?”
Jeff nodded. “I think so.”
Maddox’s mouth dropped open. “He talked to us.” He tried to remember the few moments they’d had with the kid their first afternoon here. He’d jumped right in on their conversation about Chelsea. It felt like a slap. Had Brett been practically the first person they’d met here?
“That café allows dogs,” Madison said, amazement in her voice. “Bertha has an Island Time magnet on the fridge that says so. Maybe she goes there with Kingston? That could be how the dog knows him.”
Seneca glanced at Jeff. “We’ve figured out that whoever took Chelsea also has a reason to get into the B and B we’re staying at. It’s a long story.”
“And maybe he was following us to the boardwalk,” Aerin said. “It’s such a strange coincidence that he was right there, in the crowd….”
“Jesus,” Seneca said, pressing her hand to her forehead.
“That dude took Chelsea?” Jeff’s voice was hoarse. “Him?”
“We have to call the girl who posted this,” Seneca said. “Make sure she didn’t see anything.”
“I doubt she realized she took this photo at all,” Maddox murmured.
Jeff exhaled sharply. When Maddox looked over, the guy had turned pale. “Whoa,” Maddox said, jumping to his feet and catching Jeff just before he crumpled to the ground. “Take a breath.”
“Sorry,” Jeff said shakily. “This is just so…intense. I mean, I know that guy.”
“Get him inside,” Seneca said, quickly pulling the sliding door open.
Maddox walked Jeff into the condo and deposited him on Gabriel’s white couch, where he collapsed into a heap. Moments later, Seneca returned with two cool glasses of water. Jeff drank his down quickly, sending her a grateful smile. “I’m going to go back outside and look through the PhotoCircle,” she said. “Maddox, can you stay with him?”
“I’m fine,” Jeff insisted. “Really.”
But Maddox nodded at Seneca, and she returned outside. He focused on Jeff again. Pieces of hair stuck to Jeff’s sweaty forehead, and he’d stripped off his sweatshirt and now had on a sleeveless Billabong tee. His eyes were glazed and unfocused—it seemed as though he’d had a full-on panic attack. Maddox changed the channel on the TV, worried that the program he’d been watching about hurricanes might stress Jeff out. But as soon as he saw what was on the screen—a Philly news broadcast of Chelsea’s disappearance—he winced and changed the channel again. SpongeBob appeared. Hopefully that was harmless enough.
“Just relax,” Maddox said awkwardly. “We’re all shaken up.”
“Yeah.” Jeff’s voice was strained. He picked at a frayed hem in his shorts. “Um, you asked who I was talking to on the phone. It was just this girl I know from school. A friend. She’s kind of a drama queen. Freaked out when she saw me on the news. I tried to calm her down, but she was going crazy, and I was getting frustrated at her.”
Maddox wanted to ask why Jeff hadn’t just said that
from the start, but the guy was looking at him so beseechingly that he decided to let it go. Jeff probably wasn’t worth wondering about. There’s no way he was Brett, and it was clear he hadn’t kidnapped Chelsea, either. “No worries,” he murmured.
The cartoon cut to a commercial about water balloons, and Maddox shut his eyes. The notion that Brett might have been right there, practically the first moment they’d set foot in Avignon, shook him. He felt a sense of urgency, like they needed to call out this Corey guy right now. But he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. And they had to play it cool. Alerting Brett that they were onto him might make him do something rash.
“It’s pretty amazing that she figured this out,” Jeff said in a croaky voice. “I mean, without her? I’d probably be going to jail.”
Maddox turned his head with a start, at first not understanding whom Jeff was talking about. Jeff had a wistful smile on his face, and his gaze was on the patio, where Seneca was pacing around. Maddox swallowed awkwardly, all at once very aware of what was going through Jeff’s head. He thought he’d picked up on something.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Definitely. But, um, just so you know, she’s kind of off the market.”
Jeff shifted on the couch. “Huh?”
Maddox studied his knuckles, feeling slimy for talking about this—but, hey, he might as well spare Jeff the pain. “I mean, she doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything. But all she cares about is this case. She has no room for anything else right now. Especially…relationships.”
Jeff’s jaw twitched. “Oh?”
“I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just…” He laughed sadly. “I know it firsthand.”
Jeff pushed his toe into one of the perfect vacuum lines on the carpet. “Huh. Well, good to know.” Then he stood, pulling his sweatshirt back over his head. “Um, I’m going to jet.”
Maddox frowned in surprise, taking in Jeff’s ashen pallor. “You still look pretty weak, man.”
“I’m fine.” Jeff avoided eye contact and made a big production of putting his shoes on. “I should get back to my family. I’ll see you later, okay? And thanks for everything. I mean it.”
“Okay,” Maddox croaked, hoping he hadn’t misstepped. He’d thought telling Jeff would help him, not destroy him further.
Once Jeff slumped out the door, Maddox collapsed in his spot on the couch. SpongeBob came back on the TV, but he stared at the screen without absorbing the story.
When the door to the patio slid open, he jumped. Seneca stood on the carpet, her eyes searching the room. “Where’s Jeff?”
“He…had something to do. Why?”
Seneca hurried into the condo. There was something about her movements that seemed antsy and troubled, not angry. “What is it?” Maddox asked, propping himself up.
She sat next to him on the couch. Her proximity both excited him and made him horribly nervous. “We found another photo,” she said in a low voice.
“Of Jeff?”
“No. But something from that night.” Seneca showed her phone to Maddox. It was another out-the-window shot, time-stamped shortly after the first. But this time, there were two figures. The girl stood with her arms crossed and her body arched away. The guy—gaunt, gangly—bent toward her, his arms outstretched menacingly.
“It’s Corey,” Seneca said. “With Chelsea.”
BRETT SAT UNDER a beach umbrella and peered through binoculars at the condo’s balcony. Jeff and Maddox had just gone inside. Their shoulders were squared. There was an air of seriousness about them. Were they off to have a conversation, too, something like the one Jeff and Seneca had had earlier? Not that Brett had been able to hear everything, but he knew parts of it had been deep. He’d also heard a little bit about a PhotoCircle. Look through as many photos as you want. Knock yourself out.
Just as he was getting a good, long look at Seneca, Aerin, and Madison on the balcony—Aerin had no idea that he could see a little down her shirt when she leaned over—static crackled on the iPad on his lap. An app showed a closed-captioned feed of Camera A. Chelsea stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring her reflection. “That’s right,” he murmured. It was incredible what a shower and new clothes could do for the psyche. Even prisoners wanted to look pretty for their last meal.
A Bruce Springsteen song he loved lilted through the air from a nearby radio, and he lay back on his elbows and tilted his head to the sky. Some days, it was really good to be him. But he only allowed himself to enjoy a few self-congratulatory moments before peering at the condo again. He could just make out Jeff and Maddox through the windows in the living room. They were sitting close together, talking. After a moment, Jeff rose and left.
Brett scowled. Why did they all think Jeff was such a gem? He thought of all the times Chelsea had come to him last year, crying, distraught, insecure. Jeff never compliments me. He says my beauty is beside the point. Once, Jeff wrote a song for Chelsea where he compared her to an African elephant, the strongest and most beautiful matriarch on the savanna. A goddamn elephant! He thinks I’m fat and disgusting! And then there was the day three months ago when she told him the secret Jeff had finally confessed. Brett had demanded to know why she still hung out with him—she should cut him off, then and there. Chelsea had shrugged. He knows what I think about him—it’s why we broke up. But we have a long history. It’s complicated.
Then she’d leaned in and fluttered those pretty lashes, and Brett knew what she wanted. And he was more than happy to give it to her.
Brett noticed a familiar figure starting down the beach with a surfboard under his arm and flinched. Speak of the devil. He hurriedly shoved the iPad, remote, and binoculars into his bag and zipped it up in the nick of time.
“Hey,” Jeff said, suddenly above him. He looked surprised. “What are you doing here?”
Brett laced his hands behind his head and gave him a friendly smile. “Just enjoying a little me time. You?”
“Yeah. Same.” Jeff stared at him. Brett tried not to bristle, but suddenly, Jeff’s gaze felt…intrusive. Almost like he knew that tucked inside his bag was a camera feed of his precious ex-girlfriend. Could he know? Brett didn’t blink, thinking innocent thoughts. Though Jeff waved and turned a second later, heading for the water, there was something distracted about his walk, as though he was thinking something through. Seneca and the others didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, but Jeff almost did—it was one of the reasons Brett planted the seed of Jeff’s guilt. And now that he was working with Seneca, he might put the pieces together even faster. Maybe something more needed to be done.
Pulling out his phone, he logged on to CNC and looked at Seneca’s message thread. Chuckling softly, he thought about the new message he would send…and what he had in store. It was perfect. And it was going to blow them all away.
AT A FEW minutes to six the next morning, Seneca stood with the others at the locked front door of Island Time Café. A mild wind whipped her hair. She felt eyes on her back, but when she turned, the only people she saw were an elderly couple vigorously power walking on the path across the street that paralleled the ocean. Kate, the woman with a blond ponytail they’d met the first morning they’d arrived here, padded through the café’s front room, setting up for morning customers.
Seneca glanced again at the photo of Corey they’d found yesterday, standing next to Chelsea. Though the whole photo was blurry, Brianna’s intention had been to take a picture of herself and her friends, all holding up drinks in a toast; Corey had no idea he’d been captured in the background. They’d called Brianna about the picture, though they suspected she had no idea what she’d caught on camera. Trouble was, Brianna hadn’t yet called them back.
The guy in the photo was definitely Brett’s height, and though his hair was cut differently and she didn’t remember his face being so angular, this lined up with their theory that he had lost some weight. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see it.
As a large clock in the center square struck six, Kate
leisurely strolled over and unlocked the door. “Hey,” she said sleepily to the group as she let them in. The room smelled like espresso beans, and the only sounds were the pop radio station turned on low and the burbling of the coffee percolator. Magazines were neatly fanned out on the low coffee table by two large orange couches, and the muffins behind the glass at the counter stood in perfect, even lines.
“What can I get for you?” Kate asked as she walked back behind the counter.
Seneca cleared her throat. “Actually, we’re here to ask about Corey Robinson.”
Something flickered across Kate’s face. She focused on a slip of paper by the register. “Corey doesn’t work here anymore.”
A jolt went through Seneca. “What?”
“He quit yesterday.” Kate pushed a register button, and the drawer shot open. Her voice was flat, guarded. “Just walked out.”
“Do you know why?” Aerin asked. “Or where he went?”
“He didn’t say. Sorry.” She shot them a tight smile.
Seneca sank into her hip. “He didn’t give you an excuse?”
Kate kept her eyes down. “He seemed to be in a hurry.”
“Where is he from?” Seneca was desperate for anything, even if it was one of Brett’s lies. Moments before, they’d felt so close.
“Delaware, I think.” Kate’s gaze was cold. “Did you guys want to order or what?”
Everyone looked at each other. Seneca tapped her lip, trying another tack. “Can you show me the application he filled out to work here?”
Something fluttered across Kate’s face, but it submerged quickly. “That’s private.”
“You can block out his social security number. All we’re looking for is the address he listed.”
“Uh, unless you’re the police, I don’t have to—”
