Two Can Keep a Secret

by Karen M. McManus

  “Nice kid,” he says gruffly. He shuffles his feet, looking antsy and ready to move on. Ezra taps his watch and raises his brows at me. Get to the point.

  “The worst thing is, I know something was bothering her before she disappeared,” I say. “We were supposed to get together on Sunday so she could tell me what was going on, but we never got the chance. And it’s killing me.” Tears spring into my eyes, still close to the surface from my conversation with Sadie, and spill down my cheeks. I’m playing a part, but Sadie’s always said the best acting happens when you’re emotionally connected to the scene. I’m torn up enough about what happened to Brooke to pull it off. “I just— I wish I knew what she needed.”

  Vance rubs his jaw. Rocks back on his heels, twists to look at the crowd over his shoulder. “I don’t like getting involved,” he mumbles. “Not with people in this town, and especially not with the police.”

  “Me either,” I say quickly. “We’re total outsiders here. Brooke was—is—one of my only friends.” I fish around in my bag for a Kleenex and blow my nose.

  “She asked me a strange question last week.” Vance speaks quietly, in a rush, and my heart leaps into my throat. “Wanted to know how to pick a lock.” A shifty expression crosses his face. “Not sure why she’d think I’d know. I told her to Google it, or watch a YouTube video or something. Or just use a couple of paper clips.”

  “Paper clips?” I ask.

  Vance swats at a hovering bug. “Those work sometimes. So I’m told. Anyway…” He meets my gaze, and I see a glimmer of something like kindness in his bloodshot eyes. “That’s a thing that was on her mind. So now you know.”

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling a pinprick of shame for manipulating him. “You have no idea how much that helps.”

  “Well. You tell your mother I said hello.” He tips his baseball cap and shuffles past Ezra, who brings his hands together in a slow clap once Vance is out of hearing range.

  “Well played, El. Although that guy’s never gonna let you live down the loss.”

  “I know,” I sigh, digging for another Kleenex to dry my still-damp cheeks. As I watch Vance melt into the crowd, a prickle of excitement works its way up my spine. “Did you hear what he said, though? He told Brooke to pick a lock with paper clips.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So that’s what she was holding in the House of Horrors office, remember? A straightened paper clip. I took it from her. She said something like, This is harder than he said it would be.” My voice climbs with anticipation, and I force it back down. “She was trying to pick a lock right then and there. And we interrupted her.”

  “The desk, maybe?” Ezra wonders.

  I shake my head. “I get stuff out of that desk all the time. It isn’t locked. But—” Heat floods my face as I remember where Brooke was sitting. “But I think I know what is.”

  MALCOLM

  THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3

  By Thursday, search parties for Brooke aren’t limited to school hours anymore. There’s one this afternoon, covering the woods behind the Nilssons’ house. Peter’s a volunteer captain, and when I get home from band practice he’s loading a cardboard box filled with flyers, bottled water, and flashlights into the back of his Range Rover.

  “Hello, Malcolm.” He doesn’t look at me as I get out of Mom’s Volvo. Just brushes his palms together as though they’re dusty. I’m sure they aren’t. Peter’s car is as pristine as everything else the Nilssons own. “How was school?”

  “Same.” In other words: not good. “When are we leaving?”

  Peter crosses his arms, displaying razor-sharp creases in the sleeves of his shirt. “We are leaving in ten minutes,” he says. The emphasis is clear, but when I don’t respond he adds, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come, Malcolm.”

  My heart sinks. “Why?” It’s a pointless question. I know why. Officer McNulty has been back twice already to ask me follow-up questions.

  Peter’s nostrils flare. “Emotions are running high right now. You’d be a distraction. I’m sorry. I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s the truth, and our first priority is finding Brooke.”

  My temper spikes. “I know. I want to help.”

  “The best way you can help is to stay here,” Peter says, and my palms itch with an almost irresistible desire to punch the smug look off his face. I’m sure he’s genuinely concerned, and he might even be right. But he gets off on being the hero, too. Always has.

  He claps a hand on my shoulder, quickly, like he’s killing a bug. “Why don’t you go inside and see if there’s any more water in the fridge? That would be helpful.”

  A vein above my eye starts to throb. “Sure,” I say, swallowing my anger because getting into a pissing match with Peter isn’t going to help Brooke.

  When I get inside, I hear the staircase in the foyer creak. I’m hoping for my mother, but it’s Katrin with a heap of red fabric hanging over her arm, followed by Viv. Katrin freezes when she sees me, and Viv almost bumps into her. Both of their faces harden into the mask of dislike I’ve been seeing everywhere since Sunday.

  I make an effort to act like I normally would. “What’s that?” I ask, gesturing toward Katrin’s arm.

  “My homecoming dress,” she snaps.

  I eye the dress with a feeling of mild dread. I’ve been trying to block out the fact that homecoming is Saturday. “It’s weird they’re still having that.” Katrin doesn’t reply, and I add, “What are you doing with your dress?”

  “Your mom’s going to have it pressed.” She gives me a wide berth as she makes her way into the kitchen, carefully draping the dress over the back of a chair. It’s nice, I guess, that my mom does stuff like that for Katrin. Peter says Katrin’s own mother hasn’t responded to any of his calls all week, other than to text something about bad cell reception in the South of France. There’s always some excuse.

  When she’s finished arranging the dress, Katrin stares at me with glacial blue eyes. “I’d better not see you there.”

  Somehow, Katrin doesn’t make me angry like Peter does. Maybe because I know she’s barely eaten or slept since Brooke went missing. Her cheeks are hollow, her lips chapped, her hair in a messy ponytail. “Katrin, come on,” I say, my palms spread wide. The universal gesture of a guy who has nothing to hide. “Can we talk about this? What have I ever done to make you think I’d be capable of hurting Brooke?”

  She presses her lips together, nostrils flaring slightly. For a second she looks exactly like Peter. “You were involved with her and you didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Jesus.” I rake a hand through my hair, feeling a tug in my chest. “Why do you keep saying that? Because you lost track of her during a sleepover? She was probably in the bathroom.” Katrin and I were never friends, exactly, but I thought she knew me better than this.

  “My room has a bathroom,” Katrin points out. “She wasn’t there.”

  “So she went for a walk.”

  “She’s afraid of the dark.”

  I give up. She’s latched onto this for some reason, and there’s no talking her out of it. I guess whatever bond I thought we had was just in my head. Or something that amused her when she had nothing better to do. “Your dad’s getting ready to leave,” I say instead.

  “I know. I need a phone charger. Wait here, Viv,” she instructs. She stalks down the hallway leading to the study, leaving Viv and me to eye one another warily. I half expect her to follow Katrin, but she’s a good minion. She stays put.

  “Still writing that article?” I ask.

  Viv flushes. “No. I’m much too upset about Brooke to even think about that.” Her eyes are dry, though. Have been all week. “Anyway, I already told the media what I think, so…as far as I’m concerned, it’s done.”

  “Good,” I say. I turn away from her and open the double doors of the refrigerator. There are
two six-packs of bottled water on the middle shelf, and I tuck them under my arm before heading outside.

  The back of Peter’s Range Rover is still open. I push aside a cardboard box and drop the water beside it. The flash of a familiar face catches my eye, and I pull out a flyer from the box. Brooke’s class picture is plastered next to the word MISSING, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders and her smile bright. It startles me, because I can’t remember the last time I saw Brooke looking that happy. I scan the rest of the flyer:

  Name: Brooke Adrienne Bennett

  Age: 17

  Eyes: Hazel

  Hair: Brown

  Height: 5'4"

  Weight: 110 pounds

  Last seen wearing: Olive blazer, white T-shirt, black jeans, leopard-print flats

  Somebody else must have told them that last part; I was no help when Officer McNulty asked me to describe Brooke’s clothes. She looked nice, I said.

  “I think that’s everything.” Peter’s voice startles me, and I drop the flyer back into the box. He opens the driver’s side door and glances at his watch with a small frown. “Could you ask Katrin and Viv to come to the car, please?”

  “Okay.” My phone buzzes as I head back inside, and when I get into the kitchen I pull it out, to a series of texts from Mia.

  Hey.

  You should come over.

  This just popped up online and it’s already everywhere.

  The last message links to a Burlington Free Press article titled “A Tragic Past—and a Common Thread.” My stomach drops as I start to read.

  Echo Ridge is reeling.

  This picturesque town, nestled near the Canadian border and boasting the highest per capita income in the county, experienced its first tragic loss in 1996 when high school senior Sarah Corcoran vanished while walking home from the library. Then, five years ago, homecoming queen Lacey Kilduff was found dead in the aptly named (and since renamed) Murderland Halloween park.

  Now another beautiful and popular teenager, seventeen-year-old Brooke Bennett, is missing. Though Brooke and Lacey are close in age, there seems to be little connection between the two young women, except an odd coincidence: the high school senior who dropped Bennett off at home the night she disappeared is the younger brother of Lacey Kilduff’s former boyfriend, Declan Kelly.

  Kelly, who was questioned repeatedly after Lacey Kilduff’s death but never arrested, moved out of state four years ago and has maintained a low profile since. So it came as a surprise to many in this close-knit community that Kelly relocated to the neighboring town of Solsbury shortly before Brooke Bennett’s disappearance.

  Shit. Viv might not be writing any more articles, but someone else sure is. Suddenly, Peter looks like a genius. If I weren’t going to cause drama during the search for Brooke before, I sure as hell would now.

  Katrin enters the kitchen gripping her phone. Her cheeks are bright red, and I brace myself for another tirade. She probably just read the same article. “Peter wants you guys outside,” I say, hoping to cut off whatever lecture she has planned.

  She nods mechanically without speaking, looking first at Viv and then at me. Her face is weirdly immobile, like she’s wearing a Katrin mask. Her hands shake as she shoves her phone into her pocket.

  “He’s not letting me come,” I add. “He says I’ll be a distraction.”

  I’m testing her, waiting for the expected Well, you would be or Distraction doesn’t cover it, asshole. But all she says is, “Okay.” She swallows hard once, then twice. “Okay,” she repeats, like she’s trying to convince herself of something. She meets my eyes and looks down quickly, but not before I catch how huge her pupils are.

  She doesn’t look mad anymore. She looks afraid.

  MALCOLM

  THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3

  I get to Mia’s house half an hour later and I hear shouting as soon as I step onto the driveway. It’s too early for her parents to be home, and anyway, they’re not yellers. Mia’s the only Kwon who ever raises her voice. But it’s not her making all that noise.

  Nobody answers the doorbell, so I push the door open and step into the Kwons’ living room. The first thing I see is Ellery, sitting cross-legged in an armchair, her eyes wide as she surveys the scene in front of us. Mia stands barefoot next to the fireplace, hands on her hips, looking defiant but tiny without the height her boots give her. Daisy is across from her, a candlestick gripped in one hand and an expression of pure rage distorting her usually serene features.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Daisy shrieks, drawing her arm back threateningly.

  “Stop being so dramatic,” Mia says, but her eyes don’t leave the candlestick.

  “What the hell?” I ask, and they both turn toward me.

  Daisy’s furious expression briefly recedes, then comes roaring back like a tidal wave. “Oh, him too? You’ve got the entire Scooby Gang here while you lay this bullshit on me?”

  I blink. I’ve never heard Daisy swear before. “What bullshit?”

  Mia speaks before Daisy can. “I told her I know all about Declan, and I’m going to tell Mom and Dad if she doesn’t explain why they’re both back in Echo Ridge.” She takes an involuntary step back as Daisy fastens her with a withering stare. “It’s going a little worse than I expected.”

  “You have some nerve—” Daisy brandishes the candlestick for emphasis, but stops in slack-jawed horror when she loses her grip and sends it flying directly toward Mia’s head. Mia is too startled to move out of the way, and when it clocks her in the temple she drops like a stone.

  Daisy’s hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Mia. Are you all right?” She falls to her knees and scrambles toward her sister, but Ellery—who I never even saw move—is already there.

  “Malcolm, can you get a wet towel?” she asks.

  I stare down at Mia. Her eyes are open, her face pale, and a stream of blood runs down one side of her head. “Oh no, oh no,” Daisy moans, her hands covering her face now. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I fast-track it to the bathroom and grab a hand towel, then run it under the faucet and jam back to the living room.

  Mia is sitting up now, looking dazed. I hand Ellery the towel and she gently pats up and down the side of Mia’s head until the blood is cleared away. “Is she going to need stitches?” Daisy asks in a shaking voice.

  Ellery presses the towel to Mia’s temple for a few seconds, then pulls it away and peers at the cut. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’m no expert, but it’s actually tiny. Looks like one of those shallow scrapes that just happens to bleed a lot. It’ll probably leave a bruise, but it should be fine with a Band-Aid.”

  “I’ll get it,” I volunteer, returning to the Kwons’ bathroom. Dr. Kwon is an obstetrician and her medicine cabinet is so perfectly organized, I find what I need within seconds. When I return this time, some of the color is back in Mia’s face.

  “God, Daze,” she says reproachfully as Ellery positions the Band-Aid on her temple and presses down. “I didn’t realize you literally wanted to kill me.”

  Daisy slumps back, her legs tucked to one side. “It was an accident,” she says, skimming her fingers across the hardwood floor. She looks up, her mouth half twisted in a wry grin. “I’m sorry for drawing blood. But you sort of deserved it.”

  Mia brushes an index finger across her bandage. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “So you ambush me while your friend is here?” Daisy’s voice starts to rise again, but she checks herself and lowers it. “Seriously, Mia? Not cool.”

  “I needed the moral support,” Mia grumbles. “And the protection, apparently. But come on, Daisy. You can’t keep on like this. People know where Declan lives now. Stuff is gonna come out. You need someone on your side.” She gestures toward me as I lower myself onto the edge of the Kwons’ stone fireplace. “We’re all on
Mal’s side. We can be on yours too.”

  I glance at Ellery, who doesn’t look convinced. I don’t think Mia picked up on what Ellery was hinting at in Chuck E. Cheese’s—that Daisy and Declan could have been involved with one another while Lacey was still alive. That kind of thing would fly right over Mia’s head, because even though she complains about Daisy, she also trusts her completely. I’ve never been able to say the same thing about Declan.

  Daisy turns toward me, her dark eyes brimming with sympathy. “Oh, Malcolm. I haven’t even told you how sorry I am about what’s been going on. The way people are…whispering. Accusing you without any proof. It all brings back so many memories.”

  “Daisy.” Mia interrupts before I can answer. Her voice is calm and quiet, nothing like her usual strident tone. “Why did you leave your job after you’d barely started it?”

  Daisy heaves a deep sigh. She lifts a hunk of shiny dark hair and spills it over her shoulder. “I had a nervous breakdown.” She purses her lips as Mia’s brows shoot up. “Not expecting that one?”

  Mia, wisely, doesn’t mention trailing Daisy to her psychologist. “What, were you, like…in the hospital or something?”

  “Briefly.” Daisy lowers her eyes. “The thing is, I never really dealt with Lacey’s death, you know? It was so horrible. So twisted and awful and painful that I pushed it down and forced myself to forget about it.” She gives a strangled little laugh. “Great plan, right? Totally worked. It was okay while I was at school, I guess. But when I moved to Boston and had so many new responsibilities, I couldn’t function. I started having nightmares, then panic attacks. At one point I called an ambulance because I thought I was dying of a heart attack.”

  “You went through a horrible loss,” Mia says comfortingly.

  Daisy’s lashes flicker. “Yes. But I wasn’t just sad. I was guilty.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ellery tense. “About what?” Mia asks.