"So Hunter's done it now," Posie said. She walked over to a small shelf and plucked up a lip gloss, unscrewing the cap and painting her lips a glossy pink before tossing the gloss back where she got it and turning to face Emma. "I wonder which one of us is next."
"Hopefully, no one's next," Emma said, a strange prickly feeling crawling through her skin.
Posie sat on her bed, tucking in her skinny shoulders, and Blue sat next to her, covering Posie's hand with her own.
"Do you think it's suicide?" Posie asked, scrutinizing Emma.
It was a question she'd been asked several times recently by Cassandra, Nisha, and Cat, and then by detectives.
"I didn't really know Poppy or Wren, but Hunter didn't seem suicidal to me."
Posie nodded, and the picture of Samantha Baker at the beach flashed through Emma's mind. She'd noticed after Wren’s death that the picture had been removed from the wall in the hallway at the Bakers’, along with the family wedding photo, and replaced with two other wedding pictures of the bride and groom.
"What?" Posie asked, watching her.
"What do you think of Samantha Baker?"
Posie frowned. "The trans chick Donovan was going out with?"
"She's my friend's sister," Emma said.
Posie shrugged. "Wren sort of knew her. They were in this art collective together. Why?" Something had shifted in Posie's eyes that Emma couldn't exactly read.
Blue frowned at Posie. "Wren knew Sam?"
"Yeah. I thought you knew that."
Emma's heart sped up, hammering hard against her chest. "Remember that time you told me that Sam and her friends have a studio near to where Wren was found, and I said maybe Wren knew them?"
Blue shook her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah?"
Posie's eyes bore into Emma. "Why did you bring up Sam?"
Emma had said nothing to the police, but the beach picture and serial killer poster nagged at her.
"At Cassandra's, they have these family photos on their wall, and there was this one of Samantha at the beach in one of those fold-up chairs…"
Blue's facial muscles turned rigid, and Posie's expression turned thoughtful. "Wren took that picture," Posie said. "I know exactly which one you're talking about. I remember Wren showing it to me. She thought it was cool because Sam had painted her nails in all different colors. I have the picture." Posie jumped up to get her phone and then scrolled through the photos. "Here," she said, handing the phone to Emma. Posie had enlarged the picture, zooming in on Sam's hands. Each nail painted a different color. Blue leaned over to have a look.
"Fuck," she said under her breath. "What the hell, Posie? Is this not suspicious to you?"
"No. I mean I thought it was creepy, but only because I thought Wren had copied Sam when she killed herself, and Poppy had copied Wren. And now Hunter—"
"But what if that's not what happened?" Emma cut in.
Posie lapsed into silence.
"Weren't you doubting it? You asked me if I thought it was suicide," Emma said.
Posie nodded. "I don't know what to think. I guess I was just feeling you out." She took her phone back.
Emma swallowed, nervous about the next thing she was going to say. "You know, Sam has these pictures of serial killers on her wall."
"So what are you saying?" Posie pushed.
Emma lost her nerve. "I think it's odd."
"Have you told the police?" Blue asked.
Emma shook her head no.
"If you tell the police what you just told us, you could make a lot of trouble for Cassandra's sister, who's more than likely innocent," Posie said. "It's a big deal to accuse someone of murder."
"That's why I said nothing," Emma shot back. Her face grew hot from the shame of speaking her private thoughts out loud to a girl she barely knew, and who, Emma realized at that moment, she didn't like. There was something brash and bristly about Posie that rubbed Emma the wrong way.
Cassandra would probably never speak to her again if she were ever to catch wind of this conversation, and possibly even Cat and Nisha. Suddenly, Emma wanted to leave. She didn't know what she expected to learn or understand talking to Posie. They were two girls who shared the commonality of friends who had supposedly committed suicide. Although Emma never really knew Wren and Poppy, she had known Hunter, and Hunter had not been depressed. Of course they had experienced dark moments of sadness, thinking about Wren’s and Poppy's deaths, but on the whole, Hunter had been, as their mom’s had put it, well-adjusted.
"I'm going to take off," Emma said.
"Where are you going?" Blue asked.
"Home."
"Mind if I come with you?" Blue smiled up at her, unsure.
Emma shrugged.
"What's up?" Donovan asked as Emma and Blue appeared in the living room.
"We're going to Emma's," Blue said.
Donovan stared at them for a moment, bobbing one of his knees. "You coming back?" He asked Blue.
"Probably not."
Donovan's gaze flicked back to Emma.
"Hey. I'm sorry about your friend. It's really fucked. I don't know why these kids are offing themselves like that."
Emma felt her throat constrict. "Thanks," she said, her voice cracking.
"Alright," Donovan said and stood, lumbering toward the hallway.
Chapter 36
Oliver: Emma, my sincere condolences. I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry for everything. I know you don't want to talk to me, but I'm here for you. Whatever you want or need. I love you. Dad.
Nisha to Group: Hey. I'm in the heights. I had to get up out of this place. I'll call you all later.
Cat to Group: I can't believe this. I just can't believe this. Will one of you call me? I don't care about the time difference.
Cassandra to Emma: Hey. I found something in my sister's room. Can you come by?
Emma sat up and swung her legs out of bed. Blue threw an arm over her waist. They had been in bed for hours, mostly sleeping after a brief stint of sex that Emma had numbly engaged in.
"Where are you going, babe?" Blue muttered, the side of her face smushed into one of Emma's down pillows.
"I've gotta go to Cassandra's."
"Why?" Blue pushed herself up, her thick dark hair spilling over her shoulders and covering her left breast.
"Cassandra said she found something in Sam's room."
The sleepy look vanished from Blue's face. "What did she find?"
"I don't know. That's why I need to go over there."
I'm on my way, Emma texted back.
Meet me at the bakery by my house
Okay. Be there in 20?
Okay
Blue started to pull her clothes on.
"I think I should just go on my own," Emma said.
Blue nibbled at her lip. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
Blue nodded. "Okay."
Wordlessly, they both finished dressing and left the bedroom. Emma knocked on her mom's office door and waited.
"Come in," Jill said.
She opened the door. "I'm going out for a little bit. I'll be back soon."
Jill stared at her, worry crackling in her eyes. "Where are you going?"
"To Nancy's Bakery on Wilshire. I won't be long."
"What does that mean? Give me an exact time."
Emma thought. "An hour or less."
Jill had been upset when Emma returned from Posie's with Blue earlier, mainly because she hadn't communicated that she was going anywhere. The suicides had all the parents on edge.
"And Blue will be with you?"
"Yes," Emma lied.
"Because I think for the time being, you kids ought to travel in pairs. I am very agitated about what's happening."
"You have a tracking device on my phone," Emma pointed out.
"A lot of good it does. Hunter's phone wound up here with no Hunter," Jill said. "I want you to text me when you get to the bakery, and then I want you to text me when you're leaving the bakery."
"Bye, Jill." Blue held up her hand in a brief wave.
Jill stared at her for a moment and then swiveled her chair around to face her computer. "Bye," she said belatedly.
Emma closed the door to the office.
"Don't mind my mom," she said.
"It's fine," Blue told her. "I know it's nothing personal." She took Emma's hand. "Come on. I'll walk you part of the way."
Cassandra sat at a table toward the back of the bakery, staring down at her phone. There was something different about her, and then Emma realized what. She wasn't wearing a fedora. When she looked up, her eyes were puckered, like she'd been crying. Emma increased her pace, and Cassandra stood, the two throwing their arms around each other. Cassandra's breath was hot on Emma’s neck as she broke into silent sobs, and Emma felt that terrible fear return, a dark feeling of danger closing in on them. A paper cup of tea sat on the table and Cassandra withdrew from the embrace, picked it up, and took a small sip. Emma pulled out the other chair.
"I'm so fucking scared and sad," Cassandra said.
Emma reached across the table and took her hand. "I know. Me, too."
Their eyes locked for a moment before Cassandra dragged her gaze away, and her bottom lip trembled. "I don't think they're suicides, Em."
Emma felt a sickening sensation in her insides, like all of her organs had flipped around.
"I think Sam knows something or did something," Cassandra whispered. Her facial muscles drooped like some exaggerated Edvard Munch painting.
"Why? What did you find?" Emma whispered back.
"She has Hunter's letter from Poppy somehow," Cassandra said.
Emma sucked in her breath. "What?"
"Oh god, Emma. I don't know what to do."
"How did you find out she had it?" The implication was terrible. The police were looking for this mysterious letter.
"It was the thing with the nails."
"What?" Emma wasn't following her.
"How Wren and Poppy and Hunter were all found in bathing suits, sitting in beach chairs with their nails painted different colors. That's always been Sam's kind of I'm-in-a-good-mood thing. She paints her nails like that and then goes to the beach or swimming somewhere. It's her take on that fountain scene in La Dolce Vita. Sam's always been obsessed with that movie."
Emma shook her head. She had no idea what movie Cassandra was referring to, and her brain felt funny, like dozens of moths were whirring around inside her skull.
"La Dolce Vita?" Cassandra said with a lift of a brow. "Never mind. It's a super ancient film, but Sam has loved it since forever. I mean, I've seen it dozens of times just in the wake of being her sister, and then, of course, Under The Tuscan Sun because they do a take of the fountain scene in that movie. Everyone in our family knows that when Sam paints her nails like that, she's in a good mood, and she’s going swimming. My mom always says to her, ‘Vivi la dolce vita,’ and then Sam says, ‘ciao’. It's their little joke."
"I've never seen her nails painted like that," Emma said, grimacing inwardly at the lie.
"She removes the polish when she gets home. It's a quirk." Cassandra fell silent for a moment and took another sip of tea. "I mean, with Wren, when we saw her and the nails, it freaked me out. Sam knew Wren. They went to the same art collective. I didn't want to bring it up because I thought it was a fluke, or maybe Wren was imitating Sam when she did what she did. Like, maybe Wren saw Sam at the beach with her nails done up like that and had this macabre idea to, I don't know, make herself look cheerful in death? The art studio they went to is in Venice, near Muscle Beach, so she could likely have seen Sam in one of her moods on the beach." Cassandra closed her eyes, her mouth dragging down further. "Then Poppy was found and I thought, well maybe Poppy was imitating Wren." Cassandra gasped and her eyes flew open. "But then Hunter. We all know Hunter. Hunter wasn't suicidal. Hunter would never do this to themself."
"Remember Hunter kept saying Wren was the least likely person to have committed suicide?" Emma said.
Cassandra nodded. "But what about that video of her screaming at her little sister?"
"I know." Emma spoke at her hands.
A family passed by the window, a little boy riding on his father's shoulders, the mom laughing up at them. Emma had a sudden, searing yearning to be small and innocent again, to go back to a time when she thought she had the best dad in the world. A time when her mother's organized world felt secure for Emma, not suffocating. Back when her parents were still together, and she was Oliver's little princess.
Emma thought about having dinner with Hunter and their moms, Joanne's crooked smile.
Emma didn't have either woman's phone number, and Henry had been so worried and angry when she left her house, Emma hadn't thought to ask. Now it seemed inappropriate to show up at the Garretts’. Too soon, really.
"Sam's been acting weird ever since Wren's death," Cassandra continued. "I know our mom's been noticing, too, and that she has the same concerns as me." Cassandra took a shaky breath. "Ever since Hunter disappeared, I feel like Sam's been watching me. There's this look in her eyes. Our mom made her take down all those creepy posters she has in her room, in case the police stop by, and it got me thinking about her obsession with serial killers." Cassandra swallowed. "I snuck into her room a couple of hours ago when she was taking a shower to just poke around, see what I could find. The letter was in her journal on her dresser. I was going to read it, but then I heard her turn off the shower and I only just had time to put the paper back in the envelope, slip it back into the journal, and get out of there."
Emma winced at the prick of pain on the back of her hand. She'd been pinching her own skin while listening to Cassandra.
"I just came from Posie's with Blue," Emma said and told Cassandra about the picture of Sam in Posie's phone.
"So Wren took that picture of Sam?" Cassandra asked, her brow puckering into folds. Emma nodded yes.
"Is she going to turn it over to the police?" Cassandra asked, the puckers in her forehead growing deeper.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Posie said Sam could be innocent. It's a big deal to accuse someone of murder."
"Yeah," Cassandra breathed out, her tone unsure.
She sat back. "I don't know what to do. I think maybe I should talk to my mom and Richard."
"Do you think Sam is capable of hurting people?" Emma asked quietly.
Cassandra didn't answer for what felt like a full minute. In the golden light streaming through the windows, her brown eyes turned the color of translucent maple. "Maybe," she finally said.
"Do you want to come back to my place?"
Cassandra hesitated. "No. I think I'll be alright. I should go home. My mom's coming home early from work. I'll talk to her."
"Are you sure? It's really fine."
"I'll lock my door until my mom gets home," Cassandra said.
"Or you could just come to my place."
"No. I think I'll be fine. I want to be there when my mom gets home."
"Do you think she'll listen to you?"
Cassandra sighed. "She'll have to."
They sat for another few minutes in silence. Cassandra's phone vibrated, and she began a lengthy back-and-forth text with someone.
"Who are you talking to?" Emma asked.
"It's my manager. She heard about Hunter and just wanted to check in with me. I'm supposed to go to Nashville in two weeks, and she wanted to know how I was feeling."
Emma gave her a weak smile. "Are you going to go?"
Cassandra looked away. "I feel kind of strange about going now."
"I think you should. I think it would be a good thing to get away from here."
"Yeah," Cassandra said. "Maybe."
Emma scanned the board behind the counter, mindlessly reading the different coffee options. Her eyes wandered to the display of various baked goods and the other customers sitting in the shop enjoying the normality of coffee and a pastry in
a cozy bakery. She and Cassandra looked like any other kids having a chill summer, a summer she had thought would be her best yet. Instead, she was living in a freakish nightmare. Friends had died, and it was becoming increasingly clear that someone was hunting them and making a mockery of their deaths.
"I should get home," Emma said. "My mom's extra worried right now."
"She has every right to be," Cassandra said.
"Yeah. I don't blame her for it."
The two stood and hugged, Cassandra's tea left barely touched. Outside the bakery, Emma watched Cassandra make her way up the street. She'd grown taller, Emma noticed, the tips of her brown hair turned a burnt gold from the summer sun. Her shoulders looked broader, legs longer and leaner.
Emma pulled her phone from her pocket and texted Jill that she was returning home. Then she called Blue.
Chapter 37
The texts came in after Emma had set down her phone to go to sleep, the screen lighting up.
I see what you do
I’ve been recording you, hahaha
Emma’s heart froze in her chest, and her finger trembled as she opened her phone back up, going to the messages. Seconds later, a link appeared.
Don’t believe me? Look at yourself.
She clicked on the link and watched, stunned. It was a video of her engaging with Candy Porn.
There’s more. That’s the tamer one. I’ll tell you what I want when I’m ready.
Jolts of shock shot through Emma’s body, her stomach cramping as she sat for the longest time, holding her phone. And then she threw it across the room, letting loose a howl of anguish.
Moments later, there was a knock on her door.
“Emma?” Jill called through the door.
“Go away!” Emma screamed. “I don’t want to talk.”
Emma tried to catch her breath as a slow numbness spread throughout her body.
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