when she was having guy troubles.”
“Okay.” Del stood, shoving his hands through his hair. “Does it matter why she was upset? It doesn’t change anything.”
I stared up at him. “You’re right—it doesn’t change the fact that she’s dead, but it might help us figure out what happened to her.”
Del rubbed his jaw. “But her being upset over a guy or whatever doesn’t have anything to do with what happened to you.”
“How do you know?” Scott asked, and he had a point.
“It’s not just what happened to me,” I said. “It’s what happened to Cassie, too. Any information—”
“So, what? You’re going to play Nancy Drew?” Veronica asked, her eyes darting between Del and me.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Veronica would agree with just about anything Del said. Striving for patience, I ignored her. “Do you remember anything else? Like what she was wearing?”
“She had that red dress on. The sweater one,” Lauren answered.
Candy’s chin jerked up. “The knockoff Prada?”
I would’ve rolled my eyes at the disdain in Candy’s tone if not for the fact that every time I’d seen Cassie—or brought up a memory of her, if that was what the flashes were—she’d had on a red dress. That had to mean I wasn’t taking a sharp left into crazy town—good news.
“Are you okay, Sam?” Carson asked.
Nodding, I let the conversation move on without me. Del eventually sat beside me again and snaked an arm around me. Leaning my head against his shoulder, I closed my eyes. My mind was spinning. The day we both had disappeared, Cassie had been mad. That alone didn’t tell me anything, but the fact that she had actually been wearing the same dress I kept seeing her in was unnerving. And beyond that, grieving for someone I couldn’t remember but who’d been an intricate part of my life was difficult. There were moments when I could almost taste the loss, when it could’ve consumed me and pulled me under. Then the sorrow would ease off and be replaced by confusion and the need to be away from all these people—to be alone.
Carson had pressed the tips of his fingers together, shielding his mouth when I opened my eyes again, drawing my attention right to his lips. Our eyes met for a flicker of a moment, and then he looked away. Del’s arm tightened around me, and another, different kind of guilt surfaced. Feeling torn in different directions, I sat up, putting a little distance between us.
“Okay,” Julie said, stretching her legs and standing. “I’m going to say what no one else seems willing to say.”
“That you actually tolerate Scott?” Carson said blandly.
“Ha.” Scott smirked.
“No,” Julie sighed. “Do you think Cassie was…murdered?”
Our mismatched group fell silent. My heart rate picked up. Murdered. It made sense. If Cassie was such a great swimmer, she wouldn’t have drowned, and then there was me. Was it possible that I had witnessed what had happened to Cassie? And if so, did her murderer then try to deliver me to the same fate?
No. It could’ve been an accident. But then, what happened to me? Had we both had an accident? She died. And I survived.
I glanced up. Carson was watching me again. Stark concern deepened the hue of his eyes. I wondered if he had realized the same thing—if they all had. When I glanced over at the girls—my friends—there was something in their eyes that had nothing to do with concern for my well-being. For a minute, I didn’t want to believe it, but there was no mistaking the shadow in their gazes.
Suspicion.
Mom was secluded in her bedroom when Scott dropped me off after school. Having the house to myself until he returned from baseball practice and Dad came home left me ample time to mull everything over.
Cassie was dead—most likely murdered. And I’d been there. The visions—fragmented memories—had to be clues to what happened. I just needed to piece them together.
Curling up on the window seat in the sunroom, I stared at the small garden and the main road beyond the small stone fence. My history textbook lay unopened by my feet. I chewed on my fingernail. Carson had seen me do it during bio, saying it was a habit that I’d always had. So it was an old part of me that had somehow stuck.
My thoughts went straight back to Cassie.
She’d been upset the day we disappeared, probably because of a boy. Trey—the on-and-off-again boyfriend who’d conveniently been sick the day her body was found? Had I gone to see her, pulling girl duty? But what had happened after that? What explained the visions of blood on the rocks, Cassie yelling at me, and then the feeling of falling?
And why had we met up at the state forest, of all places?
Those memories couldn’t be hallucinations. I wasn’t crazy, but the more I turned things over in my mind, the stranger I felt. Then there were the two notes….
Sunlight reflected off the roof of a white car coming up the driveway, catching my attention. I straightened, dropping my hand as it came fully into view. It wasn’t Dad’s Bentley, and it was too soon for Scott to be back.
The car stopped in front of the house, by the gaudy fountain. A man stepped out, buttoning his blazer. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but I recognized the slicked-back dark hair and broad forehead.
Detective Ramirez was here.
“Shit,” I muttered, jumping from the window seat. Hurrying through the maze of archways and rooms that never appeared to be in use, I rushed to get through the house before he woke up Mom. I opened the door, slightly out of breath. “Detective?”
He took off his sunglasses, sliding them into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Miss Franco, do you have a couple of minutes?”
Stepping aside, I glanced behind me. “Yeah, but my mom’s asleep and Dad’s at work.”
“That’s fine. I just have a few questions, off the record.” He stepped in, eyes taking in the foyer and not missing a single detail. “A good place to sit?”
I doubted anything I said to a detective was off the record, but I didn’t have anything to hide and I wanted to help him. Bringing him to the small sitting room, I sat on the couch while he took the recliner. “Is this about Cassie?” I asked, folding my hands.
Ramirez nodded. “I assume you’ve heard?”
“Yes. It was all over school today.”
“And how are you holding up?”
How was I holding up? I almost wanted to laugh, but I figured that would be inappropriate. “Good, I guess.”
His lips curved up on one side. “I wanted to go over a few things with you. See if it sparks anything. You okay with that?”
“Yes.” I picked up the delicately embroidered pillow, placing it in my lap. “I want to be able to help.”
“Good.” There was that one-sided smile again. “Cassie was found a few yards down from the waterfalls in the lake, tangled up in...” He stopped as I felt the blood drain from my face. “Well, the details don’t matter. Right now, we’re not sure what the cause of death was, but from preliminary investigation, it doesn’t appear to be a drowning.”
“Cassie was a good swimmer.” I squeezed the pillow. “That’s what her—my friends said today.”
He nodded slowly. “Her mother said that Cassie was an excellent swimmer who was also very well versed in the terrain of the state park and the trails up there.”
“But we were up there at night,” I said, frowning. “Del said I was with him until that evening.”
“Yes, I talked to him while you were missing.” He leaned forward, dropping his hands between his knees. “Do you have any idea why you two would go up there at night? As familiar as Cassie and you were with the terrain, it would’ve been dangerous. One slip…”
I swallowed hard. “I really don’t know why, and I’ve been trying to figure it out all day. Lauren…Lauren Cummings said she was upset. Maybe we went up there for some girl time.” Girl time sounded stupid even to me, but I was out of ideas.
“I’ve also spoken to Lauren, but from what I could gather, it wasn’t like
either of you spend time at the lake during the night—at least not this time of year.” He paused, meeting my eyes. “Now, you said you had this…feeling of falling when we talked and that you had heard the water. Do you think it’s possible that you were near the waterfalls?”
“I guess so, but I don’t even know where the waterfall is…now. Or how to get to the lake.”
His head tilted to the side as his gaze dropped for a moment. “Do you remember anything else? Even if it seems like a minor detail, it could be helpful. And you want to help, right?”
“Yes.” Realizing I was holding the pillow like a shield, I shoved it aside. “I’ve told you about the rocks. I’ve seen those before, but they’re covered in something that looks like blood, but I’m…I’m not really sure. I know that’s not much.”
“No. That’s something.” Ramirez smiled tightly. “Anything else?”
I lowered my eyes, chewing on my lip. Telling him about seeing Cassie would most likely make me sound like a lunatic.
“Samantha, anything would help.”
Heavy footsteps thundered through the house, alerting me to my father’s arrival. Detective Ramirez stood, twisting toward the open archway.
Dad came in like a furious storm, cheeks flushed with anger and narrowed eyes glinted at the detective. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s okay, Dad. He just had a couple of questions.”
“No. It is not okay.” He placed his hands on his hips, pushing his suit jacket back. “Do I need to explain the law to you, Ramirez?”
“I’m well versed in the law, Mr. Franco,” the detective replied blandly.
“Is that so?” His voice took on a hard, unyielding edge that I knew I had to have heard before. Probably when I’d driven that car into a tree. “You cannot talk to my daughter without one of her parents present or her lawyer. Ever.”
“Sir, this isn’t a formal investigation, and your daughter agreed to answer—”
“My daughter is just a teenager—she’s only seventeen.” Dad stepped forward, towering over the detective. “Did you tell her it was off the record? I’m sure you did. She doesn’t know how these things work, but I do.”
My brows rose. Knots formed in my stomach. Had I done something wrong by talking to the detective? As I chewed on my thumbnail, my gaze bounced between the two men. “Dad, I was—”
“Do not say another word, Samantha,” he said, and his tone was like an icy breeze on my skin. “If you want to question my daughter, you do so with my permission and with fair warning. If not, the next time you even come within twenty yards of my house, you better have a warrant.”
My mouth dropped opened. A warrant? Why would he need a warrant? I wasn’t a suspect. Suspects got warrants. Panic clawed at my insides as I stood on shaky legs. Was I a suspect?
Detective Ramirez cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he was calm and unaffected by my father’s orders. “I understand, Mr. Franco. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. I know my way out.”
Dad folded his arms, and without another word, Detective Ramirez left. I sat back down, dizzy. “Dad, he was just asking questions. It wasn’t a big deal.”
He crossed the room, dropping down so that he was at eye level with me. “You don’t understand how the police work, princess. You’re a child, and with everything that has happened to you, it would be easy for them to confuse and manipulate you.”
Indignant anger filled me. “I’m not stupid. Just because I can’t remember anything doesn’t make me a helpless child. He was just asking me questions about Cassie. I want to be able to help the police.”
“I know.” He sighed and then reached out, pulling my hand away from my mouth. “You’re still a nail biter. Your mother hates that.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, squeezing my knees with my hands.
He stood and walked to the mantel above the fireplace. His spine was unnaturally stiff. “I know you’re not stupid, Samantha. You’re a clever girl, but I don’t want you talking to the police again, okay? Not without me around. Do you understand?”
“Why? What’s the big deal? I don’t have anything to hide.”
He turned halfway around, smoothing a hand over his hair. “The big deal is that you were most likely the last person who saw Cassie—you were probably with her when…when whatever happened to her occurred.”
“I know! And that’s why I need to talk to the police.”
“No. That’s why you can’t talk to the police!” He dropped his hand to his chest, and I was suddenly worried he was going to have a heart attack. My dad looked fit and trim, but I imagined he was under a lot of stress with work…and me. “The last thing you need to be doing is talking to the police. Right now, if it turns out that she was murdered, you’re their number one suspect.”
chapter eleven
Suspect? Murderer? I’d been right about the looks I’d thought I’d seen in Veronica’s and Candy’s eyes. Suspicion. My heart was pounding as I paced my bedroom later that night on an empty stomach. The thought of food made me want to hurl, so I skipped dinner. Suspect. Murderer.
Those words were foreign to me. Not in the sense that I didn’t understand what they meant, but because I couldn’t associate their meanings with me. The words shot across all my nerves, like tiny shards of glass, fraying them, slicing them open.
Did my dad really think that was why Detective Ramirez was questioning me? Because the detective thought I’d killed Cassie? And did my friends think the same thing? They couldn’t. It didn’t make sense. I’d been hurt, too, obviously. Bad enough that everything that was me, all that I knew, was gone.
And I could never kill a person. Didn’t they know that?
There was still a chance that what had happened had been some kind of freakish accident. I knew enough to know there’d be an autopsy done to determine cause of death.
Stopping in front of the mirror in my closet, I swallowed the lump of fear that rose in my throat before it could consume me. My reflection stared back at me, cheeks pale against the cinnamon tone of my hair. With my face devoid of makeup, I looked a lot younger than I did in the photos. There was a skittish glint to my eyes, one I doubted the old Sammy sported.
“I would never hurt Cassie,” I said, needing to hear someone, even if it was me, say it.
My reflection tilted her head, lips curving up in a mockery of a smile. “Liar.”
Gasping, I stumbled back, tripping over the stupid teddy bear on the floor. I hit the side of the bed hip-first. Fresh pain exploded as my pulse pounded wildly.
There was no one in the mirror now.
Body shaking, I tucked my legs under me and stood. The movement jarred the bed and the table beside it. Already off-kilter from when Del had messed with it, the music box fell to the floor, uttering two weak, broken musical notes that sent chills dancing down my spine.
I picked up the box, turning it onto its side. An opening on the bottom had popped out when it fell, wide enough to fit half a deck of cards. The slot looked empty, and in a daze, I closed it and placed it back on the table.
A sick, twisting feeling built in the pit of my stomach as I turned around, pushing the long strands of hair out of my face. Sharp tingles traveled down my back, and I was suddenly too hot and the room was too small.
My reflection had spoken back to me.
That was officially crazy sauce.
I started pacing again, avoiding my reflection just in case it decided to have another impromptu conversation. What just happened could not have been a memory, and there was no way I could explain it as anything other than a good ol’-fashioned delusion.
I’d imagined calling myself a liar after I said I couldn’t hurt someone. Nice, really nice. Tucking my hair back, I dragged in a deep breath, but it got constricted in my chest. Needing to get out of the room and possibly even the house, I threw open the door and rushed out into the hallway.
Rounding the corner, I smacked right into a rock-hard body with enough force that the poor guy
let out a grunt and hit the floor. Thrown off balance, I toppled down on him. In a second, I recognized the clean, citrusy scent.
Carson.
Our bodies were pressed together in all the wrong places. Or the right places, depending on how I wanted to look at it. Not that I thought it was right. It was definitely wrong, especially the way his chest felt incredibly muscled under mine, his stomach like steel. Heat zinged through my veins.
Carson’s hand curved around my waist as his head lifted slightly. We were so close I could see the darker flecks of blue near his pupils. So close that his warmth breathed new life into the dark, empty spaces inside me. My gaze fell to his lips, and I wanted to know so, so badly how they felt. To taste his kiss. To let go of all the strings tethering me to the old Sammy and lose myself in him. Funny how all my worries about being insane suddenly went out the window.
Those lips spread into a crooked half smile. “Hey there, Sam….”
“Hey,” I whispered. “Were you coming to see me?”
His smile spread into a full one, and my heart skipped a beat. One of his front teeth was chipped at the bottom. “I was actually here to see Scott, but…”
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