me.
He’s bringing Andrew and they’re going to come and help too. Andrew didn't want
to leave earlier ‘cause he was with his mom, but he’s cool to come now.” Sierra
lifted her bright-blue eyes from her phone.
“Andrew?” Rita puzzled,
her gray eyes narrowing.
“The guy who lost his
dad,” Sierra added.
I wanted to remind her he
wasn't lost. He was murdered and dumped in my yard in a way I would never
forget. He was positioned exactly the same way Rachel had been, all broken and
twisted into a strange shape.
“I know. It’s
just—I mean—is he all right?” Rita cocked a dark eyebrow. “I mean,
he won’t be a buzzkill on the party, right?”
Sierra’s nose wrinkled.
“His dad just died. I think we can pretend to not notice any bad behavior on
his part.” It was smart and weird for Sierra to be the one saying it. It was
more of a Lindsey statement.
Rita’s olive skin flushed
with rosy color. “I just mean—he’s not going to make it—I
mean—I don't want it to be hard for him to be here and see everyone
having fun.” She smiled wide like she had us both fooled into thinking that was
what she had meant. Watching her stumble over her words made me rethink her
whole queen bee status. “I don't want him to be sad because everyone else is
having fun.”
Sierra clenched her jaw,
obviously fighting whatever she wanted to say.
“Of course not.” I smiled
and spoke softly, “But he’s been out of commission for a month. I’m sure he
wouldn't come if he didn't want to.”
“Unless Jake is dragging
him out of the house.”
“I guess.” I narrowed my
gaze on Sierra, trying to tell her to stop before she started getting annoyed
out loud.
“Okay.” Rita shrugged and
went back to putting out chairs around the pool. She moved them to create
conversation pits of four or six chairs in each spot. It was an act I’d only
ever seen done once by a girl our age. And that girl was gone, also lost.
Rita surrounded the
massive brick fireplace with many of the smaller patio chairs so that it made a
spot for a dozen people to sit around the fire.
I looked away, trying not to constantly compare her to Rachel, though
it was weird they were so alike, for girls who hardly knew one another.
Instead of thinking too
much, I moved the rectangular tables until they were alongside the pool house where
Rita had asked me to, and covered them with pale blue linens. It was so weird
we were doing the work and not the staff. But there was an obvious lack of man
and womanpower in their home. In my house several people moved in the shadows
at all times. The kitchen was bustling with cooks and cleaners. Everything was
always alive. This was eerily silent, similar to Lindsey’s house with just a
butler, a maid, and a cook.
“So has anyone heard from
Ashton?” Rita asked after a few minutes.
“No. My dad said the police
and feds are looking for him. Tom has a PI tracking him. It’s bad.” Sierra
placed the last row of drinking glasses next to the spot where the punch would
be.
“A PI? Damn, he must be
good at hiding.”
“Or being held
somewhere,” Sierra added. She was full of random things today. My brain hadn’t
gone to the “held against his will” place. Mine stopped exactly on a terrible
thought, one I couldn't imagine, and yet my brain could still whisper it. What if he’s dead?
I didn't say it aloud,
but I shuddered the same either way.
For the record, he had
fled. That record was my corkboard and not a police file. Lindsey had found a
crumpled threat from the killer in Ashton’s wastebasket, telling him to leave
and he did. The last time anyone had seen him, he had stolen Rachel’s car and
driven off.
The corkboard stayed with
me through all things. It haunted my dreams and plagued my imaginations. I
roamed it in my mind all day and all night, trying to find the answer. But the
one thing I refused to put on the board—the one thing I didn't need to
put on there as my mind was already
He’s bringing Andrew and they’re going to come and help too. Andrew didn't want
to leave earlier ‘cause he was with his mom, but he’s cool to come now.” Sierra
lifted her bright-blue eyes from her phone.
“Andrew?” Rita puzzled,
her gray eyes narrowing.
“The guy who lost his
dad,” Sierra added.
I wanted to remind her he
wasn't lost. He was murdered and dumped in my yard in a way I would never
forget. He was positioned exactly the same way Rachel had been, all broken and
twisted into a strange shape.
“I know. It’s
just—I mean—is he all right?” Rita cocked a dark eyebrow. “I mean,
he won’t be a buzzkill on the party, right?”
Sierra’s nose wrinkled.
“His dad just died. I think we can pretend to not notice any bad behavior on
his part.” It was smart and weird for Sierra to be the one saying it. It was
more of a Lindsey statement.
Rita’s olive skin flushed
with rosy color. “I just mean—he’s not going to make it—I
mean—I don't want it to be hard for him to be here and see everyone
having fun.” She smiled wide like she had us both fooled into thinking that was
what she had meant. Watching her stumble over her words made me rethink her
whole queen bee status. “I don't want him to be sad because everyone else is
having fun.”
Sierra clenched her jaw,
obviously fighting whatever she wanted to say.
“Of course not.” I smiled
and spoke softly, “But he’s been out of commission for a month. I’m sure he
wouldn't come if he didn't want to.”
“Unless Jake is dragging
him out of the house.”
“I guess.” I narrowed my
gaze on Sierra, trying to tell her to stop before she started getting annoyed
out loud.
“Okay.” Rita shrugged and
went back to putting out chairs around the pool. She moved them to create
conversation pits of four or six chairs in each spot. It was an act I’d only
ever seen done once by a girl our age. And that girl was gone, also lost.
Rita surrounded the
massive brick fireplace with many of the smaller patio chairs so that it made a
spot for a dozen people to sit around the fire.
I looked away, trying not to constantly compare her to Rachel, though
it was weird they were so alike, for girls who hardly knew one another.
Instead of thinking too
much, I moved the rectangular tables until they were alongside the pool house where
Rita had asked me to, and covered them with pale blue linens. It was so weird
we were doing the work and not the staff. But there was an obvious lack of man
and womanpower in their home. In my house several people moved in the shadows
at all times. The kitchen was bustling with cooks and cleaners. Everything was
always alive. This was eerily silent, similar to Lindsey’s house with just a
butler, a maid, and a cook.
“So has anyone heard from
Ashton?” Rita asked after a few minutes.
“No. My dad said the police
and feds are looking for him. Tom has a PI tracking him. It’s bad.” Sierra
placed the last row of drinking glasses next to the spot where the punch would
be.
“A PI? Damn, he must be
good at hiding.”
“Or being held
somewhere,” Sierra added. She was full of random things today. My brain hadn’t
gone to the “held against his will” place. Mine stopped exactly on a terrible
thought, one I couldn't imagine, and yet my brain could still whisper it. What if he’s dead?
I didn't say it aloud,
but I shuddered the same either way.
For the record, he had
fled. That record was my corkboard and not a police file. Lindsey had found a
crumpled threat from the killer in Ashton’s wastebasket, telling him to leave
and he did. The last time anyone had seen him, he had stolen Rachel’s car and
driven off.
The corkboard stayed with
me through all things. It haunted my dreams and plagued my imaginations. I
roamed it in my mind all day and all night, trying to find the answer. But the
one thing I refused to put on the board—the one thing I didn't need to
put on there as my mind was already
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