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Misty: What now?
No reply. The white lines were blurring together, so she eased up on the accelerator, backed the needle down from 89 to 80. Then she picked up the phone again, scrolled to contacts, scrolled to Aunt Rachel. Tapped her image.
The phone pinged in her hand. “Don’t,” it said aloud, scaring her so bad she dropped the phone onto the floor. When she reached for it, she veered off the road, onto the shoulder, then jerked the car the other way. The rear-end fish-tailed. She clasped the wheel with both hands and the phone, swearing more than she ever had in her life.
She got under control, breathed fast. Then she skimmed the car’s interior. There had to be a camera somewhere, didn’t there?
“Take the next right,” said Siri.
“You’re taking me to the club?” she asked, and the phone transcribed. “Send.”
“Be here in five. Come in the back way, and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll know. She’ll die.” Somehow the inflectionless computer voice made the chills down her spine even colder.
Taking the exit, Misty pressed the pedal to the floor, then skidded into the parking lot without bothering to choose a space. She exited where the car landed, but she didn’t go inside. She tapped Christy’s number to call her.
It only rang once. Then someone picked up but didn’t say anything.
“I want to talk to my sister,” she said.
From a distance, she heard, “Misty, don’t come in here! She’ll just kill us both if you?—”
The call ended.
Misty was out of the car, and the air was like a cold slap in the face. Dawn was still hours away. Three, maybe.
If there had been a camera on her, it had to be in the car. It had been parked at the far side of the woods the whole time they’d been watching Paul Quad’s cabin, in a pull-off used by hikers. Anyone could’ve got in. Locked, yes, but still… She held her phone face-up but kept her arm at her side and she scrolled to Aunt Rachel’s contact card while she walked up the back stairs. They rattled and clanged with every step, no matter how quiet she tried to be. She tapped share location on her phone, then quickly closed out of the app and silenced it.
She’d reached the top of the back stairs. There was a ledge above the door a couple of inches wide. Part of the wood trim. She put the phone up there, face-in. Its case was brown pleather. It blended right in.
Okay. She took a deep breath, grabbed the doorknob, and went inside.
Christy was on the floor beside the tank. She didn’t know where the killer was, but Detective Jen Scott was right there, too, and she had her gun out.
“Thank god,” she said, but then she noticed how terrified Christy looked, and realized Jen Scott was pointing the gun at her.
“Put on your fins,” she said. “Time to take one last swim.”
“I don’t understand,” Christy said from the floor. She was wearing her bra on top, that stupid mermaid thing Mom had got them on a chain around her neck, and a blue tail that went from powder blue at the waist, shifting through every shade, to midnight blue edged in silver at the tail.
God, that was Eva’s tail, Misty realized. She’d seen it a hundred times in the photo. Detective Scott hadn’t even been on her radar.
“Where did you get Eva’s tail?” Misty asked, her voice shaking.
“Didn’t you hear? They found her body. Well, I found her body. First, I dumped it, and then I found it. Didn’t plan it that way, but…” She frowned for a moment. “She washed right up in our spot. Like she came back for me.” And then her face twisted, and she said, “She was still so beautiful.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Christy said, grimacing at the tail she’d been forced to wear. “How do you think killing us is going to help you, lady? There are more than just the two of us digging into this. You know that, right?”
“She’s right. Killing us will make them dig all the harder,” Misty said. She was still standing with her back to the door. She noticed the pool-cover mechanism on the floor, leaning crookedly against the wall with its wires stretched upward.
“Your auntie and uncle will be dead before you are,” Jen said. “That only leaves your boyfriend— the rookie, and you know, suicide is the leading cause of death among police officers. And then the Ziglar girl. An accident for her, I think.” Jen strode over to where Christy lay on the floor, grabbed her by her hair, and jammed the gun to her temple so hard she yelped in pain. “Get into costume. Now.”
“Okay, okay!” Misty screamed. “Jesus stop hurting her you sick fuck!” All as she hurried to where Jen had pointed. A costume bag lay on the bench. She unzipped it and saw a getup she’d never seen before. The tail was palest pink at the waist, gradually darkening to vivid hot pink at the tail. It was stunning. The top had pink shells over fabric that was ingeniously concealed. She then unzipped the tail and got into it, facedown, moving slowly, watching her sister’s eyes the whole time.
Get the hell out of here. Get help. Or we’re both dead. That’s what her sister’s eyes were telling her. She didn’t doubt it. She didn’t want to leave.
Christy’s eyes flared wider. It’s our only chance.
Jen stood over her head, her gun still pointed. “Hand me your string.”
