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“About what?”
Good question, Emma thought. She was taking a blind stab in the dark here, trying to grasp at anything. “About Thayer, maybe. About where he was all this time.” Charlotte turned her gaze from the road and gave Emma a long, incredulous look. “I think Mads is wondering the same thing about you.”
Emma swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. Did Sutton know where Thayer had gone?
I had a feeling I didn’t. I wouldn’t have asked Thayer all of those questions about the secrets he was keeping if I had known.
Out the window, two junior-high-age kids skateboarded off a homemade ramp in the driveway next to Madeline’s. Their mom looked on with her arms crossed over her chest and a disgruntled expression on her face.
Finally, Charlotte shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Madeline was hiding something, though.”
“How come?” Emma asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“Because.” Charlotte put her car in park and rested her
“Because.” Charlotte put her car in park and rested her fingertips on the console between them. “Everyone in the Vega family has secrets.”
Before Emma could ask more, Charlotte got out of the car, adjusted her denim miniskirt, and started up the front walk to the stucco house. Emma got out, too, and followed her to the Vegas’ front door. When Emma raised her finger to press the doorbell, Charlotte said, “No need,” and she rummaged through her black hobo bag. “I have the key.” She tugged a keychain attached to a wonky-looking miniature doll from the bag and pinched a bronze key between her thumb and index finger.
“You have the Vegas’ key?” Emma asked, stopping short.
Charlotte gave Emma a weird look. “Uh, yeah. I’ve had it since eighth grade. I have yours, too—and you have mine, amnesia patient.” She frowned. “You haven’t misplaced my key, have you? My dad will flip. He’ll have to change all the locks.”
“No, I still have it,” Emma covered, even though she had no idea where Charlotte’s key might be. A fault opened in her mind. She thought about the person who’d tried to strangle her in Charlotte’s house a few weeks ago. At first, she’d thought it had been one of Sutton’s friends—the alarm hadn’t been tripped, so whoever had done it was either inside the house from the start or knew the code.
Could Thayer have stolen Madeline’s key to Charlotte’s house? Could he know the alarm code somehow?
“But could you tell me your alarm code again?” Emma’s heart thudded, wondering how far she could push this line of questioning. “It’s something really easy, right? 1-2-3-4?” Maybe Thayer had just guessed at the code and gotten it right.
Charlotte snorted. “What planet are you living on? It’s 2-9-3-7. Just put it in your phone and quit asking me every two weeks. Madeline did and now she never has to ask.”
“Madeline has your alarm code in her phone?” Emma repeated. “That doesn’t seem safe.” Her heart pumped faster. This was huge. Not only could Thayer have stolen Madeline’s key to Charlotte’s house, he could have found Charlotte’s alarm code in Madeline’s phone, too. She thought about the strong hands around her neck in Charlotte’s kitchen. The whisper in her ear that she needed to stop digging. Those hands felt like a guy’s. And that voice might have been the same one that called out to Emma in Sutton’s bedroom Saturday morning.
I wondered if it was true. I thought about the hike we’d taken, the way Thayer easily maneuvered the rockiest trails and steepest inclines, always waiting impatiently for me to catch up. Sneaking into Charlotte’s house or climbing up the rafters at school to drop an overhead light dangerously close to Emma’s head would have been no challenge for him. I thought about myself alone in Sabino Canyon with Thayer the night I died. What if he’d thrown me over the cliff that I’d been coming to with my father ever since I was a little girl?
Charlotte opened the door to Madeline’s house, and they stepped through the foyer. The inside smelled like a mix of potpourri and Mexican cooking, and four pairs of shoes, ranging from Tory Burch flats to Boutique 9 heels, were lined up by the closet. A bunch of photographs sat on a small console table along the wall. One was Mr. and Mrs.
Vega’s wedding photo, another was of a much younger Madeline in a tutu and pointe shoes. Emma frowned, sensing something was missing. The last time she had been here, she’d sworn she’d seen a photo of Thayer on that table, too. Had the Vegas taken it down? Were they trying to remove all evidence of Thayer? Were they embarrassed that he was their son?
Lili appeared at the top of the stairs. “Finally,” she trilled, adjusting the dozen strands of black leather that wrapped her left wrist. “We’re up here.”
Emma and Charlotte stomped up to Madeline’s bedroom. Music was playing loudly, and the flat-screen TV
blared an episode of The Rachel Zoe Project. Madeline, Gabby, and Laurel looked up from their magazines as Emma, Charlotte, and Lili settled in. Old issues of Vogue and W were stacked in mini towers on the wooden floor.
Coffee-colored shades were drawn to expose the Catalina Mountains in the distance. Framed posters of ball erinas in various poses dotted the pale peach walls, along with a snapshot of Madeline and Thayer on a ski trip.
Emma couldn’t tear her gaze away. His deep-set eyes stared out from the photograph, seemingly glaring at her and only her.
Laurel found an issue of Cosmopolitan beneath Madeline’s bed and opened it to an article titled “How to Make Your Man Roar Like a Tiger.” “Who writes these things?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
