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But there was that open window again. Emma could have sworn she shut and locked it the night before. She pushed back the covers, walked to it, and peered out. The Mercers’ impeccable lawn stretched in waves of green before her, not a white wicker lawn chair or potted plant out of place. The Tucson sun was a ball of fire above the Catalina Mountains and the sound of birds chattering filtered into the bedroom.
Bzz.
Emma jumped and turned around. Something was sounding from underneath Sutton’s bed. She realized almost immediately that it was her BlackBerry from her old life. She dove for it and checked the screen. It was Alex, her best friend from Henderson. Clearing her throat, she pressed the green answer button. “Hey.”
“Hey. Everything okay? You sound weird.”
Emma flinched. But Alex couldn’t know what Emma had just dreamed about. She didn’t even know Emma was in danger—as far as she was concerned, Sutton was still alive, and Emma was experiencing a foster-girl’s dream life with her long-lost sister. “Of course everything’s fine,” she croaked. “I was just sleeping.”
“Well, get up, sleepyhead,” Alex giggled. “I haven’t heard from you in ages. I wanted to see how things are going.”
“Everything’s fine,” Emma said, forcing herself to sound upbeat. “Great, in fact. Sutton’s family rocks.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been given this instant new life.
You should be on Oprah or something. Want me to submit your story?”
“No!” Emma said, perhaps too forcefully. She padded into Sutton’s closet, partly to select an outfit for the day, but partly because it was more private in there—there was less chance of Laurel hearing her.
“Okay, okay! How’s school? Do you like Sutton’s friends?” Alex asked.
Emma paused in front of a blue silk tank top.
“Honestly, things with them are a little tense right now.”
“How come? Can’t they handle two of you?” Alex’s voice was momentarily muffled, and Emma could picture her getting dressed for school, brushing her hair, and shoving a cinnamon bun in her mouth. Alex was the queen of multitasking and had a wicked sweet tooth.
“They’re just a pretty tight-knit group,” Emma said.
“They have so much history that I can’t even begin to understand.”
Alex chewed and swallowed. “History is just that—
history. Plan something fun and create your own stories with them, maybe even apart from Sutton.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Emma said, realizing that she barely ever hung out with any of Sutton’s friends one-on-one.
Drake let out a low bark downstairs, and Emma heard Mrs. Mercer shush him. “Listen, I should go—I promised Sutton I’d help her with homework before classes start.” She disconnected the call after promising she’d keep in better touch, then wandered out of Sutton’s closet and flopped back on her bed, her head suddenly throbbing. It was awful to lie to Alex. She thought of all the afternoons she’d spent in Alex’s bedroom, finding new music on Pandora and predicting each other’s futures. They’d shared a mauve-colored journal, taking turns updating it with new entries every few days. They’d stashed it in a trapdoor cut into the carpet below Alex’s bed so no one would find it.
They had secrets they kept from the world, but not from each other—until now.
Emma sat up. If Thayer had kept Sutton’s notes, maybe she’d kept his, too. But where did she hide them?
Emma swung her legs over the side of Sutton’s bed and ducked beneath the folds of the comforter. Two shoeboxes were shoved up against the wall, but she’d already gone through them weeks ago. She pulled them out anyway, dumping the contents onto the bed, in case she’d missed something. Old tests and graded papers scattered across the sheets along with a neon green rubber band and concert ticket stubs for Lady Gaga. A Barbie doll with vacant blue eyes stared back at Emma, her tangled blonde hair cascading over an elaborate silk prom dress. This wasn’t E, the doll Sutton had perhaps named after Emma—
she was in a hope chest in the Mercers’ bedroom. But Emma had seen all this stuff before.
Emma moved to Sutton’s dresser and yanked each drawer open one by one, tossing the contents onto the floor. There had to be something she was missing. She rifled through T-shirts and shorts and stuck her hands into tennis socks. She skimmed every page of three worn notebooks filled with history notes and algebra equations, and sorted through tubes of lip gloss, half a dozen chandelier earrings, and a small pot of moisturizer whose label promised to revitalize tired skin.
After she’d searched the drawers of Sutton’s desk as well, she slumped against the wall, scanning old photos to make sure there wasn’t something she had missed the first dozen times. But what would that be? A figure lurking in the background at a tennis match? Someone holding a sign s a yi ng I KILLED YOUR SISTER at her birthday party?
Someone holding a knife to her back at prom?
Emma’s spine straightened and her head snapped up.
Prom Queen Barbie. She didn’t fit with everything else Sutton had stashed under the bed and inside the drawers.
Emma yanked the doll from where she’d dropped her in a tangle of light blue blankets and flipped her upside down.
The folds of fabric fell away, exposing a tiny pouch sewn into the innermost layer of the ball gown. Bingo.
Nice work. Even I wouldn’t have thought to check the doll —and presumably I was the one who’d put that pouch there.
