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Emma sank back onto the rock, placed her head in her hands, then, unexpectedly, burst into sobs. Maybe it was the stress of holding it together for so long, but suddenly, tears were streaming down her face fast and furious.
I wished I could cry, too. From shock. From numbness. From the unfairness of it all. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t muster a single tear.
“Is this why my dad wanted Laurel and me to stay away from you?” she asked, her voice muffled through her fingers. “Because you’d tell us he’s cheating?” And because you’d tell me he’d hit you with his car and then killed the twin I didn’t even know I’d had? she added silently.
“I don’t know,” Thayer said softly. He took a small step toward Emma. “But maybe.” And then he sat down, pulled her close, and hugged her tight. “You’ll be fine. I promise,” he whispered ever so softly into her ear.
At first, Emma’s body was stiff, but Thayer felt so good against her that she began to relax. She needed someone to hug her right now. She needed someone to tell her it was going to be okay. Emma allowed herself to cry for a few minutes until the tears died out and the sobs were just little hiccups.
I stared at the two of them, feeling an uneasiness that had nothing to do with what I’d just learned about my dad. Thayer was hugging a girl who looked just like me…but wasn’t me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
After a moment, Emma broke free from Thayer, feeling awkward. “I should…I need to be alone,” she mumbled, brushing the tears from her face. It was true, but she needed to be away from him, too. It wasn’t fair to Ethan to be taking comfort in another boy’s arms—especially when that boy was Thayer.
Thayer stared after her, his eyes soft in the moonlight. “You know I’m always here for you, Sutton.”
“Thank you,” Emma said faintly, then moved down the path toward the hotel, taking even breaths as she processed everything Thayer had just told her. Mr. Mercer had killed his own daughter because she’d known what he did.
But I hadn’t known it was him—not until he showed up in his own car. It had been so dark that night, and I hadn’t seen the driver. And I hadn’t seen him with his mistress because Thayer had protected me from the truth. He’d done what my dad was supposed to do—take care of me and keep me out of harm’s way. How could my father live with himself? Didn’t he love me? But then the memory I’d just seen flared in my head again. As much as I wanted to erase it, it only got darker, inkier. That car heading for me. Those harsh words, Get in the car, Sutton! That hand around my wrist, those strong muscles dragging me in the dirt.
Even though no one could hear me, I opened my mouth and wailed. My killer was my father.
18
WATCH YOUR BACK
That night Emma lay in Sutton’s bed, wide awake. She’d fled from the party after her discussion with Thayer, not wanting to face Mr. Mercer. She’d sent Sutton’s friends quick texts before she left, saying she didn’t feel well, but she knew it probably looked crazy. Once she’d gotten back to the Mercers’, she’d had a long call with Ethan, discussing everything she’d learned. He’d wanted to come over immediately and only backed down when Emma promised him she’d call him first thing tomorrow; she couldn’t risk Mr. Mercer realizing that Ethan knew about him, too.
Then she’d locked herself in her bedroom, pushed Sutton’s dresser in front of the door, and thrown the covers over her head. Mrs. Mercer had knocked on Emma’s door an hour ago and asked if she was okay, but Emma had pretended to be sleeping. It was probably something she ate, she’d heard Sutton’s mom whisper in the hall. Or something she drank, Grandma Mercer groaned. Emma didn’t hear Mr. Mercer at all.
She knew the sick excuse wouldn’t hold for long—she’d have to face the family sometime. Mr. Mercer knew she’d heard him. But did he know that she’d put the pieces together? And what was Mr. Mercer waiting for—why hadn’t he killed her already? He had to know how much snooping she’d done. Would he make it look like she’d died in an accident? That way, both Emma and Sutton would be gone in one fell swoop.
I’d also wondered if my murderer was biding his time, figuring out the best way to kill Emma so that it seemed like an accident—a car wreck, overdose, nasty fall. My dad was a doctor and had access to all kinds of drugs. Was he planning to poison Emma in her sleep, then play the role of grieving father for the rest of the world?
The white curtains billowed like ghosts. Sutton’s cavernous closet was ajar, revealing neatly hung dresses and blouses. Her computer flashed a rotating screen saver of her best friends. Now that Emma had uploaded new photos, pictures of both her and Sutton flashed across the screen. There was one with Sutton in her Hollier tennis uniform. The next one captured Emma and Charlotte at La Encantada, posing in crazy outfits in the Neiman’s dressing room. The only difference in the twins’ smiling faces was the tiny scar on Emma’s chin, which Emma had gotten from falling off the Hamburglar at a McDonald’s PlayPlace when she was little.
Emma sat straight up. Mr. Mercer had pointed out that scar the very first morning she’d eaten breakfast with the family. Maybe it was some kind of warning, that the smallest difference could blow her secret if she wasn’t careful.
She flopped back in bed, filled with dread and fear and heavy sadness. Mr. Mercer seemed so sweet and caring, like the kind of man who’d do anything for his daughters, which made it all the more heartbreaking that he’d done something so terrible.
