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Mr. Mercer looked at her over the top of the menu, then sighed and set it down. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
“Sutton,” he said carefully, “Becky came to see me yesterday.”
Emma nodded slowly. She folded and refolded the napkin across her lap. “I saw her, too.”
He nodded. “I thought you might have. She wanted to know where you were. I told her I didn’t know, that I could call you and set up a meeting—but Becky doesn’t like things to get too set in stone. She doesn’t do well when people expect anything of her.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s let people down so much she’s afraid she’ll fail,” said Emma.
Mr. Mercer cocked his head at her. “That probably has something to do with it.” The waitress came over and poured him a cup of coffee, and he added milk and sugar before taking a sip. “Is it my imagination, or have you grown up a lot in the past few months?”
Emma wished yet again that she could tell her grandfather the truth. He deserved to know. Maybe he would be able to help her figure out what to do next, to find Sutton’s killer and lay her spirit to rest.
But every time she had almost convinced herself to tell him, she thought about the threatening messages she’d received. The killer was obviously still watching her. The killer could be here right now, in this very restaurant. Her eyes flicked around, studying the waiters, the people walking outside in the parking lot or waiting in line at the smoothie counter next door. She shivered. Who knew what Sutton’s murderer would do if she told Mr. Mercer? She couldn’t risk her grandfather’s safety.
Mr. Mercer looked sideways out the window, too. “I’m glad Becky found you,” he said. “I know she didn’t want to leave things like they were the other night at the hospital.” He sighed. “Part of me thinks I should have sent her back there, but she seemed so much healthier last night. She said she needed to get out of here, so I gave her some money and made her promise to call me soon. I know from experience it’s no good trying to force her into treatment. She has to want to take care of herself.”
Emma nodded. “She told me she was sorry. I guess I just don’t understand why she feels like she has to leave. Can’t she stay here and try again? We could help her, Dad. Our family is worth fighting for.”
He turned his serious eyes back to meet hers. “Oh, Sutton, of course we are. Of course you are. And in her own way, Becky has tried harder than the rest of us can ever fully appreciate. Even if you don’t believe anything else about her, believe that.”
“I know. I do,” Emma promised.
Mr. Mercer opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the waitress appeared at their table to take their order. Emma fumbled at the menu, trying to decide what she wanted. She felt hungry enough to eat a half dozen pancakes, but she finally settled on a vegetable omelet with a side of bacon. Mr. Mercer ordered the eggs Benedict, his favorite, then turned back to Emma and dropped his voice.
“Sutton, honey, did your mother say anything else to you last night?”
Emma’s heart picked up speed. “Like what?”
He frowned down at his hands, then shook his head. “I don’t know. She insinuated some very strange things to me, and I don’t know what to believe. Time will tell, I guess.” He stirred his coffee, his eyes looking somewhere far away.
Emma wondered what, exactly, Becky had hinted at. That there was a lost twin in Las Vegas? Another daughter in California? Something else entirely? She waited for him to say more, but he’d gone quiet and pensive, sipping from his mug.
My sister was still in so much danger—and along with her, all the other people I loved. I was glad that Becky had been cleared. But Emma needed to keep investigating the night that I died. The case was getting colder by the minute. We didn’t even know where my body was, and we had no new evidence, no leads. All we had was my murderer, watching Emma’s every move.
“Where do you think she’ll go this time?” Emma asked softly.
A sad smile turned the corners of Mr. Mercer’s mouth up. “I don’t know if she even knows. She told me she’d let me know when she landed somewhere. I hope she does. As difficult as things can be with her, I miss her when she disappears.”
Emma nodded. She understood the feeling more than she could tell him.
“I’m glad that you’ve had Ethan through all of this,” Mr. Mercer said, and Emma looked up in surprise. “He seems like a nice young man. Maybe you should invite him to dinner tonight? Your mom is cooking her special enchiladas.”
Emma smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”
The waiter arrived with plates of steaming food. Emma dug into the melted goat cheese center of her omelet. She glanced out the window once more. A cluster of pigeons pecked at invisible crumbs on the sidewalk. Beyond the parking lot the university campus sprawled, the red tile of the roofs bright in the morning sunshine.
By now Becky could be anywhere—on her way to California, Las Vegas, or somewhere new, somewhere she could make a fresh start. Emma pictured Becky driving through the desert, greeting the sunrise with tired eyes. Drinking a cup of truck-stop coffee and tuning the radio until she found a station that played loud, happy music. Becky’s life had been full of mistakes and bad decisions; it seemed naïve to hope she’d suddenly change, so Emma settled for hoping that Becky would survive. As long as she did, as long as she was alive, there was always a chance to keep growing up. There was always a chance for them to be a family again someday.
