At my side, I can practically feel Henry stewing. Despite the blaring music, the silence among the three of us is mind-shattering. I have to end it. “Where’s Adam?” I ask, trying to sound casual and not like I suspect he’s off with victim number three at this very moment. “Did he decide not to come down?” That wouldn’t surprise me at all.
“Oh, he came down,” Henry says, eyes swinging to the French doors. “He seems to be back to his old self. He’s outside, showing Ella—or Emma?” He shrugs. “He’s showing some girl the gardens.”
My throat goes dry. “It’s Emma,” I grit out. And she’s only a freshman. “Maybe we should go check on them.”
“Check on them?” Bram is smirking again. “You want to disturb Adam the first time he’s not mopey and insufferable in a year?”
“I’ll come with you,” Henry says, all too eager to leave Bram behind.
Or maybe he offers to accompany me because heknows. About Adam.It’shisfault we’re in this situation in the first place…Last December I asked Henry what he meant by that, but his response was vague. And then last week, when I asked if he thought Adam might have said something incriminating to the doctor, he practically hung up on me. Could Henry also be worried about what Adam might do?
He passes me, his fingers brushing mine. It’s a subtle gesture, not meant for Bram to see, but my hopes soar. Could it mean he doesn’t regret last Saturday and whatever nearly happenedbetween us?
He leads the way, and we pass Lydia in the formal dining room, talking to Liam. Her eyes are glued to an antique clock as she asks, “Can you believe this place? How much do you think something like that is worth?”
I glance at Henry, who doesn’t react. Maybe he wasn’t listening, or maybe he’s choosing to ignore her. When we make it outside, Henry stops to look at me in the moonlight. “What’s going on?” he asks. “Is this about the other day? Adam’s breakdown?”
“Sort of,” I say, unable to look him in the eye. “Henry, after our talk last weekend about Adam, I started thinking again about last December.”
“Last December?”
“When you and Adam got into that fight, and you said your whole situation was his fault.”
Henry lets out a puff of air. “I thought we went over this. I was mad, so I said it. I didn’t mean it. Well, maybe a little.”
“Really?” My heartbeat quickens.
“Of course. Bram and I wanted to force the school board to actually make a ruling. We’d done nothing wrong. But Adam said he couldn’t face everyone, and”—he shrugs—“we were sort of guilted into staying home with him. Our parents agreed with him, saying it was all for the best. I got stir-crazy, that’s all. I wanted him to fight, like he would’ve done before the accident. But I expected too much.”
“Right.” For a moment, I feel better. But then I remember that photo collage of Mariana, Kennedy’s body lying in the woods, andthe possibility that Adam had motive to hurt both girls. We have to find him. “Still,” I say, “after that breakdown, we should make sure he’s okay.”
Henry examines my face for another moment, unconvinced. “I’m sure Adam is fine,” he says, taking my hand in his. Everything I felt on Saturday comes rushing back. His fingers thread through mine, the warmth of his hand radiating up my arm.
“Adam never turned the lights on back here,” Henry says, peering out into the darkness. Releasing my hand, he moves to the electricity panel and pulls a few switches. “Damn. It won’t turn on.”
“But the electricity isn’t out,” I say, looking through the glass of the French doors at the lit rooms.
“No, it’s not.”
A shiver runs over the back of my neck. Did Adam sabotage the lighting out here?
I follow Henry, our pace quick over the path. As we reach the pond, my phone dings in my back pocket. I stop to check it, hoping it’s Bram reporting that Adam is back inside the house and Emma is safe and sound.
But it’s an Instagram notification. A DM from Desiree Watts, containing nothing but a link.
When I click on it, I’m sent to a post on Lydia’s account. It’s a photo of a gold bracelet, little pom-pom charms bookending a series of dangling letters that spell out the wordCAPTAIN. The post contains a caption:
Never thought I would be awarded cheer captain under such terrible circumstances. Rest in peace, Ken. We love you
“Coming?” Henry asks, stepping out onto the bridge.
“You go ahead,” I say. “Find Adam.” As his footsteps trail off, I read the message again, wondering what I’m missing. Sure, it’s in poor taste to post something like this now. But Kennedy was cheer captain, so when she died, the position went to Lydia. Much like the student council president situation. Lydia was always the default after Kennedy.
When I reached out to Desiree, she told me she had nothing to say on the matter. So why is she sending me this cryptic link?
Frustrated, I message her back.Sorry, I don’t understand.
I expect her to ignore me, the way she did last time, and look up, remembering that I told Henry to go on.
