Natalie pauses, taking a long breath. She looks up at the ceiling as if asking God for assistance before saying, “I…don’t like thatexplanation.” She glances between us and the computer. “But at the same time, I only know a lot about ecology. Want me to google?”
I exhale, relief softening the ache in my lungs. She really was just awkward-weird with us the first time. “Yes, please,” I say.
Natalie’s keyboard clacks again. She purses her lips as she gets her answer. “So, according to the not-AI internet, yes, that can happen. Says the line can wear from age, exposure to heat, weather conditions, or a manufacture defect.” She looks back to us. “That sound right?”
Beck cracks her knuckles, her focus on doing that. “I dunno. It’s my mom’s car.”
“Did she ever complain about it?”
“All the time.” It occurs to me that I think Beck’s embarrassed by her mom’s shitty car. It’s kind of endearing. When I catch her gaze, I mouth, “It’s okay.” She softens. It’s such a quick interaction that Natalie doesn’t notice.
Natalie shrugs. “You didn’t happen to see if the line looked like it was cut, did you?”
Beck pulls out her phone, dropping it on Natalie’s side of the counter. “I can’t tell.”
Natalie scrutinizes the pictures for what feels like an eternity. “I honestly can’t tell either. Crap.” She sighs.
I can’t help but wonder if the texter is the one responsible, but if they were blackmailing me to get me out here and “off” me, why would they have not shown up when we agreed to meet? I made it easy for them.
“I mean, your safety is our number one priority here. I can’t say that any of the losers on the local police force will even know what a cut versus broken fuel line looks like, but we can give them a call if you want.” She pauses. “How old are you both again?”
“Twenty-one,” Beck says, impressively fast with her fake ID age.
“Eighteen,” I say. But the lie doesn’t come out as smoothly.
Natalie raises her brows. “Really?” She looks to Beck. “For what it’s worth, they’ll scan both your IDs if you give a statement.” Her voice comes out calculatedly slow, like she’s saying something she’s rehearsed before. “If you happen to be under the age of eighteen, parents will be called. I don’t care either way.”
I wilt as her words sink in. If we decide to report this to the police, our parents will be called and we’ll be hauled back to LA. All for what has a very high chance of being a mechanical error. There’s no way in hell we’ll be able to return to this town if our parents catch wind of this. There will be no justice for Paisley, Harlow, and Opal. I’ll never be able to find Paisley’s phone and delete that message.
I look to Beck, who crosses her arms, seemingly just as conflicted as I am.
I exhale. “If something were wrong and we didn’t call the police…”
“Hey, look,” she holds her hands up, “I’m no fan of cops. Especially racist small-town ones. I get it if y’all don’t want to.” She clicks her tongue. “Here. I think I can give a backup.”
She produces two walkie-talkies.
My heart sings at the sight.
“If anything starts to scare you both, contact me here.” She clicks them on, a buzz of static the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “Honestly, service is so terrible around here that this is safer. I have a car that can go off-road, and there’s also my partner, Evan, who can help out. I know everything’s been scary in the news, but this place isn’t some murder forest. Promise.”
When I reach for the walkie-talkie, though, something catches my eye.
A little woven basket labeledLOSTANDFOUND.
And among the lost key chains and trash is a little doll. Just like the one Cheryl was selling but wrapped in plants.
“Hey Natalie,” I say, picking up the doll. “Do you remember where this was found?”
And all the color drains from Natalie’s face. “It was, uh, found in the campsite of those girls who died back in the fall.”
The first item that’s actually from my friends.
“Dark,” Beck says, exchanging a look with me.
As Beck grabs the walkie-talkies, I slip the doll into my pocket.
Sixteen
