“Nothing much. Just that she wanted her father arrested for what he’d done.” And that she suspected Greer of knowing hers was a murderer the entire time. “Why do you want to know?”
“It just occurred to me.” He tilts his head, as if trying to view me from a slightly different angle. “You were the last one to see her.”
I don’t like where this conversation’s headed. Sliding the photos back into the envelope, I say, “I think I’m going back upstairs to my room.” I hurry toward the door, but as I pass him, he grabs ahold ofthe envelope. Shocked, I stop mid-stride, both of us gripping opposite ends. “Let go.”
He doesn’t.
“Let go,” I repeat. “They’re my photos.”
“Technically, they’re mine. I paid for them.”
How dare he? “They were stolen from me.”
“And you can have them back, but in light of everything that’s happened this weekend, I’m going to hold on to them a little longer.”
“Why? Nothing in here has anything to do with Zach.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but you’re still going to leave them with me until the end of the retreat.”
“No, I’m not.” I pull as hard as I can on the envelope, but his grip remains firm.
“Don’t make me do this,” he says, in the same tone I employ with misbehaving students, and then, when I make no move to release the envelope, he reaches over and begins prying my fingers loose. He’s strong, much stronger than I am, and no matter how hard I try to hold on, my fingers are horrifyingly, inescapably, ripped free.
“You’ll get them back when we leave,” he reminds me, but the damage has already been done. I feel just as small, just as helpless, as I did in the lecture hall when those boys presented me with evidence of my own inferiority. I flee, the same way I did back then, into the foyer. I should go back upstairs, like I said I would, but the lodge seems to be constricting around me, crushing the air out of my lungs. I shove open the front door and jog down the patio steps. The damp chill instantly makes me feel better. Drifting over to the firepit, I slump down on one of the surrounding logs.
Zach must’ve found those photos. It would explain why he recorded the keypad code in my notebook—because he planned on returning later and stealing them. Grabbing a nearby stick, I start chipping away at the charred remnants of our bonfire. Connor promisedhe’d return the photos at the end of the retreat; all I have to do is wait. They’ll be safely back in my possession, and I’ll know, without a doubt, that no one can ever leak them to the press. But why should I have to wait? Why does he think he has the right to keep them?
A blackened log crumbles, and that’s when I notice that something has slipped halfway under the rock circle.
I pinch it between my fingers and pull it out.
A driver’s license.
Most of it has been burned away by the fire, and the picture isn’t visible anymore, but I’m able to read the small piece that’s left:
ARNOSTI
STEFFANI M.
218 HOLLOW BIRCH ROAD
GARLAND, MAINE 04939
How did this get in here? Steffani couldn’t have thrown it in; she was ushered upstairs by Connor right after she arrived. So, someone else burned it after the bonfire, but why? Because they were trying to destroy evidence?
My hand immediately tunnels into my pocket.
I pull out the necklace, each link in the chain slowly coming loose. It looked familiar back in his room, but now I remember where I’ve seen it before: on the balcony, our first night at the lodge. Steffani was wearing this very same necklace.
What was it doing in Connor’s desk drawer?
We all assumed Steffani drove off in the middle of the night, but what if her disappearance was something much more sinister? We found only one body in the lake, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more out there.
I need to get back inside. I need to tell Greer about this before I’m the next to disappear.
26STEFFANI
There’s no way out.
