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“We know who the real neighbors are now, so we just have to figure out who the others are, and then we’ve solved it,” Austin announces to the group as if he’s really cracked something.
The truth is, even if we figure out who the other people are, I’m not sure it will tell us anything. We still don’t know what they’re doing in that house, how they got in there, or what was happening the night the man attacked the woman.
“We should try to look up the address,” Paulette says. “Maybe there’s a record of people who have lived there before.”
“But I doubt there’d be a record of these people who are essentially breaking in and squatting,” Mara points out.
As we walk back up the hill, Memphis pulls his phone out with a sudden look of determination.
“What are you doing?” I ask, leaning over to see his phone screen. I’m probably breaking some sort of rule in terms of checking the phone of someone who might like you and might’ve almost kissed you earlier, but I don’t care at the moment.
“Trying to see if there are any reports of crime around here, but I’m not really seeing anything.” He pauses, twisting his mouth and scrolling down farther on his screen. “Man, for a small town, a lot of people go missing.”
My heart sinks. “What do you mean?” As he continues to scroll, I see that he’s right. Just on the first page, there are five articles about people who’ve gone missing.
“Do they all match a certain profile?” I ask, not sure how this could be relevant to our current mystery but intrigued nonetheless. I think back to what Bertie at the bookstore said.This may be a sleepy little small town, but we’ve got our problems just like everywhere else.
“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” he says, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Just a few disappearances. Nothing involving the house, just the town in general. Anyway, it was only a theory, but it’s a dead end.”
Try as he might to assure me, I suspect he’s lying. I just don’t know why.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
On our way back up the street and toward the house, I get an idea.
A really, really bad idea, but also the only one we’ve had since we left the little house at the end of the street. Slowly, theories and suggestions for things to try next have died out, and we’ve reverted to talk of what we’ll do once Ethan arrives and how we’ll explain to him all that he’s missed.
With this new idea in mind, I jog ahead of the group and cross the street. Double-checking that no one is outside the house, I move closer.
“Where are you going?” Austin calls.
“Shhh!” I warn, waving a hand at him to get him to keep it down. “Something Paulette said earlier gave me an idea. She mentioned looking up records of people who have lived here.” I check the house once more, then close my eyes, approach the mailbox, and tear it open. “What if we can find a name on their mail?” The first two items inside are junk mail addressed to the current resident with no actual name.
“What?” Paulette whisper-yells.
“What the hell are you doing?” Memphis demands, moving to stand next to me. “Are you trying to get arrested?”
“Of course not. I just want to find out their name. Then we can look them up and—”
“And go to prison?” He shuts the mailbox, standing in front of it and refusing to budge. “This is illegal, Lena. Nothing matters enough to do this.”
“It’s only illegal if I open their mail,” I say, though I don’t really know if that’s true.
“No.” He shakes his head, crossing his arms. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you do this.”
“I’m not asking permission,” I huff, trying to shove him out of the way.
“He’s right, Lena,” Mara says, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We should go. It’s too risky.”
“I—”
“What the hell is going on out here?” The man’s angry voice tears through the air. “What are you doing by my mailbox?”
Memphis spins around, blocking me. “Just walking past.” He grabs my arm, pulling me forward. “Have a good night.”
“I’m going to call the police if I see you around here again. Stay on your property and away from mine,” he says, watching as we walk toward our house.
I hang my head, rage coursing through me.
