One of Us Is Back (ONE OF US IS LYING)

Phoebe

Saturday, July 18

Jake Riordan has disappeared.

“Disappeared like escaped, or disappeared like…Reggie?” Luis asks.

We’re on the Café Contigo roof deck once again, which Luis’s parents have closed for an emergency Murder Club meeting. This time I’m not sitting next to Knox, but even from across the table I can tell that his fear of heights has been overshadowed by the latest news. He looks tense but not scared. Unlike Addy, who looks flat-out terrified.

“Seems like the former,” she says, tugging hard on her earring. “His ankle monitor was found in his yard. Cut off, somehow.”

“Dark web,” Maeve mutters. “You were right.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Bronwyn says. “Jake had a good shot at getting his conviction reversed. Removing an ankle monitor—that’s a felony, isn’t it?” She raises her eyebrows at Nate, who shrugs.

“You tell me,” he says. “You’re the legal expert.”

“I think it is,” Bronwyn says. “And even if it’s not, it would look horrible to a jury.” She turns back to Addy and adds, “What did Detective Mendoza say?”

“It’s not like he was sharing theories,” Addy says. “Just asked if Jake had made contact and told us to stay vigilant.” She rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Did you tell him what happened at the Ramona house?” Nate asks.

“God, no,” Addy shudders. “I’m not looking to become a suspect.” Her eyes are glazed, and her voice drops to a near whisper as she adds, “You guys, Jake is out there. He’s out there.”

She looks so scared that I can’t help blurting, “Maybe not. Maybe he’s ‘Perfect,’ and someone took him.” I flash finger quotes before rubbing my arm, trying to imagine someone as physically intimidating as Jake Riordan getting the same treatment that I did.

Bronwyn loops a comforting arm around Addy’s shoulder as Maeve says, “Or maybe we’re wrong about all of this, and we’ve been following a dead end. Because we were definitely wrong about one thing.” As usual, she’s been tapping on her laptop throughout the conversation. “Chase Alton had nothing to do with anything.”

I rub my arm harder, wishing I could make the phantom letters disappear for good. Sometimes, it feels like they’ll be with me for the rest of my life. “How do you know?”

“He’s not in LA anymore; he’s in New York. Apparently, he’s been all hush-hush about starring in a new play, but he just started posting about it,” Maeve says. “Super off-off-off Broadway, but it did get a couple of reviews. Neither of which have been posted by Chase, because the critics weren’t exactly kind to him.” She deepens her voice. “Newcomer Chase Alton was so wooden, audience members could be forgiven for mistaking him for a prop.”

Bronwyn cringes. “Ouch.”

“I thought he told you he was in San Diego?” Nate says.

“I know, right?” Maeve widens her eyes in fake surprise. “Can you believe the guy I was catfishing actually lied to me? The nerve. Although technically, I guess, he didn’t lie. He said maybe. He was leading Tami Lee on, letting her think he was geographically available.” She stabs at her keyboard. “That girl has the worst taste in men.”

“So that leaves us where?” Addy asks before answering her own question. “Nowhere. We have zero clues. Everything’s been a wild-goose chase and a waste of energy.” She slumps in her seat, looking more defeated than I’ve ever seen her.

“There’s still Christopher Alton,” Maeve says. “The younger brother. Chelsea’s twin. She and Chase are both living very well-documented lives, but him? I can’t find a trace.” She glances around the roof deck. “Can anyone think of a mysterious guy in his early twenties who’s popped up in Bayview recently?”

“That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” Cooper says, shifting in his seat. “What about Ms. Riordan? Anything new there?”

“Well, I did what you said before all hell broke loose,” Nate says. “I sicced Vanessa on her, so…who knows.” He shrugs. “Maybe she’ll come up with something.”

“Call her off,” Addy says wearily. “All of this is pointless.”

“Nothing’s pointless. We learned that the hard way with Jared,” Knox says before getting to his feet. “I need the restroom. Anyone want anything from downstairs?” There’s a chorus of despondent noes around the table, because every single one of us has lost our appetite.

Knox pushes through the door to the stairwell, and once he’s disappeared, I’m hit by a wave of loneliness so deep that it makes my chest ache. Even though I’m surrounded by friends and we’re worried about a lot of the same things, it still feels like there’s an invisible wall separating me from everyone else.

“I should probably go,” I blurt out. “I left Emma by herself.”

“Does she want to come here?” Cooper asks.

I can’t look him in the eye. He’s been so nice to me, and all I’ve done in return is stop visiting his grandmother because I’m afraid of saying something I shouldn’t. “No, she’s still tired from her flight,” I say.

That’s a lie; I’d invited Emma, but she insisted on staying home, even though Mom was coordinating a wedding and Owen was at a sleepover. “I’d feel totally out of place,” she said. I came without her because I wanted to support Addy, but Addy won’t miss me; she’s surrounded by people who love her. Emma’s all alone.

“Tell her we said hi,” Maeve says.

“I will,” I say. “Keep me posted on anything new.”

When I get downstairs, Evie beckons to me from the cash register. “Hey, Mr. Santos wanted to send an order of nachos to the roof deck,” she calls out as I approach. Her face is flushed, strands of hair escaping from her usually neat braid. “They just came up in the kitchen. Would you mind bringing them with you when you go back upstairs? Ahmed and I are swamped, and people are getting impatient.”

“I’m leaving,” I say absently. My eyes drift over her shoulder to the clock on the wall, my mind already miles away from Café Contigo.

“Oh. Okay.” Evie’s forehead creases as she jabs at the register, then raps it hard on one side. Sometimes, you have to practically beat that thing to get it to open. “Don’t worry about doing me a favor, I guess. It’s not like I’ve ever done any for you.”

I blink, startled at the crack in her usual calm. “I…what?”

Evie stops pounding the register and puts her hands on her hips, surveying the packed dining room behind us. Now that she’s mentioned it…yeah. A lot of people are craning their necks, trying to get her attention. “Half the time around here I do both our jobs,” she says. “Would it really kill you to bring a plate of nachos to the roof deck?”

My cheeks get warm with shame. She’s right; of course she’s right. I’ve leaned on her all summer, too caught up in my own problems to even thank her properly. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was distracted. Of course I can help.”

Ahmed comes sailing out of the kitchen then, an overloaded plate of nachos on one shoulder. “Rooftop-bound,” he calls to Evie.

She snorts lightly without looking at me. “Ahmed to the rescue, yet again.”

My face is a full-on fire now. The problem with being in perpetual crisis mode is that you forget that other people might be having a hard time too. Or maybe that’s just me. Addy’s had an even worse summer than I have, but she’s managed to keep things together at work. I should’ve been splitting my tips between Evie and Ahmed for months, because I definitely didn’t earn them. “I really am sorry, Evie,” I say as she bangs on the register again. “I owe you one. Multiple ones. I promise I’ll be better about—everything.”

The cash register finally pops open, and Evie grabs some change before slamming it shut again. “It’s fine, Phoebe. Just think about other people occasionally, okay?” she says, her bright, practiced smile falling back into place as she waves to a table behind us. I wish I could defend myself—lately, it feels like all I do is think about other people—but the truth is, none of those people are her. And mostly, I think about how to keep lying to them.

Knox emerges from the restroom corridor then, and I tamp down the immediate urge to flee. We haven’t had a one-on-one conversation since the night in his room, and it’s been making me miserable. Chances are, I’m not the only one who feels that way.

Think about other people occasionally.

“Hi,” I call out.

“Hey,” Knox says cautiously.

Now what? There’s so much I want to tell him that my brain feels hopelessly tangled, and the only thing that comes out is “I, um, wanted to say goodbye.”

Ugh. It’s better than ducking out the door like a coward, but not by much.

“You’re leaving?” Knox asks.

“Yeah, to hang out with Emma.”

“Right,” Knox says. “Of course.” And then silence falls, like we’re a couple of distant acquaintances with no common ground.

“I hate this,” I burst out, twisting my hands together.

“Me too,” Knox says, and I wonder if we’re even close to being in the same ballpark about what we hate. There’s so much to choose from.

Before I can ask, though, my phone trills like a bird in my pocket. It’s Emma’s unique text tone; before she got back to Bayview, she’d been so impossible to pin down that I didn’t want to miss a message.

Even without the birdcall, this one would be hard to miss.

COME HOME RIGHT NOW!!

—

I’ve barely put my key into the lock when Emma yanks the door open and pulls me inside. “What’s your problem?” I yelp, stumbling on the threshold.

“You took forever,” Emma says tightly, shutting the door behind us.

“I took ten minutes, which is exactly how long it’s supposed to take. Trust me, I know. Any delay means I get a frantic call from Mom.” I drop my keys and bag on the kitchen island and put my hands on my hips as I stare at my sister, searching for some kind of clue in her expression. “Why the urgency? Are you mad at me about something?”

“At you? No,” Emma says.

My pulse spikes. “Then who?”

Emma bites her lip. “Well, I…since I was by myself tonight, I thought I’d take the opportunity to look through Owen’s stuff. You know, kind of check up on him and make sure he hasn’t been talking to anyone he shouldn’t. I tried looking through his computer, but there’s no browser history—”

I hold up a hand. “I could’ve told you that,” I say. It’s minimum concerned-sister snooping to check browser history, but Owen wipes his constantly. “If you’d bothered to ask.”

I expect her to get defensive, but instead she says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Oh no. A penitent Emma cannot be good. “And?” I ask.

“And then I checked Owen’s room. He didn’t take his backpack with him tonight—”

“Really?” I interrupt, surprised. That thing is practically sutured to his shoulder.

“Yeah. Ben’s mom showed up earlier than expected, so everything was kind of disorganized. Anyway…” Emma goes behind the kitchen island, bends down, and hauls Owen’s battered black backpack onto the countertop. “I went through it bit by bit. I was almost done, feeling like a jerk because there was nothing out of the ordinary and then…I found this, stuffed way down in one of the inside pockets.”

I don’t want to know. I’m positive, with every fiber of my being, that I don’t want to know what my sister found in Owen’s backpack. But she pulls it out anyway and holds it up. “Phoebe, does this…I mean, did this belong to Reggie Crawley?”

My heart rockets into my throat as I take the familiar necklace from her. Same leather cord, same three silver beads that glinted in the dim light of his bedroom the last time I ever spoke to Reggie. “Yeah,” I say, turning it over in my hand. “It did.”