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

Nate

Tuesday, July 21

“Cheers,” Addy says, clinking her glass with mine, and then Bronwyn’s and Cooper’s.

It’s just seltzer water, since I’m not rich enough—or old enough—to uncork a bottle of champagne at the bar where I’m supposed to be working. But I still grin when I take a sip. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” I ask. Then I feel compelled to add, “Nothing’s a done deal, though.”

“Nate, please allow yourself to be happy,” Addy says, reaching over the counter to grab a lime wedge that she squeezes over her drink. “Your dad will come through.”

Cooper gazes around the half-full bar that Gavin started managing without me once my friends showed up. “Are you gonna quit this job?” he asks.

“No. Why would I? The pay’s great, and Gavin does all the work,” I say as he sails past the bar carrying a tray of dirty glasses.

“One of these days, we’re going to have a discussion about workload balance,” Gavin calls over his shoulder.

I wave him off and reach into my pocket. “Hey, guess what I found while I was cleaning out the old junk in my closet—”

Addy cuts me off with such a loud gasp that I whip around, half expecting to see Jake behind me. Then she says, “I’m sorry, did you say you were cleaning your closet?” She clasps a hand over her heart as Bronwyn tries—not very hard—to hold back a snicker.

“Look at him, so fancy already,” Cooper says with a grin.

I huff out a reluctant laugh. I should’ve expected that reaction, considering my track record of doing the bare minimum in that house. But last night, I looked around my room and realized that even if I don’t move out, I can make it less depressing—paint the walls, put up some shelves, and throw out or donate stuff I never use. “Can I finish?” I ask.

“Who even are you?” Addy says. “But okay.”

“I found my last burner phone,” I say, laying it on top of the bar between Addy and Bronwyn. “I charged it to see if I’d left anything stupid on there, but it’s empty. Guess I never got around to using this one. Still, maybe I should take a hammer to it or something.”

“Ooh, no, let me have it,” Addy says, picking it up and turning it over in one hand. “We can use it as a prop at our next joint birthday party.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I thought we were giving up on those?”

Cooper shakes his head and says, “The track record’s not good.”

“Okay, maybe just a regular party, then,” Addy says, stuffing the phone into the pocket of her shorts. “Or a farewell party for me and Maeve.”

“You’re going to have the best time in Peru,” Bronwyn says, gray eyes shining behind the new pair of glasses she picked up this morning. They look almost exactly like her old ones, but I know better than to tell her that. “This has been a rough summer, but at least some things are starting to look up.”

Addy grimaces. “Don’t jinx us. It’s still Unsolved Mystery Central around here.”

“I know,” Bronwyn says. “And I’ve been thinking about that.” She glances around us, then leans in closer and lowers her voice. “Maybe we should hand everything we have over to the Bayview Police. Let them know about the advertising campaign, the affair, the fact that one of Alexander Alton’s kids is posing as someone else. They can look into it, and we can…” She straightens in her seat as the margarita moms pass behind her. “We can be normal and enjoy the time we have left to hang out together.”

“Normal?” Cooper snorts. “Never heard of it.”

“I get what you mean, Bronwyn,” Addy says, “but the Bayview Police are so useless. I feel like they’ll totally dismiss us. And with Jake still out there…” She gives a little shiver. “I’d rather see what Maeve manages to learn first.”

“Not just Maeve,” Bronwyn says. “I’ve been busy too.” She holds up her phone to display a text message string. “Maeve had no luck finding any photos of Chelsea from that private school in Eastland the twins went to—they don’t do yearbooks, apparently—but you know how the family moved to Ohio after Alexander died?” We all nod. “A girl in my dorm is from the town next to where they lived. She’s going to see if she can dig up anything.”

“Oh, but we should turn things over to the police, huh?” I tease.

“The more we can hand them, the better,” Bronwyn says loftily.

Gavin bustles past again with a bottle of wine in each hand, and I realize the bar’s suddenly gotten a lot more crowded. “Not to interrupt your party, but I wouldn’t say no to a little help,” he huffs.

“Sorry, man. On it,” I say.

For the next half hour everything’s a blur; I ring up orders, serve drinks, talk with regulars, and collect empty glasses. Stephanie shows up early—for once—but it’s busy enough that Gavin keeps working too. After a while, Cooper leaves to meet up with Kris, and then Bronwyn gets to her feet. “I better go. Family-dinner night,” she says, before wrapping her arms around Addy and squeezing hard. “Call me later, okay?”

“I will if I don’t suffocate,” Addy says, her voice muffled in Bronwyn’s shirt.

“Sorry, I’m feeling nostalgic,” Bronwyn says, releasing her. “Just imagining the four of us two years ago versus now. Can you believe we barely knew one another the summer before our senior year? Well, you and Cooper did, but not like you do now.” Then she leans over the bar, takes my face in her hands, and gives me a long, lingering kiss. “You know what the best thing about your dad’s gift is?” she whispers as a few people around the bar whistle and clap. “It makes your future easier, but it doesn’t make it possible. You did that by yourself.”

“You helped,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to hers.

“I love you so, so much,” Bronwyn says.

It’s one of those perfect moments that I try to grab hold of even while it’s happening, because I know I’m going to want to remember it. “Love you more.”

“Impossible,” she says, giving me another quick peck before turning away. I watch her leave for as long as I can before all the credit cards being waved in my face distract me.

It’s past seven when the bar finally slows down. Gavin sighs deeply as he refills a drink for Addy, who ordered a salad for dinner. “That was a zoo. And it’s way past quitting time for me,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Stephanie chatting with the margarita moms. “I’m going to the restroom and then I’m heading out. Can you let Stephanie know?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

Addy watches him go and asks, “Anything ever happen with him and Vanessa?”

“No. Vanessa was decidedly not interested.” I raise my eyebrows. “What about you?”

“I’m not interested in him either,” Addy says.

“You know what I mean. Are you and Vanessa talking again, or what?”

“Oh my God, Nate, you’re such a mediator all of a sudden.” Addy rolls her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at her lips. “We’re talking a little. She wants to fly us both out to visit Keely for a long weekend before I leave for Peru. It’s short notice, and as my mother keeps reminding me, I still have a lot to do before I’m ready to leave the country for a month, but”—she shrugs her shoulders—“who am I to turn down such a generous offer?”

“Who indeed,” I say, pulling out my phone to check messages. I have a few from my parents, and one from Bronwyn—but still nothing from Phoebe, who’d asked to meet up a few hours ago and then blew me off. Sorry, something came up, she’d texted when I asked if she was still coming. After that: silence. “Have you heard from Phoebe lately?” I ask.

“No, why?” Addy asks. When I tell her, her eyes go round. “And you’re only mentioning that now?” she asks accusingly. “We need to be constantly vigilant, Nate!”

“I know that. I checked in with her.”

“Did you actually talk to her, or text?”

“Text,” I say.

Addy frowns. “Do I need to remind you that somebody used Phoebe’s phone to text her mom about sleeping over at my house the night she went missing?”

I stare at her. “Well, fuck. I guess you do.”

Addy whips out her phone. “I’m sure I’m being paranoid, but let me check with the rest of the gang and see if anyone else has heard from her.” She’s quiet for a couple of minutes, fingers dancing across her phone, until her frown deepens. “Nothing so far. I asked Ashton if she could stop by their apartment, but she’s not home. Maybe I should go myself, except—ugh.” She drops her phone onto the counter with a sigh. “I walked here. It’s going to take me forever to get to her place. When do you get off again?”

“Not till ten,” I say.

“Let me see if Bronwyn can drive me.”

“Hang on,” I say as Gavin emerges from the restroom and waves a goodbye. I beckon him over, calling, “Hey, Gavin, could you give Addy a ride? She’s going to a friend’s place in Bayview. It’s not far from here.”

“Of course,” Gavin says with a dramatic sweep of his arm toward Addy. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”

“Thanks,” she says, hopping off her stool. “I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“All right,” I say, unease twisting my gut. I’d thought it was weird that Phoebe didn’t show up, but not weird enough that it worried me, especially once she answered my text. Addy’s right, though; I should have double-checked. Especially with Jake still missing.

As soon as his name enters my head, the bar gets strangely quiet. When I look up, I see Ms. Riordan walking toward me with slow, careful steps. She’s dressed to the nines, like usual, but her makeup looks as though she missed a few spots. “Hello, Nate,” she says, taking a seat on an empty stool and placing her purse on the bar. “Chardonnay, please.”

I can tell she’s already had a few of those. “How are you doing, Ms. Riordan?” I ask.

She folds her hands on the bar in front of her. “How do you think I’m doing?”

“Not good,” I say.

Ms. Riordan lets out a low, brittle laugh that sounds more like a sob. Then she leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “Are you looking for him?” she asks in a low voice.

“For who?” I ask, filling a glass with water and placing it beside her.

Her mouth tightens. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know what he’s done to you, and your friends, but I also know…you’re not vindictive.” She swallows hard. “If you find him first, he’ll be okay.”

I give up any pretense that we’re having a normal conversation and place my palms on the bar, leaning forward so that only she can hear me. “Find him before who?”

Her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know.”

“You sure about that?” She doesn’t respond, and I lower my voice even further. “What happened to Alexander Alton?”

Ms. Riordan goes rigid. “How did you…” She gazes around wildly, like she’s expecting Alexander himself to pop out from behind the bar. Then she grabs her purse and clutches it to her chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses. “This was a mistake.”

“Don’t leave,” I say as she gets to her feet. “You’re right, you know. I’m not vindictive, but someone else is. Reggie Crawley’s dead because of them. So how about you cut the bullshit and tell me how that guy really died?”

“I—I don’t know,” Ms. Riordan says brokenly. “I was in Mexico, and he…”

“And he what?” I ask.

Tears spill from Ms. Riordan’s eyes and her face creases in pure misery. “I asked him to—” she starts, but she’s interrupted by a loud, commanding voice.

“Katherine! There you are. Time to head out.”

Scott Riordan is striding toward the bar wearing one of his usual power suits, his forehead covered with a thin sheen of sweat. The fixed grin on his face does nothing to conceal how angry he is at seeing me leaning over his wife. “Come on, Ms. R.,” I say in a harsh whisper as he approaches. “Last chance. Who killed Alexander?”

Ms. Riordan’s eyes fasten on her husband as she pastes on her own phony smile and murmurs, “I expect your guess is as good as mine.” Then she squares her shoulders and makes her way toward Mr. Riordan.

Who, unless I’m reading her wrong, she just accused of murder.

Mr. Riordan puts a possessive arm around his wife’s shoulders and steers her toward the exit. Once they’re out of sight I pull out my phone to call Bronwyn, but before I can, a new message from her flashes across my screen. OMG CALL ME!!! it says, immediately followed by a photo. I enlarge it and see a yearbook page full of smiling high school kids. Chelsea E. Alton, the first caption reads, and it’s…holy shit, it’s a years-younger version of that girl Evie from Café Contigo. Alexander Alton’s daughter has been here all along, serving us food and eavesdropping on our Murder Club meetings.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is the picture a few rows down from her. A kid wearing a suit and tie, beaming a familiar smile. He’s heavier now than he used to be, but I still would’ve recognized him even without the caption beneath his name: Gavin P. Barrett. My fellow bar worker and all-around good guy apparently knew Chelsea Alton way back when and has been with her in Bayview the entire time people were disappearing.

And I just handed Addy over to him.