Two Truths and a Lie (16 page)

A chill went through me. I thought about how quickly Thayer had changed when Garrett came up that night on our hike. His anger was intense—even he admitted it was his worst quality, the thing that reminded him most of his father. Could that have been enough to set him off?

Emma leaned back on the bed and stared at the popcorn ceiling. “That seems pretty extreme. Killing someone because they wouldn’t break off a relationship?”

“People have killed for much less.” Ethan stared at his hands. He looked distant, as though something was upsetting him. When he finally spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. “Maybe Sutton drove him mad. She was a master at manipulation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma asked sharply. She didn’t like the tone of Ethan’s voice. Or what he’d said about her sister.

“One minute, she liked you,” Ethan said. “And the next, she treated you like dirt. I saw her do it to a million guys.” He frowned. “Maybe she was doing that to Thayer. Maybe it was driving him insane and he just … snapped.”

Emma’s palms felt clammy. Could her sister’s fickle behavior be the thing that pushed Thayer to the brink? If she’d been hot and cold with him—all while dating Garrett—it could have sparked a rage inside of him. “Maybe,” she whispered.

“So what do you think we should do about it?” Ethan asked.

“We could call the police,” Emma suggested.

“Or we
couldn’t
.” Ethan shook his head. “If we do that, you’ll have to out yourself as Sutton’s twin. It’s too risky.” He crossed his leg over his knee and jiggled his navy Converse sneaker. “We’re getting close, though. You need more solid proof. What about the blood on the car? That’s definitely Sutton’s, right?”

Emma rose from the bed and began pacing around the room. “Probably. Although the police aren’t done testing it yet. I’m guessing they’ll also be looking at the fingerprints on the steering wheel—maybe Thayer’s will come back a match.” Then she made a face. “But wouldn’t the person have to be in the criminal system for them to find a DNA match?”

“Thayer’s been in trouble before,” Ethan offered. “And they would have fingerprinted him when they arrested him.”

“And we already
know
he was in the car,” Emma went on. “Even if his prints are on the steering wheel, what does that prove?”

“True,” Ethan said, sounding deflated. “It just means we’ll have to dig deeper. Find out what his motive was. Find out something to really nail him to the wall.”

“Yeah,” Emma murmured, but she felt exhausted. She was so close … but so far away.

She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed at the task ahead of her. A teenage soccer star didn’t become a murderer out of nowhere. Something made Thayer Vega break.

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed Ethan’s glowing laptop screen. A Safari window was open to Sutton’s Facebook page.

“You’re on Facebook?” Emma smirked. “You don’t seem like the type.”

Ethan shot off the bed and closed the laptop. “I’m not, really. I mean, I have a page, but I don’t really post on it or anything. I was just thinking about leaving you a message on your—well, Sutton’s wall. But I don’t know.” He peeked at her cagily. “Would that be weird? Your friends don’t really know about … how we talk.”

Emma felt a rush of pleasure that they were even discussing their potential relationship. But then a pit formed in her stomach. She recalled how the girls had giggled about the prank today. She considered telling Ethan about the plan to ruin his poetry reading, but the thought nauseated her. She would just have to thwart the plan, plain and simple.

“Actually, Laurel knows about us,” Emma said instead. She flushed instantly. Was what she said okay? Calling them
us
? It wasn’t like they were a couple yet.

“Does that bother you?” Ethan asked, a slight smile tugging the edge of his lips.

“Does it bother
you
?” Emma countered.

Ethan took small steps toward Emma and sat down on the bed beside her. “
I
don’t care who knows. I think you’re amazing. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Emma’s heart squeezed. No one had ever said anything like that to her before.

Ethan leaned forward, running his fingers across the nape of her neck. He kissed her gently, his lips warm and soft, and Emma instantly forgot about everything that’d happened since she arrived in Tucson. She forgot about just how excited she’d been when she stepped off the bus to meet her sister. She forgot how quickly the hopes of her and Sutton’s reunion were dashed. She forgot about the note threatening her to be Sutton—or else. She forgot about the investigation into Thayer, or whoever had killed Sutton. In that moment, she was just Emma Paxton, a girl with a brand-new boyfriend.

And I was just her sister, happy that she had found someone she truly cared about.

14

That night Emma’s body tangled among Sutton’s light blue bedsheets as she tossed from one side to the other. Sutton’s smattering of ratty stuffed animals were lined up at the foot of the bed and stared at Emma, their eyes glassy in the moonlight. They were so unlike Sutton, one of the only sentimental things Emma could find that her sister had kept from her past. They reminded her of the toys Emma had kept—a hand-knitted monster toy a piano teacher had given her for mastering a hard piece of music, and Socktopus, which Becky had bought for her on a trip to Four Corners. Sutton’s toys made Emma think of all of the time they’d missed, the memories they could have had of playing for hours together in a shared bedroom, making up secret worlds only the two of them understood. Hours they could never get back.

An owl called from the oak tree just outside Sutton’s window. Emma stared at the branches, noting that it was the same tree she’d used the night she snuck out with Ethan, and the same tree Thayer had used to break into Sutton’s bedroom. Suddenly, she jolted up with a start. The window was wide open. And a hulking figure stood in the corner of the room, his breath coming in jagged rasps.

“Did you really think it’d be that easy to get rid of me?” his voice said.

Even though he was in the shadows, Emma recognized him immediately. “Thayer?” she squeaked, the name barely escaping her mouth.

She scrambled back against the headboard, but it was too late. Thayer launched forward, his hands closing around her neck, his lips inches from hers. “You betrayed me, Emma,” he whispered, his hands tightening around her throat. His bottom lip grazed hers. “And now it’s time for your reunion with Sutton to become a reality.”

Emma dug her nails into Thayer’s skin as her oxygen supply dwindled and her life seeped slowly from her. “Please, no!”

“Goodbye, Emma,” Thayer sneered. His hands squeezed and squeezed … seemingly to the tune of Kelly Clarkson’s “Mr. Know It All.”

Emma shot up in bed. The same Kelly Clarkson song blared in her ears. She looked around. She was in Sutton’s bedroom, Sutton’s sheets clinging to her wet skin. Sunlight streamed through the window—it was, indeed, open. But the corner was empty. She touched her neck, and she didn’t feel any evidence that she’d been strangled. Her skin felt smooth. Nothing hurt.

A dream. It was just a dream. But it had felt so real.

It felt all too real to me, too. I looked hard at the corner, startled that Thayer wasn’t really there. It still shook me that I was carried along with Emma everywhere she went, even into her dreams.

Emma’s fingers trembled as she tugged her light blue pajama top down over her stomach and glanced around Sutton’s bedroom once more. The computer screen glowed with familiar images of Sutton and her best friends—this particular photo was taken after a tennis team victory. The girls had their arms slung around each other and flashed peace signs at the camera. A German textbook lay open on Sutton’s desk along with a small book of poetry Ethan had given Emma the week before. There were no stuffed animals anywhere—the real Sutton had been too mature for toys.

But there was that open window again. Emma could have sworn she shut and locked it the night before. She pushed back the covers, walked to it, and peered out. The Mercers’ impeccable lawn stretched in waves of green before her, not a white wicker lawn chair or potted plant out of place. The Tucson sun was a ball of fire above the Catalina Mountains and the sound of birds chattering filtered into the bedroom.

Bzz.

Emma jumped and turned around. Something was sounding from underneath Sutton’s bed. She realized almost immediately that it was her BlackBerry from her old life. She dove for it and checked the screen. It was Alex, her best friend from Henderson. Clearing her throat, she pressed the green answer button. “Hey.”

“Hey. Everything okay? You sound weird.”

Emma flinched. But Alex couldn’t know what Emma had just dreamed about. She didn’t even know Emma was in danger—as far as she was concerned, Sutton was still alive, and Emma was experiencing a foster-girl’s dream life with her long-lost sister. “Of course everything’s fine,” she croaked. “I was just sleeping.”

“Well, get up, sleepyhead,” Alex giggled. “I haven’t heard from you in ages. I wanted to see how things are going.”

“Everything’s fine,” Emma said, forcing herself to sound upbeat. “Great, in fact. Sutton’s family rocks.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been given this instant new life. You should be on
Oprah
or something. Want me to submit your story?”

“No!” Emma said, perhaps too forcefully. She padded into Sutton’s closet, partly to select an outfit for the day, but partly because it was more private in there—there was less chance of Laurel hearing her.

“Okay, okay! How’s school? Do you like Sutton’s friends?” Alex asked.

Emma paused in front of a blue silk tank top. “Honestly, things with them are a little tense right now.”

“How come? Can’t they handle two of you?” Alex’s voice was momentarily muffled, and Emma could picture her getting dressed for school, brushing her hair, and shoving a cinnamon bun in her mouth. Alex was the queen of multitasking and had a wicked sweet tooth.

“They’re just a pretty tight-knit group,” Emma said. “They have so much history that I can’t even begin to understand.”

Alex chewed and swallowed. “History is just that—history. Plan something fun and create your own stories with them, maybe even apart from Sutton.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Emma said, realizing that she barely ever hung out with any of Sutton’s friends one-on-one.

Drake let out a low bark downstairs, and Emma heard Mrs. Mercer shush him. “Listen, I should go—I promised Sutton I’d help her with homework before classes start.”

She disconnected the call after promising she’d keep in better touch, then wandered out of Sutton’s closet and flopped back on her bed, her head suddenly throbbing. It was awful to lie to Alex. She thought of all the afternoons she’d spent in Alex’s bedroom, finding new music on Pandora and predicting each other’s futures. They’d shared a mauve-colored journal, taking turns updating it with new entries every few days. They’d stashed it in a trapdoor cut into the carpet below Alex’s bed so no one would find it. They had secrets they kept from the world, but not from each other—until now.

Emma sat up. If Thayer had kept Sutton’s notes, maybe she’d kept his, too. But where did she hide them?

Emma swung her legs over the side of Sutton’s bed and ducked beneath the folds of the comforter. Two shoeboxes were shoved up against the wall, but she’d already gone through them weeks ago. She pulled them out anyway, dumping the contents onto the bed, in case she’d missed something. Old tests and graded papers scattered across the sheets along with a neon green rubber band and concert ticket stubs for Lady Gaga. A Barbie doll with vacant blue eyes stared back at Emma, her tangled blonde hair cascading over an elaborate silk prom dress. This wasn’t E, the doll Sutton had perhaps named after Emma—she was in a hope chest in the Mercers’ bedroom. But Emma had seen all this stuff before.