“I think Toby’s A,” Emily interrupted, her voice a scratchy, trembling whisper. “And I think he killed Ali.”
There was a pause. “I know. So do I.”
“What?” Emily cried. A crack of thunder radiated through the sky, making Emily cower. Spencer didn’t answer. The line was dead.
Emily put the phone on top of the dryer. Spencer knew? It made Emily’s revelation even more real—and much, much scarier.
Then, she heard a voice. “Emily! Emily?”
She froze. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. She sprinted in there and saw Toby looking in, his hands pressed against her sliding glass door. The rain had soaked through his suit and matted down his hair, and he was shivering. His face was in the shadows.
Emily screamed.
“Emily!” Toby said again. He tried the door handle, but Emily quickly latched it.
“Go away,” she hissed. He could…he could burn down their house. Break in. Suffocate Emily while she slept. If he could kill Ali, he was capable of anything.
“I’m getting soaked,” he called to her. “Let me in.”
“I…I can’t talk to you. Please, Toby, please. Just leave me alone.”
“Why did you run away from me?” Toby looked confused. He had to yell, too, because it was raining so hard. “I’m not sure what happened in the car. I was just…I was just sort of messed up from seeing all those people. But that was all years ago. I’m sorry.”
The sweetness in his voice made it even worse. He tried the handle again, and Emily shouted, “No!” Toby stopped, and Emily looked around frantically for something that could be a weapon. A heavy, ceramic chicken plate. A dull kitchen knife. Perhaps she could root around in the cabinets and find the griddle…. “Please.” Emily was trembling so badly, her legs were wobbly. “Just go away.”
“Let me at least give you back your purse. It’s in my car.”
“Just put it in my mailbox.”
“Emily, don’t be ridiculous.” Toby started pounding angrily on the door. “Just get over here and let me in!”
Emily picked up the heavy chicken plate on the kitchen table. She held it out in front of her with both hands, like a shield. “Go away!”
Toby pushed his soaked hair off his face. “The stuff I said to you in the car…it came out all wrong. I’m sorry if I said something that—”
“It’s too late,” Emily interrupted. She squeezed her eyes shut. All she wanted was to open her eyes again and for all this to be a dream. “I know what you did to her.”
Toby stiffened. “Wait. What?”
“You heard me,” Emily said. “I. Know. What. You. Did. To. Her.”
Toby’s mouth fell open. The rain fell harder, making his eyeballs look like hollow pits. “How could you know about that?” his voice wobbled. “No one…no one knew. It was…it was a long time ago, Emily.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. What, did he think he was so sly that he could get away with it? “Well, I guess your secret’s out.”
Toby started to pace back and forth across her deck, running his fingers through his hair. “But, Emily, you don’t understand. I was so young. And…and confused. I wish I hadn’t done it….”
Emily felt a huge tug of regret. She didn’t want Toby to be Ali’s killer. The sweet way he’d helped her out of his car, how he’d defended her in front of Ben, how lost and vulnerable he’d looked when Emily glanced at him, standing alone on the Foxy dance floor. Maybe he really was sorry for what he’d done. Maybe he’d just been confused.
But then Emily thought about the night Ali went missing. It had been so beautiful out, the perfect kickoff to what was going to be a perfect summer. They were planning to go to the Jersey Shore the following weekend, had tickets to the No Doubt concert in July, and Ali was going to throw a huge thirteenth birthday party in August. All that was gone the instant Ali stepped out of Spencer’s family’s barn.
Toby might have come up to her from behind. Maybe he hit her with something. Maybe he said things to her. When he threw her into the hole, he must have…covered her up with dirt so no one would find her. Was that how it went? And after Toby hurt her, had he just gotten on his bike and ridden home? Had he returned to Maine for the rest of the summer? Had he watched everyone searching on the news with a bowl of microwave popcorn in his lap, like it was a movie on HBO?
I’m glad that bitch is dead. Emily had never heard anything so horrible in her life.
“Please,” Toby cried. “I can’t go through all this again. And neither can—”
He couldn’t even finish his sentence. Then, suddenly, he covered his face with his hands and ran away, back into the woods in her backyard.
All was quiet. Emily looked around. The kitchen was spotless—her parents had gone away this weekend to Pittsburgh to visit Emily’s grandmother, and her mother always cleaned maniacally before she went. Carolyn was still out with Topher.
She was all alone.
Emily sprinted to the front door. It was locked, but she pulled the chain across for extra protection. She twisted the dead bolt to make sure it was secure. Then she remembered the garage door: The mechanical part of it had broken, and her dad had been lazy about fixing it. Someone strong enough could lift up the garage door himself.
And then she realized. Toby had her purse. Which meant…he had her keys.
She picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed 911. But the phone didn’t even ring. She hung up and listened for a dial tone, but there was none. Emily felt her knees weaken. The storm must have knocked out the phone lines.
She remained frozen in the hallway for a few seconds, her jaw trembling. Had Toby dragged Ali by her hair? Had she still been alive when he tossed her into that hole?
She ran into the garage and looked around. In the corner was her old baseball bat. It felt strong and heavy in her hands. Satisfied, she slid out to the front porch, locked the door behind her with the spare key from the kitchen, and settled gently into the porch swing in the shadows, the bat in her lap. It was freezing outside, and she could see a giant spider building a web in the other corner of the porch. Spiders always terrified her, but she had to be brave. She wouldn’t let Toby hurt her, too.
33
WHO’S THE NAUGHTY SISTER NOW?
The next morning, Spencer came back into her bedroom after taking a shower and noticed the window was open. As in, seriously hoisted up about two feet, screen and all. The curtains fluttered in the breeze.
She ran to the window, her throat tight. Although she’d calmed down after she reached Emily last night, this was odd. The Hastingses never opened the screens, because moths could fly in and ruin the expensive rugs. She jerked the window down, then nervously checked under her bed and in her closet. No one.
When her Sidekick buzzed, she nearly jumped out of her silk pajama pants. She found her phone buried in her Foxy dress, which she’d stripped off last night and left in a pile on the floor—something the old Spencer Hastings would never have done. It was an e-mail from Squidward.
Dear Spencer, Thank you for turning in your essay questions early. I’ve read them, and I’m very pleased. See you Monday. —Mr. McAdam
Spencer slumped back down on her bed, her heart beating slowly but forcefully.
Out her bedroom window, she could see that it was a beautiful, crisp September Sunday. The aroma of apples hung in the air. Her mother, wearing a straw hat and rolled-up jeans, strolled to the end of the driveway with her gardening shears to prune back the bushes.
She couldn’t deal with all this…this pleasantness. She grabbed her Sidekick and speed-dialed Wren’s number. Perhaps they could start their date early. She needed out of Rosewood. The phone rang a few times; then there was a clatter and a clunk. It took a few seconds for Wren to say hello. “It’s me,” Spencer sobbed.
“Spencer?” Wren sounded groggy.
“Yeah.” Her mood shifted to irritation. Did he not recognize her voice?
“Could I call you back?” Wren yawned. “I’m sort of…I’m still sleeping.”
“But…I need to talk with you.”
He sighed.
Spencer softened. “I’m sorry. Can you please talk to me right now?” She paced around the room. “I need to hear a friendly voice.”
Wren was quiet. Spencer even checked her Sidekick’s LED screen to make sure they were still connected. “Look,” he finally said. “This isn’t the easiest thing to say, but…I don’t think this is going to work out.”
Spencer rubbed her ears. “What?”
“I thought this would be okay.” Wren sounded numb. Robotic, almost. “But I think you’re too young for me. I just…I don’t know. We seem to be in really different places.”
The room blurred, then tilted. Spencer grasped the phone so hard, her knuckles turned white. “Wait. What? We were just together the other day, and it was fine then!”
“I know. But…God, this isn’t that easy…I’ve started seeing someone else.”
For a few seconds, Spencer’s brain shut down. She had no idea how to respond. She was pretty sure she wasn’t even breathing. “But I had sex with you,” she whispered.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I think this is for the best.”
The best…for who? In the background, Spencer heard Wren’s coffeemaker beep that brewing had finished. “Wren…” Spencer pleaded. “Why are you doing this?”
But he had already hung up.
Her phone flashed CALL ENDED. Spencer held it at arm’s length.
“Hey!”
Spencer jumped. Melissa stood in Spencer’s doorway. In her yellow J. Crew tissue tee and orange Adidas shorts, she looked like a ball of sunshine. “How’d it go?”
Spencer blinked. “Huh?”
“Foxy! Was it fun?”
Spencer tried to mask her swirling emotions. “Um, yeah. It was great.”
“Did they have an ugly jewelry auction this year? How was Andrew?”
Andrew. She’d meant to explain everything to Andrew, but Toby had gotten in the way. Spencer had left Foxy shortly after she found out Emily was okay, hailing one of the town cars that were chugging in Kingman Hall’s circular drive. Her parents had reinstated her credit cards, so she could actually pay for the trip home.
It made her squeamish to imagine how Andrew felt today. They might even be feeling the same way—blindsided, rushed. But that was silly, really. Spencer and Wren had had something serious…. Andrew was delusional if he’d thought he and Spencer were honestly together.
Her eyes widened. Was she delusional, thinking that she was honestly with Wren? What kind of jerk dumps you over the phone, anyway?
Melissa sat next to her on her bed, expectantly awaiting an answer.
“Andrew was good.” Spencer’s brain felt gummy. “He was very, um, chivalrous.”
“What was for dinner?”
“Um, squab,” Spencer lied. She didn’t have a clue.