I frown. I thought I put my phone in my bag.
I reach into my pocket and pull out an iPhone that is not mine.
There’s a Post-it attached to it that says simply 070520.
Seth, bumping into me.
I rip the Post-it off and enter the passcode into the phone, where a text message pops up.
It’s Seth. Use this to message me
I look at Davy, but he isn’t paying attention; he’s still glancing back at the funeral home.
I close out of the message before he can see. “I’m getting Dad. We need to go. Now.”
8
Seth wastes no time.
Need to talk to you ASAP, he texts me on my new phone moments after I get home. The clearing? 9?
I set out after dinner, under the guise of another late run. Dad tried to stop me, but I begged him, told him how important it was to me, how much I needed normalcy. I promised to stay on the main roads. To not go near the Montgomerys’. I feel bad for lying. But I have to know what’s so important for Seth to sneak me a phone.
Plus, I know Seth isn’t dangerous.
The sky is the deep blue of dusk, and a waxing moon is rising. When I emerge from the forsythia, he’s already there on the rock. His fancy mourning clothes are gone, though his face is still unnervingly smooth, making him look younger. He’s in his usual city-boy outfit, white collared shirt and expensive brand-name shorts, sockless loafers.
He sits up straight when he sees me. “Hey.”
Up close, I can see the red rims around his eyes. I was right. He held it together in public but let it out when he was alone. I don’t know what it says about us that he doesn’t have a problem with me seeing him this way. Maybe it’s because he’s seen me like this before.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
He makes space for me on the rock, runs a hand over his face. “We need to talk.”
I climb up next to him. “Thanks for the phone, by the way.”
He nods. “My dad, my uncle, and my lawyer all told me not to talk to you. And maybe I’m being paranoid or whatever, but they could be monitoring my phone. So I called up this guy who gets people stuff like this. It’s pay per month, not supposed to be traceable. We can talk freely on it.”
“Why don’t they want you talking to me?”
“They’re…worried.”
“About me?”
Seth hesitates. “You can’t tell anyone any of this.”
“You can trust me,” I say, and mean it.
He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a bark. “I think you may be the only person I can.”
I exhale. “Being each other’s alibis has its advantages.”
Seth looks at me. “Addie, it’s not just that. Even if I had no idea where you were those nights, I would never think it was you.”
I hug my knees to my chest. “I know what they’re saying. I’m on the boards. Before, they were suspicious because my hair was on her body. Or because her journal was missing from our house and there was no sign of a break-in. Or they thought I was jealous of her dancing, because I’d dropped out of ballet lessons when I was six. And now they’re saying I killed Thatcher to avenge her.”
“It’s only a few random idiots,” Seth says. “Not everyone.”
“That doesn’t mean everyone isn’t thinking it. People were looking at me at the wake today.”
“No one was looking at you. No one even knows you and I were there that night, except the cops. Stop going on those boards, it’s making you paranoid.”
My laugh is short. “I’m a big girl by now, Seth. I can handle it.”
“I know.” He rubs at that new scar by his eyebrow. “I just…don’t want things to be worse for you.”
I look at him, his brown eyes leached of color in the moonlight, the way his curls shine silver. Something has changed between us. All the anger of our initial meeting a few days ago is gone. If Fiona’s death tore us apart, in a weird way, Thatcher’s might be bringing us back together. Maybe because I know what he’s going through. Maybe because he’s the only person whose whereabouts I can account for during both murders. But whatever it is, there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t consider coming here to talk to him tonight.
Seth lets out a breath. “So, according to my lawyer, judging from the questions they were asking—they’re looking at me. For sure.”
I close my eyes. Of course Ramsay and Carter didn’t believe my testimony.
Then I open them. “Why do they think you’d kill your own cousin?”
Seth’s jaw flexes. “My grandmother’s will,” he says flatly.
I stare. “What about it?”