“Maybe Thatcher found out Caleb killed Fiona and was about to turn him in.”
“Did you see Caleb that night?” Seth asks her.
She shakes her head. “But I’d had some vodka with my friend Shira, who was visiting from the city. We left the parade early and passed out around eleven. I don’t remember Thatcher being home before that, and I wouldn’t have heard him if he came in after.”
“Where’s Caleb now?” I ask.
“No idea,” Kendall says.
But Seth is already pulling up his phone. “Philadelphia,” he reports after a moment. “Or at least he was a couple of days ago, according to his Instagram.”
Philadelphia is only a couple of hours away. I look back at the trees, feel that shiver go down my spine again.
“Oh, right,” Kendall says. “I forgot. He actually goes to UPenn, too.”
“Did you see him at all this past year?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “UPenn’s huge. Even if I were trying to run into him, it would be hard to do. Why, what are you thinking?”
“We could pay him a visit,” Seth says. “Ask him if he actually saw Thatcher that night.”
“And what, you think he’ll confess to making up a fake alibi for Thatcher, just because you say ‘pretty please’?” She shakes her head. “Not sure that’ll work, Sethy. Especially if he’s a secret murderer.”
“I really don’t think Caleb is a secret murderer,” Seth says. “I think, if anything, he was just trying to help Thatcher out. Besides, do you have any better ideas?”
Her snarky facade drops, and I see a hint of grief poking through. “No,” she admits. “I’ve been going over and over it in my head and I just—I can’t figure out what happened.”
Then she looks between Seth and me, and a speculative look comes onto her face.
“What?” I ask, a little too forcefully.
“Were you guys really doing it the night Fiona died?” she blurts out.
Heat floods my face. Seth, next to me, is rigid. “How did you know about that?”
Kendall looks at her nails. “My father knows everything the cops know. I may have eavesdropped a bit this past year.”
I feel a bolt of rage. Of course the Montgomerys have an in with the cops. That’s why they’re taking Thatcher’s death seriously. Way more seriously than they ever took Fiona’s. Maybe if they hadn’t dismissed my sister as just some dead girl, if they’d done their jobs this past year, Thatcher would still be alive.
I can’t believe Caleb Jones—sweet, quiet Caleb Jones—would be capable of anything like this. But the truth is, I never knew him very well. And the theory fits. If Thatcher knew who killed Fiona and didn’t tell anyone…Seth thought it was because he was afraid. But what if it was because he was conflicted? If the person who killed her was someone he wanted to protect?
Like his best friend?
Kendall’s looking at us, eyebrows raised. “Just remember, if my father—or your father—catches you with her, they’ll flip their shit.” She nods at me.
“So don’t go tattling and we’ll be fine,” Seth says, an edge to his voice.
“What’ll you give me to keep my mouth shut?”
She was always like this. There are reasons I never liked her, and I never understood why Fiona did.
“What do you want?” he asks.
Something moves in the shadows—a deer, maybe. I catch Kendall’s eyes the second before she turns back to us, and I see a flash of fear.
She may want to hide underneath arrogance and snobbery, but in that moment, I see it clear as day—she’s not only mourning for Thatcher. She’s afraid.
Of what? Does she think there’s some serial killer out here? There are people speculating about that on Citizen Sleuths, too, but I didn’t even read through all their threads, it feels so implausible. No. Whatever happened to Fiona and Thatcher, it feels personal.
“I want you to keep me informed,” Kendall says. “If you’re trying to figure out who did this—I want to know, too. Maybe I can even help.”
“Aren’t you busy this summer?” Seth asks. “Playing daddy’s favorite intern?”
Kendall glares. “I’m only working part-time. And it’s not like my dad and I are in the same department. I’m interning in wealth management. He works in private equities.”
“Like night and day.”
“I also started my own small business on the side, so I’m actually an entrepreneur, too?”
“I just don’t understand why you’re so invested in this when you’re busy riding the reliable tide of nepotism—”
“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t do the same,” she snaps. “We all do. That’s how the world works.”
“For you,” I mutter.
“I don’t work for my dad,” Seth counters.
“You don’t work,” she retorts. “And I actually like finance, Seth, it’s what I’m majoring in. Working for my dad doesn’t make me some kind of spoiled brat. It makes me someone willing to work hard for what I want and, yes, taking advantage of what life has given me to help me get there.” She looks from me to Seth. “But I’ll be out here often enough. I have to keep an eye on Marion. So I want you to keep me in the loop. I want to know who did this.” She looks behind her again, into the darkness of the trees.