“I know, Addie. We’ve been over this, like, a thousand times? I donate to charity.”
“How much?”
“None of your business.” He shoots me a look.
But I’m not embarrassed. “Someday, we’re gonna eat the rich. And don’t count on me to save you.”
He sighs. “Yes, you’ve said as much before. Can we get back on topic, please? And can you take notes, since I’m driving?”
I’m tempted to keep railing on the rich, but instead I open the Notes app on my phone and write down our latest theories.
“You said Fiona was gone a lot last summer,” Seth says. “More than usual.”
“She was practicing, and she also got a job at the dance studio. Cleaning it after hours.”
“Are you sure that’s where she really was?”
“You think she was lying about that? That instead of working and practicing, she spent all that time dealing drugs?”
“It’s just a theory.”
I rub one eye. “We could be wrong about all of this, Seth. She might have gotten the scholarship; maybe it just took a while to come through and she panicked and went to Thatcher. We should make sure before we start assuming my sister was a drug dealer or a thief. I’ll call the American Ballet Academy and ask.” I add that to our list.
Seth flicks on his turn signal, and we ease off the highway. I realize we’re at our exit. The drive home flew by.
“And I can check Fiona’s room again,” I add. “Maybe there’s something in there somewhere about ballet school.”
He nods. “Good idea. But if we find out there wasn’t a scholarship—we need to figure out where she got that money.”
19
Seth drops me off on a dead end a few blocks from my house. There’s an awkward moment when we say goodbye where I’m not sure if he’s about to hug me, but he just gives me a wave and I hop out of his car without looking back.
It’s afternoon and the house is empty. Dad’s at work, but Davy should be home. I’m about to call him when I realize I should take advantage of the empty house while I can.
No one goes into Fiona’s room. It’s an unspoken rule. I definitely don’t want to do it while my dad or Davy are home to ask questions.
The top stair creaks when I step on it. The upstairs hallway is shadowy and silent. Fiona has a desk in her room I’ll check first. There’s also her closet. I made myself go in there last fall to search for clues, for anything pointing to Thatcher or to anyone else who might have killed her, and found nothing. But that time I had no idea what I was looking for.
I’m halfway down the hallway when I hear a creak.
I freeze.
There’s someone inside my sister’s room.
My hand flies to my pocket, but I left both phones downstairs. And why wouldn’t I? I’m alone in my own house in the middle of the day.
I have a brief war with myself. To run down there now and get a phone, then come back? To run out of the house and call the police? To fling open the door and surprise whoever’s in there?
Another noise—a door creaking open. Her closet.
I touch Fiona’s necklace. Then I make a split-second decision, close the three feet to her door in two strides, and fling it open.
To find my brother standing in front of the closet, eyes wide.
“Davy.” I’m so relieved, I can’t think. “What are you doing in here?”
“Um.” My brother shifts. The look on his face can only be described as guilt. “I was searching for something.”
“What?”
“I thought…Dad might have stored some of my stuff back here,” he mumbles.
Davy is a terrible liar. I frown. “Davy. What are you doing in here?”
His eyes go from me to the window and back again. “I was looking for Fiona’s journal.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
Ramsay was the first one to tell me about my sister’s missing journal. Your father says Fiona kept a journal. When we searched her room, we couldn’t find it. Where do you think it could be? There was no sign of a break-in. The doors were all locked. So if someone stole it—it would have to be someone with access to your house.
The implication was clear. He thought I took it. I told him I had no idea where Fiona’s journal was. Because I don’t.
“Um, so you know how the police asked us where it was after Fiona died?” Davy asks. I nod. “They asked Marion, too.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would they ask Marion if she knew where Fiona’s journal is?”
“Well, the thing is—Marion was here that night.”