I ignore him and rush in the direction of my house, pulling my phone out, checking my screen every few yards for a signal. Gideon follows, crunching leaves in my wake. When the sun cascades through the last lines of trees, a tiny bar lights up at the top of the screen. I locate the number to the sheriff’s station and dial. It rings over and over again, and a panicked thought hits me like a bullet. What am I going to say? The only way to save Melody would be to mention the sawmill. And I can’t.
The ringing never stops, and I slam the phone against my thigh, muttering, “Stupid small-town joke of a station.” But a twisted sense of relief swoops through me.
Nearby, there’s a snap and I jump, gripping Gideon’s arm. “What was that?” I hiss.
He scans the forest and then turns back, staring at me like I need medical attention. Carefully, he places a hand on my shoulder. “A squirrel, I guess. Cass, maybe there’s another explanation. Maybe this guy was hurt, and Melody screamed for help. It could’ve been an accident.”
Maybe. After all, we didn’t see anything. Still, my voice quavers when I say, “You’re probably right. I just have to make sure.”
Gideon’s eyes dart toward the edge of the woods. “Melody’s house isn’t far. We could grab our bikes and swing by. Maybe we’ll see her and Seth on the way, and it’ll set your mind at ease.”
“It wasn’t Seth,” I say before I can stop myself.
Gideon’s forehead creases. “Who do you think it was?”
Brandon. “I don’t know. But we’re wasting time standing here.” He could already be taking her into the hills. And if someone finds that notebook, he could try to pin it on me; his word against mine. No one wanted Melody gone more than I did.
And he knows it.
Maybe that was his plan all along. An image flickers in my head. My face silhouetted by flames. Melody’s laughter resounding in the background.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead and start in the direction of my backyard. “Let’s get the bikes.”
As we speed-walk to my house, I rack my brain for where that notebook could be. I meant to tear out the pages Brandon and I used before Gideon saw them. But by the time morning came around and the hangover had kicked me in the face, I’d forgotten all about it.
I inhale, trying to talk some sense into myself. It probably fell out of my backpack when we were getting snacks. Or maybe even in my room while I was doing homework last night.
Suddenly, I remember with a gush of relief: the notebook is still in my purse. I never took it out after the party. At least, I don’t think I did. But this cloudy vision and jet-speed heart rate are making it impossible to remember clearly.
We brush through the last line of trees, finding our bikes propped against my back fence. The wooden slats covering the back of the house, the shrubs framing the yard—everything looks distorted, like I’m stuck in a nightmare. I’m scrounging for an excuse to duck inside when a car door slams around the front of the house.
“I think Asher’s home,” I call to Gideon, hurrying through the back gate. “If Melody walked or drove back from the woods, he might’ve passed her.”
“Good idea,” Gideon says, the lines around his mouth softening.
“But…” I pause on the back porch. “Don’t tell him what happened.” If I give my brother one more reason to worry about me, he’ll probably lock me up or call our parents. “Make something up.”
Gideon shoves his hands inside his pockets and follows me without answering.
I slide open the glass door to the house and continue into the kitchen. Scanning the floor with each step, I find no trace of the notebook. I leave Gideon in the kitchen, calling out to Asher down the hall. But he must still be unloading the car out front.
I yank open my bedroom door and rush to the desk, scrambling for the small faux-leather saddlebag I took to the party on Saturday. I dump it out, frantically combing through the lipstick and tissues.
But the notebook isn’t there.
Slumping to the floor, I search under the bed, but there’s no sign of its shiny silver cover. Could I have dropped it in the diner that night? My heartbeat quickens as I imagine the people who could have picked it up. Especially if something bad really did happen to Melody. I scrounge through my drawers, mentally flipping through the events of the last couple of days.
A thought makes my heart skid.
I went to the restroom that night before leaving the diner. And I left my purse on the seat of the booth. It was only for a minute, but I never should have trusted someone sketchy enough to be seduced by Laura Gellman.
Still, is Brandon really capable of killing a person and stealing my notebook to…to what? Frame me for it? Blackmail me into keeping my mouth shut?
I speed back into the kitchen, where Gideon pushes a glass of water into my hand. “Still no Asher?” I take a quick sip and set the glass down on the counter.
Gideon shakes his head. “Cass, what aren’t you telling me?” His eyes narrow as I clamber for words.
I gave someone the perfect plan for murder, and he might be carrying it out. If I say it, I’m involved. The thought shrivels and rots as guilt moves in; I’m already involved.
But if I say anything about the plan—if anyone finds out—it’s over for me. This town will assume Fire Girl found another victim.
I try to meet Gideon’s eyes, but smoke fills my mind as the memory slips in. I blink, just like I did that day when I found myself coated in ash, attempting to cough out the dry, burning sensation in my lungs. “Giddy, someone…”
He reaches for me, lowering his head to make eye contact. My gaze sinks to my gray trainers. “Cass, what?”
I inhale a slow breath. “I think—”
The front door squeaks, jolting us apart. Asher walks in, carrying a small plastic bag. He stops when he sees us, like he did earlier, brows hoisted. “Wow. You guys haven’t moved much, have you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, but strolls past, chuckling softly. We remain huddled together, unable to budge.
Gideon glances to where Asher disappeared behind the wall. When he looks at me again, lines mar his features. “You were saying?”
I shake my head, feeling the separation between us like a fog, cold and thick. I’ve spent the past ten years trying to erase this image. Fire Girl. Trying to convince everyone—trying to convince myself—I’m not a killer. And the only person who bought into my efforts was Gideon. He’s always seen a better version of me. Now, that version is about to shatter into pieces on my kitchen floor.
This is the one thing I can’t tell him.
“Nothing. Let me ask Asher about Melody.”