I reach up, loose mortar crumbling beneath my hand as I push onto my tiptoes and hold my breath. The ruined brick building is empty inside.
I exhale, relief flooding my body.
But then I see a glint. Beneath a rotted wooden bench, tangled up in the dirt and rubble.
I press my face closer, scraping my chin against the stone. My stomach twists. It’s a gold necklace with a charm of a musical note. Melody’s—she always wears it. The chain is coiled like a bronze snake, its broken clasp shimmering in a slanted ray of sunlight. I lower onto the gravel.
I’m too late. I struggle to take a breath, bending over with my hands on my knees.
Or maybe Brandon heard me coming and took Melody somewhere else.
I pull myself up and skirt the building, searching for any signs she could still be alive. I should get back on my bike and away from the mill. If someone has my notebook and Melody really turns up dead, I can’t be seen here.
But if I run away now, I’d be letting this happen.
Back near my bike, I whip out my phone and dial the sheriff’s station again. I’ll deal with the repercussions later. Please pick up. It rings, rings again. And then, miraculously, a woman’s voice answers.
“Maribel sheriff’s station. This is Pam speaking.”
“Hello,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Someone’s in trouble.”
“Just a minute,” she says casually, like I called to schedule a routine dental appointment.
“We don’t have a minute!” I hiss, my fingers quivering around the phone.
A crack sounds behind me, and I freeze, dropping the phone into the tall grass, the voice on the other end still chattering into the air.
I spin around, ready to face Brandon or even the blade-wielding ghost of Tom Garrison, himself. Instead, Gideon is standing beside an oak tree, ankle-deep in weeds, betrayal etched on his face.
4
“What are you doing up here?” Gideon asks, gaping like I took a swing at him.
“Gideon, I told you we needed to hurry!” I point back to the mill, frantic. “Melody’s necklace is in there.”
“What?” he asks skeptically. Maybe this is why I was too afraid to tell him. Deep down, I knew even my best friend wouldn’t believe me.
“We don’t have time,” I say, realizing the phone at my feet has gone quiet.
Gideon takes a cautious step toward me. “Cass, Melody’s fine. She updated her Instagram ten minutes ago.”
“No, she was—” I crane my neck to look back at the ruins. “But her necklace.” I reach down to snatch my phone and then sprint back to the mill. Gideon’s steps pound the earth behind me, but I keep running, this time straight through the glaring hole that used to be a door. I barrel through the cobwebs and overgrown vines, kicking over the rotted bench.
But my heart lunges, knowing before my eyes do. The necklace is no longer coiled on the stone.
It’s gone.
“How…” I kneel, pushing aside the leaves and trash in desperation.
“Cass, what are you doing?” I stand to face Gideon, who delicately presses his fingers to my cheek. A hint of sweat mixes with the pine scent of the air. “You shouldn’t be up here. You’re not well.”
I pull back, torn between laughing and crying. Maybe I am unwell. Was the necklace an unfortunate effect of my concussion? Another hallucination? Maybe Gideon was right all along, and this was a massive prank.
Or he came back. Brandon could’ve ducked back into the moss-covered ruins and taken it. He could’ve cleaned up the evidence.
Gideon tugs out his phone, scrolling through before handing it to me. It’s Melody’s Instagram account. There’s a photo of a deflated tire with a caption: Sooo frustrating when you get a flat and miss your shift . I swipe to a second photo of Melody wearing her Gina’s Diner uniform and a big frown. “I checked her social media accounts while I was waiting for the ice.”
I reread the words, hearing Melody’s loud, whiny voice through the post, clear as day. “She’s really fine,” I say, barely believing the words.
“She’s really fine,” he echoes, like a parent trying to convince his toddler there’s no monster in the closet. “What were you doing up here?”
My head sags. “I’m sorry I ditched you.”
“But what made you—”
My phone rings in my hand, and I jump. It’s the sheriff’s station. I want to ignore it, but I have to deal with this. “Hi, ma’am, I was mistaken. Everyone’s fine.”
“What?”
“So sorry to bother you.”
“Okay, then,” the secretary, Pam, says slowly, like I’m another stupid kid wasting the sheriff’s valuable time. Which is exactly what I am. And Gideon knew it.
Stupid. The raspberry wine cooler was so specific. Too specific. Brandon decided to mess with me because he’s exactly the kind of guy I always suspected. First, he pulled my darkest secrets out of me like a magician with those never-ending handkerchiefs, then dragged me around all day like a fool.
And now, for the first time, Gideon’s watching me in that guarded way people do.
People who know I have secrets.
“Let’s go,” I say, taking one last look at the ruins before heading to my bike.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I stumble into my house and Gideon helps me to the sofa. “Don’t say anything about Melody to Asher,” I whisper. I can’t deal with my big brother worrying about me right now.
“Fine.” He heads to the kitchen for more ice. My mom is in there, prepping for dinner. She rushes out to the living room, carrying the pungent smell of freshly cut onions with her.
“Cassidy, you fell off your bike?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I mumble as Gideon stoops beside me, pressing ice to my head.
Asher hears the commotion and wanders in. My mom takes over ice duty, lowering onto the sofa. Her figure blocks Gideon’s as he and my brother exchange hushed words I can’t make out.
“Do you need something for the pain?” Mom asks.
I nod, which only magnifies the ache. She stands up, lips pinched as she studies me. “Any nausea? What did you have for breakfast?”
“No, and burnt toast with grape jelly,” I answer. Satisfied, she hurries off down the hall.
Asher nears the sofa, smiling gently. “Sounds like you’ve had quite a day.”
My face falls. I can’t help it.