Ethan just laughed. “No, but I’ll hang on to it, anyway. I need something to hold over her head.” He squeezed Emma’s hand, and they shared a private smile.
Soon their plates were heaped with blue corn enchiladas, Spanish rice, and avocado salad. Emma sipped at her tea, listening to Mr. Mercer reminisce about his years in college. Ethan listened eagerly, asking questions about the town and the school. Their laughter rang out in the cool fall evening, the stars bright overhead. Right now, in this moment, everything was perfect.
Then Mr. Mercer’s ringtone, the shrill old-fashioned jangle of a rotary phone, broke through their conversation. He pulled it out and looked down at the screen. Mrs. Mercer cleared her throat. “We’re eating, dear.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I have to take this—I’ll be right back.” He rose and stepped into the house. “Sanjay, calm down,” Emma heard him say before he slid the door shut behind him. She stopped eating and looked toward her father, watching him through the sliding glass door. Sanjay? That was Dr. Banerjee’s first name. Had something happened to Becky?
Emma strained her ears to try to catch what Mr. Mercer was saying on the phone, but she couldn’t hear anything. His face had gone very white. She made out the words “You found her where? Are you sure?” Emma’s stomach clenched and she pushed the rest of her enchiladas away across the table. It had to be Becky. After all that, Becky hadn’t even made it out of town. Ethan’s eyes flashed questioningly at her.
The door slid back open. Mr. Mercer stood helplessly in the doorway. His face was twisted with grief. When Mrs. Mercer looked up and saw him there, she rose to her feet automatically. “Ted … what is it?”
Mr. Mercer licked his lips. In the porch light his face was heavily shadowed.
“That was Sanjay Banerjee,” he said in a low, broken voice. “He just found Nisha facedown in their swimming pool. She’s dead.”
EPILOGUE
My family stares at one another over the round table filled with steaming dishes and wine glasses smudged with lipstick and fresh flowers springing out of their vase. Laurel’s hands have flown to her mouth and frozen there, while Mrs. Mercer sits in mute shock. Ethan’s eyes are wide with horror. And Emma—who is no stranger to violence by now—clenches her phone in one hand. The screen shows all the phone calls from Nisha she’d ignored. They’d stopped abruptly that afternoon, right after school.
Could she have saved Nisha’s life if she’d just picked up the phone?
As I watch my family grieve, I wonder where Nisha’s soul has gone. If she has attached herself to someone else, hoping to wrap up her unfinished business. Will I be able to see her if she’s there, or will she be as invisible as I am to the people at this table right now? I look around, half hoping to see my old nemesis. It would be a relief to have someone to talk to, even if I’m not sure what I’d say. So, death sucks, right? I’m glad you and my sister became friends. But there’s no sign of Nisha in the yard. Emma sobs suddenly, a sound like an awkward hiccup, and Ethan pulls her into his arms.
Was Nisha’s death a suicide? An accident?
Or did she find out something my murderer didn’t want her to know?
A vague memory of Nisha at a junior high day camp comes back to me. The rest of us spent our afternoons splayed out in deck chairs working on our tans, but Nisha couldn’t seem to stay out of the water. She swam like a fish. She beat everyone at the end-of-summer races that year and got a fake gold medal during the camp’s closing ceremony.
No, it hadn’t been an accident. Deep down, Emma and I both knew it. Nisha had something she wanted to tell Emma. Whatever it was, my murderer somehow found out that she knew it—and made sure she was silenced, permanently.
Emma’s investigation unearths as many questions as it does answers. Emma and I have another sister somewhere, who may or may not know anything about us. Becky’s illness has brought Emma and my dad together, but Mrs. Mercer still doesn’t know they’ve been in contact with my birth mother. And no one seems to know about Emma’s existence, much less that she’s taken my place.
Now there are even more questions to add to the list. What happened between Nisha’s last call to Emma and Dr. Banerjee’s grisly discovery in the pool? What had she so desperately wanted to tell Emma?
My killer is still out there, clearly willing to kill again. Emma needs to find my killer, fast, before the cracks in her performance start to show. Thayer’s already onto her. And if she’s exposed, she’ll either be blamed for my death—or she’ll be next.
Celeste’s warning drifts back to me. You’re in real danger.
Time is running out. Emma needs to make the next move soon, or my killer will make one for her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS