“If anything happens to him, you wouldn’t be a suspect, because we just saw him alive and well with Marissa, and you’re going home, where your roommate is and will be able to corroborate your alibi if you need it.” I only stare at him, gritting my teeth. “Bryce will be fine,” he adds.
I cross my arms, thinking about a drink. “You can’t make me leave.”
Asher looks back down at his phone. “Sure I can.”
We stand at the end of the alley on Main Street as a black Honda pulls up. He shuffles me toward the car and opens the door. I know he’s right, that I don’t need to black out tonight just to give myself a break. But the thought of going home sober not knowing what will happen to Bryce and not having any type of plan for what I’m going to say to Miles Holland tomorrow makes a knot form in the pit of my stomach and I almost want to cling to Asher like a lifeline.
“I’ll pick you up for Ivy Gate at ten a.m. tomorrow,” Asher says from outside the car as I step in. I feel my breath shallow in my chest as the panic sets in. I’ll never be able to sleep tonight.
“Wait,” I say from the back seat before he shuts the door. Asher stands there waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he catches on.
“Oh, Sawyer,” he says with fake pity. “Are you working up the courage to ask me to come home with you? Here, let me make it easy for you.” Asher shuts the car door in my face and backs up, giving a small wave before making his way to the front entrance of the bar.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter to myself.
I was right: I can’t fall asleep. I stand in front of the corkboard that’s screwed into the wall. If it’s here, I might as well use it. I print pictures of the deceased, pinning them under the names that Asher added. I tape sticky notes over them with details of their deaths and if they had a journal page and where it was found. Then I print a picture of Miles Holland and Ivy Gate and put those on the board, tying a red string from Ryan to Ivy Gate to Miles. I print a picture of a white Jeep, the kind Miles drives, and add another string from Marco to the Jeep I thought I saw. And just because I’m not completely convinced, I print a picture of Marissa and add it to the board with question marks. When I step back, it looks like an actual suspect board. And in the middle, with all lines connected, is my photo.
Chapter 13
It’s an unusually warm day for mid-October and under normal circumstances I would be on my way to a pumpkin patch with Annica and Dani, a pumpkin spice latte in hand. But instead, I’m getting in the front seat of Asher’s car to be taken to a potentially dangerous situation, no pumpkin spice latte in hand. Asher sits in the driver’s seat in a T-shirt and jeans, sunglasses on, with one hand on the steering wheel. He looks like an album cover for a country music star who is borderline pop.
“Well?” I ask as soon as I get in the car. “Did anything happen to Bryce last night?”
Asher sighs. “He’s dead.”
My stomach hits my throat, like a ride that takes you to the top only to suddenly drop you a hundred feet. I stare at him wide-eyed. “You said he’d be fine!”
Asher lets out a laugh, his whole fake-solemn demeanor changing. “I’m just kidding, he’s fine. Coincidentally enough I ran into him when I was picking this up. Here.” He hands me a coffee cup and I just stare at him, mouth agape.
“You are such a—”
“Good person? For picking up a pumpkin spice latte for you this morning?” he interrupts. I have half a mind to take off the lid and dump it on him.
“Just drive the car,” I say. He pulls out of my apartment complex and puts Luna’s into the GPS.
“So what’s your game plan? What are you going to say to him?” he asks. I lay awake all night last night playing the scenario over and over again in my head until I eventually fell asleep.
“I’m going to ask him what he wants and why he’s doing this.”
“And what if he plays it off like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about?”
“Then I’ll change tactics.” Though I don’t know to what yet. My only definite plan is that I’m going to be secretly recording on my phone during the conversation. “What are you going to be doing the whole time?” I ask him.
“I’m going to be searching his car,” he says confidently.
“You’re going to break into his car? You don’t even know what he drives.”
He looks over at me. “That’s why you’re going to tell me.”
“And when the car alarm starts going off?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“It’s a white Jeep Wrangler,” I say. “And he puts the top down when it’s warm out.”
“Even better.” He smiles.
Nearly two hours later we pull into a small lot behind Luna’s. It’s an eccentric-looking café painted blue on the outside with flowers climbing up the walls. The back lot is small, with room for only a few cars, and sure enough Miles’s Jeep is one of them. Asherparks across from it and we both get out of the car. He stretches his arms and legs and I nervously wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
