A slow grin curved Polly’s mouth. “We’re breaking in, baby.”
“Polly—”
“We’ll leave everything exactly as it was. She won’t even know we were there. And if it wasn’t her, then we have our answer.”
“Of course it wasn’t her. This stuff was happening in LA, and she wasn’t in LA.”
Polly lifted a shoulder. “Then we won’t find anything.” She pulled up across the road from her aunt’s house and for a moment, Maggie didn’t move. She could only stare up at the two-story brick home she’d lived in through her teenage years.
She’d hated this house. She’d hated everything about it—in particular, the memories it contained.
She was still sitting there staring when her door was yanked open.
“Come on.”
She frowned at Polly. “I am not going in there.”
“Suit yourself.” Polly closed the door and headed toward the house.
She was seriously doing it? Even if Maggie stayed here?
It was fine. She didn’t know where the spare key?—
Polly lifted the fake rock in the flower bed and pulled out the key before putting it back in place.
Shit.
Maggie scrambled out of the car and raced toward the entrance. “Polly?—”
The door opened and Maggie’sformerbest friend grinned at her. “We’re in.”
She followed Polly inside, her chest suddenly feeling unbelievably tight. It was the same in here too. The stiff-backed gray sofa. The low glass-top coffee table that was completely empty. No magazines or coasters, just bare. But then, the entireroom had always felt bare, like her aunt didn’t want anyone to know she lived here.
She glanced at the framed photos against the wall leading to the staircase. One was of her mother. She’d looked at that photo every day, yearning for the woman to come back. There’d never been a photo of Maggie, though. Lilith had never done anything to make this house feel like her home.
Polly closed the door. “Okay. Game plan. I’ll take downstairs, you take upstairs.”
“This is a really bad idea. What if she comes home?”
“She won’t. Yoga started a few minutes ago. Trust me, I have to listen to those old ladies yap about their class every Friday when they come in for post-yoga gossip. Go.”
“But—”
Too late, Polly was already moving.
Dammit. Maggie shot her gaze toward the door. But she couldn’t leave her friend here.
She was doing this.Theywere doing this.
She jogged up the stairs two at a time. The second room off the hall was her old bedroom, and the door was slightly ajar. She shouldn’t go in there. She was already worried about time.
One look wouldn’t hurt though, right?
The door creaked as she pushed it open. And the weight of a million memories, none of them good, hit her so hard that she wasn’t sure how she remained on her feet.
She felt ten again, like she was that kid who was both grieving the loss of her mother and trying to figure out how to survive in a world with no caregiver who loved her.
The full-size bed still sat awkwardly against the far wall, its metal frame looking as uncomfortable as she knew it was. The mattress was so thin she’d been able to feel every slat beneath her.
