Calm yourself, Willa. Just because the missing movies fit perfectly with the four movies that the Hollywood Killer used as his inspiration doesn’t mean … well, anything.
Right? I couldn’t even be totally sure that those were the missing films.
Then, off to the side, I saw a small three-ring binder with a label on its spine that read DVD Inventory. I grabbed it, flipping to the B’s. My heart flip-flopped as I read down the list, to #B31 Birdman of Alcatraz, and then read the next listing: #B32 The Birds.
#H14 Heathers. #K29 Kiss of Death. #V9 Vertigo.
I took a step back, trying to tell myself not to make something out of nothing. So Jonathan owned all four movies that the murders were based on. So what? Lots of people owned them. They were popular, critically acclaimed movies.
So they all just happened to be missing from their spots.
So what?
With every so what, my stomach twisted more tightly around itself.
Be reasonable. Maybe Jonathan pulled them all when he heard about the murders. Maybe he wanted to watch the scenes that inspired the killer, because he was curious. Maybe he was looking for connections and clues.
It was a little morbid, but then — who was I to judge?
In the pocket of my jeans, my phone vibrated with an incoming text.
It was from Mom — Good night sweetie, love you. Tell Marnie hello and thanks! Great day here, tomorrow we’re going to lay by the pool ALL DAY.
As happy as I was that my mother was having a great time, my carefree night was beyond ruined by my discovery of the missing movies. I went back to the den and turned off the TV, and then, feeling oppressed by the sudden silence and darkness, I headed for my room.
I burrowed under the covers, for once actually wishing Paige would find some way to tell me she was there.
Turns out the price of freedom is being alone.
Paige never showed, and the night of uninterrupted sleep did a lot to calm my mind. In the light of the morning, the simple explanation seemed like the most likely one: that Jonathan owned the DVDs and got curious about the movies when he heard about the murders. Everyone in LA was obsessed with the Hollywood Killer.
Besides, if Jonathan were a murderer, would he be that obvious about it?
I put on a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, basically a half step up from wearing pajamas, and I was downstairs eating a cupcake for breakfast when my phone buzzed.
Mom had texted: Good morning!
I ignored it for the time being, figuring it would seem more believable if I waited until later in the morning to reply. If I was sleeping over at a friend’s house, no way would I be up by 8:30.
After my nutritionally impaired breakfast, I decided to do something I’d been putting off for weeks. I dug through my closet and found the shoe box containing my moldavite ring and the Walter Sawamura book. All I needed was something silver.
I’d been waiting for the right moment to grab a little spoon or something from the sideboard in the dining room, but then I realized that I had something silver of my own — even better, something I didn’t particularly want to keep around.
I poked through my small jewelry box for the pair of silver hoop earrings Aiden had given me for my fifteenth birthday. Just looking at them made me feel a little quiver of sadness.
At some point, I should probably let Aiden know that I didn’t hate him for what he’d done. That I actually understood why he’d done it. I even picked up my phone and started to write a text – Hi, remember me? Just wanted to say sorry for crushing your soul for so long and then blaming you for needing to make a change. I get it now. But then I chickened out.
I put the earrings in the box, wrapped the whole thing with duct tape, and went to look for something to bury it with.
I’d never been inside the garage, but it was neat and well organized, and I had no problem finding a shovel. I was on my way back out, with the shoe box tucked under my arm and the shovel in my hand, when the door opened to reveal Reed.
He gasped when he saw me, and for my part, I shrieked and dropped the shoe box with a thunk.
“Willa!” he said, letting out a startled burst of laughter. “I didn’t expect to see you in here.”
After a few days of not seeing him, I’d forgotten how cute he was, with his sun-kissed skin and perfectly mussed hair.
I bent to scoop the box off the floor and then held up the shovel. “I just came for this. What are you doing here?”
“It’s Saturday,” he said. “I came to get the Porsche for her weekly bath.”
Mom and Jonathan had been planning to take the Porsche to Palm Springs but switched at the last minute to the SUV, in case they discovered the burning need to buy some giant antique chair or something. So the sleek little car sat inside the quiet garage like a well-behaved horse.
“Did he even drive it this week?” I asked.
Reed sat in the driver’s seat long enough to turn on the ignition. Then he climbed out while the engine rumbled and purred. “All the more reason it needs to get out on the road for a few minutes. You can’t let a car sit too long. It’ll dry-rot.”
I nodded, as if I knew anything about cars.
Reed stepped closer to the Porsche and rubbed at an invisible speck on the paint.
Seeing him like this — in black board shorts and a faded yellow T-shirt, as handsome as a movie star, I couldn’t help but think about our kiss. About how crazy I was for letting him slip between my fingers.
I wondered if he ever thought about kissing me. And then I told myself that there was no way on earth.
“How’ve you been lately?” he asked.
“Um, good,” I said. “Surprisingly good.”
“I saw the picture of you and your friend at the premiere.” He shook his head. “That was wild.”
“Mom and Jonathan definitely thought so,” I said, unable to hide the dark note in my voice.
“Willa … are you sure you’re all right?”
I was surprised by the question. “Yeah. I am.”
“You don’t seem like yourself.” He smiled disarmingly. “You don’t usually grumble.”
Maybe you don’t know me very well, I thought.
Before I knew what was happening, Reed stepped toward me, then leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on my lips.
The opportunity to be kissed by someone who kisses like Reed isn’t the kind of thing a girl takes lightly. I felt a familiar flutter in my stomach, tingly weakness in my arms and legs. I kissed him back, relishing the delicate pressure of his hands on my back as he pulled me closer.
He drew away for a moment and looked down at me, his eyes a question.
When I didn’t say anything, he leaned in and touched his lips to mine again. With every second that passed, I felt reality melting away. Who needed to think about murders and missing movies and haunted houses? It was so easy to get lost in his warmth and his delicious scent and the sensation of his fingers moving lightly through my hair….
In the pocket of my yoga pants, my phone buzzed.
I jumped, startled back to the present.
Reed stared at me for a beat, looking equally dazed. His voice was soft and throaty. “There’s something about you that makes me forget to care that your stepfather is my boss.”
The word stepfather further obliterated the mood for me. I gave him as polite a smile as I could manage and looked at the floor. There was a small puddle of standing water a couple of feet away, reflecting the sunlight.
His gaze dropped to his hands. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m no gentleman.”
How do you respond to that?
Reed cleared his throat. “Can I tell you something?”