“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”
“My parents were killed in a plane crash when I was fifteen,” he said.
Pronouncements like that should come with a warning label. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “My God, Reed, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I know you know what it’s like to lose a parent, so …”
“I do,” I said, feeling like I was being tumbled end over end. “It’s … it’s terrible.”
He chewed on his bottom lip. “I lived with my grandfather while I finished school. He moved here from Denver to take care of me, but he was in pretty poor health. So he passed away, too, shortly after I graduated from Langhorn.”
I didn’t say a word.
“I never had any brothers or sisters, and my dad wasn’t close with his siblings, so I was basically on my own. I couldn’t afford college, so I went looking for work in the industry. I interviewed with Jonathan for this job, and somehow, miraculously, I got it, even though I had zero qualifications. Jonathan’s been like the big brother I never had. He looks out for me. He’s tough, but it’s because he wants me to learn and do well. He’s meticulous and exacting, but it just makes me work harder. He’s my role model. I can’t even tell you how much his good opinion means to me.”
“Wow,” I said, considering Jonathan in a new light. After all, he’d married a widow with a teenage daughter. He did everything he could to make me feel at home. He kept trying to be cordial to me, even when there was a huge chasm between us. I felt guilty for my hostility toward him, and guiltier still that I’d suspected him of being a murderer last night.
“I feel connected to him,” Reed went on. “Like he’s my family now. And, Willa … I feel the same thing when I look at you. Only not exactly like family.” He gave me a shy smile that lit his eyes up like stars. “Because that would be weird.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, managing to smile.
“So … what if we don’t try to sneak around?” Reed asked. “What if we just ask Jonathan if it’s all right?”
Making things more official? Telling Jonathan? I’d gotten pretty comfy with the idea that Reed and I would never be a thing. (Then again, I’d gotten comfy with the idea that I wasn’t going to be kissing him anymore, and look what happened to that plan.)
I was more than flattered by his romantic interest in me — who wouldn’t be? But I couldn’t shake the feeling that, on some level, we didn’t connect. That even though we obviously liked each other, he didn’t know who I really was. He didn’t get me.
Like Wyatt does, I thought. And then I stood there, stunned by my own thoughts.
“Reed … I’m not sure,” I said. “I don’t know.”
My phone buzzed again.
“Sorry, I’m blowing up over here,” I said, in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. I reached into my pocket and switched the phone to vibrate. “Who knew I was so popular?”
Reed nodded. “Anyway, I should get going. And you should get … digging?” He glanced at the shovel with one eyebrow raised.
I forced myself to look somber. “Dead bird on the patio. I figured it deserves a proper burial.”
Confusion flashed across his face, which I could totally understand. Burying a dead bird in a shoe box was more of an activity for the under-ten set.
I wondered if it might cause him to rethink his interest in me. And whether that was a good or bad thing.
Reed climbed into the Porsche, and I watched him drive out of the garage. I gave him a quick wave before starting through the house into the backyard.
I left the shoe box inside while I went to dig a hole down by the citrus trees. I’d never seen Mom or Jonathan go anywhere near that part of the yard, so there was hardly any chance that the box would be discovered.
It was a warm day, and I was coated with sweat almost instantly. Plus, digging a hole a foot deep was a lot harder than I thought it would be. You don’t just slide the shovel into the soft soil — the dirt here was packed like stone.
I got the first six inches dug and then, panting from the effort and heat, decided to come back and finish later, when the sun wasn’t so high overhead. When had it turned to summer? I leaned the shovel against a lemon tree and went inside to shower and put on shorts and a T-shirt. I put the shoe box back in my closet, where Mom wouldn’t happen across it.
Speaking of my mother, by the time I finished showering, it was time to text her back, but I couldn’t find my phone. I walked down to the kitchen and found it sitting on the counter. I chugged a glass of water and absently checked my texts.
There were eight new ones.
I frowned and sat down at the kitchen table, scrolling through them.
There was one from Wyatt — Going to the place to look at the stuff wink wink — that made me laugh. His next one was a little strange, though. Have you heard from Marnie today by any chance?
Then there was another one from Mom: Jonathan accidentally packed your laptop. Do you have his with you at Marnie’s?
And then one from an unknown number with a 213 area code: This is Kelly Delaine, Marnie’s mom. Have you seen her? We are so worried.
Wyatt: Marnie hasn’t been home since yesterday morning.
I was glad I was sitting down, because my breath was shallow and quick. I dreaded continuing down the list.
From the 213 number again, Marnie’s mom: Sorry to bother you. Please call when you can. Very concerned.
Another text from Mom: Reed will be getting in touch to pick up Jonathan’s computer, okay? Text me when you wake up.
From Wyatt: Marnie is missing and the police think it may be the serial killer. I’m home now, call when you can.
My phone rang in my hand, surprising me so much that I dropped it. It hit the table with a clatter. I managed to pick it up.
“Hello?” I said, my voice shaking.
“Willa?” It was an unfamiliar female voice.
“Yes?”
“This is Kelly Delaine calling.” Her voice was breathless, verging on panicked. “I’m sorry to bother you — I didn’t know if you’d seen my texts. I just wanted to know if you’d heard from Marnie at all. Or if you were aware of any plans she might have had for yesterday or today.”
“Um … no,” I said. “I’m really sorry. I haven’t seen her since Thursday.”
Her mother exhaled in this long, slow, hopeless way that sent a spike of fear straight through my heart. Then she thanked me and hung up, and I sat in the kitchen shaking — actually shivering like a scared person in a movie.
With trembling fingers, I called Wyatt.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and serious.
“I just talked to Mrs. Delaine.”
“Marnie never came home,” he said. “It turns out she’s been sneaking out to auditions. Her parents had no idea.”
“Auditions? Like, to be an actress?” I asked, shaking my head. “She never said a word about that to me.”
Although she did talk once about how much she detested actors. And going by Marnie’s logic, that basically meant she was dying to be one.
“Do the police really think it could be …?” I couldn’t even finish the thought. No matter how strange things got between me and Marnie, I couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to her.
I swallowed.
“Yeah,” Wyatt said quietly.
“She never even hinted at it,” I said, then had a flash of memory. “Well, wait. The last time I talked to her, she said she might have big news, whatever that means. Maybe she thought she was going to get a role in something?”
“What kind of role?” he asked.
“Let me think,” I said, closing my eyes.
What was it Marnie had said to me, during that conversation? Something odd. Uncharacteristic. Almost like she was quoting a movie or something.
I pictured her staring intently down at me from behind her cat-eye frames.