“Was Taylor with you?”
I shake my head. “He was inside. But his car was in the driveway. It wasn’t him. Wasn’t his car. If you think he had something to do with it, why haven’t you confronted him?”
He shakes his head.
“You corner me in my own bedroom, confront me—scare me—and you haven’t even asked him—”
“Because I thought everyone was right! I thought maybe she really did leave because of me—us, until everything started with you. It all pointed to you.”
He rubs his fingers over his scruff and through his hair, tugging at the ends. “I want you to call him.”
“What?”
“Call him right now and you’re going to say, I think Cline knows about Pascha. Call him!”
“Cline, this is crazy!”
“Prove it to me.”
“Fine!”
I run downstairs and he follows. I grab my phone, and I hit Taylor’s name, hovering my finger over the green call button. “But when I call, he won’t know what I’m talking about, and if he had anything to do with Pascha’s disappearance, he won’t tell me. This isn’t a good idea. You could get more out of him if I don’t accuse him of it in so many words.”
He presses his lips together and rests his hands on his hips, staring out the front windows. “Fine, just call and say you need to talk. Tell him it’s about Pascha. We’ll see what he says.”
“And if he says he has no idea what I’m talking about?”
“Make him talk. You know him, right?”
“Barely anymore.”
“Just call. You’ll think of something.”
I tap Taylor’s name and wait as it rings. The answering machine comes on and beeps.
“Hey, it’s Lyn. I need to talk to you. It’s about Pascha. Call me back.”
I end the call and shake my head. “He probably won’t even call me back now. The last time I saw him, I asked if he was hooking up with Pascha. I practically accused him of it and didn’t believe him when he said he wasn’t.”
“Why did you ask him that?”
“According to Jamie, they were hooking up. He saw them in the parking lot together. I’m sorry to tell you that, but…”
He shakes his head and scoffs. “No, he’s her dealer. It was never like that. She never cheated.”
“Well, Taylor would agree with you on that.”
Cline turns around and stares out the window. “Stokes is back.”
“Good! He can tell you I wouldn’t be involved in anything—”
“No. We’re not going to tell him about this.”
“Why?”
“Because they think I’m in denial about Pascha leaving. They try to talk me out of worrying about her and trying to contact her. Even with all the evidence, you heard them. They think I was so bad to her that I drove her off, and even if she isn’t chasing her dreams in Nashville, she wouldn’t come back because of me.”
“You really believe something happened to her.”
He nods as the door opens. Stokes walks in carrying two bags and tosses one to Cline.
“Okay, got you the fake knife to go with your costume,” Stokes says, “and some blood for both of us. We’ll put our costumes together and then we’ll go pick up Roy and Lucie?”
Cline nods.
I turn for the kitchen, walk to the back door, and let Stevie back inside. She follows me down the hallway to the staircase and I climb the steps.
“Where you off to?” Stokes asks.
I hesitate and Cline stares at me. “Just getting my costume ready.”
Stevie follows me up the creaky steps to my bedroom. I close the door behind us and back away from it holding my hand over my mouth. What the hell was that? What’s going on? I turn to my bed, and grab the album cover, shoving it onto my desk and stare at the notebook.
Cline has suspected me of doing something to Pascha. For how long? Since the first show at least. Since I pitched her song. Has he been the one following me? I’ve never seen Cline’s car. What if it’s black with tinted windows? No. Someone would have said something when I told the group.
And it couldn’t have been Taylor. He has a different car.
“Ready in fifteen?” Stokes calls up to me.
“Yeah,” I call back.
What am I wearing? I pull my closet door open and look inside.
Halloween horror theme.
I could just wear a white dress and comb my hair in front of my face to be Samara…
I skim my fingers through the closet, checking out my options. I just want to protect myself tonight. I need a weapon, and I need something to hide it under. I grab my black raincoat and put it on. How can I make this look scary? Who can I say I am?
My phone rings and I check the screen. Taylor.
I tap his name and press the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, listen, I already told you about Pascha—”
“She was there. The last night she was seen in Auburn Hills, she came to your place.”
“I don’t know what night you’re talking about, but yeah, she’s been over a few times—”
“The last time.”
“The last time, she told me she was going to Nashville, but she wanted to score first.”
“How did she get there?”
“I don’t know.”
“So, did you sell to her?”
“Lyn, why are you calling me?”
“How did she seem when she was there?”
“Pissed.”
“Okay, and how did she leave? Did she call a ride? Did someone pick her up?”
“Lyn, I don’t know. How am I supposed to remember? She left—actually—she left, and I heard arguing on the street outside my window.”
“Who was she arguing with?”
“I don’t know his name. That guy in the band. Her boyfriend, I guess?”
“Cline?”
“Lynda, no offence, but I’m not
