“Did they help?”
She laughs. “Actually, not really, now that I think about it.”
“So how did it end?”
Leah shrugged. “I moved to D.C. Not because of him,” she adds. “And I changed all my passwords to everything. But he’s out there somewhere. I still think about that sometimes.”
“Let us know if there’s anything,” Daisy says.
“Actually, there is one random thing. I have to sell my mother’s house in Westport, Connecticut. You wouldn’t happen to know how I can find out who’s the best Realtor up there, do you, Daisy?”
She blinks hard, just once, but then a large smile spreads across her face. “Of course! I know just the woman. Barb DeSoto. I’ll text you her info.”
I hug them both good night and thank them again. As I cross the street to my house, I can see a figure walking a small dog in the distance. I wonder if it’s Susan. I can’t tell from this far. I take a deep gulp of the cool night air. My neighbor Heather has put up a giant inflatable jack-o’-lantern on her front lawn. Halloween is around the corner, and this is the first year Cole is excited to go trick-or-treating.
I take a few steps onto the walkway that leads to our back door when I hear a crunch of footsteps in the leaves behind me. I spin around, heart pounding. I see no one.
I pick up the pace to the back of my house. As I’m approaching the back door, someone grabs my arm. I spin around, a shriek caught in my throat.
It’s Dustin. He lets go of my arm and backs up a few feet, hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice quivers, wavering between child and man.
“Well, you did.” I put my hand to my chest, where my heart is pounding like it’s going to explode. “You can’t sneak up on people like that, Dustin.”
“Sorry.” He digs his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans and stares at the ground.
“It’s fine, really. Just be more careful, huh?”
“I heard what you were saying in the kitchen.”
“You were listening in on our conversation?” Annoyance floods me.
Dustin raises his head. The round, low moon illuminates his long face, his hawklike nose. He looks nothing like Leah. I think of what I learned this evening, that his father committed suicide and how he’s not getting along with his stepfather. I let out a deep sigh. “Dustin, you shouldn’t eavesdrop.”
“Don’t be mad,” he says. “I can help you. I want to help you.”
“That’s all right, Dustin. Thank you, anyway.” I turn to go.
“The police are not going to figure this out,” he calls, and I stop. “Even if they had the time, they don’t have the skills to find out who is trolling you, messing with you. I do. I can find out who made that Facebook page.”
I turn back to face him. “Is that right?”
“Sure. But you know, I charge for this kind of thing. It’s a lot of work.”
I have to smile at that one. And to think Leah imagined him babysitting children. “How much?”
“Two grand.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Good night, Dustin.” The doorknob is in my hand when he calls from the shadows once more.
“Just remember, the police won’t help you, but I can.”
23
I’m in bed, anxiously waiting for Mark to finish with work and come upstairs. I need to tell him about the pictures of me online, but I don’t know how I am going to do that. A part of me thinks I can contact Facebook and get them taken down before he even knows. But I know that’s crazy. He needs to know the truth.
But if I tell him about the photos, how can I not tell him about Paul?
Mark comes in.
“How did the call go?” I ask, gauging his mood. If he’s still mad, there’s no way I’ll tell him. At least not tonight.
“Fine. Better than expected.” His tone is terse, but is that because of me or work he’s stressed about? “I’m going to be busy the next month or so preparing for some depositions. Looks like we may end up going to trial after all.”
“Mark, I’m sorry about before.”
He sits on the edge of our bed in just his pajama bottoms. “It’s okay. I’m sorry about the whole Caitlin therapy thing. I shouldn’t have talked to her about it.”
“Yeah.” I’d forgotten all about Caitlin. “I should have called Artie Zucker sooner. You were right.”
He smiles stiffly. “I was thinking about what you said, about how someone made fake social media accounts for you. That’s a lot of work. I mean, that seems very deliberate.”
“And then there’s the whole T-shirt thing.”
“T-shirt thing?”
I glance at him, annoyed, but the open look on his face tells me he has forgotten about the T-shirt. “You know, how I found Cole wearing an Overton T-shirt the other day?”
“Right.” He nods slowly. “Maybe I’m missing something, but that just doesn’t seem like such a big deal compared to everything else that’s going on.”
You are missing something! I think. This is my moment to tell him about Overton and Paul Adamson, the picture on MySpace and the arrest.
“I think it might be someone from Overton who’s doing all this.”
“You think someone from your prep school is involved with Rob Avery’s death?” His deliberate tone makes me feel crazy.
I shake my head. I know it sounds nuts. “I’m not sure. I had a boyfriend my senior year. It didn’t end well.”
“And you think he’s the one making these social media accounts?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“What did the police say, exactly?”
“They were asking me all sorts of weird questions about Ambien. It was awful.”
“Ambien?”
“Yeah, liquid Ambien. Had I ever used it. Did I have it delivered to the house.”
“And have you?”
“No. I didn’t even know they made
