Of course it would be Sutton’s favorite fruit.
It was the little details about Sutton, things she couldn’t possibly know, that always tripped her up. Sutton’s dad seemed hyper-aware of her gaffes, too—he was the only one who’d questioned Emma about a tiny scar when she’d first arrived in Tucson, one that her twin didn’t have. And he always seemed to weigh whatever he had to say to her carefully, as though he were holding back, hiding something. It was like he knew something about his daughter was off, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“That was before I found out it was really high in bad-for-you carbs,” Emma said quickly, thinking on her feet. It sounded like something Sutton would say.
Steam erupted from the espresso maker on the soapstone countertop before anyone could respond. Mr.
Mercer poured milk into four porcelain mugs printed with pictures of Great Danes much like Drake and then turned to Emma. “The police found Thayer last night. Picked him up trying to hitchhike on the on-ramp to Route 10.”
“He’s been arrested for unlawful entry,” Mrs. Mercer added, adding a stack of waffles to a plate. “But that’s not all. Apparently, he had a knife on him—a concealed weapon.”
Emma flinched. One wrong move last night and Thayer might have slashed her.
“Quinlan says he resisted arrest,” Mr. Mercer went on.
“It sounds like he’s really in trouble. They’re holding him at the precinct for questioning about some other things, too.
Like where he’s been all this time and why he’d worried his family for so long.”
Emma kept her expression neutral, but relief coursed through her body. At least Thayer was in jail, not roaming Tucson. She was safe—for now. With Thayer behind bars, she had time to get to the bottom of his mysterious relationship with Sutton… and to figure out if she really needed to be afraid of him.
“Can we visit him in jail?” Laurel asked as she stuffed the spiky stem of the pineapple into the garbage.
Mr. Mercer looked horrified. “Absolutely not.” He pointed at both his daughters. “I don’t want either of you visiting him. I know he was your friend, Laurel, but think about all the fights he got into on the soccer field. And if half those rumors about alcohol and drugs are true, then he’s a walking pharmacy. And what was he doing carrying a knife? Trouble follows that kid wherever he goes. I don’t want you mixed up with someone like that.” Laurel opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Mercer quickly interrupted. “Set the table, will you, sweetie?” There was a wobbly quality to her voice, as if she were trying to smooth everything over and sweep the mess under the rug.
Mrs. Mercer set a heaping mound of Belgian waffles on the kitchen table and filled everyone’s glass with orange juice. Mr. Mercer strolled over from the coffee machine and sat down at his regular seat. He sliced a piece of waffle and popped it into his mouth. His eyes were on Emma the whole time. “So. Is there a reason Thayer snuck into your bedroom?” he asked.
Nerves darted through Emma’s insides. Because he might have killed your real daughter? Because he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going around telling people about it?
“You weren’t expecting him, were you?” Mr. Mercer continued, his voice sharpening.
Emma lowered her eyes and grabbed for a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s. “If I was expecting him, I wouldn’t have screamed.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Last night.”
Mr. Mercer sighed exaggeratedly. “Before that.” These were questions Emma couldn’t answer. She looked around at the table. All three Mercers were staring at her, waiting for her response. Mr. Mercer looked irritated.
Mrs. Mercer was nervous. And Laurel’s face was a murderous bright red.
“June,” Emma blurted. It was the month that all the flyers in the police station and Facebook pages said Thayer went missing. “Just like everyone else.” Mr. Mercer sighed heavily, like he didn’t believe her.
But before he could say anything else, Mrs. Mercer cleared her throat. “Let’s not worry about Thayer Vega anymore,” she chirped. “He’s in jail—that’s what matters.” Mr. Mercer’s brow wrinkled. “But—”
“Let’s talk about happy things instead, like your birthday party,” Mrs. Mercer interrupted. She touched her husband’s arm. “It’s only a few weeks away. Almost all the plans are complete.” Even Emma knew about the plans for Mr. Mercer’s birthday party. Mrs. Mercer had been planning the festivities at the Loews Ventana Canyon resort for weeks. Her party to-do lists were scattered around the house on bright yellow Post-its.
Mr. Mercer’s face was still a stony grimace. “I told you I didn’t want a party.”
Mrs. Mercer scoffed. “Everyone wants a party.”
“Grandma’s coming, right?” Laurel asked after swallowing a slug of orange juice.
Mrs. Mercer nodded. “And you girls know you’re welcome to invite your friends,” she said. “I’ve already sent invitations to the Chamberlains and Mr. and Mrs. Vega.
And I just ordered the cake from Gianni’s, that gourmet baker who did the cake for Mr. Chamberlain’s party,” Mrs.
Mercer went on. “Apparently they’re the best. It’s carrot with a cream cheese frosting. Your favorite!”
Her voice lifted higher and higher. After Teenage Murder Suspect Breaks Into Home, Dutiful Wife Tries to Lighten Mood with Talk of Dessert, Emma thought with a smirk.