The lady made a tsk sound with her tongue. “You had all of us! What’s wrong with you?” She stormed away, shaking her head.
Emma sat back up. Her heart felt like a flag flapping crazily in the wind.
Laurel adjusted her T-shirt, color rising to her cheeks. “You’ve taught me well, sis. But I never thought I’d get you with something so easy!” And then she stood, slid her purse over her shoulder, and cruised to the wall of nail polishes to choose the color for her manicure.
Emma stared at Laurel’s straight, slender back, her head spinning. That certainly was an innovative way to change the subject from Thayer. But something unsettled her, too. A girl whose older sister did something to ruin her chances with her crush didn’t just shrug it off with a laugh and a prank. If someone had done that to Emma, she’d tell them off. Fight back. Retaliate.
And then Emma raised her head. The hot lights above scorched her scalp. She could think of one reason Laurel might not be angry anymore.
I thought it at the exact same time, too: Maybe Laurel had already gotten her revenge.
Chapter 25
A LATE ADDITION TO THE GUEST LIST
“I’d like to solve the puzzle, Pat,” a constantly smiling soccer mom said on TV. The screen switched to a shot of the Wheel of Fortune board. All of the letters of THING had been filled in except for one. “Picking fresh flowers?”
Triumphant music played as Vanna turned the final letter. Soccer mom jumped up and down, ecstatic that she’d won nine hundred dollars. It was late Thursday evening, and Emma was watching a Wheel rerun on the Game Show Network from Sutton’s bed. Wheel of Fortune usually calmed her down. It reminded her of watching it with Becky on the tattered La-Z-Boy—she could almost smell the Burger King takeout and hear Becky calling out the answers and critiquing Vanna’s sequined ball gown.
But now all Emma could think of when she saw that wheel on the screen was how it seemed like a metaphor for her life—a wheel of chance. Risk or reward. One twin getting the good life, one twin getting the bad. One twin dying, the other twin living. The living twin choosing either to go after the person she was almost certain had killed her sister . . . or slip quietly away.
Laurel killed Sutton.
The thought flashed into her mind every couple of seconds, giving her a fresh scare each and every time. She felt positive it was true. All signs had pointed to Charlotte before, but now Laurel seemed like the only answer. When she got home from the nail salon, she’d searched for more clues, and too much connected: Sutton’s Facebook account was on Autofill, which meant Laurel could’ve sneaked into Sutton’s room, logged in, found the message from Emma, and written an eager note back, summoning Emma here. And then there was the SUTTON’S DEAD note Laurel had found on her car. Besides the bit of pollen on the corner, the paper didn’t have any creases, folds, or dirt marks like it should have if Laurel had really dug it out from under a windshield wiper. And Emma hadn’t actually seen the note on Laurel’s car—who was to say Laurel hadn’t lied about someone leaving it there? She just as easily could have pulled it out of her bag.
Laurel had been at Charlotte’s sleepover, too. She’d slept next to Emma in Charlotte’s cavernous bedroom, which would’ve made it easiest for her to see when Emma had gotten up for a drink. She could’ve crept downstairs and strangled Emma with Sutton’s locket. And speaking of that locket, there was the photo of Laurel wearing the locket on Madeline’s phone. It looked identical to the one that now hung around Emma’s neck.
They looked identical to me, too. I thought about the memories I now possessed. How I had flown off the handle so quickly and thrown her copycat necklace into the darkness. Laurel’s shattered expression. Then I thought about those hands grabbing me and shoving me into the car. The trunk had been tiny and cramped, probably about the size of Laurel’s Jetta.
But I kept returning to the flickering memory of Laurel and me giggling together at the La Paloma pool. Holding hands. Friends. What had driven us apart? Why hadn’t I tried to rekindle that relationship? I didn’t want to believe Laurel could’ve murdered me. And what about the shock of red hair I’d seen through my blindfold when the assailant pulled me from the trunk? Had my eyes been playing tricks on me?
Emma rose from the bed and started pacing around the room. She didn’t have any solid proof yet, but the snuff film had to be from the night Sutton died. It made sense. Maybe when Laurel pulled the blindfold off Sutton’s head and discovered she wasn’t dead, she’d wrapped the necklace back around her sister’s neck and finished the job. Maybe the actual murder happened after the video ended. . . . If only the video were still online—it would be enough to make the police believe that what Emma was telling them was true. And how had that video gotten online anyway? Why would the killer post something that would seal her own doom?
Unless of course Laurel posted it online to attract Emma. Maybe she somehow knew that her adopted sister had a twin. And maybe she knew the video would reach Emma . . . and Emma would reach out. It had worked.
Emma placed her palms against the smooth white walls. Muffled music sounded from Laurel’s bedroom next door. For all Emma knew, Laurel could be inside her room right now plotting what to do next. She walked over to the TV and shut it off. All of a sudden, it felt dangerous to linger so close to the killer. She felt like a prisoner in this room—a prisoner in her dead sister’s life. She yanked the door open and started down the stairs. Just as she was about to pull open the front door, someone cleared his throat behind her. “Where are you going?”