Jessica

After the beach search, I work the late shift at Layers, but I’m anxious to get home and get to Tegan’s phone. It’s slow after the dinner hour, and normally I’d do homework, but I can’t focus. I’m also freaked out about what I did today—searched the beach for Tegan’s body. I’m cold and can’t get warm, so I keep busy, sweeping, mopping twice, scrubbing, and doing all the prep for the morning crew.

Alyssa texts me right before closing: There was a press conference after the search. Here’s a link.

I click on the video that was filmed in front of the police station at six. Tegan’s parents, the police chief, a female detective, and Grady stand at the podium. Tegan’s mom is immaculate, as usual, but looks tired. The police chief, who has slicked-back hair and a sharp widow’s peak, speaks first.

“I’m Chief Waylon with the Crystal Cove Police Department. Yesterday we discovered the remains of Shawna Moore, a twelfth-grade student at Crystal Cove High School. Her body was submerged off the coast of Blind Beach in twelve feet of water. We do not have information on cause or time of death at this time, but it appears the student fell from Falcon’s Peak into the sea, where she became trapped between two boulders.”

Waylon draws a breath, looking shaken, and then a photo of Shawna’s boyfriend fills the screen. “A person of interest in this case is Moore’s boyfriend, Daniel Marcus Lancaster, age twenty-two. We’ve issued an all-points bulletin for his arrest. If you have any information regarding his whereabouts, please contact the Crystal Cove Police Department, but do not approach him. I repeat, do not approach this man. He’s wanted for a prior assault on a young girl and we believe he could be armed and dangerous.”

A shiver rolls through my body as Waylon continues. “It’s possible that Shawna Moore’s death is linked to the disappearance of her classmate Tegan Sheffield. As reported earlier, eighteen-year-old Tegan Sheffield disappeared without a trace from her family home during a party early Sunday morning. Our investigation began immediately and will continue until Tegan is found. We’re exploring every angle of this young woman’s sudden disappearance.”

He adjusts his belt and continues as reporters click photos of him and the Sheffields. “I can tell you this: Security cameras in the home were disabled remotely at two forty-two a.m. by someone with knowledge of or access to the family’s passcode. The girl’s younger brother discovered Tegan missing at nine-thirty a.m. when he returned home from a friend’s house. This window of time has become the focal point of our investigation.”

My heart patters as I set down my cleaning rag.

“We’re continuing to conduct interviews with the students who attended Tegan’s party, reviewing CCTV, and processing fingerprints and DNA collected from the scene to match to possible suspects. In the meantime, we’d like the public’s help in locating Tegan Sheffield.”

Tegan’s portrait appears on the screen. “If you have knowledge of her whereabouts, or if you noticed any suspicious activity between two-forty-two a.m. and nine-thirty a.m. Sunday morning, please contact us immediately. Several community searches are in progress, with more scheduled. Call this hotline for information on how you can help.” He pauses for questions.

A tall reporter yells out, “Tegan has been missing for six days, Chief Waylon. Did you suspect foul play immediately?”

Waylon averts his eyes from Senator Sheffield standing beside him. “The condition of the young woman’s bedroom indicated that a struggle occurred there, and a county CSI team immediately processed the scene and searched the area. So yes, we suspected immediately, but we have standing arrest warrants out on Tegan Sheffield for lewd conduct with a minor and statutory rape, among other possible charges in a separate case. We had to consider the possibility that she panicked and fled after the illicit video she allegedly recorded went viral.” In reaction to this comment, Tegan’s mom flinches as if she’s been struck.

I lean against the sandwich counter and turn up the volume on my phone as another reporter speaks. “How is this case related to the recent death of Shawna Moore? Were the girls friends?”

“They were, and yes, there’s a strong probability the cases are connected.”

“Was Shawna involved with the video Tegan allegedly recorded with a younger student? Do you believe Shawna was murdered?”

Waylon’s eyes narrow. “I cannot comment further on the video. As for Shawna’s death, it’s suspicious and still under investigation.”

“Will Tegan be arrested once she’s found?”

“Yes.” Waylon nods, and Tegan’s mom leans hard on her husband, her fingers digging into his arms.

“Chief, you mentioned Tegan might be hiding to avoid criminal charges, but how likely is that, given the amount of days that have passed and her apparent lack of access to funds or a vehicle?”

Waylon shakes his head. “I won’t give odds on that, sir. In conjunction with the family, we’re organizing search parties and bringing in dogs to aid in Tegan’s recovery. Blood droplets discovered in her bedroom have been matched to her DNA. If she fled on foot and she’s injured, she might be in need of medical care.”

Fled on foot? I remember the eyeball and the squeal of tires in the rain. My fear that I hit Tegan resurfaces. Right then, I hear a noise outside and glance up, but it’s just the wind blowing.

A young female reporter speaks. “Chief Waylon, have you identified any real suspects? Could it be the male classmate Tegan allegedly molested?”

He purses his lips. “No comment. Senator Sheffield would like to make a brief statement and she will not be taking questions. Thank you.”

He steps back, and Tegan’s mom shoots him a nasty glance as she takes her place at the microphone. Then she looks directly into the camera. Her family stands three steps behind her.

She clears her throat and speaks in a slow, gentle drawl. “My husband and I are offering a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for any information that brings our daughter home to us. The idea that she is hiding is preposterous. Please, if you have Tegan or know where she is, call the hotline. If you do not wish to leave your name, you may remain anonymous. We—we love our daughter very much, and we just want her back.” Her tightly threaded expression unravels, and her husband leads her away from the podium.

The reporters attempt to ask questions as the family walks away. I slide my cell back into my pocket, hands trembling. Chloe’s at the gym, so I call Alyssa. As soon as she answers, I blurt out my fear. “What if I killed Tegan?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She went missing sometime after two forty-two a.m., and I hit the deer a little after three.”

“So?” Alyssa hisses.

“The timing is right. What if she ran like they said on TV, and I hit her with your dad’s car?”

“I was there. You did not hit Tegan.” She takes a deep breath. “What’s really bugging you, Jessica?”

I close my eyes and come face to face with the truth—I feel guilty about everything. A tear skids down my cheek. “I…god, this is awful. Part of me is glad Tegan’s in trouble and glad she’s gone. Just once, I don’t want her to win.”

Alyssa snorts. “Tegan’s not winning. She vanished into thin air and her best friend is dead.”

My cheeks burn. “I know that.”

Alyssa turns down her TV. “She wanted payback, that’s all. Tegan lost you in the fifth grade and she lost Jake in tenth. You both hurt her.”

Her words stun me. “We hurt her? You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, but that doesn’t mean you should feel bad or guilty. Feuds don’t end well; case in point.”

I swallow and wipe my tears. She’s right, and I feel better but also blown away. I never considered this from Tegan’s point of view, that Jake and I each dumped her. “The fight with her seems stupid now.”

Alyssa laughs. “It was always stupid, Jess.”

After my talk with Alyssa, I finish locking up the sandwich shop. It’s dark outside. Clouds mask the moon and the stars as I drive home wondering if there is a murderer loose in Crystal Cove or if it’s my ex-boyfriend Jake. When I arrive, his pickup is gone and I wonder if his mom gave him his keys back, but when I glance up at his window, his blinds shift as if he’s home. Is he watching me? I loved being neighbors when we were together, but now—it feels claustrophobic.

I think I’m in serious trouble, he said at school today. So vague! On Tuesday night he was not so vague. He promised that Tegan and her friends would pay for what they did. Then he went looking for Shawna, and now she’s dead. Today he asked me to wipe his fingerprints off Tegan’s phone. He has lied and could still be lying—to himself, to me, to the police.

I enter my house quietly, but a door creaks upstairs and Mom steps out of her bedroom, wrapped in a robe. She leans over the banister. “There’s lasagna in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She pads downstairs, smelling of night cream and toothpaste, and hugs me, releasing a long slow breath, the kind you make after a good cry. “How are you doing, sweetie? I know you and Shawna haven’t talked in a while, but you used to be close when you played soccer.”

An unexpected whimper escapes me, but this is not the time to break down.

“You have so much to deal with,” Mom says quietly. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk to anyone? Can I help?” I consider this from her point of view—a dead body and a sex video. It’s not far from what she expected with raising a teen. Mom is like a prepper at the end of the world, thinking, I’m ready for this!

“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, sniffing back tears. “It’s just a lot, you know?”

“I know.” She strokes my hair and hugs me.

We say good night, and since I can’t leave until she falls asleep, I heat up a plate of homemade lasagna, trudge to my room, and text Jake. He said at school that he wanted to talk tonight, but I don’t have the energy for his tears. I text him: I’m tired. Can we talk tomorrow?

After a long pause, he texts back: I need you jess. The police took my phone, my dna, my truck.

My heart thrums. How are you texting me then?

Jake: mom got me a new phone today. same number. can I come over pls

Not now, I write.

Jake: r u mad at me

I stare at my screen in disbelief. Am I mad at him? He slept with my worst enemy and enjoyed it. He saddled me with her missing phone. He destroyed us, and I miss him with all my heart, but I’m also glad Tegan’s gone, and that makes me sick. My feelings give me whiplash, and I can’t respond to his question. I turn off my phone and confront my bed.

Sleep hasn’t come easily since the party, and it’s been worse since I hid Tegan’s cell beneath my mattress. It bothers me all night like a rock in my shoe.

I slide it out, this cold and dented phone, this evidence. It’s like holding Tegan’s brain in my hands—her thoughts, memories, plans, and secrets. I wonder if she told anyone what happened between us at her Fourth of July bonfire. I wonder if she saved our texts. I have six attempts to guess the password before her phone locks me out.

Six attempts to guess a combination of six numbers or letters.

But to do that I have to power the phone on, and the second that happens, her cell will ping the nearest tower, the police will be alerted, and they will come, sirens blaring. They’ll arrest Jake and me for hiding evidence. I need to do this somewhere else, somewhere safe, and I know the perfect place.

I leave my house at midnight, dressed in black.