“The question is, who planted them in my purse,” Kennedy demands.
Mila folds her arms over her chest. “You have unrestricted access to this house and everything in it. It would take a ridiculous amount of planning for anyone else to pull this off.”
Kennedy looks taken aback. “The only one who has the slightest reason to mess with any of us is Ryan. Emily was his sister. He blames us for her death.”
Chase shakes his head. “No. No way.”
Kennedy looks to me. “Tell them.”
I avoid Chase’s anxious gaze. “He doesn’tblameus—he just has some questions, that’s all.”
Mila groans, and Chase and Kennedy immediately start arguing.
“What is so wrong with that?” I shout above them. They quiet down. “I agree with him. Last year was messed up, but the worst part is the feeling that everything we think we know is a lie because the truth is, maybe one of us did start the fire. Maybe it wasn’t outright murder, but it didn’t just happen, either. This house did not spontaneously burst into flame, no matter how good a lawyer Mr. Hartford is. Am I really the only one who isn’t afraid to admit that? I know there are thingsthat don’t make sense to all of us. Like why were you outside, Kennedy?”
“I don’t recall,” she says quietly.
Mila looks at her sharply. “You don’t recall taking us out on the boat?”
Kennedy sighs, frustrated. “Sure. Yes. Fine. We went on the boat. Why does it matter?”
“Everything matters,” I explode. “Why were all the doors locked? Why did Ryan come back for Mila? Why did no one come back for me? Or Emily? How did the attic door break? How did she get in there if it was broken? She climbed up, closed the door behind her, and it spontaneously broke in that precise window of time?”
The others are looking at me meaningfully, and my face flushes. I know what that look means. I was the only one in the room. I’m the only one who can answer that question. “There’s more to the story,” I say finally.
“Maybe all that’s left of the story is the end,” Chase says gently.
“No.” Kennedy pushes the Truth or Dare cards across the dresser, away from herself. “Someone is trying to make it look like I did this. It’s obviously not over.”
Mila rises. “It is for me. I am officially opting out. It doesn’t matter who’s doing this. Just why. Maybe it’s a creepy revenge game. Or maybe there really is a killer. Maybe someone decided to lure us back to the crime scene, figure out what we know, then bam. Sharp, shiny things at high velocities. I tried to stick it out for you, Chase, but I am not waiting around to find out which one of us dies first. This is not going to endwell.” She spins on her heels and runs down the stairs to the front door.
Kennedy runs after her. “Wait!” The front door slams behind them.
“Mila!” Chase calls after her. He turns to me reassuringly. “She’s not going anywhere without her bags. She’s just freaked out.”
I glance up at the attic. “She’s not the only one, Chase.”
“Yeah,” he says under his breath. “You’re not kidding.”
I follow him downstairs, but as Chase joins the others outside, I stop short. The cellar door is ajar. I reach out hesitantly to close it, but pause when a flash of white at the bottom catches my eye. Another tarot card. My heart pounds against my rib cage. I should be completely alone in the house. Unless.
“Ryan?” I call out.
Silence.
I close my eyes, draw a deep breath, then open them and run, taking the steps two by two, skidding across the dusty cellar floor as I collect the card. I gaze back up to the door beginning to close, almost imperceptibly slowly, and my heart is bursting in my chest as my shoes pound against the wooden stairs, dust in my lungs, just a sliver of light, an inch of space until the door clicks shut and seals me in. I throw myself against it with a scream that comes from deep, deep within me, from a place of childhood fears and forever anger, of the unfairness of time, of one inch left and closing.
And I make it. I barrel through.
Gasping in disbelief, I gaze down at the tarot card. It’s a dark-haired girl on a starlit wooden path lined with tall treesthat looks very similar to the path leading to the dock, beckoning, her long hair lifted by the wind in ribbons, her eyes glowing in the darkness. The caption reads:Queen of Wands: follow not into the dark. It looks a lot like Mila. I look out the open front door with a sinking feeling and join the others.
I follow Mila into the dark.