Emma smiled. It was nice to see that two people could be together for decades and still be so solid. Rarely did she ever live with a foster family who had two parents who lived together, let alone loved each other.
It was something I noticed now that I was dead, too—my parents did really care for each other. They finished each other’s sentences. They were still affectionate and sweet to one another. It was never something I’d appreciated when I was alive.
Grandma Mercer turned her steely blue eyes on Mr. Mercer. “You look thin, dear. Are you eating enough?”
Mr. Mercer chuckled. “Seriously? My washboard abs are no more.”
“He eats plenty. Trust me,” Mrs. Mercer said. “You should see our grocery bills.” Then her BlackBerry chimed, and she glanced at the screen and frowned. “I don’t believe it. The party is on Saturday, and now the florist tells me she can’t do desert globemallows in the table bouquets. I really wanted to keep all the flowers and plants native to Arizona, but I may have to do a few bouquets of calla lilies if the florist can’t get her act together.”
Emma laughed good-naturedly. “Tragic, Mom!”
Sutton’s grandmother’s clear blue eyes narrowed, her face suddenly hard. “Attitude,” she warned. Her voice was so sharp it could cut glass.
Emma’s cheeks burned. “I was just kidding,” she said in a tiny voice.
“I highly doubt that,” Grandma said, spearing her steak.
Yet again, there was a long, awkward silence. Mr. Mercer dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, and Mrs. Mercer fiddled with the Chanel bangle around her wrist. Emma wondered what subtext she was missing here.
I racked my foggy memory for an answer, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Grandma definitely had it in for me, though.
Mrs. Mercer looked around the table, then shut her eyes. “I forgot the pitcher of water and the glasses. Girls, can you go inside and get them?” She sounded weary, as though Grandma had drained her of strength.
“Sure,” Laurel said brightly. Emma rose, too, eager to get away from Grandma. They made their way into the Spanish-tiled kitchen. The dark soapstone countertops gleamed, and pineapple-themed dish towels hung neatly from the oven handle. Emma was just grabbing the water pitcher when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Sutton,” Mr. Mercer said in a hushed voice. “Laurel.”
Laurel froze with a tray of ice-filled glasses in her hand.
“I heard Thayer is coming back to school tomorrow,” Mr. Mercer said, shutting the patio door. The sound of Grandma critiquing Mrs. Mercer’s choice of salsa music for the party instantly evaporated. “Just because he’s out of jail doesn’t change anything. I want you two to keep your distance.”
Laurel set her mouth in a line. “But Dad, he’s my best friend. You didn’t have a problem with him before.”
Mr. Mercer’s eyebrows shot up. “That was before he broke into our house, Laurel. People change.”
Laurel lowered her head and shrugged. She didn’t, Emma noticed, make any mention of going on a date with Thayer yesterday.
“Sutton?” Mr. Mercer stared at Emma next.
“Um, I’ll stay away,” Emma mumbled.
“I mean it, girls,” Mr. Mercer said sternly. He stared straight at Emma when he spoke, and once again, Emma wondered what subtext she was missing. “If I find out that you’re hanging out with him, there will be consequences.”
And then he turned on his heel and marched back to the patio.
As soon as he shut the door, Laurel faced Emma. There was a sickly smile on her face. “That was smart to not mention seeing us last night,” she said icily.
Emma made a face. “If Thayer means that much to you, you should have said something. Convinced Dad not to worry.”
Laurel flicked her blond hair off her shoulder and stepped closer. Her breath smelled like spicy barbecue sauce. “We all know Dad can be overprotective. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Got it?”
Emma nodded faintly. After Laurel turned toward the patio, Emma crumpled against the island, suddenly exhausted. If you know what’s good for you. Was that…a threat?
I didn’t know either. And I wasn’t eager to find out.
VOLLEYING WITH THE ENEMY
By the time the Mercers finished dinner, the sun had set, the frogs had started croaking, and there was a chill to the air. Emma had a pile of German homework, but being in the same house as Laurel without being able to make any headway on the investigation filled her with restless adrenaline. Though she was still aching from practice, she found herself slipping on gray leggings and taking off for the tennis courts down the block. She didn’t plan on hitting the ball very hard.
The courts were empty. Only a few people were out walking their dogs on the trails, and a couple was talking quietly by a Mini Cooper in the parking lot. Emma selected the far court, which had a solid wall for solo play, and dropped three quarters into the meter that turned on the overhead lights. A pop sounded as she pried open a new container of fuzzy yellow balls. She bounced one on her racket a few times before lobbing it gently into the wall, the previous aches and pains from the grueling practice melting away.
It felt good to hit the ball over and over, losing herself in her thoughts. Could Laurel have killed Sutton? Emma didn’t have any proof, but she also didn’t have proof that Laurel didn’t do it, either. If only she could find something personal of Laurel’s, like a diary—or her cell phone. Laurel guarded the thing with her life, but maybe there was a way to get her hands on it.
Of course there was one other way to figure out if Laurel had an alibi for that night: asking Thayer if she’d stayed with him at the hospital. The idea of talking with Thayer was nerve-racking. Emma had fooled everyone except Ethan into thinking she was Sutton, but Thayer and Sutton had major history; they’d been in love. But the same reason that made it scary made it intriguing—Emma was so curious about Sutton, and Thayer knew her better than anyone.
I’d give anything to see Thayer as much as possible, even if I couldn’t touch him. On the other hand, if Thayer didn’t realize Emma wasn’t me after spending time with her, well, I wasn’t sure I could deal with that.
Suddenly, the overhead lights snapped off, leaving Emma in darkness. She bent over her legs, breathing hard, letting the ball bounce off the wall and roll to the other end of the court. Footsteps rustled in the grass beside the court, and she stood up, tensed.
“Hello?” Emma called. “Ethan?” The tennis courts had been Emma and Ethan’s meeting place since her arrival in Tucson, though they hadn’t planned to get together that night.
There was no answer, but she heard rustling sounds in the underbrush surrounding the
