“Oh, I knew this place sounded familiar,” Ginny says as we approach the entrance to Cool Beans. A chalkboard sign out front advertises bubble tea and free Wi-Fi. “My mom works at the hospital up the road. She comes here for breakfast after her shift sometimes.”
I pause outside the café, eyes locked on the front window. It’s crowded, everyone at the table closest to the window on their laptops. “Can you go first?” I whisper to Ginny, suddenly nervous.
She opens the door and slips inside. I stay at her back, my heart straining in my chest. I can’t stop seeing that phone number—Ethan’s phone number—on my sister’s call log from the morning she died.
I have to know why he was the last person she talked to.
Cool Beans is packed. There isn’t a single free table in the whole place. I scan each of them, looking for Ethan. It’s been five years, and I’ve only seen his yearbook photo; he could have changed his appearance.
“The barista,” Ginny whispers. I look at the front counter; a guy with floppy blond hair is wiping down an espresso machine with a rag. My stomach squirms. When he turns and starts untying the apron around his waist, I see his face. It’s slimmed down, making his jaw and nose more striking. His skin, spotted with blemishes in his school photo, is clear save for some sandy stubble. It’s him.
I’m ready to turn and run out, but Ethan is staring straight at me. He blinks, unmoving, almost as if he doesn’t see Ginny at all. He sets his rag down and emerges from behind the counter, a mug of coffee in hand. He stops several feet away from me. When he speaks, I can barely hear him over the chatter in the coffee shop and the sound of the blender behind the counter.
“You came,” he says. Ethan’s gaze falls on Ginny. “Who are you?”
“My friend,” I say, my voice froggy. I swallow, uncomfortable with Ethan hearing the fear in it. “Ginny.”
“There’s a free table in the back where we can talk,” Ethan says.
Ginny and I glance at each other. Ethan rolls his eyes. They’re as dark as they are in his yearbook portrait. “I’m not who you probably think I am, and even if I were, there are other people sitting back there to protect you.”
The note of mocking in his voice ignites something in me. “Well, at least there’s plenty of hot coffee around to throw in your face.”
Ginny looks horrified. Ethan’s mouth curves into a smile. “Follow me.”
We head into the back room of the café, where all but one two-person table is occupied. He drags a chair over so all three of us can sit. It’s loud in here; too loud for me to think, or even to be nervous anymore. I just want answers.
No one says anything while we settle into our seats. Ginny’s looking at her lap, kneading the knuckle on her thumb.
“You guys want anything?” Ethan finally asks. “Tea? Cappuccino? Hot cocoa?” He glances at me. “To drink. Not to throw in my face.”
“I’m good.” I look at Ginny. She shakes her head.
Ethan shrugs. “Suit yourselves.”
We sit in silence for a few more moments before Ethan says, “You look like you were expecting someone else.”
He’s right. I was expecting the sullen kid from his yearbook photo. The hunched-over creep who sat behind my sister in English.
Instead, Ethan McCready looks perfectly normal. Striking eyes, soft-looking surfer hair. If I didn’t know who he was and I passed him on the street, I would think he was cute.
The thought triggers something violent in me; I suddenly want to reach across the table and choke him.
“Do you realize how creepy it is that you were in that house across the street from me?” I demand. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ethan taps his fingers, the nails bitten to stubs, on the handle of his mug. “Where do I start?”
“This isn’t funny.” I don’t realize I’m raising my voice until the people sitting at the window look over at us. Next to me, Ginny has gone rigid.
“No, I don’t think it’s funny,” Ethan says. Calmly. Evenly. “Did you come here for answers, or to yell at me?”
I lean back in my chair. Glance over at Ginny, who is studying her hands. Ethan interprets my silence as concession. “Now that that’s settled, would you like to hear what I have to say?”
My face is hot with anger. But I nod.
“I’d like to start with the fact that your stepfather,” Ethan says, “is the biggest asshole.”
Even though I’m not sure I can trust Tom anymore, I want to get up and leave. Ethan must sense it because he holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. But it needed to be said.”
“What did he ever do to you?” I demand.
“I’ll get to that,” Ethan says. “But I need you to know that even though you’re going to be skeptical about what I tell you happened that night, I swear I’m telling the truth.”
Dread pools in my stomach. Before I can speak, Ginny clears her throat. “You tried to tell Tom what you saw, didn’t you?”
Ethan looks from me to Ginny. “Yes. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” Ginny says, at the same time as I blurt, “What did you see that night?”
Ethan cracks a knuckle. Holds my gaze. “I was in the woods behind the Berrys’ house around ten. There was a dark pickup truck parked across the street, and two people were on the back deck. A girl was yelling at someone. I couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a guy because they couldn’t get a word in. Whoever it was, was tall and wearing a hoodie over their head.”
“Which girl was yelling?” I ask. “Susan or Juliana?”
“I couldn’t tell then. Now I know it was Juliana, since Susan was in the shower.” Ethan takes a sip of his coffee. “It seemed like a bullshit argument, so I just kept walking.”
“What do you mean bullshit?”
“Something like Don’t tell me to calm down, or I won’t calm down. I don’t know,” Ethan says. “It didn’t sound serious, and the last thing I needed was for Susan Berry to find me creeping around outside her house and call the cops after I was expelled for a hit list with her name on it.”
If she had, maybe the girls would still be alive. I swallow back the thought. “When did you tell Tom what you saw?”
“Not right away. At first the cops made it sound like they knew for sure that the neighbor did it, so I didn’t really question anything.” Ethan takes another sip of his coffee. “Then a few weeks later, when they released the details to the public, the police said they knew exactly what time Juliana died because of her Fitbit.”
“And you realized it was around the time you saw the argument on the deck?”
“Bingo.” Ethan plucks a packet of sugar from the holder on the table. Pinches it between two fingers and gives it a shake. “I went to the police department and asked to talk to an officer. They put me in a room with this younger cop. He started taking my statement, until your stepdad busted in. He was pissed.”
“At what?” I ask.
“My being there? Me existing at all? I don’t know. He made the other cop leave the room so he could grill the shit out of me. He fixated on the fact that I was outside Susan’s house, like I went there wanting to kill her but Jack Canning beat me to it.” Ethan grips the packet of sugar, the tips of his fingers turning pink. “Jen was dead by then. He started railing at me that he knew I called that morning. It was like he was trying to accuse me of convincing her to—” Ethan swallows. “He told me if I kept telling lies about the murders and caused the families more pain, he would beat me into a coma.”
“That’s not Tom,” I say, hearing the rage bubbling in my voice. Having a shooting on his record would follow Tom for the rest of his career and haunt his conscience for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t threaten to assault a potential witness to a crime. “Tom wouldn’t say something like that to anyone.”
Ethan opens his mouth. Shuts it. Tears open the sugar packet and tips the contents into his coffee. “Grief makes people lose their shit.”
“So you seriously want me to believe Tom interfered with an investigation and never told anyone what you saw?” I demand.