Half an hour later, the family piled into the SUV. Mr. Mercer turned the radio to a fifties station as he drove along the back roads toward the market. The weekly Tucson farmers’ market was in a stone plaza adjacent to an old, mission-style church. Eucalyptus trees perfumed the air, and a fountain splashed musically at the center. Booths covered in checkered picnic cloths were overflowing with fresh produce—zucchini and summer squash, apples and oranges and pears, a rainbow of bell peppers. A young couple with a double stroller stood outside a carpenter’s booth, examining the hand-painted wooden toys on display. The line for the organic coffee shop across the courtyard snaked almost to the church steps.
Mr. Mercer immediately approached a man in a Grateful Dead T-shirt selling tomatoes on the vine and began haggling over prices. Mrs. Mercer sampled various eco-friendly cosmetics, chatting happily with the saleswoman, who reminded Emma a bit of an older, friendlier version of Celeste with her all-linen outfit and her stacks of rings.
“We shouldn’t have had breakfast,” Laurel said, eyeing a booth of mini crackers and cheeses. Emma examined a jar of fresh olive tapenade, thinking back to her picnic with Ethan. The memory made her smile. “Um, hello? Earth to Sutton?” Laurel said, waving her hand in front of Emma’s face. “What planet are you on?”
“Just thinking about Ethan,” Emma confessed.
“Cute.” Laurel nudged her playfully. “So I was wondering, can I borrow your liquid eyeliner for the party tonight? I want to do a retro cat-eye thing.”
“Of course,” Emma said. “Are you taking anyone to the party?”
“Yeah, Caleb and I are trying again,” Laurel said, turning pink. “I kind of dropped him when Thayer came back. But I told him that was all over.”
“He seems really sweet,” Emma offered. Laurel and Caleb had started dating right before Halloween, and Laurel had been really into him—until Thayer reentered the picture.
“He is.” Laurel smiled. “I’m glad he forgave me.”
“I wish Ethan would get over the whole Thayer thing, too,” Emma said, hoping it wasn’t too weird to talk about this with Laurel. “I really do want to be friends with Thayer, but whenever I talk to him, it feels like I’m sneaking around behind Ethan’s back.”
Laurel adjusted the gold tennis bracelet on her wrist. “That’s because you and Thayer can’t be friends,” she said matter-of-factly. Emma blinked. “Oh, come on,” Laurel pressed. “Just because you first dated him as a prank doesn’t mean we don’t all know that you two were crazy about each other. And Thayer’s still in love with you. Those kinds of feelings … they don’t go away easily. Maybe ever.”
Emma shook her head, sputtering. Sutton had first dated Thayer as a Lying Game prank? That was news. “You’re crazy. Thayer’s not still in love with me.”
“Whatever you say.” Laurel reached for a plastic bag and filled it with a few pomegranates. Emma looked away, out across the plaza, so she wouldn’t have to meet Laurel’s eyes.
And that was when she saw a woman with wild black hair, too-skinny arms, and a threadbare T-shirt sitting on a park bench on the other side of the plaza. Becky. A large family passed in front of Emma, and by the time they moved past, Becky had vanished.
Without thinking, Emma jumped to her feet, threw her purse into Laurel’s arms, and took off into the crowd. She passed a man wearing bright purple suspenders selling homemade ice cream in flavors like salted caramel fudge and ginger pear, then tore through a group of teenagers.
“Hey, watch it!” A girl riding a bike with yellow streamers swerved to avoid Emma, but Emma barely even flinched.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, still turning frantically around, trying to see where Becky had gone.
There. She was walking toward the farthest row of booths. Her sneakers were held together with duct tape and didn’t match. Her hair was in pigtail braids, just how she used to do Emma’s hair before school every morning. Emma felt a pang in her chest. Becky looked so helpless—and innocent. Could she really be capable of murder?
Emma pushed through a group of college girls in front of a vegan candy booth, almost stepping into the open guitar case of a stubble-chinned street performer. “Mom!” she yelled. Several women looked her way but then turned back when they realized it wasn’t their daughter yelling. “Becky!”
Emma knew this was her last chance. She broke free from the crowd, running past an upscale pizza restaurant and a gallery that sold Hopi artwork, almost colliding with Becky from behind. She grabbed her mom’s arm and yanked her back.
“What are you …” The question died on her lips. The woman Emma had stopped was only a few years older than herself. She had a safety pin through her nose and deep purple shadow on her eyelids. Her T-shirt advertised a band called the Pukes, and up close Emma could see tattoos through the cigarette burns in the fabric.
She let go of the stranger’s arm.
“I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else,” Emma muttered.
“Clearly,” the woman said, her voice ragged with hostility. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Emma turned dazedly away in time to see Laurel running to meet her. The punk girl swore under her breath and stalked away.
“Who was that?” Laurel asked when she’d caught her breath.
“It was … I thought it was Rose McGowan.” Emma stood numbly in place. “I wanted to get her autograph.”