“Good evening, Miss Mercer,” he said. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Emma gave a jerky nod, fighting to stay calm. She should have expected this—the cops would have questions, and the Mercers were Emma Paxton’s next of kin.
My sister had to be on her guard. I’d spent the better part of my life trying to outsmart that man, and he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
Behind her, footsteps sounded as Mr. Mercer entered the room. “Detective,” he said, coming forward to shake the man’s hand. “I expected you tomorrow.”
“You folks are on my way home. I thought I’d swing by and see how you’re doing.”
Mr. Mercer gave a wan smile. “A little shell-shocked, mostly. Come on in.”
Quinlan’s mustache twitched almost imperceptibly. “Thanks so much.”
Mr. Mercer led the detective into the kitchen, Emma trailing behind them with her heart pounding in her ears. Mrs. Mercer and Laurel were at the kitchen island laying out plates and napkins for the pizza.
They both stopped in their tracks when they saw Quinlan. He gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt right at dinnertime. I know it’s been a long day.”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Mercer said. She put down the pile of plates. “Can I get you something to drink, Detective? I can put on a pot of coffee.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Mercer.” He glanced around the room, picking up a pineapple-shaped serving dish from the counter and examining it in his hands.
Emma walked over to stand by Laurel, who gave her a wide-eyed, furtive look. Mrs. Mercer gestured for Quinlan to sit in one of the dining chairs, then took a seat across from him, her husband standing behind
her with a hand on her shoulder.
The detective took a tiny notebook out of his breast pocket and flipped it open. “I’ve been talking to Las Vegas, and here’s what I’ve got so far. Emma Paxton went missing on September first after an
argument with her foster family. No one’s heard from her since. Her foster mother reported her missing, but because there were no signs of abduction or foul play, she was assumed to be a runaway. Foster kids
take off all the time. Emma was just a few weeks away from turning eighteen, so LVPD figured she’d just gotten a head start on setting out on her own.” He clicked his pen a few times and glanced up at Emma.
“What we’re trying to figure out is how she ended up here. Is there anything you can tell me about that, Sutton?”
Emma took a deep, controlled breath, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest. If they were investigating Emma Paxton, it wouldn’t be long before they checked Sutton’s Facebook account and found out
the twins had been in contact. She had to tell them as much truth as she could without giving herself away—or else she’d get caught in a much bigger lie.
She licked her lips. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “She messaged me on Facebook the night before she disappeared. We made plans to meet in the canyon the next day.”
Mr. and Mrs. Mercer’s heads both shot around to stare at her. “What?” Mr. Mercer asked, his eyebrows arched up as high as they could go. The color had drained from Mrs. Mercer’s face. Next to her, Laurel
gaped soundlessly.
Emma stared down at her feet—she didn’t trust herself to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” she said, inventing rapidly. “I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. She never showed
up where we agreed to meet, and I assumed it was all some sort of prank.” She thought back to that night—how eager and hopeful she’d been, how excited to finally meet her family. Grief twisted in her
chest.
Laurel snaked her arm reassuringly through Emma’s. “Was that what you were trying to tell us earlier this afternoon, back at school?”
“Yes,” Emma agreed quickly, grateful for Laurel’s explanation. “I waited for her for hours.”
Quinlan’s pen scratched quickly across the page, the only sound in the thick silence. Emma looked up at the Mercers, their faces full of sadness and confusion. The gray streak in Mrs. Mercer’s hair seemed
to stand out more starkly than usual, her face lined. She looked strangely old.
“And you didn’t tell anyone about this? Didn’t worry about your sister?” Quinlan said skeptically.
Emma met Quinlan’s eyes. Inside, her heart was racing, her nerves on fire. But she gazed steadily at the detective for a long moment. “This all happened right after I met my birth mom, Detective Quinlan. Do
you know anything about my birth mom?”
Quinlan glanced at Mr. Mercer. During Becky’s most recent stay in town, she’d been arrested for pulling a knife on a stranger during a psychotic break. Emma was willing to bet it wasn’t her first run-in
with the law.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I know about your mother.”