Just in case what? Caitlin wanted to ask, fearful of how her mother had drifted off.
Instead, she rose robotically, walked to the bathroom she used to share with Taylor, and grabbed the pills, carefully examining the bottle. All kinds of paranoid thoughts entered her mind: What if there was a tracking device on the thing? What if the bottle could tell you, somehow, where it had been—and that it had logged time in the Hotchkisses’ house? She shut her eyes and saw herself shaking out a single pill into her palm. Grinding it up and brushing it into that cup. Was all Oxy the same, or was each pill unique, like a snowflake? What if there was a way to track down that the pill in Nolan’s stomach had come from her?
But if she balked now, her moms would surely suspect that something was up. Swallowing hard, Caitlin brought the bottle to Mary Ann.
“Here you go,” she said despondently. “I hope that eases your mind.”
“Oh, honey, you know I just want what’s best for you,” Mary Ann said, and tried to grab Caitlin for a hug. Caitlin shook free, darting under her arm and slipping into her bedroom, locking the door swiftly behind her. She collapsed on her bed and pushed a pillow against her face, her whole body shaking. The police had already talked to Ava. It was only a matter of time before they called her in, too. And if her own mother thought she had it in her to kill Nolan, why would anyone else think she was innocent?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, PARKER SAT ON her front porch in South Kenwood, a town just outside the Beacon Heights line, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the rain. It felt weird to be sitting here; she hated coming home so much that she was rarely here anymore. This neighborhood was a far cry from their old one in Beacon. After her dad went to jail, her mom had sold their sprawling five-bedroom house and moved into this bungalow. The paint was peeling off in long strips. A neglected begonia slumped in a pot on the railing. All the houses on the street were small and crumbling, with overgrown little lawns surrounded by sagging chain-link fences. Empty beer cans rolled in the gutters, and more than one yard had a car up on blocks.
She took a quick, nervous drag, exhaling a sharp burst of smoke. A shadow flashed in the doorway of the house across the street, and she tensed. Stop the whole paranoid act, she scolded herself. No one’s after you.
But that was easier said than done. For the past few days she’d been a complete mess. Everywhere she went, she could feel eyes on her. Why, she wasn’t sure . . . but she just felt watched. Cops were crawling all over the school, and students were being called in right and left to confess anything they knew about the party. It was turning into a witch hunt—kids were dropping the names of rivals and enemies to try to get them hauled in for questioning, claiming they’d seen so-and-so talking to Nolan that Friday night.
Ava had called everyone this afternoon to tell them that someone had seen her taking Nolan upstairs. “I denied it,” she’d said flatly. “But we have to be careful. People might have seen more than we think.”
So far, no one had asked Parker any questions—and she could only hope it would stay that way. But what about all the pictures kids had taken that night? What if someone had caught her black-hoodied figure slumping in the background? Someone might whisper to the cops about how sullen and withdrawn she’d become after her attack. The rumors might swirl about how Nolan had drugged her the night she was beaten. Parker Duvall has a motive, people might say.
And then there was an even more horrible thought: Although Parker wanted to trust these new friends of hers, could she? Who was to say one of them wouldn’t crack and give her up? She didn’t think Caitlin would be a problem—Caitlin still hated Nolan’s guts too much to go out of her way to help the cops. And of course Parker could count on Julie. But Mackenzie? She’d looked ready to spill her guts at the funeral. And Ava . . . well, the cops already were onto her—Parker doubted that princess would hold up well in jail. It wasn’t as if Parker contributed much to the circle of friends. Maybe they’d see her as expendable. An easy scapegoat. An already damaged girl with nothing left to lose.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a Lexus—five years old, but still way nicer than any of the other cars in this neighborhood—pulled into the driveway. Her mother stepped out, slamming the door behind her, and stared at Parker.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, hands on her hips.
Parker made a face. “Nice to see you, too.”