Was this part of Paige’s plan? Maybe she thought if she went missing, her boyfriend would come running back to her—?like some kind of tacky romance. Or maybe Paige wanted the police to question him. If he was the one who broke up with her, she struck me as the kind who might like to get a sweet bite of revenge. I’d thought this was just about her dad, but there was no guarantee she’d told me the whole truth.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think the police really think you’re guilty. They told me they thought it was too well planned for someone who wasn’t a pro.”
“They have a funny way of thinking I’m innocent, then. The cops have searched my car and my place in Cherry Fields, twice.” His face was pale with dark circles under his eyes, and despite his tough guy act and tattoos, he looked shaken.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I felt bad, but he wasn’t my problem. I had plenty of my own.
He seized ahold of my arm again, his anger returning. “I didn’t have anything to do with Paige going missing. Which means something else happened to her, and I’m going to figure it out before I end up taking the blame for all of this.”
“You can do whatever you feel like.” I tried to yank my arm back, but he didn’t let go. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“I don’t believe in any of that psychic stuff, which means if you knew where to find Paige’s car, you know something, and I want to know what that is. I went to your place and followed you out here. Who goes to a movie by themselves and then doesn’t even stay to watch it? I want to know why you’re sneaking out of this theater.”
“I needed some fresh air.” I tossed my head, flipping my hair over a shoulder. I hoped to sound tough, but my voice cracked.
He stepped closer, his nostrils flaring. “Bullshit. Tell me what’s going on. Did Paige put you up to this?”
“Hey!” a voice called out. Ryan and I both spun to see a thin, pimply kid wearing the orange and navy polyester uniform of the theater workers. “Is everything okay?” He was shaking slightly. “Is that guy bothering you?” His hands hovered over his hips as if he were an Old West gunslinger ready to do battle for my honor. A nervous, ill-prepared gunslinger. “You need me to call a manager?”
Ryan took a step away from me. “It’s fine. I was just leaving.” He pushed open the emergency door and looked back. “This isn’t over,” he promised me. Then he slid out into the night.
Nineteen
Paige
The idea of a ransom first occurred to me when my sister, Evelyn, came home from college unexpectedly for the weekend. She wanted us to meet her boyfriend. This was declared a “very big deal” by my parents, and the entire house went into a flurry of excitement as if the queen of England had announced she might pop over for a social visit.
Mom rushed out to get everything to make her squash risotto (Evelyn’s favorite) with chocolate ganache cake for dessert (apparently the new boyfriend’s favorite). Dad popped his head into my room Friday night to let me know I was expected to cancel my Saturday plans to clean the house before the royal couple arrived and graced our sad, humble lives with their presence.
I’ve always known Evelyn was the favorite. I grew up listening to stories of how she slept through the night as a baby, learned to walk early, and had naturally perfect pitch. Teachers fought to have her in their class. Evelyn always got good grades, she made her bed in the morning before school, she never dyed her hair an unacceptable color, and she was never once late for curfew. And now she was dating the perfect guy.
Perfect being a matter of opinion.
I observed Charles as we made our way through dinner. The light from the chandelier in our dining room wasn’t doing much for him. His skin tone was fish-belly white, made worse by the fact that he had near black hair and was wearing a dark gray sweater. He looked like one of those Puritanical preachers from the 1700s who farmed their land, went to church when not raising a barn, and burned the occasional witch for not knowing her place. The kind of guy who talked about how minority groups should stop asking for handouts and didn’t notice the irony as he climbed into the BMW that his daddy had bought him.
“So Evelyn tells us you’re studying engineering.” My dad topped up Charles’s wine. He’d opened a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape from the cellar in the basement. He’d determined within minutes of meeting Charles that he deserved the good stuff. This was likely due to the fact that Charles shook my dad’s hand firmly and called him sir. I’d seen my parents exchange glances, like they could hardly believe their luck, when they met him. I tried to score a glass of wine, but my dad told me not to be ridiculous. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he hadn’t counted the bottles, because I’ve taken more than one in the past.
“Yes, sir. I’m doing a dual major in computer engineering and business. Ideally I’d like to work in the aerospace industry after graduation.”
Dad’s eyebrows went up a millimeter. “Interesting choice.”
“My father works with NASA,” Charles explained.
I managed to avoid rolling my eyes. I could see my dad already envisioning his next campaign ad with an astronaut son-in-law-to-be at his side.
Charles took another sip of wine and then smiled at my mom. It looked to me like he bleached his teeth. “The dinner is amazing, Mrs. Bonnet.”
Mom blushed and waved him off with a flick of her pressed napkin. “It’s nothing.”
We ate in silence for a beat. Just the sound of the silverware tinkling against the Haviland china plates and the faint sound of soft classical coming from the speakers in the living room. We’d all dressed up for the occasion, and it felt fake. Like we were onstage playing a happy family having a fancy dinner party, only there wasn’t any audience. We were pretending just for ourselves, which struck me as even more pathetic than if we were doing it to impress anyone else.
I had this sudden urge to yell out something really vile. Maybe the C-word just so I could watch the shock in all of their faces. I wanted to stand up and sweep the bottle of wine off the table or chuck the bowl of salad at the wall. Let’s see how perfect Charles handles a bit of reality.
But I didn’t. Instead I carefully used the back of my knife to tap a tidy portion of risotto onto my fork the way I’d learned as a kid. I didn’t fit in, but I knew how to look like I did.
“I hear we may be mortal enemies come next year,” Charles said to me.
I dropped my fork onto my plate in surprise. My mom winced at the clatter. “What?”
Charles laughed. “Sorry. I just meant that Evelyn said you were planning to go to Michigan State next year.” He mimed boxing. “That makes us arch football rivals.”
I pressed my mouth into a shape I hoped looked something like a smile. “I guess so.”
“Oh, do you play?” Mom asked.
“No, ma’am. I played in high school, but not with Michigan.”
“Paige didn’t have the grades for Michigan.”
“Donald.” Mom’s voice was scolding. “You know that’s not true.”