The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,269

was something extra to the look, too. It also said, Stay away. Or else.

10

SMOKING GUN

People in the Mercers’ neighborhood took Hollier soccer seriously. Following the school’s victory, horns were honking down the street, and the Wessmans, who lived two doors away, had put a Hollier banner on their garage.

Emma pulled into the driveway and heard a ping on her phone. It was Ethan. TONIGHT WAS UNEXPECTEDLY FUN, he wrote. OR IN THE WORDS OF THE DAILY EMMA: SHY BOY SCORES BIG AT SOCCER GAME.

Emma flushed, loving that Ethan had picked up on her headline habit and was writing some of his own. NOT TOO BAD, RIGHT? she typed back, feeling a warm, happy sensation all over. Besides the minor blip with Thayer, Ethan had been awesome: He’d charmed Sutton’s friends and even made a couple of hilarious jokes. By the looks Madeline and Charlotte had given her at the end of the game, Emma knew they’d accepted him. It was nice to know Ethan had accepted them, too.

Emma cut the engine and looked around. Surprisingly, she’d beat Laurel back, even though Emma had driven Ethan home after the game. The Mercer parents’ cars weren’t there either, and though Grandma’s car was parked outside the garage, the house was dark.

She stepped through the front door and fumbled for the light. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the silent house. She made her way into the kitchen, where moonlight spilled through the French doors and cast long shadows over the wooden table. She’d come home to plenty of empty houses, but the Mercers’ felt oddly cavernous and lonely tonight. She realized with a jolt just how much she’d gotten used to Mrs. Mercer greeting her with a warm hello.

Emma was about to switch on the light when she saw the burning orange glow of a cigarette in the backyard. Her heart picked up speed. A few weeks back, when Ethan had taken her to a gallery opening, they’d been sitting outside on a bench when she’d noticed a dark shape smoking just feet from them, listening to every word they said. The figure had vanished before Emma could see who it was.

Emma let out a low whistle for Drake. Soon enough, she heard the Great Dane ambling into the kitchen. Drake glanced at her with wide eyes. Her fingers were shaky as she ushered him toward the back door—as nervous as she was around the enormous dog, she was more scared of the smoker outside.

“Come on, boy,” she soothed as she stepped through the French doors. Her heart lurched when she saw a dark shape reclined in a lawn chair. A curl of smoke wound to the trees, as eerie as a witch’s bent finger.

“Sutton?” a familiar raspy voice said.

Emma blinked, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. “Grandma.” She let go of Drake’s collar and he trotted across the lawn to sniff a cluster of azaleas.

“Who did you think it was? God?” Grandma Mercer waved her cigarette, motioning Emma forward. “Sit down.” Grandma Mercer made room for Emma on the end of her dark green lawn chair.

Emma reluctantly sat. To her surprise, Grandma proffered her pack of Merits. “Want one?”

Emma’s nose wrinkled. She’d always hated the smell of cigarette smoke. But would Sutton have said yes? “Um, I have a sore throat,” she lied. Then she cocked her head. “Why aren’t you with Mom and Dad?”

“They were meeting up with the Finches,” Sutton’s grandmother said, then made a face. “It’s such a chore seeing those people. They’re always trying to set me up with that awful woman’s widowed father. I may be old, but I can find my own dates, thank you very much.”

She pinched her cigarette between wrinkled fingers and leveled a long look at Emma. “Sooo,” she said slowly, stretching the word out. “Are you really not going to say anything about my—what did you call it last time? ‘Filthy little habit that will kill you and age your skin prematurely’?”

Emma laughed out loud. That did sound like something her twin would say—and it was nice to know Sutton wasn’t a smoker either. “Nah. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Live and let live. Or in your case, live until smoking kills you,” she said with a wry smile.

Grandma Mercer tapped the ash in a glass she was using as an ashtray. “Sounds good to me. So, Sutton. How’s the college search going?” She crossed her legs. “Are you even going to college next year?”

“Um,” Emma stalled. Something about the question