people had been caught that night. The cops had ended up letting everyone go, and so far no one had told that the Lying Game had organized it. Emma and her friends were safe for now.
I hoped they would stay that way.
“Sutton?” Mr. Mercer’s voice jolted Emma. She glanced up from the computer and saw him walking toward her from the Home Depot across the parking lot, a new shovel in his hand.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, relaxing her shoulders. She’d called the hospital last night and confirmed that he was in surgery the evening Sutton died. It felt good to not fear his presence but to welcome it with open arms.
Tell me about it.
Mr. Mercer stood next to the table. He passed a hand over his graying hair. “Your mom said you were here. I have to do some weeding, but I was thinking, if you weren’t busy, maybe we could take a hike later. Explore a different canyon. One we haven’t tried before.”
Emma couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. That sounded like code for talking more about Becky. They’d had a long conversation last night, and Emma had learned so much about Becky. Like how she watched Cinderella five times in a row when she was young, loving how the fairy godmother made her into a princess. How she liked peach ice cream, Emma’s favorite flavor, too. That she adored school until about eighth grade, when she got kind of wild, and that she ran away from home in high school…and came back pregnant.
But there were so many more questions to ask, a lot of things Emma hadn’t dared to inquire about yet. Like why Mr. Mercer’s expression clouded over when Emma tried to talk to him about the trouble Becky used to get into. Or why Mrs. Mercer didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. Becky was her daughter—could she really be that callous? Or had Becky done something so horrible to her that Mrs. Mercer simply couldn’t forgive her?
“I’d like that,” Emma answered. She was about to suggest a Catalina trail Madeline had told her about, when a blue BMW pulled off the main road into the lot. Emma turned to watch Thayer’s car park in front of the café.
Mr. Mercer’s eyes narrowed. When Thayer saw him, he blanched, and Emma thought he might back up and leave. But then he shifted into park and turned off the engine. The driver’s door swung open, and he climbed out of the car and walked toward Emma.
Mr. Mercer stared at him. “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Sutton.” He tightened his grip on the five-foot-long shovel. It was the kind of thing that would’ve freaked Emma out just a day ago, but now that she knew the truth, it struck her as kind of funny: her grandfather, clutching a shovel and yelling at some guy he thought was trouble.
Emma pressed her hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” she said gently. “I invited him. He’s cool—I promise. And just so you know, he didn’t leave me in the canyon that night. He got hurt and had to go to the hospital. I made him leave.”
Mr. Mercer shot a suspicious look at Thayer. “Okay. But I’m keeping an eye on you, understand?” he said, pointing the shovel at him before heading to his SUV, which was parked a few stores over.
Thayer looked shaken as he sat down next to Emma. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’ve actually been thinking of going to the police about what happened to me in the canyon.” He kept his eyes on a twenty-something hipster with a fedora entering the café, as if nervous to see Emma’s reaction.
“That’s why I asked you to meet,” Emma said urgently. “My dad isn’t the one who hit you that night. It was someone else.”
Thayer’s head snapped up and he gazed into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Actually, I found out something crazy.” Emma took a long sip of her iced tea. “My dad is my biological grandfather. The woman he was with that night? It was my birth mom. His daughter.”
Thayer’s eyes widened. For a second he looked like he couldn’t quite believe it. Or maybe he worried that it was yet another prank.
“I’m serious,” Emma urged. “They were meeting and we surprised them.”
Thayer looked astonished. “You mean your birth mother has been in town and has never tried to see you?”
Hurt tears stung Emma’s eyes. She’d imagined