The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,400

already sitting in the breakfast nook, dressed in chinos, a button-down shirt, and a blue silk Burberry necktie Laurel and Emma had given him for his birthday a month earlier. The New York Times was spread across the table in front of him. He was always an early riser, from all the years of keeping odd hospital hours. When Emma came into the room he pushed his reading glasses up on his forehead and blinked at her. “You’re up early.”

“I’m starving,” she admitted.

He folded his newspaper and set it aside. “Well, what kind of father would let his little girl go hungry? Let’s go out for some breakfast.”

Once inside, Emma rolled down the window of Mr. Mercer’s SUV. She let her hand catch the air as they drove, and nodded her head absently to the music he had on the radio. The sun poked its head above the mountains, casting orange light over everything. She didn’t know the last time she’d seen a sunrise. She’d forgotten how beautiful they could be.

Mr. Mercer looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a smile playing around his lips. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,” he said.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s been a confusing … month, I guess. Year.”

They pulled into the parking lot of an adobe bistro. Inside there were fresh pink flowers on every table and the smell of bacon and hash browns in the air. The restaurant was already bustling with the early-bird crowd. A half dozen senior citizens in tracksuits laughed loudly from a booth at the back. At a table by herself, a bleary-eyed college girl wearing a sweatshirt and glasses nursed a steaming cup of coffee while typing furiously at a laptop, probably trying to finish a paper at the very last minute. Emma’s mouth watered as she watched plates laden with pancakes, eggs, French toast, and home fries swirl around the room in the waitstaff’s hands. She and Mr. Mercer took a seat next to the window, where the early-morning sun filtered in around the clean white curtains.

Mr. Mercer looked at her over the top of the menu, then sighed and set it down. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

“Sutton,” he said carefully, “Becky came to see me yesterday.”

Emma nodded slowly. She folded and refolded the napkin across her lap. “I saw her, too.”

He nodded. “I thought you might have. She wanted to know where you were. I told her I didn’t know, that I could call you and set up a meeting—but Becky doesn’t like things to get too set in stone. She doesn’t do well when people expect anything of her.”

“Maybe it’s because she’s let people down so much she’s afraid she’ll fail,” said Emma.

Mr. Mercer cocked his head at her. “That probably has something to do with it.” The waitress came over and poured him a cup of coffee, and he added milk and sugar before taking a sip. “Is it my imagination, or have you grown up a lot in the past few months?”

Emma wished yet again that she could tell her grandfather the truth. He deserved to know. Maybe he would be able to help her figure out what to do next, to find Sutton’s killer and lay her spirit to rest.

But every time she had almost convinced herself to tell him, she thought about the threatening messages she’d received. The killer was obviously still watching her. The killer could be here right now, in this very restaurant. Her eyes flicked around, studying the waiters, the people walking outside in the parking lot or waiting in line at the smoothie counter next door. She shivered. Who knew what Sutton’s murderer would do if she told Mr. Mercer? She couldn’t risk her grandfather’s safety.

Mr. Mercer looked sideways out the window, too. “I’m glad Becky found you,” he said. “I know she didn’t want to leave things like they were the other night at the hospital.” He sighed. “Part of me thinks I should have sent her back there, but she seemed so much healthier last night. She said she needed to get out of here, so I gave her some money and made her promise to call me soon. I know from experience it’s no good trying to force her into treatment. She has to want to take care of herself.”

Emma nodded. “She told me she was sorry. I guess I just don’t understand why she feels like she has to leave. Can’t she stay