The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,64

kill her. She’d probably composed ten versions of the same list so far, scrawled on notebooks, crumpled in trash cans, written in shorthand on Sutton’s iPhone, which was somehow the most ironic of all. The problem was, every single member of the Lying Game had motives—Charlotte because Sutton had stolen Garrett. Laurel because Sutton . . . well, she’d done something to Thayer. Had that same something pissed off Madeline, too?

Emma’s old cell phone bleeped from its hiding spot under the bed. She set the notebook aside and reached down to retrieve it. After using a new iPhone, her BlackBerry struck her as old and banged-up. It was like seeing a stray mutt on the street after spending time only with shiny show dogs.

Alex had sent her a text: EVERYTHING OKAY IN SISTER LAND?

SURE, Emma replied. She didn’t even itch from lying anymore. She and Alex had texted a few more times during the week, and Emma hadn’t revealed a single thing about what was really happening. As far as Alex knew, Emma was staying with the Mercers while she and Sutton got to know each other, just like a fairy tale.

A note pinged back into Emma’s inbox immediately: WHAT ABOUT THE STUFF YOU STASHED IN THE STORAGE LOCKER? YOU GOING TO GET IT, OR DO YOU WANT ME TO SHIP IT TO YOU?

Emma flopped back on the bed and scrunched up her face. She had no idea what to do with that stuff in the locker—especially the money. CAN LEAVE IT THERE FOR NOW, she wrote back.

Just then, the bedroom door slowly opened. Emma wheeled back on the bed, shoving the BlackBerry under a pillow. Laurel appeared in the doorway. Mrs. Mercer stood behind her, a laundry basket in her arms.

“Whatcha doin’?” Laurel asked, walking into the room.

Heat rose to Emma’s cheeks. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

Laurel’s face fell. “Sorry.”

“Be nice, Sutton,” Mrs. Mercer scolded. She marched over to Sutton’s chest of drawers and dropped a stack of clothes next to the TV. Among them was Emma’s striped dress. Emma wanted to thank her—she hadn’t had anyone wash clothes for her in years—but she had a feeling this was probably something Mrs. Mercer did for Sutton all the time.

Laurel remained after Mrs. Mercer padded out of the room. Emma smoothed her hair behind her ears. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and her hands began to tremble. All she could think of was that picture of Laurel wearing Sutton’s necklace. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I wanted to know if you were ready to get mani-pedis at Mr. Pinky.” Laurel clasped her hands at her waist. “If you still want to go, that is.”

Emma gazed blankly at the white-and-pink egg chair in the corner. It was still covered with the bikinis and socks Sutton had left there before she died; Emma hadn’t had the heart to move any of it. After Nisha’s elusive comment last night, she’d logged into Sutton’s Facebook account and searched Laurel’s page once more. Emma had figured Laurel and Thayer were friends, but she hadn’t guessed that Laurel had a crush on him. As she looked back at the pictures though, it was obvious. In all the group shots, Laurel stood next to Thayer. In a shot where Thayer laughed at something with Charlotte, Laurel lurked in the background looking at Thayer. A YouTube link showed Thayer and Laurel dancing a tango at a school formal. When Thayer dipped Laurel low, Laurel had a delighted, enchanted smile on her face. It was a smile of someone who wanted something more than just friendship. But in May, a month before Thayer allegedly ran away, the Wall messages between the two of them abruptly stopped. There were no more pictures of Laurel and Thayer together. It was as though something—or someone—had forced them apart.

Don’t play dumb, Sutton, Nisha had said. You knew she had a thing for him. And there was the entry in Sutton’s journal from May 17: L is still ruined over T. Pull yourself together, bitch. He’s just a guy. T obviously stood for Thayer. There were no easy answers, though. It wasn’t as if anyone had written what exactly had happened.

And it certainly wasn’t like I remembered. I hoped I hadn’t done something to hurt my little sister, but I really didn’t know.

Emma watched Laurel as she picked up a bottle of perfume from Sutton’s dresser and sniffed the top. She smiled pleasantly, as if she didn’t have a mean cell in her