Emerald Triangle in the first place is because of this Netflix show called…” He pauses. Scratches his head. Looks at Olly who shrugs. Then whispers, “Murder Mountain. According to the documentary, more people go missing there than any other area in California.”
“Fucking hell.”
Olly holds up his hands. “But that doesn’t mean Cricket went missing. Right?”
We all turn to Mrs. Hildebrand, who has tears streaming down her face. I shoot Tank a dirty look.
“What? Did you want me to lie?” he whisper-yells at me.
I reach for the box of tissues that Gabby put on our coffee table last week because Poppy kept drooling on our textbooks.
Mrs. H takes it gratefully and daintily dabs it at the corner of her eyes. “Apologies.”
Once she looks composed, I ask, “When was the last time you heard from Cricket?”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Two weeks ago.”
Tank claps his hands. “That’s nothing. I’ve gone a month before calling my mama. She was pissed. But still. Not a reason to call the popo.”
I hand the woman another tissue. “But you’ve tried calling her? Or her friends?”
Before she answers, the front door swings open, and Bree, Gabby, and Poppy come strolling in.
Fuck, has it only been an hour since I dropped Gabby off across the street? Christ, I feel like I haven’t seen her in a year. How did this day go sideways?
I open my mouth to make introductions, but Gabby sees Mrs. Hildebrand and yells, “Adele! How are you?” and scurries over to her to give her a hug.
“What the hell is happening right now?” Tank asks without moving his lips.
I want to ask the same question.
54
RIDER
Gabby stands in the middle of the living room. “Why are y’all staring at me?”
I wave back and forth between her and Mrs. Hildebrand. “You two know each other?”
“Yeah,” she says slowly. “She used to get coffee at the Rise ’N Grind.” Turning to Adele, she asks, “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been? And what in the world are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, because of course I am. Are the guys helping you with something?”
But Mrs. H doesn’t hear a thing. She’s staring at Poppy, who waves her hands and kicks her legs in excitement.
I clear my throat. “This is Poppy’s grandmother. I mean, her great-grandmother.”
“No shit?” Gabby collapses into the chair behind her, looking as stunned as I felt a little while ago.
Mrs. H takes Poppy from Bree and cracks the smallest of smiles when the gremlin tries to cover her in slobbery kisses. After a few minutes, Mrs. H’s scowl returns and she leans in to sniff her.
She just sniffed my kid. I almost laugh.
“You’ve kept her clean. She’s gained weight, so that’s positive. And you’re right, she is a happy baby. No worse for wear, I suppose.”
Don’t lay on the compliments too hard there, lady.
Bree whispers to Olly, who’s closest to her, “Does this mean we know who the mother is now?”
Fuck. Heat crawls up my neck.
Hoping that Mrs. H doesn’t hear that comment, I wait a good long minute before I turn her way, but nope. She’s staring back, nostrils flaring all over again. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember my Margot.”
Tank holds out his hands. “Remember is such a specific word. I’m not sure our boy here…”
She quiets him with her laser-beam glare. “Are you telling me you don’t remember what happened that weekend? Were you that high or drunk or whatever you all do here, that you don’t remember… having relations?” She almost chokes on that last part.
Did I think having my father freak out in front of Gabby was the most embarrassing moment of my life just last week? Today definitely ranks a close second place.
What the hell do I say?
“Mrs. Hildebrand, I’m not sure what to tell you.” I swallow, gearing up for her to ream me out.
Olly leans over to furiously whisper to Gabby. When he’s done, she takes Poppy into her arms and gently pats Mrs. H’s arm.
“Adele, this might be difficult for you to hear, but from what I’ve understood about the weekend in question, Margot brought some… homemade edibles… with her. And perhaps she didn’t realize how strong they were. I don’t know if they were hash brownies or if they contained any other drugs—”
“Sweet Jesus.” Mrs. H presses her hand to her cheek.
“Now I’m not absolving Rider from any responsibility. However, I don’t believe anyone understood how intense those brownies would be. Because Rider