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“The more I think about last night, the more convinced I am that something else happened to Guy after he ran
off. His wound looked worse, and, until this morning, I thought it was an accident. Like he tripped. But someone went through the effort of moving him, which means they didn’t want him found. Because they killed him.”
Why move the body if there was nothing to hide? And that head wound definitely looked worse than the gash from the firepit.
“We need to look for the body,” I say suddenly. “Whoever moved him also took the sleeping bag.”
Now that I think about it, it has the hallmarks of a great body bag.
“All of our DNA is on him from last night.” Eliana massages her immovable forehead. “Oh, this is bad.”
“We’re not blaming you, Eliana,” Maeve says and rubs her back, but I snort. “I mean, we technically didn’t call the cops last night because of Eliana.”
I’ve always had a knack for saying the wrong thing around my sisters.
The anxiety over explaining what Guy did, as well as the possibility of the police thinking I killed him . . . “That’s what I thought,” Eliana says after I flounder in the silence.
My main focus is finding Guy’s body before anyone else and making sure we’re not tied to whatever happened to him. Are we all on the same page? Yes or no?” Maeve unwinds herself from our sister and stuffs her hands into the kangaroo pouch of her puffy, fuzzy sweater; it makes her look like a poodle. “Sure. Contrary to what people say, not all press is good press, and I can’t afford a scandal right now.” Eliana not-so-subtly rolls her eyes. Most of Maeve’s income relies on sponsorships, and while influencers can be dropped because of scandals, Maeve has the least amount to lose with this
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I never heard Guy’s car pull into camp, only him walking on foot. He must’ve come from one of the overflow lots.
The beer bottles—which I swear I left on our picnic table—are gone. Only Guy’s lantern remains. “Just this. No idea on the car, but he walked that way to get the beers.”
He made it sound very . . . impromptu,” I say and hold out the lantern. “What do we do with this?” “Toss it,” Eliana says, and I frown at her wastefulness.
my mental health has only gotten exponentially worse since entering this campground.
“You’re really good at this,” I tell her, and it’s a genuine compliment, even if my default tone is snarky. I have the verbal equivalent of a resting bitch face.
unlike you, I know how to perform under pressure.” Sisters. They’re the worst.
the charade keeps my mind off everything that’s gone wrong since I left the beach last night.
I’m way more focused on Guy having assaulted me and how his missing body—covered in my DNA and sleeping bag—implicates me than the fact that the man died. Or was murdered? Wait, should I be more worried about being murdered?
I’m pretty sure I’m in shock.
we’re probably all in shock. Bonding over an extremely traumatic experience that’ll probably hit us tomorrow. Or when we’re back in our respective homes. Or randomly, while we’re grabbing a coffee and scone at the local café three weeks from now.
Salli’s never understood personal boundaries.
The medicine I actually need is Prozac. But you try convincing my hippie parents that any of their Big Pharma conspiracy theories are, in fact, complete bullshit.
for whatever reason, my sisters are handling this Guy situation way better than I am.
“Maeve and I will fan out and search the surrounding campgrounds. Remi, are you willing to search the nearby trails?”
“Hey, uh, is splitting up right now a good idea? What if there is someone else out there?”
let’s see if we can find any clues.”
“Guy’s backpack or his phone. A trail of blood. Drag marks. Whatever. Something to help us find him,” Eliana says. “Keep track of where you search,
If someplace looks like it’d be a good place to stash a body, check it out. Thoroughly.”
“Are you seriously making a to-do list?” Eliana lifts her gaze from her phone to meet mine. “What? I don’t want to forget anything. Priority one is finding Guy and the sleeping bag, then his car or his belongings. It’d be great if we found out who moved him but, I don’t know about you two, I can live with the mystery of whoever killed Guy Moran if it means we get out of this scot-free.”
“Just make sure to delete that sociopathic list off your phone and the cloud later.” “The more I think about it,” Eliana says, “the more convinced I am someone killed him. Also, there’s nothing sociopathic about being thorough, Remi.” “Not sure if the cop who finds that list on your phone will agree.”
“Don’t get used to this,” I tell her. “We are not hikers.” Despite the questionability of splitting up, I won’t lie; it’s a relief to be alone.
A bear might find Guy and solve our problems for me. No body, no crime. I mean, bears . . . eat people. I think.
Buffy is up to her shoulders in foxtails but is having the time of her life.
Prepare myself to turn around. To defend myself. “Excuse me, miss?”
I’m a nervous talker, and mark my words, it will be my downfall.
She frowns, wipes some sap off her fingers, which have several small scratch marks, the longest of which cuts into her palm.
One of her sharp acrylic nails is broken at the tip.
fell on our way back after the fireworks.”
“Oh, it wasn’t when we came back. I misspoke,”
“After, when everyone went to bed. I wanted to stretch my legs before I went to sleep, so I walked around. That’s when I fell. What’s with all the questions, doll?”
But I believe Aunt Lindy. She’s not exactly calm under pressure.
“Yes! Around midnight. I swear I heard a . . . dragging,” she says in a whisper, even though there’s no one else around to overhear her.
as we reach Grandma Helen’s site. Eliana walks up to the tent trailer and is lifting her fist to knock on the door when a low, painful moan comes from inside the trailer.
“What?” Bill grunts, turns his head on the comforter to look at us. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Your sister said she could fix my back. Threw it out last night.”
“No one is hurt,” Grandma Helen says snippily, and her cheeks are a flustered pink
“We went to bed immediately after we got back from the fireworks show. Remember, Bill? We never stay up that late. Lindy’s punch, I swear, must’ve had paint thinner in it.”
the sad reality is that my grandma gets more action than I do. Wow. Now that’s a depressing thought.
were Grandma Helen and Bill acting suspicious?
should’ve gotten back around ten thirty. There’s a big difference between that and one in the morning.”
the fact that someone dragged Guy instead of carried him isn’t exactly a revelation. The three of us together could barely lift him.
