Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“He had no idea I was coming over.”
“Maybe he had a hunch? I mean, by now he probably saw what I posted. Maybe he figured you’d be pissed off and come looking for him to find out what happened.”
Logan stares off into the distance but doesn’t speak. I can tell he’s going over what I just said.
“I’ll go in and take a look before the police get here,” I say.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I won’t.” I go down the hallway, stepping around the drops of dark red liquid. Could be real. Could be corn syrup. I’m not about to check.
I get to the first open door, and the room is neat, decorated in blue and white. There are little baseball trophies on a tall dresser, and there’s a framed photo of an eagle on the wall. Everything is meticulous. Definitely Logan’s old room.
I go to the next room and peek inside. There are smudges of blood on the wall, and the space looks like it’s been put through a blender. Even without the ransacking, I can tell this is Carter’s old room. It has overlapping posters slapped on the walls—girls, rock bands, and… An evil unicorn with a bloody horn? Weird.
I tiptoe around piles of clothes, papers, and broken electrical equipment on the floor, to find a clean spot on the carpet where I can stand.
Jesus. This looks legitimate. Carter lugged his cameras and film equipment with him everywhere. It’s all here. It’s all busted up.
Next to my foot, I spot something brown and fibrous poking out from beneath a shirt. I carefully lift the fabric to find one of Carter’s coconuts. There’s blood on one side.
Oh shit. I wonder if he tried to defend himself and hit the perpetrator in the head. Maybe the blood outside belongs to whoever did this.
I’m about to leave to tell Logan my opinion—this is not a drill—when a blue shirt on the floor, with a big black shiny button, catches my eye. The button is aimed right at the doorway.
It’s the shirt Carter wore to my house on the fake arrest day. I step over more junk and grab the shirt. The shirt is torn on one side, and some of the real buttons are gone, but the tiny camera is still there. It’s attached to a small black box inside the shirt. I think, and then I think some more.
Did Carter film himself being taken?
I make my way back outside with the shirt. “Logan, I think Carter might’ve had this on.”
“Well, he doesn’t anymore.”
“No, I mean the camera.” I point to the button. “Do you know if he has a laptop or something around here so we can try to take a look?”
“I don’t know, but we should hand that over to the police.”
“To do what? Sit on it for a week?” I ask.
“It’s evidence. I’m sure they’ll need it.”
“We can always take a look first and then hand it over. We can say we found it.”
“I don’t know anything about that sort of gear.”
“But I know someone who does.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It’s three in the morning when I leave Skippy a message. I’m sure he’s sleeping and will get back to me after the sun comes up. As for the police, there isn’t much for them to do at the moment other than to take samples of the blood, photograph the place, and put out an alert for Carter. The back door was left wide open and had a busted lock, so they’re guessing the person got in through there.
The detective who eventually shows up interviews us while the house is dusted for fingerprints. By the time they’re all wrapped up, it’s almost seven in the morning, and the sun is up.
“Logan, I have to go home and get ready for work,” I say, just as the cops start leaving.
“I understand,” he says, his jaw flexing. “I need to get over to the hospital to see my mother.”
Oh no. I forgot about all that. “What are you going to tell her?”
“I honestly don’t know. I won’t be able to pay for private care. I’ll have to talk to her insurance and see what other options are covered.” He lets out a long sigh. “She made me promise not to let her die in some ugly, sterile facility.”
The guilt slams right through me. “I’ll call my friend Sofie, and we’ll issue an apology. We’ll tell everyone that you’re real and didn’t do anything wrong. It was all Carter.”
“It won’t make much of a difference right now. The damage is done.”
“You don’t know that.” And wasn’t he the one who was demanding a retraction?
His phone vibrates. He pulls it from his pocket and glances at the screen. “Already?”
“What?” I ask, worrying what else could possibly go wrong.
“A text from my assistant. She says that Carter’s disappearance is already out on social media. One of the neighbors or the police must’ve leaked it. They’re saying it’s a scam to try to cover up the fact that I’m pretending to be the same person.”