The Last Time I Lied(95)

“I have. It’s impressive.”

“It’s insane,” Mindy says. “But the nerves went away when I learned the truth.”

She takes a gulp of wine, leaving me hanging.

“About what?”

“That they’re not nearly as rich as they look. At least, not anymore. Franny sold the Harris years ago. All she owns now is the penthouse and Lake Midnight.

“That still sounds pretty rich to me.”

“Oh, it is,” Mindy says. “But now it’s only a few million and not, like, a billion.”

“How’d Franny lose so much money?”

“Because of this place.” Even though Mindy looks around Dogwood’s tight confines, I know she’s referring to what lies beyond it. The camp. The lake. The woods. The girls. “Restoring a bad reputation can get expensive. For Franny that meant settlements to the families of those missing girls. Chet told me it was at least ten million each. I guess Franny threw it at them like it was nothing. She did the same thing to a whole bunch of charities, trying to get back in people’s good graces. And don’t even get me started on Theo.”

“The accident,” I say. “Chet mentioned it.”

“That car he wrecked was chump change compared to what Franny had to spend to get Harvard to take him back. They weren’t too keen on inviting an accused killer onto campus. No offense.”

I nod, grudgingly respecting Mindy for giving as good as she gets. “None taken.”

“Chet told me Franny had to pay for a new lab building before they’d even consider letting Theo return. I think that’s around the same time she sold the Harris. In my opinion, she should have sold this place instead. Chet said he tried talking to her about selling the land around Lake Midnight, but she wouldn’t even consider it. So I guess the sale will have to wait—”

Mindy cuts herself off before she can let slip that Franny is dying. Even though I already know about the cancer, I admire her discretion. It’s nice to see there are some family secrets she’s not willing to spill.

“Anyway, that’s their money situation,” she says. “Between you and me, I’m relieved. The thought of all that money scared the hell out of me. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still plenty. More than my family ever had. But it’s less intimidating. The more money there is, the more I feel the need to pretend. Which means I’ll keep worrying that my hands still smell like a dairy farm.”

Mindy looks down at her hands, turning them over to inspect them in the light of the nightstand lantern.

“I’m sorry for judging you,” I say.

“I’m used to it. Just don’t tell Chet or Franny or anyone else. Please.”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you. And for the record, I don’t think you did anything to those girls. I’ve seen the way you act around them. You all liked one another. I could tell.”

The mention of Miranda, Sasha, and Krystal sends another wave of worry crashing over me. To combat it, I gulp down more wine.

“I hope they’re okay,” I say. “I need them to be.”

“I do, too.” Mindy drains her cup, sets it on the nightstand, and crawls under Krystal’s lumpy covers. “Otherwise the Harris-White name is going to be dragged through the mud again. And I’ve got a feeling that this time it’s going to stick.”





33


After the bottle of wine has been emptied and the steak and potatoes have long gone cold, Mindy falls asleep.

I don’t.

Worry, fear, and the prospect of another nighttime visit from Vivian keep me awake. Whenever I close my eyes, I see Sasha’s mangled glasses and think of her alone somewhere, stumbling blindly, possibly bleeding. So I keep them open and clutch Krystal’s teddy bear to my chest while listening to Mindy snore on the other side of the room. Every so often, the sound is drowned out by the helicopter taking another pass over the camp. Each time its spotlight sweeps past the cabin means another update on the status of the search.

The girls are still missing.

It’s almost midnight when my phone springs to life in the darkness. Marc is calling, the ringtone loud and insistent in the quiet cabin.

Mindy’s snoring abruptly stops. “Too loud,” she says, still half-asleep.

I silence the phone and whisper, “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

The phone vibrates in my hand. Marc’s sent a text.


Found something. CALL ME!

I wait until Mindy’s snoring returns before sliding out of bed and tiptoeing to the door. I grab the doorknob, on the verge of twisting it open, when I realize that I can’t go outside. Not with a camera aimed directly at the door and one of Detective Flynn’s minions surely sitting in the Lodge’s cellar, monitoring the live feed.

Rather than risk raising all kinds of red flags, I go to the window. Carefully, I take the lantern off the nightstand and place it on Miranda’s bed, where I won’t trip over it on my way back inside. I then reach across the nightstand and gingerly lift the window first, then its screen.

I shoot a glance Mindy’s way, making sure she’s still asleep before climbing atop the nightstand and swinging my legs out the window. I twist, the sill pressing into my stomach as I lower myself to the ground.