All the Missing Girls(66)

“What did she want?” I asked. “Did she ask about Corinne?”

“No, not at all,” she said. She scrunched up her face. “She asked me to lunch. Asked if I ever needed a babysitter for Lena. It was like she wanted . . . to be my friend.”

“Did you do it? Go out to lunch? Ask her to babysit?”

“No. I’m too old for friends like that . . . for people from home.” She stared into my eyes. “I grew up, Nic. I’m not the same girl.”

“Do you remember—”

She put up her hand. “You said one question. You said you’d be gone . . .” Her voice trailed off and she lost her confidence, her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes following something just past my shoulder.

I caught sight of the back of a man walking alone. Cigarette in hand, hair falling in a mop over his face. Something so familiar about the way he walked with his shoulders hunched forward. “Is that Jackson?” I asked.

“Hmm?” She was jarred back to the conversation. “Oh, I don’t know. Haven’t seen him in ages.”

“Last I heard, he was working at Kelly’s,” I said.

She shrugged. “I don’t go there anymore.”

“He didn’t do it, Bailey,” I said.

Bailey took a step away so her back was up against the side of a hot dog stand. “I know that,” she said, which surprised me. It was her words that had landed the suspicion on him. Her answers to Hannah Pardot. Her accusations.

“Then why did you make everyone think he did?”

“They told me she was pregnant! Jackson lied about it. And then the cops came in, demanding answers. I was just a kid!” she yelled.

“No, you were eighteen. We were all eighteen. Everything you said became evidence. Everything. You ruined him.”

“Everyone had a motive, Nic. If it wasn’t him, who do you think it would’ve been?”

Bailey was smarter than I gave her credit for being back then. But she was just as capable of deceit as I remembered. “Really? What was your motive, Bailey? God, you’re terrible.” But I thought I knew. The man walking behind us. Jackson Porter. What does the monster make you do? Does it make you dream of them? Of boys who aren’t yours?

“It wasn’t me. She was the monster. Can’t you see that now? We’re all better off without her,” Bailey said.

“Don’t say that.”

Truth is, I believed Bailey was lucky. For Bailey Stewart, life with Corinne could’ve gone two very different ways. Bailey was gorgeous—naturally alluring. But Cooley Ridge was Corinne’s. The attention was always hers. Bailey could either submit to Corinne, let her push her around, or Corinne could destroy her. Bailey was lucky she was weak. That she bent and folded so easily. There were worse things than being a door mat.

But Bailey also had a darkness in her that let her be manipulated, that wanted out. She was lucky to be loved by Corinne.

“Truth or dare, Bailey.” Corinne moved the soda straw from side to side in her mouth.

Dare, I thought. Take the dare.

“Truth,” Bailey said.

Corinne’s smile stretched wide. “Jackson or Tyler? And explain.”

There was no right answer. There never was.

“I changed my mind,” Bailey said. “Dare.”

“No, no, no, Bailey, my dear. Truth or you can leave. Now, tell me, which of our boyfriends would you like to make yours?”

I’d leaned back on my elbows, watching Bailey shift in discomfort. Corinne caught my eye and grinned.

“Always take the dare, Bails,” I said.

“Tyler,” Bailey said, her high cheekbones tinged red.

I laughed. “Liar.”

She set her eyes on me. “You get a free pass everywhere, Nic. People think you’re better than you are because of him. That’s my reason. Tyler.”

Corinne laughed. “Well played, Bailey.” She pulled Bailey toward her, wrapped her arms around her from the side, and squeezed. “God, I love you to death. The both of you. You’re horrible.”

I hated that Bailey acted so beyond it now. That she would call Corinne a monster as if she could strip out the rest. “Tell yourself whatever you want, Bailey. You always were an excellent liar.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I heard her,” Bailey said. “I heard what she said at the top of the Ferris wheel.”

I shook my head, pretending not to remember.

“Who says something like that?” she asked. “She was sick, Nic. And she was contagious.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

She laughed like the joke was on me now. “I gotta go.”

“Wait,” I said. “Can I call you later? We can meet up someplace. Without all this?” Meaning the fair, meaning the Ferris wheel looming above as we talked, turning us harsh and defensive.

“No,” she said. “Let it go.”

Bailey knew something more, I was sure of it. I wished Everett were here to push her, convince her to lay bare her secrets, to absolve herself. I grabbed a napkin from the nearest booth, found a pen in my purse, and scribbled my number on it. “If you change your mind, I’m in town for a while. Helping out with my dad.”