The Last to Vanish(73)

I felt myself nodding gently, because I was sorry, too.

“But, here’s the thing. I couldn’t, for the life of me, connect you to Vincent.” She spun the shot glass on the counter. “I told the sheriff that, but he said, Let it go, Rochelle, extended families, blah, blah, blah…” She said this all like it was inconsequential, like the very fabric of my connection to this place wasn’t threatened by her words, her rumors. “But that’s his weakness. Celeste, I mean. You know they were together for a while, before she met Vincent?” I shook my head, and she made a face, like, Well, of course you wouldn’t. “He’s a couple years younger, but he’s had a blind spot his whole life about whatever she says. So maybe he’s not the best judge.” Maybe that’s why he was drawn to the inn, helping out, picking her up for church each week. Some bond that preceded everything. Even Vincent.

But I was stuck on what she’d just revealed. Imagining when I arrived at eighteen, Rochelle telling people, I don’t trust that girl. The way it had taken me so long to make a real connection with this place. The way I was invited to some events and weddings and graduations—the big things—but not the smaller ones. For ten years, she had been warning people, She’s not one of us.

“Who else did you tell that to?” I asked, holding my breath after.

“Cory, obviously, seeing as he was all over you.” Of course. The way Cory never let me fully in. Never fully trusted me, until he had seen my name in that journal, too.

“So,” she said. “Are you going to tell me the truth?” She grinned. “I took the shot and everything. It’s only fair.”

But I gritted my teeth, no longer feeling small and off kilter in her presence. All I could feel was the anger gathering. “Isn’t ten years enough for you?” My voice was rising, but I didn’t care. “Have I not proven myself by now?”

She stared at me, lifted one shoulder before responding. “For some people, I guess. But here you are.” She raised both hands, taking in the empty tavern, where I was currently trespassing.

“Rochelle,” I said, taking the shot glasses to the sink, rinsing them out, because this wasn’t a game. My life wasn’t a game. “This is my home.”

Her face was stoic before breaking into a slow, full grin. “Well, Abby,” she said, raising the open bottle, “don’t forget it.”

We were staring at each other, the air charged, my throat still burning and my thoughts spiraling, when the front door of the tavern swung open.

Both of us turned in that direction, but only one of us acted like we’d been caught doing something we shouldn’t.

Jack Olivier stood there with a slightly confused smile on his face. “Hey, this is open already?” he asked, looking between the two of us. Rochelle’s expression warmed to him, and it occurred to me suddenly that they were together.

It also occurred to me there would be no secrets kept between us. That this—me, here—was not something that would be forgotten. That I was running out of time.

“Sure, what’ll it be,” she asked, pulling down a fresh glass. Neither of them worried about getting caught. About the implications.

“Hey,” Jack said as I brushed by him, heading for the exit. “Abby from the inn. Twice in two days.”





CHAPTER 19


HADN’T CORY TOLD ME that there would be no good answers? Nothing I wanted to hear, nothing I wanted to know?

For ten years, there had been no developments. Ten years of listening and observing and learning so little. Until Trey managed to find a thread, and pull.

But this place had become my home. These people had become my family.

And yet.

And yet.

I felt as if I was always the one meant to uncover it. The only one who could. Not quite insider, not quite outsider. A trail left just for me. If only I would see it through.



* * *



ROCHELLE SWORE THAT VINCENT hadn’t been here when the Fraternity Four passed through town. And who did that leave?

I felt sick, couldn’t face Celeste. Couldn’t look at the woman who had become my sole family. All the wonderful things she had done—for me, for this place, for us. The place she had occupied in my life. Who we had become to each other. But: that logo. The inn, at the center of all the disappearances to follow. There were only so many places left to dig, if you were going to do it.

I had to be sure. Ask the wrong question here, ask the wrong person—everything hung in the balance. Everything was at risk: the life I’d built for myself, the people I had grown to love, the person I had become.



* * *



I ENTERED THE INN around back, through the employee entrance in the basement, to avoid her. It was silent inside, except for the buzzing of the overhead light. But I could see something taped to the entrance of my apartment.

A note, from Celeste, on a yellow sticky note adhered to the center of my door: The phone lines are down. As if she’d come here to look for me.

I imagined her standing out here in the hall, knocking. Calling my name, as I had called Georgia’s earlier in the day. Taking the key from around her neck—the other person with a master key. Of course she had a way in.

As I opened the door to my apartment, I wondered: Did she step inside? Did she look around, open the closet, find Landon’s journal, Farrah’s camera? I checked for signs that anyone had been here, but everything seemed exactly as I’d left it.