Lies I Told(28)

I forced my voice steady. “That’s awesome. I don’t know much about that stuff. My mom picks out all our stuff.”

I thought Rachel was holding my gaze, but I couldn’t be sure with the sunglasses. “Where’s your restroom?” she finally asked.

“Down the hall by the kitchen, second door on your right.”

She flashed me a smile. “Thanks.”

She walked away, oozing confidence, her legs long, lean, and just the slightest bit tan. When she disappeared into the house, I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, trying to talk myself down.

A new dining table didn’t mean anything. A whole houseful of new furniture—even purchased from the same store at the same time—didn’t mean anything. Not in a place like Playa Hermosa, where people redecorated whenever they got bored. Rachel was just a spoiled rich girl, not some kind of all-knowing Confucius.

“Hey!” A voice startled me into a sitting position. It was Olivia, leaning back on the patio next to Selena and Harper. Their hair was still wet, but their bodies were almost dry. How long had they been out of the pool?

“You falling asleep on us?” Olivia asked.

“I guess so.” I looked at the empty chair next to me and swung my feet onto the warm patio. “Is Rachel still in the bathroom?”

Olivia shrugged. “I have no idea.”

I stood. “I’ll go check on her.”


I tried to look unhurried as I headed into the house, but all of a sudden, I couldn’t quite catch my breath. The instincts I’d honed on the grift were screaming that something was wrong.

I walked through the French doors and made my way down the hall, scanning for signs of Rachel. For the first time since we’d moved to Playa Hermosa, I was a little creeped out by the house.

It was too quiet.

Parker was playing volleyball with the guys, and I had no idea where my dad was. The bathroom door downstairs was open, the light off. I checked the kitchen, just to make sure Rachel wasn’t topping off her iced tea, but she wasn’t there, either.

“Rachel?” I continued to the staircase, stopping briefly when I heard the sound of running water.

My mom in the shower of the master bedroom.

My heart beat faster as I walked carefully up the stairs. The sound of running water got louder as I reached the top of the staircase, and I peeked into my bedroom, wondering if Rachel was snooping. It was empty.

I turned down the hall, careful not to make any noise, hoping to catch Rachel in the act of doing whatever she was doing that had brought her upstairs when there was a bathroom right inside the patio doors, second door on the right, just like I’d told her.

“Oh, hey,” Rachel said, stepping out of the second-floor powder room.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked.

A triumphant expression crossed her face in the moment before she composed her features into a familiar mask of indifference. “I was just looking for the bathroom.”

“Downstairs, second door on the right, remember?”

“Oh! I thought you meant the upstairs hall. Sorry about that.” She headed for the staircase, turning back to look at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I just need to get some more sunscreen. I’ll see you outside.”

She turned and made her way down the stairs.

When she was gone, I hurried down the hall, checking the doors to all the bedrooms. Everything was fine until I got to the War Room.

The door wasn’t closed all the way.

I thought back, walking through my pre–girl’s night prep. I’d closed the door to the War Room all the way. I was sure of it.

I hurried into the room, closing the door behind me. Then I crossed to the table where we’d had our strategy meeting. A wave of panic hit me as I bent to the trash can under the shredder.

It was empty. The pieces of paper, remnants of the map I’d drawn of the Fairchild property, were gone.





Twenty-One


“So . . . what’s the deal with you and Logan?”

Olivia’s question was innocent enough, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from sliding to Rachel, sitting on the floor of the living room while she painted her toenails.

She looked up at me, the tiny brush poised over her pinky toe. “It’s not like it’s a secret, Grace. You’ve been hanging out together all week.”

I searched her voice for a trace of emotion. Was she pissed? Jealous? I couldn’t tell. Her tone was as cool as ever.

We’d eaten dinner in the living room while watching Mean Girls. I’d seen it more times than I could count with girls from New York to Seattle. It was classic sleepover fare, and as the movie rolled across the screen, I had flashes of pink bedrooms and blue bedrooms, girls in sweatpants and boxers, pizza and M&Ms. The memories were like ghosts, both close enough to touch and far enough away to make me wonder if they were real at all.

I’d watched Rachel carefully since discovering her breach of the War Room, but she didn’t seem any different, and after a while, I convinced myself I was being paranoid. My mom had probably emptied the trash after our meeting. Rachel was just nosy, checking out our house to see how it compared to the other mansions on the peninsula. Even if she had gotten ahold of the map, it would be almost impossible to piece together from the shredder.