Beach Thriller(52)

As part of my court order, I had to meet with a therapist three times a week. She was so young she could have been my sister, with wavy dark hair and a sweet smile.

At our first session, she asked the most obvious question: “Jade, why are you in here?”

She knew my record. What she wanted was the real reason.

I could tell her some of it, but not all.

“My father is an abusive asshole, and my mother is too drunk to care,” I said. “So stealing and fighting are my ways of putting a little joy into each day.”

“Do you think your behavior is a cry for help?” she asked.

I set my elbows on the metal table separating us, leaned in, and locked eyes with her. “Lady,” I said. “Think of it more like a scream.”

Now, out of nowhere, it’s Holly who looks ready to scream—at me, no less. I had planned to thrust the photograph I stole from Maeve into her hands and call out her deception with hard evidence, but Holly slaps her phone into my palm instead.

“I would like you to call your aunt Alice,” she says, deadpan like she knows a fuck-ton more than I want her to.

Shit.

I try—and fail—to keep my voice steady. “I told you, Alice is awful … but she knows I’m alive. I’ve texted her. That’s good enough.”

Holly’s face tightens. She either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t care. “I’d like to talk to her,” she says.

I hand the phone back to Holly like it’s a hot potato. “No thanks,” I say.

Her face is inscrutable as she focuses on her phone, searching for something. The next thing I know, the device is back in my hands.

I gulp when I see a GoFundMe page in a browser window.

It’s a terrible story about a sixteen-year-old boy from Pennsylvania who became an orphan after a drunk driver killed his parents.

According to the graph, the fundraiser was going gangbusters. Nearly ninety thousand dollars had been raised—well over the goal.

I knew the GoFundMe was making the rounds, but I didn’t think it had gone far enough to land in Holly’s lap.

Fuck.

Holly recites the highlights from memory—though I also know them verbatim.

“He’s from Bristol, same as you,” Holly says, sounding sarcastically amazed. “And he has an Aunt Alice as well. Go figure. But this Alice seems quite nice—starting the GoFundMe to raise money to cover funeral costs and education expenses. The boy’s parents were killed by a drunk driver on I-95 while returning from dinner with friends, leaving their only child—a teenage son—an orphan. Sound familiar, Jade?

“Accidents happen, but what are the chances that two kids from the same town experienced the same tragedy on or around the same date? I’m no statistician, but I’d say you’ve got a better chance of being struck by lightning—thrice.”

I swallow hard. It’s like I’ve walked into that living room full of cops all over again. Busted. “Look, Holly, I know this looks bad, but I can explain.”

Holly folds her arms across her chest. “Oh, please do. I’m all ears.”

My mind goes blank. My internal lie machine has shut down at the worst possible moment, leaving me with one terrible option—the truth.





Chapter 30

Holly




Holly tapped her foot in a quick rhythm. Sensing trouble, Chester sprang off the couch and padded away. Smart kitty.

“Your parents are alive and well, aren’t they, Jade?” said Holly, who suddenly felt solidarity with beleaguered moms and dads of deceptive teens everywhere. She remembered being young and stupid herself. Her mother had her hands full back then—two daughters bubbling with hormones, primed for poor decision-making, and only a grandfather to help keep the peace.

“Are they alive and well?” she pressed. “Did you steal that poor boy’s story from the GoFundMe page?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jade admitted. “And my parents might be alive, but they’re not well. Besides, I don’t call Buck Dad. He’s essentially dead to me—so it’s not entirely a lie.”

Holly probed Jade’s eyes and saw real pain. Although she was irate and dumbfounded, she empathized. Something intense had to have been going on to make her lie, cheat, and steal.

“I went to high school with that kid, so that’s how I knew about the accident. He’s a grade younger. I thought it was a good cover story.”

“It’s a brilliant cover,” said Holly. “It worked on me, and I’m a fiction writer.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you,” said Jade, with an apologetic smile.

“And I’m sorry you and your father are at odds. I feel for you, I do. But I want to talk to your parents now. They must be worried sick about you. They need to know you’re safe, and I need to apologize for my role in all this.” Holly slapped her hand against her forehead. “And then I want you to pack your bags. You need to go home. You’ve been staying in my house under false pretenses. That’s unacceptable.”

Jade’s face crumpled. “Holly, no, please. Please—you can’t.”

Sorrow stabbed between Holly’s ribs. She felt like she was punishing herself, too. The house felt lonelier, and Jade hadn’t even left yet. Something about having her around was comforting. It was sort of like caring for Chester, only she didn’t have to change the litter box.