Aaron’s eyes widen before he looks down at his lap, processing the information I just gave him. I wait a minute before continuing again.
“I know it’s a stretch, but I think it’s at least worth looking into.”
“No, you’re right.” Aaron nods. “It’s a coincidence we can’t ignore. Who would have known about that?”
“Well, my family, obviously. The police. The victims’ parents.”
“Is that it?”
“My dad took a plea deal,” I say. “Not all of the evidence was presented publicly. So yeah, I think so. Unless somehow the word got out.”
“Can you think of anybody on that list that would have a reason to do something like this? Any police officers who got too obsessed with the case, maybe?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, the cops were all—”
I stop, a realization settling over me. My family. The police.
The victims’ parents.
“There was one man,” I start, slowly. “One of the victims’ parents. Lena’s dad. Bert Rhodes.”
Aaron looks at me, nods for me to continue.
“He … didn’t handle things well.”
“His daughter was murdered. I don’t think most people would.”
“No, this wasn’t normal grief,” I say. “This was something different. This was rage. And even before the murders, there was something about him that was just … off.”
I think back to Lena, jimmying my brother’s locked door. Her involuntary admission, that slip of the tongue. Pretending not to hear when I pressed her for more.
Your parents lock you inside your room?
Aaron nods, blows a steady stream of air through his pursed lips.
“What did you say the other day about copycats?” I ask. “They can either revere or revile?”
“Yeah,” Aaron says. “There are two different categories of copycats, generally speaking. There are people who admire a murderer and want to mimic their crimes as a form of respect, and then there are people who disagree with a murderer in some way—maybe they have an opposing political belief or just think they’re overhyped and want to do it better—so they mirror their crimes as a way to draw attention away from their predecessor and toward themselves. But either way, it’s a game.”
“Well, Bert Rhodes reviled my father. For good reason, but still. It seemed unhealthy. Like an obsession.”
“Okay,” Aaron says at last. “Okay. Thanks for telling me this. Are you going to bring it to the police?”
“No,” I say, probably too quickly. “Not yet, at least.”
“Why, is there more?”
I shake my head, deciding not to mention the other part of my theory—that the person taking these girls is talking to me, specifically. Taunting me. Testing me. Wanting me to the put pieces together. I don’t want Aaron to start to doubt my sanity here, to discount everything I just said if I take it a step too far. I want to do some research of my own first.
“No. I’m just not ready for that yet. It’s too soon.”
I stand up, pushing a wisp of hair from my forehead that the wind has loosened from my bun. I exhale, turning toward Aaron to say goodbye, when I notice him looking at me in a way I’ve never seen from him before. There’s concern in his eyes.
“Chloe,” he says. “Hang on a second.”
“Yeah?”
He hesitates, as if trying to decide if he should continue. He makes up his mind and leans toward me, his voice low and steady.
“Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I remember seeing Lena’s parents once, Bert and Annabelle Rhodes, sitting in the audience of Breaux Bridge High School’s annual end-of-year play. That year, the year of the killings, they were putting on Grease, and Lena was Sandy, her tight-as-skin pleather pants shimmering every time the fabric caught the glare of the auditorium lights at just the right angle. Her usual French braids were replaced with a perm, a fake cigarette peeking out from behind one ear （although I very much doubted it was fake; she probably smoked it in the parking lot after the curtain had dropped）。 Cooper was in it, too, which was why we were there. He was good at sports—but acting, not so much. The pamphlet identified him as some tertiary role like Student #3.
But not Lena. Lena was the star.
I was with my parents, sliding through the rows of seats looking for three empty chairs together, apologizing as we knocked into the knees of the other already-seated parents.