Her father looked around, confused. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he seemed to have a flash of lucidity.
“I’m fine, honey,” he said, grabbing the counter with one hand and pulling himself up. His movements were slow, labored, like an elderly person with arthritis. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
Maggie stared at him, trying to process the scene. “What happened? Did you slip and bump your head?” Her eyes went to the vomit. When Maggie was little, her mother seemed obsessed with concussions, the plight of a football mom, and Maggie remembered that throwing up could be a sign of a serious head injury.
“No. I think I may have gotten food poisoning. After dinner, I got this intense heat in my face and I threw up.” Her dad went to the sink and ran water from the faucet, cleaning whatever was in the basin. “I must’ve passed out. But I’m okay, I’m fine.”
What would make you so sick you’d pass out? Maggie’s eyes were drawn to the bottle of Scotch on the counter. It was nearly empty, less than a finger of brown liquid settled at the bottom. Her dad wasn’t much of a drinker—well, until lately. She started to put things together. He was passed-out drunk. Embarrassed to tell her.
“You’re home,” her dad said, more upbeat. He grabbed for the paper towel dispenser, unraveled a handful, and cleaned up the mess on the floor, casually, as if it weren’t strange at all.
“I thought you were staying at Harper’s?”
Maggie considered telling him about the party. About what had happened with Eric. She was still shaken up. But she, too, was embarrassed. Weirdly ashamed. But most of all, she worried that her dad might go off half-cocked. Call Eric’s parents. Or confront him, even.
“I wasn’t feeling well myself,” Maggie said. “I wanted to sleep in my own bed.”
“Can I get you something?” Her father opened the cupboard where they kept Advil and over-the-counter medicine.
“I’m fine,” she said.
He seemed to believe her. And he didn’t notice that she was dressed for a party, not a lazy sleepover. Just as well. Her dad didn’t need more to worry about.
Her father had a glint in his eyes, like he’d just realized something. Maggie felt a jolt, worried that he knew she was lying. But he rushed to his smartphone on the counter and gestured for her to come over.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said. His tone was excited, eyes manic.
He started thumbing the phone. “I got a video call. Right before I got sick.”
Maggie just watched him.
“It was her, Magpie.”
“Who?”
He looked at her intently: “Charlotte.”
Okay, he must’ve bumped his head. “What are you talking about?”
“She called. She seemed scared. I saw her. She was alive.…”
“I think maybe you weren’t feeling well”—she eyed the bottle—“and you just thought you—”
“No,” her father said. “She was older, but there was no mistaking it. I’ve looked at hundreds of photos of her. It was Charlotte.”
“Then it’s a prank,” Maggie said. “Somebody found a girl who looks like Charlotte. Or they did some CGI. A sick joke.” It wouldn’t be the first time someone had played a cruel prank on their family.
“She said help me, Magpie.” Her dad looked like he was going to tear up.
“Charlotte’s dead, Dad. They found her body. She’s—”
“No, think about it. The girl’s head was smashed in, face completely disfigured.”
“But DNA—they must’ve—”
“I don’t think they ever ran Charlotte’s DNA. And why would they? No one questioned that it was Charlotte.”
“But, Dad…” Maggie trailed off. She’d seen him like this before. Going down the rabbit hole. Yesterday it was the video of the party—the image of the Unknown Partygoer. Today, a FaceTime call showing a dead girl alive and kicking. In truth, she kind of liked it. The light in his eyes—the rare optimism, the enthusiasm—spending time together working the case. What strange daddy issues she must have, bonding over her imprisoned brother and his murdered girlfriend.
She decided to humor him. Let him sleep it off. Maggie gestured for him to give her the phone. “You said it was FaceTime?”
“Yeah. I tried calling back, but it just rings.” He handed her the device.
She held the phone, still studying her father.