Page 57 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

That’s when I see it. Stuck to the side of the roll, curving to hide beneath the frayed edge. A strand of hair.

A wavy, blond strand of hair.

Don’t panic.But my lungs don’t receive the message, because they seem to be shutting down. I have to decide what to do with this tape. If it’s Piper’s hair, the cops will need to test it, right? For DNA? But if I steal it, they might think I planted the hair.

I grit my teeth and begin to stuff the tape back down into the pocket. But there’s something else inside—rectangular, about the size of a phone. One side is hard and flat—maybe a screen—and ridges line the edge. A twisted mash-up of fear and excitement spikes in my chest. This could be his pay-as-you-go drug phone. I slide my hand inside and reach until I’m nearly shoulder deep, grasping for it. Then I yank, my knuckles rubbing against the fibers of the rope until the phone pops free.

Except it’s not a phone; it’s an audio recorder. It’s silver, with a speaker in the front and buttons along the side.

And it belongs to my sister.

Chapter 23

Piper’s voice on the recorder goes silent. “Now do you believe me?” I brush past Jacey, who’s standing by the tent flap, gaping at the audio recorder in my hand.

“Maybe there’s an explanation for why some tests were missing,” she finally whispers, raking both hands through her hair.

I sling her a look. “Oh, there’s an explanation. Mr. Davis is not the amazing teacher everyone thinks he is. He’s shady as hell, and when Piper found that binder, he tried to shut her up for good.” I stuff the recorder inside the zip pocket of my jacket.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Well, believe it. We’ve got to get down the mountain.”

“We’re just going to leave everyone else up here with him?”

I secure my hair into a messy bun and let my head fall back. Sighing, I rub my temples. “I don’t know, Jacey. I don’t know what to do. For once in your life,youtellmewhat to do.”

“Okay,” she says, and then she just stands there, biting her lip. I’m about to lose it when she adds, “You go.” She nods adamantly, like the idea just spun through the air and landed in a dive with perfectly pointed toes. “Yeah, you go, and I’ll stay here and wait for the others. I’ll keep an eye on Mr. Davis and fill the others in.” She looks up at me. “You know the way?”

I inhale, slow and deep. “It’s a trail, Jacey. As long as I keep heading down and avoid the bears, I think I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a joke,” she says. “Hiking alone is extremely dangerous. If this weren’t the only solution—”

“It’s the only solution. You protect everyone, and I’ll go to the cops.”

She hesitates, clearly unsure whether she can break the laws of wilderness survival for something like regular old survival. Then she turns to face the forest, and I’m on my own.

I sweep through the trees at first, avoiding the exposure of the trail in case the others wandered this way. My water bottle is tucked beneath my arm. I left the rest of my stuff behind for Grant to carry. I plan to be halfway down the mountain before anyone notices I’m missing. My neck and back are sticky, so I pause to tug off my jacket. I tie it around my waist and continue at a brisk pace.

But something’s wrong—the absence of cold ceramic bouncing against my chest.

I reach up to my throat and find it bare, and a wave of panic throttles me. I look down the neck of my layers of clothing.

My necklace isn’t here. I pull at the jacket around my hips frantically, shake out the fabric of my T-shirt, praying for that gleaming thing to fall to my feet. Nothing jingles out. I try to remember the last time I reached up and felt for it, but I’m too sleep-deprived. Every memory of my fingers brushing against the ceramic blends together. My vision darkens, the thought of that necklace slipping away as terrifying as losing Piper herself. It could be a mile back up the trail, or it could be two inches from me, caught in the dewy foliage at my feet.

I have to find it.

I pound my fist against my thigh and pivot back around to face a battalion of identical trees. Scowling at a fern, I trudge back.

When I reach a familiar moss-strewn trunk, my name echoes through the trees. Apparently, the rest of the club noticed I was MIA. I kick the dead leaves, willing the shiny thing to reveal itself. The calls continue as I dig and curse.

Behind me, something crackles, and I drop my bottle. In one last-ditch effort, I plow farther into the woods to the next identical evergreen. I can’t leave without my necklace. My mind can’t even process the thought of never having it again.

“Savannah.” Mr. Davis’s voice curls my nerves like a blade against ribbon. Frantically, I comb the ground with my shoe. Then I spin around to fasten my eyes on my teacher. “We talked about this. You can’t just run off.”

“I had to pee,” I lie. “And then I lost my necklace somewhere in the woods.”

He shakes his head, murmuring, “Do you know how much trouble I’d be in if you got lost? Or hurt?”

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