Page 14 of The Engagement Party

“That was a police officer.” Sierra’s hold on the business card tightened.

“Why were the police here? And what—” Cassie stopped talking when Alex handed her a slip of paper.

Ruthie dreaded any note that made Cassie shut up. “What is that?”

Sierra stared at Mitch. “Answer me.”

So many things were happening at once. The paper Ruthie still hadn’t seen and a business card. Someone on a boat. She’d planned every second, every conversation, of this weekend. She’d sketched out every single epiphany she needed to witness, but she hadn’t planned for this chaos. She still didn’t understand the police’s role here. “What’s happening?”

“This.” Sierra reached over and yanked the trunk open. Themetal squeaked and crunched before she stepped away to give them all a better look inside.

The sight of a bloody body, so unexpected, so horrifying, had them all groaning and looking away. Ruthie gulped in fresh air as she took a giant step back and knocked into Cassie, who seemed frozen in place. Ruthie’s mind called out commonsense directions.Run. Get out. Never look back.Her brain sputtered even as it begged her to look away. But she couldn’t. Now she understood the reason for Sierra’s unblinking stare.

“Who is that?” Ruthie asked but no one answered. Just like no one had answered Sierra.

Ruthie instinctively reached for Will. He just stood there, not saying a word. Just like the rest of them. Not running for cover. Only frozen.

The same question kept spinning in Ruthie’s mind.What kind of hell have I unleashed?

Sierra finally continued. “They all know who the dead man is. Look at their faces. The note says it’s time to tell the truth, so do it. One of you. I don’t care who.”

Time to tell the truth?Ruthie shook her head as the words sunk in. She’d started a chain of events that, once again, landed this group in the middle of a blood-soaked nightmare.

Struggling to make sense of this turn, Ruthie kept talking. She needed to buy some time to think this through. “With the blood it’s hard to—”

“The tattoo.” All of the air seemed to rush out of Mitch as he forced out the two words. His shoulders slumped and his body curled in on itself. “We recognize the tattoo.”

A scream raced up Ruthie’s throat, knocking and clawing toget out. What kind of animals saw a dead body and studied it for details? Who didn’t turn away in horror?

Mitch visibly swallowed twice before talking again. “A name in fancy scroll. Esme.”

A strangled sound, maybe a gasp, escaped Sierra. “That’s your mother’s name.”

“I’ve spent over twenty years wanting him dead.” Mitch didn’t look anywhere but at Sierra. “And now he is.”

Chapter Eleven

Book Notes: The Game

Emily liked to play a game. She viewed it as innocuous, victimless. A gift, really.

She’d pick a boy she viewed as beneath her. Not as popular or attractive. Usually someone from a different socioeconomic background, sometimes not, but always a guy for whom she would be considered a long shot, a fantasy. Way out of their league.

Once she acquired a target, she’d shower him with attention and affection. Build his confidence. Clean him up and show him off. Let him take her places and bask in her self-perceived worthiness. She laid it out in her diary...

Target acquired: Patrick O’Keefe. Tall and gangly in that hot, subversive kind of way. He actually comes from old Rhode Island money but hides it in an unironic wrapping that says, “Don’t look at me.” But I’m looking. I like when they glance away when I throw them some attention. He might be a fun midterm diversion... and I bet he can help me with this required science class.

Emily justified the move by saying sheliftedthose boys to her social status. She shaped them and made them relevant. Giftedthem with popularity they’d never experienced before. She denied the ego boost, the adrenaline high, she got in return and insisted it was all about giving.

She tested the game in high school but failed because almost every boy at her private school came from the same social strata. There was no one to play with who she could later point to and claim as her finished project. Not words she would say out loud, of course, but the diary found after her death—the one her parents insisted never existed—laid out her grand social experiment in excruciating and vicious detail, from the sex to the unequaled thrill the game gave her. Her version of walking on the wild side.

Pick the guy, the loner, the quiet one no one else noticed, and shine a bright light on him. Gift him clothes or whatever he needed to look how she thought he should look. Then reel him in. Get him to do her bidding. The public outings, the rounds of alcohol-fueled sex, the molding and bending—she viewed it all as a benefit to the boys.

Friends thought she had an odd taste in the social misfit type. Most chalked up her need for sex and desire to be in control to her upbringing, like a silent shot against her parents’ wealth and expectations. Not mean, exactly, but not birthed from a genuine place either. A manipulative practice that she craved like an addict’s hit, but others chalked up to a rebellious phase that would pass.

Cassie will not stop. She keeps pushing Will on me. As if I’d be interested in Will. I do have someone in mind. Someone close to me who needs an upgrade but it’s risky. One mistake and all our friends would be forced to choose sides. I couldn’t do that to him... I think.

Anyone looking from the outside saw a harmless yearning, an unexpected aspect of her personality, but not one that would cause any harm. The boys seemed happy. Their social credibility rose. She gave them what they needed but hid what they gave her in return and how they fueled her need for power.

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