Page 35 of Someone Knows

“Fine. I’ll drink it.” I drop it into the cup holder.

“Why are you here, Elizabeth?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and it’sjust a coincidence, and you’re paranoid. Now I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

I turn and glare at her. Last time we spoke, she seemed pretty convinced, what with the Saint Agnes pendant. But now I see the resolve in her eyes as she looks forward, refusing to meet my gaze. She doesn’t want it to be real, and so she’s decided it isn’t. As long as she sticks her head in the sand and continues her merry little life in the middle of nowhere Louisiana, she’ll be fine. Or so she’s convinced herself.

“Okay . . .” I reach into the back seat formy bag, yank out my laptop, click a few buttons, and pull up the chapters. “Read these.”

“I don’t want to read this stupid—”

“If you’re so sure it’s just a coincidence, you have nothing to lose. Read them, Ivy.”

With an even more exaggerated sigh than the last, she takes the computer, adjusts the angle of the screen, and squints, like she needs glasses.God, we’re getting old.I pluck the readers off the top of my head and shove them at her.

“Thanks,” she mutters and slips them on, peering at the screen.

I sip my coffee, waiting and watching. I know what comes next. I know what she’ll say.

“Oh my God.” Her voice comes out tiny, strained. “You were serious.”

“OfcourseI was serious!”

“This is . . .” Her hand goes to her chest. After another moment, she closes the laptop quickly, like she can’t read any more. “Lucas? The kneeling? The pendant? But who could know, Lizzie,who?”

My old name. A nickname no one uses anymore. It unsettles me more than I care to admit. “I don’t know,” I say.

“Why now? It’s beentwenty years.”

Again, I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

Silence. Then Ivy turns my way, her hand clasping my arm. “You’ve been seeing that guy, right? His son? Noah.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes.Small towns.

“No, we just met at Liars Pub, the place on Main Street.”

“Is it him?”

Of course I’ve been kicking that very question around since we walked out of the bar. As crazy of a coincidence as it is that we would meet, my gut thinks that’s all it was. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Well,weneedto know.”

“What would you like me to do, ask him?Hey. Are you pretending to be my student and sending me a twisted story because I killed your father?”

Ivy’s eyes dart around the parking lot. “Shhh.Keep your voice down.”

No one’s near the car, but she’s right. Lord knows, Chief Unger seemed to have materialized out of thin air. I lower to a whisper. “I don’t think it’s him.”

“Well, can you go back to the bar? Maybe get him drunk and start him talking?” Her voice fades off. She gnaws on her lip, deep in thought. “Even if it’s not him, maybe he knows something we don’t. He had to know his father better than anyone still alive.” Her eyes roam my face. “You’re still as pretty as you were back then. He’s a man, a single one from what I understand.” Her eyes meet mine. “Get close to him. Do whatever it takes. We have to figure out who this is. Wehaveto.”

I study her, surprised by her cunning. I wouldn’t have thought Ivy, of all people—small-town Ivy, who got married soon after high school and never left Louisiana—would suggest such a thing.

But I do know one thing.

She’s right.

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