9
WELCOME HOME
About an hour later, an FBI officer drove Emily back to the Philadelphia church where she’d parked her car for Graham’s funeral, leaving Emily to drive the fifteen miles back to Rosewood alone.
Only, she wasn’t alone. As she pulled onto the expressway toward the suburbs, she peeked in her rearview mirror. A large, black Escalade switched lanes when she did. Fuji had instated the security detail immediately, instructing the bodyguards that they should watch the girls at all times, twenty-four hours a day. Emily’s guard had introduced himself as Clarence, taking her hand in his meaty palms and giving it a good shake, then giving her a business card with his phone number on it. “Me or my partner will be outside day and night,” he said in a New Jersey accent. “But if you get scared, you can always call us, too.”
A huge smile spread across Emily’s face, and she drummed happily on the steering wheel. If you get scared. How many times had she been terrified and had no idea how to rectify it? She might be able to sleep through a whole night now. She might be able to go for a jog around her neighborhood without fearing an attack by a mysterious assailant.
Of course, she did feel a twinge of apprehension about everything that had happened. The cat was definitely out of the bag, and Ali would probably know soon. Her potential rage was terrifying—especially given her track record. Rehashing the past brought back memories about seeing Gayle’s dead body in her driveway. And what if Ali had done something to Iris? At least the FBI was looking into it now . . . but what if Iris turned up dead?
Emily took the Rosewood exit off 76 and sped up the hill toward home. When she pulled into her driveway ten minutes later, her stomach flipped a few times. What if her parents somehow found out that the FBI had escorted her out of the funeral? Fuji insisted that they would keep everything very quiet, but there were all those reporters outside the church—could they have leaked the story? She really didn’t feel like going through the third degree.
Nervously, she turned on KYW, the area’s news channel. Over the sound of clacking typewriters, the reporter read out the hour’s top story. A robbery on the north side. The mayor arguing over budget cuts. An accident on the Blue Route. Nothing about police activity. She breathed out.
She got out of the car and crept up the front walk, careful not to tread on her mom’s freshly planted azaleas. The inside of the house was quiet. There were marks on the carpet that indicated it had just been vacuumed, and the dining room table was free of dust. When Emily sniffed, she smelled baked ziti. It was her sister Carolyn’s favorite dish, but they hadn’t had it since she’d left for college.
“Emily, look who’s here!”
Her mother stepped into the hall. Next to her, in a Stanford long-sleeved T-shirt and black jeans, was Carolyn herself.
Emily blinked. The last time she’d seen her older sister was the day before she’d gone into the hospital for her C-section. Emily had been hunched over the toilet in Carolyn’s dorm room—her morning sickness had lasted all nine months—and her sister had stood in the doorway, glaring at her with disdain. Emily had come clean to her parents about the baby not long ago, and her parents had forgiven her. Although they said Carolyn was going to call and apologize, too, her sister never had. Judging by the ambivalent look on her face, it didn’t seem like she wanted to now, either.
Mrs. Fields pushed Carolyn closer. “Carolyn came home to see you.”
Emily carefully dropped her backpack to the wood floor. “Really?”
Carolyn shrugged, a lock of red-gold hair falling in her face. “Well, all my exams were over. And I had a ticket voucher, so . . .”
“So, surprise!” Mrs. Fields said hurriedly. “Family needs to stick together, don’t you agree, Carolyn?” She nudged her again. “Give Emily what you brought.”
Carolyn’s mouth twitched. She grabbed a plastic bag and pushed it in Emily’s direction. Emily’s hand closed on something cotton. It was the same Stanford T-shirt Carolyn was wearing.
“Thank you,” Emily murmured as she held the shirt up to her chest.
Carolyn nodded stiffly. “It’s a good color on you. And I figured it would fit now that . . .” She trailed off, but Emily knew what she was going to say. Now that you’re not pregnant.
“Well!” Mrs. Fields clapped her hands. “I’ll leave you two alone to catch up.” She shot Carolyn an encouraging, hopeful smile, then disappeared into the kitchen. Emily sank into a chair in the living room, her nerves snappy.
Carolyn remained standing, her mouth twisted. She stared blankly at a picture of a barn that hung in the foyer like she’d never seen it before, even though it had probably hung in that spot for fifteen years. “I like my shirt,” Emily said, patting the Stanford T-shirt in her lap. “Thanks again.”
Carolyn shot her a look. “You’re welcome.”
She looked absolutely tortured. Emily crossed and uncrossed her legs. This felt like a disaster. What were they going to talk about? Why had her mom forced this? And seriously, Carolyn was still pissed? She needed to get over it.
“You can go upstairs if you want,” Emily said. The words came out more bitterly than she intended. “You don’t have to hang out with me.”
Carolyn’s mouth tightened. “I’m trying to make an effort, Emily. You don’t have to be so mad.”
“I’m mad?” Emily squeezed the chair’s arms. Then she sighed. “Okay. Maybe I am kind of mad at you. For the millionth time, I’m sorry I forced my secret on you—I shouldn’t have. But I wish you’d handled it differently.”