Chapters (95)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Video #1
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Video #2
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Video #3
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- The Final Video
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Cover
Mr. Basher stares at his son for a moment, and then shoots me one more tough-guy look, the kind of thing intended to make me melt into the ground. My face flushes, but I don’t move or flinch. Mom always said: I’ve been barked at by bigger dogs than that.
It’s true. After everything else, Mr. Basher is the least of my worries.
When he’s finally gone, Mike shuts the door and faces me. He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts, no shoes. It’s a cool night and cloudy, with moisture in the air like it could rain at any moment. He makes no concessions to the weather, standing there like it’s a hot day in July.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice flat.
“I want to ask you something,” I say. “And then I’ll leave you alone.” I turn and point to the yard, to the spot where he tackled me. “When I was here that night, when you threw me on the ground, you said something. You said you’d been over to Chloe’s house and tried to help Scott with the car.”
Basher sounds impatient. “Yeah. So what?”
“You said Scott told you he hadn’t been working on the car. That he hadn’t been in the garage since Chloe disappeared.”
“Yeah. So?”
“When I was in their house on the night I took the journal, I overheard Laura and Scott talking.”
Basher’s face scrunches with disgust. “That’s sick, dude. Why did you do that to them? They’re such good people.”
“That’s not important. When they were talking, Laura was complaining about Scott going out to the garage every day. That he was spending all kinds of time out there. Something doesn’t add up.”
One side of Basher’s mouth turns up. “That’s what you wanted to ask me? That’s the big deal? Scott didn’t want me coming around and lied about it. So what? Go home, Hunter. I’m tired.”
“Can the Mustang be driven? Does it run?”
Basher hesitates. “Like a dream. The body’s a little rough in places, but the engine is sweet as hell.”
“So…Scott could have driven that car the night of homecoming. And maybe now he doesn’t want anyone to see it.”
Basher grabs my elbow in a grip like an iron claw. He pulls me off the porch and into the yard. We stop twenty feet from the house. He leans in close—so close that some of his spit lands on my face when he talks.
“You’re talking some serious bullshit,” he says. “Are you really saying Scott ran you off the road in the Mustang? Are you sure you want to say something that freaky?”
“Maybe I am. But what else could have happened?”
“The cops searched the whole house. You know that. They only missed the journal because it was in the wall.”