raisins to find more candy. “Orange ones are good luck,” she said, holding one up. “I definitely need that.” She popped it in her mouth. “Yellow are what you give someone if you just want to be friends.” She dropped a yellow candy back in the bag distastefully. “Red are for confessing when you love someone. . . . Here, you can have this one. And green?” She gave him a wicked grin. “They’re for if you want to get someone . . . excited.”
Ethan’s cheeks were pink, but a dazed grin spread across his face. “Excited, huh?”
She held one up in front of his lips, but he shook his head, pulling her suddenly into his lap. “I don’t need that one,” he whispered against her ear. “You already make me crazy enough.”
Emma’s skin tingled as he pulled her into a passionate kiss, one that gave way to more kisses. All her lingering worries—about the murderer, about Nisha, about her family—drifted away. While she was in Ethan’s arms, she was happier than she’d ever been.
I was glad my sister was getting some action. Emma deserved whatever comfort she could get after all she’d been through, even if her lame attempt at dirty talk had me wishing I could stick my fingers in my ears. But she and Ethan were made for each other—and if there were no other silver linings to the trap my murderer had caught her in, I was at least grateful for that.
4
FAREWELL, MY FRENEMY
A few hours later, Emma pulled Sutton’s vintage Volvo into Ethan’s driveway to drop him off. Across the street, Sabino Canyon loomed ominously. Next door, the Banerjees’ house was dark and silent.
Ethan’s home, a sand-colored bungalow with paint chipping from the siding, was one of the smallest on the block. It looked like it had been nice at one point, but it’d fallen into disrepair. Emma suspected Ethan tried to maintain the place as well as he could, but it was hard for him to keep up with it with his dad gone—Mr. Landry had more or less walked out on them a few years ago, when Mrs. Landry had been diagnosed with cancer.
Ethan turned toward her. “Good night,” he whispered, leaning across the gear shift and placing the softest kiss imaginable on her lips. She closed her eyes. For just a moment, nothing in the world existed beyond the place where her lips met his.
“Good night,” she said, as he pulled away. He gave her a long look, then got out of the car and loped up the driveway to his house. The car’s headlights threw deep shadows around him—long, skinny abstracts of his body. His clean-laundry smell still lingering in the car, she watched him as he climbed the steps to the porch and let himself in.
Emma smiled to herself, touching her mouth with her fingers as if she could somehow hold the memory of the kiss there. She watched as the light in Ethan’s room snapped on a moment later and imagined him sitting down at his desk, opening his calculus book or turning on his laptop, his dark blue eyes thoughtful under his furrowed brow.
Cute Boy Hugely Distracting to Amateur Detective. The headline flashed before her eyes as if it were in print, an old habit of hers. She shook her head to clear it, then put the car in reverse and backed down the driveway.
As she turned onto the street, her eyes fell on Nisha’s house. She paused with her foot on the brake. A low wall with wrought-iron filigree surrounded the yard, but she could see that most of the windows were dark. She could just make out the glimmer of the pool in the backyard. A sharp, painful ache cut through her heart. That was where it had happened.
Emma thought of what Dr. Banerjee had said about Nisha’s room being ransacked. What if the killer hadn’t managed to find what he was looking for? If Dr. Banerjee and the cops had already gone over the room, it was a long shot. But it was still worth a try. She pulled the car to the curb and put it in park.
The motion-activated porch light sprang to life when she was a few feet from the door.
Carmen Caine, Madison Adler