Daisy gets to the gap in the hedge first, holding aside a scrubby branch for me to lead the way. “Just like when we were kids.”
I take a deep breath as I fall to my hands and knees, the memory of endless summers and high-pitched giggles propelling me forward. The time before Daisy pushed me away, before Dad died and Uncle Arbor sunk his nails into me. Before I let him.
As I crawl through the hedge, my dress tears again. It’s irreparably ruined, filthy, and boasting a russet stain near the hem where my knee bled when I fell. Brown streaks my arms, the remnants of the hair dye washing out with the drizzle, my braid now half undone down my back. If I didn’t look like a Rosewood before, I certainly don’t now.
Together, we creep through the yard. It’s been less than a week since the will reading and getting banned from the manor, but in that time the plants have claimed it for themselves. Vines twist around our feet, thorns scratch our arms, and the air is thick with a rose scent, the humidity making it stick to our skin.
“Do you think anyone’s inside?” Daisy murmurs, nodding at the looming manor.
“Not unless Frank is,” I say, keeping my head down as we sneak toward the pool.
“Fuck Frank,” Daisy seethes, reminding me that she suspected him. “I bet he was working for my dad—”
She cuts off with a yelp, and I spin, searching for the masked hunters. But instead, my eyes meet espresso-brown irises, Quinn’s hand wrapped around Daisy’s arm. Tan streaks are painted across her cheeks from her own washed-out hair dye as she lets Daisy’s arm go, Caleb and Miles behind her.
“Why’d you have to creep up on me like that?” Daisy snaps in a whisper, but then her jaw drops. Her fingers flit over the purpling gash on Quinn’s temple. “Who did this to you?”
For a moment, Quinn just stares at her, clearly surprised she cares. But then Quinn steps out of Daisy’s reach, a hint of arrogance in her eyes. “You should see the other guy.”
“There’s someone guarding the front,” Miles says softly, pivoting us so we’re walking deeper into the yard instead of onto the patio. “By the gates. We can’t be loud.”
“Is it the hunters?” I ask, skin prickling with fear.
Caleb shakes his head. His bottom lip has swelled, and his arm has a long, painful-looking rash on it where it must have scraped against the boardwalk when he was pushed down. His glasses are a little crooked. “No, they look more official.”
“Frank’s people,” I murmur. We round the manor, stopping on the other side of the pool behind the coverage of the first line of trees. It’s been only a few days since Leo and I tumbled in, but the water is green instead of turquoise, more leaves floating in it than I’ve ever seen. The manor hulks behind it, the kitchen in darkness beyond the sliding glass door.
“This is unreal,” Miles says, giving me a disapproving once-over. “Why didn’t you tell me you were being hunted?”
I try to muster a smile. “At least I listened to your advice and stayed alive. So far.”
He shakes his head. “We should call the police. And your uncle.”
Daisy and I share a long look. “Considering my dad teamed up with the hunters, that’s probably a bad idea,” she says, her denim shorts and pink tube top now muddied from climbing through the hedge.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” Caleb says.
“I wish. Uncle Arbor tricked me and took the clue.” I shamefully meet Quinn and Caleb’s gazes. Despite the humid air, there’s a coldness seeping into me. Goose bumps prickle my bare arms as I take in their ruined outfits, spots of rust dotting the fabric and tears too big to be patched giving way to glimpses of battered and bruised skin.
“Then we go after him,” Quinn says. “There’s only one section of town that we haven’t found a clue in yet, and that’s yours, Lily. This one. The southwest.”
“We could drive around until we see his car?” Miles suggests.
“Or split up,” Daisy adds. “We have my car and Miles’s. Half of us go—”
“Lily,” Caleb’s voice cuts her off, his warm hand grabbing my arm. He’s picked the skin around his fingers bloody. “You’re shaking.”
“You’re all hurt,” I blurt, stepping back against the towering tree behind me. “I just—they really hurt you.”
Quinn shrugs. “Roughed us up a bit, but we’ll be fine.”
I shake my head so hard my neck cracks. The world closes in as the gravity of the situation presses on me. “No, you could get way more injured. And I’m not willing to risk it. Not willing to risk any of you.”
Miles reaches out for me, but I sidestep him.
“And you should have never gotten dragged into this to begin with,” I say to Miles.
Stubbornness flashes across his face. “I was worried about you. I couldn’t just sit at home doing nothing. I want to help.”
“He’s staying with us,” Caleb says surely, his hand slipping into Miles’s. “Quinn and I were freaking out after we couldn’t find you and Leo. He was the only person I could think of who could help and was trustworthy, and I wanted to make things right just . . . just in case. Besides, I didn’t spend ten minutes groveling over the phone for nothing.”
Miles cuts him a look. “It was more like two, and I’d use groveling lightly. I’m a sucker for beat-up bad boys.”
Caleb isn’t a bad boy, and we all know it, but I can’t manage a smile. “I’m glad you guys made up, but it’s not that easy. This is bigger than I thought. My uncle—” And then, it all comes out. Everything Daisy and I just talked about, the threatening letters, how awful he was to Aunt Janelle. They listen intently, Daisy silent beside me.
“I don’t know what to do,” I finish, my throat steadily closing more and more. “Because I don’t want anyone else to get hurt and I don’t want my uncle to have the money but I don’t want it if it means putting everyone at risk and . . .” I trail off, trying to blink back the tears. All it does is make them spill down my cheeks.
“It’s never been about the money,” Caleb says quietly. “I mean, it is, but Gram pulled us together because she knew we needed help that dollars couldn’t solve.”
“And she knew we wouldn’t give up,” Quinn adds. “Because I sure as hell won’t.”
“Personally, I love catching manipulative uncles. It’s like, in my top five favorite hobbies,” Miles says with a conspiratorial smile. “Seated behind my passion for poorly slicing salami, of course.”
I wipe my eyes with a watery snort. “We’re probably too late.”
“You said we’d try,” Daisy reminds me. “Dad might not have figured out the clue. If it was meant only for you—”
A twig snaps to my left, and Daisy stops short. I brace myself, looking toward the direction of the back gate.
Quinn stands beside me, fists rising. “If he wants to fight, let’s fight.”
But Uncle Arbor doesn’t burst from the trees, or any of the hunters. Instead, a familiar dark head of messy waves emerges, a filthy white dress shirt half unbuttoned and a gold tie hanging loosely around his neck. He drops something to the ground, and I realize it’s my Converse. In his other hand is a hockey stick.
Leo looks like he climbed out of a sinkhole, but his face lights up with his usual cunning grin. “I hope nobody’s concocting devious schemes without me.”
“We thought you were dead, Frat Boy,” Quinn says, her words punctuated by a laugh.
I don’t even realize I meet him halfway until I’m throwing my arms around him, his muscles quivering under my touch as his own arms wind around me.
“I’m okay,” he whispers against my neck.
I simply nod, too scared to speak as I squeeze him extra tight. The feeling of his embrace brings a level of comfort I haven’t felt since Dad died. Leo is one person death wasn’t able to steal from me.
When I finally break away, I shove him lightly. “What took you so long?”
“Had to make a pit stop. I think it was worth it.” He pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to me. I suck in a breath.
In his palm is a piece of cardstock, rumpled and ink smeared.