Casual Conversations About Love and Murder

By Chelsea Mueller

SOME FRIENDSHIPS FADE. OURS WAS MURDERED.

 

What would you do if your best friend died? What if she'd betrayed you hours earlier?

 

Emma's nights are haunted by the twisted sight of her friend's body in Stone Lake. Others in the sleepy town of Camber slap an accident label on the death and call it a day. Emma can't. It hurts too much to leave it alone.

 

Proving the drowning was murder isn't easy. The sheriff stonewalls her, her friends want her to leave it alone, and her parents are too busy bickering to worry over much else.

 

Cole's mistrust for corporations and government hasn't made him many friends in town, but his willingness to believe Emma makes him her strongest ally. Together they'll dig into the town's past—and their own—to get to the truth.

 

Even if it brings more danger to their doorsteps.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chelsea Mueller
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781732656444

Chelsea Mueller

Chelsea Mueller writes gritty, twisty fantasy and thriller novels for adults and teens. She loves bad cover songs, good fight scenes, and every soapy YA drama Netflix can put in her queue. Chelsea lives in Texas and has been known to say y’all. For the latest updates, visit ChelseaMueller.com or follow @ChelseaVBC on Twitter and Instagram.

Book preview

one

Tonight was the night to get a boyfriend. Officially. 

I needed the distraction, and Blake Haltom was going to be it. 

Tonight I would just be a high school girl crushing hard on a guy. I’d be able to forget how my parents spent hours screaming at one another about every minute detail of their divorce agreement. Making my move on my crush wouldn’t solve everything—it probably wouldn’t solve anything—but thinking about Blake and his caramel brown eyes and how he shoved his hands in his pockets when he thought hard about something would make me forget. 

Maisey’s beat-up Buick idled quietly on the narrow road in front of our friend Becca’s house. We were a mere fifteen-minute drive from the party, from making my move on Blake, and I had no idea what I was going to say. Maisey checked her mascara in the rear-view mirror. She’d done a poor job of concealing the zit on her chin, but the rest of her face was light brown, flawless, and bright with welcome. 

I tucked my hair behind my ear and focused outside on the oaks, evergreens, and hickories clustered between houses throughout Camber as if they could oxygenate my blood and dilute the adrenaline trickling into my veins. 

Becca burst onto the covered porch like the house had stolen her boyfriend, and the screen door clapped back against its metal frame. Becca still had a swimmer’s build despite quitting the team this year, but the green tint of chlorine had disappeared from the blonde hair that bounced down her back. She’d foregone a purse, but the purple glitter on her phone case flashed in her hand. Overgrown trees on each side of the single-story home obscured the eaves, but I’d been close enough to know the white paint was peeling. A pallid yellow bulb illuminated gauzy fabric in the front window. Becca didn’t look back. I popped out the passenger side and flipped the seat back for her to climb into the car.

Our trio used to prep for parties at my house, but since summer Becca had skipped our hair-and-makeup sessions. She skipped immediate replies to my DMs now, too. Dark eyeliner made her green eyes pop even in the dim streetlight, but her standard tousled waves were limp. I swiped my dull brown locks over one shoulder. She’d gotten cute without my outfit consult; maybe she didn’t need my advice. I needed her, though.

Maisey shifted the car into drive but kept her foot on the brake. We ready for Operation: Em Makes Her Move? 

I sucked in a breath and tried to exhale my nerves with it. 

You’re going to talk to him like the same normal person you are any other day, Maisey added. I hoped I could carry half of her confidence. 

It wasn’t like this was my first time talking to Blake. We’d been in the same friend group for years. Our normal conversations have never led to kissing.

Becca perched her elbows on the front seats, practically climbing into the front seat with us. Four unread messages stacked on the phone screen in her left hand. A tendril of tension ebbed. I was overthinking everything, per usual.

Why do you even want to date Blake? Becca’s question slapped me. 

What kind of question is that? He’d starred in my best dreams for months. 

Never mind. She slipped back down into the seat. 

I twisted to face her. The seatbelt cut into my neck. No, what do you mean?

Bec… Maisey had been playing peace maker between us more and more lately. 

Sorry. That came out wrong. She tapped something quickly into her phone and then met my gaze. I only thought talking about what makes you all gooey for him might help you focus tonight.

My cheeks heated. Other than the hotness?

Obvs.

I brightened. His laugh fills the room until you can’t help but laugh, too. And he’s kind.

Maisey lifted a questioning brow but kept her eyes on the road. 

What? He’s nice to the kids from Miller that go here now. He even talks to the lunch staff that are here because the court made them be. Like legit, no judgment. I didn’t have the comfort level there yet. Knowing how to interact with people you knew could have been to jail wasn’t in my skill set. 

That was a little judgy, Maisey teased. 

I laughed. Becca went quiet again.  

Kind. Hot. Funny. Sounds like Operation: Em Makes Her Move is a go. Maisey tapped her palm against the steering wheel like a gavel. 

I still think you should have volunteered to read aloud the sexiest parts of whatever you’re studying in lit class. Would have been a home run. Becca waggled her eyebrows in what might have been the least sexy move I’d seen. 

I eased back into the seat, but unspent anxiety and excitement tugged at my toes until I scrunched them inside my sneakers. "The party is the plan now, but we’re on Titus Andronicus anyway." 

Becca lifted a single shoulder. So?

Maisey’s cheeks almost obscured her eyes in the rearview window. She swallowed a laugh, but humor tinged her words. It’s Shakespeare’s bloodiest play. Straight-up horror murder nightmare fuel.

Becca sighed and flopped back to the rear seat. Why can’t they just teach the romance ones?

That would make the whole Blake interaction easier. My mental what-if machine was already churning through other move-making scenarios.

You’ve got this. You’re hot. He’s hot. You’re smart. He’s funny. It makes sense, Becca said with the confidence of our dance team’s varsity captain.

I drummed my fingers against my lips

She might be right, Maisey said. Compliments work. Give him one, and then suggest a hang out.

Or I just wait until we’re a couple beers in for plausible deniability? My joke fell flat. Maisey’s glare was dark enough I could have used it as eyeliner. 

Becca was quiet. I peered into the backseat. Her thumbs were dancing atop her phone screen. The deep maroon color on her lips darkened her pout. 

Everything okay? I asked.

Her bright eyes flashed up to meet mine. She blinked hard twice and then locked her phone screen without looking. All good. Just planning a meet-up of my own. 

Shutting me out. Again.

Maisey kept her hands at eleven and one, but her gaze flicked to me. I can only serve as wing-woman once per night.

I rocketed my hand skyward. Dibs. 

Becca snort-laughed hard enough in the backseat that I had to check on her. She leaned forward, feral grin in place. The white light of a passing car flashed through the windows. I blinked and her devious smile had dimmed. 

Don’t worry, guys. Relationship drama is not on the menu. Becca settled back against the seat like it’d close the conversation. 

She and Maisey shared a steady stare in the rearview, and worry whacked the back of my neck. 

Okay, I drew out each syllable, hoping one of them would offer more. They didn’t.

How had I reached a point where I was excluded from Becca’s secrets? A few months ago, she’d tell me her deepest darkests while fixing my foundation. Today she hadn’t even tossed a tube of lipstick my way as a suggestion. We needed to talk this out. I needed one good, normal night, but tomorrow? Tomorrow I’d confront her and get us back in best-friends sync. 

You think Coach will let you pick tunes for the next routine? Becca yanked me back into the moment. 

Doubtful. Our dance squad drilled one routine hard, and the coach wasn’t much for my music tastes. 

Do you have picks ready? I mean, if she could be persuaded? Becca mimed lifting a skirt hem.

I held up my hands like I was going to see more than her black leggings. I’ve got a playlist full of bops, if you manage to convince her.

If anyone can work magic to get your EDM remixes into the dance team’s performances, it’ll be Bec and her smooth moves. Maisey laughed hard at her own joke. 

Becca’s phone lit in her lap. She glanced down but still maintained full swagger as she said, I’m pure magic, and you’re welcome.

two

Stone Lake was made for parties. Its dense tree line gave way to a wide clearing, and the pebbles at the shore were almost as good as sand. Scoring the invite was a JV rite of passage. One invite became two, and two became just what you did on Friday night. The other girls on the dance team and I had been coming here practically every weekend since freshman year.

The swirl of pine and driftwood roasting in fire pits called us through the woods. Voices rose to the tops of trees and bass from a couple borrowed subwoofers rumbled beneath the grass.

Becca splintered off from our group the second we entered the clearing. Her distraction routine of late had my temples throbbing like a three-minute headstand. Or maybe I was being overly sensitive. My mind was full of my dumpster fire of a home life and sticky scenarios where I was either clever-and-sexy or a full-on dork in hypothetical conversations with Blake. Becca’s offer earlier today to hook me up with a joint from her sister only punched the anxiety bubble down deep in my gut. 

Maisey broke into my thoughts. Did you perfect your plan for tonight?

To get drunk and let the booze solve everything wasn’t the answer Maisey wanted. Not exactly.

Maisey lifted her chin as if to carry enough confidence for us both. You’ve been prepping for this for days. You’ve got it.

I sidestepped a fallen branch, its bark blackened by the distant firelight. I didn’t get a chance to feel him out today.

Feel him? Her shoulder shimmy carried the taunt more than her tone. Sounds like part of the plan.

I elbowed her. Honestly? I’m going to go the compliment route and be upfront. He’s known me too long for any of those ‘moves’ Becca suggested last weekend to be anything other than a joke.

Good, because if anything can cheer you up, it’s some woodsy make-out fun with your crush.

I steered us toward the keg like I actually intended to drink. Are you speaking from experience?

Her smile waned. Melanie and I met here.

Maisey’s girlfriend was an Army brat and moved when her dad got stationed somewhere in Europe. It was better than being dumped, but not by enough. Have you heard from her?

We video chat once a week, but I don’t think our hearts are in it. I miss her, but also, I miss having a girl here. Does that make me sound awful?

It makes you sound human.

Her half-smile was all real. 

"You were the one suggesting quality time with a crush could cure all. Maybe you need a wing woman tonight."

Maisey filled a cup halfway and then passed it to me. You can’t give up on Operation: Boyfriend Blake that easily. Plus, didn’t your dad’s new wife used to babysit Blake? It’ll make it weird for her.

Girlfriend, I corrected. They aren’t married. Thank God.

Fine. Girlfriend. Still, bringing him home on dad days would at least make for a great story for me. In fact, you’ll have to invite me over when you bring Blake home for the first time. I’d like to watch.

I clapped my hand to my face, but a snort snuck past. Maisey, I love you, but you’re getting ahead of things here. I haven’t even told the guy I’m into him yet.

We snagged a pair of recently vacated lawn chairs and dragged them away from an aging hickory. Last year a bird had dropped nesting supplies in my hair, and you don’t forget the moment you discover leaves and twigs stuck to the back of your head. Or the moment other people realize your hair has taken on an earthy woodland style. 

You’re trying to distract me. Maisey slowly shook her head, the act more Matthew McConaughey naw than disapproving grandma. Eyes on the prize, Martin. Are you going to talk to Blake soon?

I scratched at a non-existent itch at my ankle. I wanted to do this, but panic was scraping the back of my neck harder the closer I got to actually asking Blake out.

Then I’d be leaving you alone. I laughed like it would convince Maisey to laugh too. 

Her glare had that kind of no-bull glean Mr. Reyes had perfected when we passed notes in the back of the Algebra class. 

Fine. I’ll go talk to him. Could she hear my heartbeat kick up to double time? 

Maisey eased back into the borrowed chair. You talk to him all the time. Be sure to touch his arm or something. Physical contact helps.

Now it was my time to glare. I have interacted with other human beings before, you know. Romance isn’t a foreign language.

Right, and you’re acing English.

I am!

Maisey smiled. See? You must be ready. Go. She shooed me. 

I hauled in a heavy pull of the smoky air and headed toward the shore. Blake was standing alone next to a picnic table, long and lean. Hands tucked in his pockets in a casual move so gorgeous he should patent it. The nearby bonfire light warmed his skin to a delicious honey and cast a hint of danger on his cheeks. The fates owed me one after the way this week had gone, and now they were paying up. 

He waved, and warmth swelled in my chest. Holding back a smile was hard, but I did it. Tucking my hair behind my ear was a chill move, right? 

His smile widened, and I was about to call out a casual hey. In my head it played smoothly. He’d wave me over, and we’d sit on the top of the picnic table. We would talk until we settled our nerves, or the beer kicked in, whichever was first. We’d kiss a little, and he’d call me tomorrow. 

It would have worked if Becca hadn’t thrown herself into his arms. If his arms hadn’t closed around her, and he hadn’t leaned back to take more of her weight onto him. 

If he hadn’t kissed her. 

The wave hadn’t been for me. The smile hadn’t been either. 

I ran my hand through my hair, like I hadn’t been waving at the guy who was now kissing my supposed best friend. Gazes skewered me. My skin crawled in the innate way that proved the entire party had seen me make this move and had witnessed me fail. I refused to look around, to accept their pity. 

I understood you couldn’t be first in everything. You can’t always be the one to pick the music for the squad. You can’t always be the lead in the play. Not every boy is going to like you. That’s all fine. Normally. But when the rest of your world is crumbling, it’d be nice if the dude you liked hadn’t been kissing your friend. It’d be really great if she hadn’t been kissing him back.

I dropped my cup. The beer splashed my shoes. Mom would question the smell later. Bigger problems, Em, I told myself. The rubble of my broken hope littered the ground around me, tethering me to the spot. I needed to move. I was standing by my lonesome in the middle of a party while gaping at two friends kissing. That was stalker-level creep. I stumbled backward. My heel dug into the soft earth. At least the dirt could cover my beer-splattered shoes. 

That was the state of my life right now: dirt caking beer was a positive thing. 

I forced myself to turn away from the view breaking my heart and cracking open vials of viscous ink in my chest. Posture was probably important for your spine, but right then I focused on keeping my head high and my shoulders back. I would not showcase how pathetic I had become. The sight behind me tickled at my nape. I could imagine the soft smacks and the quiet groans they were making though my ears buzzed. I didn’t have to look back to know what was happening. Betrayal didn’t work like that. It bit at you until you fell or you fought. It was fifty-fifty on which way I was going to go.

Maisey had a brown bottle in her hand. Her eyebrows were pulled together. Her perfectly blended soft eye makeup took on a harsh edge. Maisey never looked mean. She did, however, look like she was ready to bust out a preacher-level lecture on my behalf. 

Maisey pushed the bottle into my waiting hand. Condensation slicked my palm. Even the beer wept.

That jerk! What did he say to you? Maisey’s rage was on point, even if she’d directed it at the wrong person. 

Betrayal burned bright and bold in the back of my throat, but I managed to say, Nothing.

Nothing? You would not be making that face if it were nothing.

Great. I was making a face. I couldn’t even fake confidence right. If she hadn’t seen Blake and Becca, maybe no one else had either? Maybe they didn’t see me gawking and fighting tears. He was with—

Before I could finish, she tugged me back to into our chairs. Don’t worry about him. I’m sure whoever he’s hanging with is nothing compared to you. He’ll learn that.

Bless Maisey. I almost smiled for her. Becca.

Becca? Maisey looked around. Where?

I hadn’t cried, but my voice was ragged. Two words clawed my throat. With Blake.

The symphony of horror, rage, confusion, and hurt that played behind Maisey’s brown eyes was pure friendship. If I weren’t slipping into numbness, I would have hugged her. Instead, I took a long pull from the beer bottle, and then nodded. 

But she knows how you feel…. Maisey whispered the revelation like it was a conspiracy. This wasn’t some show about how aliens built all modern technology on Earth. This was my life, my heart, once again underscoring how this was not going to be my year. 

And proving Becca had given up on me, on caring about the one person who had stood by her when she’d gotten her period in fifth grade and all the other girls refused to invite her over for the rest of the year after the vicious taunts she’d received hanging upside down from a jungle gym in those white pants gone bloody. 

I flicked the tip of the drawstring on my jacket with the edge of my fingernail. It didn’t look back at me with pity. Leaves rustled overhead. Nothing helpful shook loose. 

I finally said, She clearly doesn’t care.

Maybe...maybe…maybe…. Maisey tried to find words to explain this. Words that didn’t exist. 

Darkness roiled behind my cheeks, and the look I shot Maisey’s way must have shown it. 

She had the grace to lower her gaze while red rushed up her neck. Maybe she doesn’t care.

We were both quiet then. The voices of softer, kinder conversations and the bass of bombastic laughter tried to cloak our bad mood vibes. The newly happy couple had been swallowed into the sea of people or the trees. Whatever. The reprieve from watching them make out was welcome. 

I drank more of my beer. Probably too fast. My forehead was already going mushy. A warning to stop drinking. Buzzed could be fun, but drunk was embarrassing. I was already embarrassed tonight. I finished the bottle but didn’t move the get another. 

She’s been off the last few months, I said, not sure if I was reminding myself or telling Maisey. She’s been distracted. Late to stuff even before school started this year.

Maisey nodded slowly. She’d aced the language components on our SAT practice exams; she had to know the right words. I think you aren’t the only one struggling this year.

Struggling? She hadn’t meant it to, but the accusation stung.

You have plenty to deal with already. That’s all I meant. Becca didn’t want to unload on you.

I told her all about my parents’ split, I argued. 

Yeah, and I think that’s why she kept it to herself. Senior year is a lot for all of us. She might have wanted to spare you another person to worry about.

Are you defending her?

No. Maisey reeled back, her words adamant. She doesn’t get a pass on this. I only meant that I’ve seen changes, too. I was at her house last weekend. She had a tower of unopened scholarship application packets in her room. She hasn’t even looked at them.

I sat my empty beer bottle on the ground close to the leg of the chair. My fingers ached. Not everyone opens them immediately. The procrastinators like yours truly just penciled the deadlines on the front of them.

A couple of guys we didn’t recognize stumbled past us toward the woods. One slowed as they passed; warm light from the nearby fire lit the side of his face and his blue eyes practically glowed. 

They moved on, but Maisey still softened her voice to a whisper. Your mom cares if you don’t fill them out, though. I don’t think hers does.

It changed nothing. That’s not what I meant.

Recognition hit her gaze. You mean the hot boxing?

I didn’t think it was possible, but I laughed. The sound rose to mingle with the others who were having a far better time than we were. You sound like an alien when you say that.

A faint pink dusted her cheeks. Har har.

It was my turn to whisper. Yes, I meant she’s getting high way more often.

My brother would say it’s a phase.

Your brother hasn’t known Becca since second grade.

Well, I can promise I won’t ever hit on your crushes.

My embarrassment had ebbed enough that my smile was genuine this time. Whew. Thanks, Maisey.

She tilted her head back. You think he has a plan? Like we were meant to be sitting here together right now, and it’s putting us on the right path?

Oh, no. Maisey must have drunk more than I’d realized. He?

God. Yep. If she was talking Higher Power, she was tipsy.

Most of the time I think I’m where I’m supposed to be, but I don’t think I can keep up with a theological or philosophical convo right now.

Maisey nodded slowly. The cloud of concern looming above slowly dissipated until her eyes locked on something beyond me. 

Sure. Sorry, she said, absently.

I followed her gaze. "Isn’t that Katie Gowan? I am going to be your wing woman tonight."

Maisey ignored my emphasis. We might as well go get a fresh round of drinks.

And since she’s at the keg, it’ll be super natural to chat her up.

Well, I mean, since we’re thirsty. A bubble of laughter escaped Maisey’s lips. 

I scanned the crowd for Blake or Becca. Even their names sounded like some power couple together. Or like twins. A matching pair. I needed a drink. Or twelve. 

At the edge of the clearing was one of the rehab-project guys that worked at the school. I’d expected to see a few Miller High kids here—their school was under construction and a bunch were being bussed to our school. Nothing like having rivals under the same roof. But this guy was the one who’d graduated with Becca’s sister, I thought. She talked to him sometimes. Why couldn’t she have latched onto that bad idea instead of my crush?

Man, I really did need that drink. I skimmed the crowd again. 

No sign of them. Thankfully. 

While Maisey was doing her best to play it cool with Katie, I flipped open the lid of a nearby cooler. The bottled brew wasn’t a good idea, but it was better than scanning the partygoers for a third time. 

Red and blue lights flashed over the crowd. The thick bass of whatever song Nick Dickerson had put on the PA in the bed of his truck carried the beat of the lights. 

Maybe it was the beer that slowed my recognition. 

Maisey’s hand was on my arm. She was speaking, but the party still buzzed in my ears. 

Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Again and again.

The bark of the trees nearest the water shifted to a ghastly white. Stark, bright, and coupled with the whoop-whoop warning of a police car. A sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the clearing, the spotlight mounted on its side ablaze and cutting through the crowd.

Sirens blared. The sound was everywhere. I couldn’t tell if the cops were behind us or dead ahead. The flat command of a cop through a bullhorn told us to stay put. The crowd ran like their shoes were on fire. 

Maisey yanked my arm hard enough I winced. We need to go.

Katie was already gone. 

We have to get Becca. Regardless of