She tiptoed farther into the room to take a closer look at the col age of photos housed under a glass pane near Nisha’s bed. Most of the photos showed Nisha in action: hitting a backhand shot, a drop shot, serving, raising her hands above her head when she’d won a match. In the center of the col age, Nisha stood in the first-place spot on a podium, a shiny gold medal around her neck. Sutton stood in the third-place spot, scowling. There was a tancolored brace on her knee. Tacked along the border were several group shots of the tennis team: the girls holding a team tournament cup, Sutton standing as far away from Nisha as she could. Charlotte had darker hair in the photo, and Laurel’s hair was cut in a sleek blonde bob. Another photo showed the girls standing at an airport gate. Sutton posed off to the side, jutting her leg up on one of the benches and giving the camera a sexy pout. Emma noticed blinking slot machines in the background. Was that Vegas? Had she and Sutton been in the same city at the same time? For a fleeting moment, she pictured the two of them running into each other at the New York-New York casino where she had worked. Would Sutton have noticed her? Would they have smiled at each other?
A final team shot was pinned in the corner of the bul etin board, overlapping other photos as if it had been hastily stuck there. The tennis team gathered around Nisha’s dining table. Sutton and Charlotte were missing, but Laurel smiled broadly, her hair as long as it was today. BACK TO
SCHOOL TEAM SLEEPOVER was scrawled at the bottom of the photo. Emma’s finger traced over the date written in Nisha’s cal igraphic handwriting: 8/31. She had to stare at it for a few long beats before she believed it was real.
“What are you doing?”
Emma flinched. Nisha stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She stalked over and pushed Emma’s shoulder. “I didn’t say you could come in here!”
“Wait!” Emma pointed at the photo. “When was this taken?”
Nisha inspected the photo and rol ed her eyes. “Can’t you read?” she asked in a smart-ass tone. “It says August thirty-first.”
Nisha placed her palm between Emma’s shoulder blades and shoved her out the door. She slammed it before turning to face Emma. “Attending team activities is what being on a team means. At least for those of us who care about supporting one another.”
“Even Laurel was there,” Emma said slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Nisha’s.
A haughty grin widened on Nisha’s face as she glanced over Emma’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil! We were just talking about you.”
Emma whipped around. Laurel stood at the end of the hal , a red plastic cup in her hand. “You were?” she asked, her gaze bouncing between the two of them.
“I was just tel ing Sutton about the ah-mazing time we al had at my back-to-school tennis sleepover a few weeks ago,” Nisha chirped.
Laurel’s cheeks flushed and her plastic cup made a crinkling sound as she squeezed it tighter. “Oh,” she said quietly. Her eyes flickered to Emma and then to the mauve carpet lining Nisha’s hal way. “Oh, Sutton, I’m sorry, I . . .”
“Is it real y that embarrassing?” Nisha slapped her arms to her sides. “You came, Laurel. I’d say you even had fun.”
Laurel’s mouth morphed from a smile to a frown to a wiggly line. “It was okay,” she whispered.
Nisha’s eyes gleamed triumphantly. She pul ed on her bedroom doorknob one more time for good measure and pushed past Emma and Laurel. She glanced at her father’s room, color draining from her face, and pul ed that door shut, too.
After Nisha disappeared down the hal , Laurel peeked at Emma sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Sutton. I know you and Nisha hate each other. But I thought the sleepover was mandatory. I didn’t know you and Charlotte weren’t going to come. Please don’t be mad at me.”
More giggles erupted from the den. The wind gusted outside, pressing up against the windows. Maybe the real Sutton would have been pissed to find out what Nisha had just told her—clearly Laurel hadn’t admitted she’d gone to Nisha’s tennis party because Sutton’s friends were supposed to be united in Nisha-hate. Sutton might’ve interpreted this as betrayal.
But Emma was delighted—relieved. Laurel attending Nisha’s tennis team sleepover meant she had an airtight alibi for the thirty-first. Neither she—nor Nisha—could have kil ed Sutton.
“It’s fine,” Emma said to Laurel, throwing her arms around Sutton’s sister’s neck so hard she knocked her off balance.
“Sutton?” Laurel said, her voice muffled in the sleeve of Emma’s flowy lavender top.
I twirled in an invisible circle next to the two of them. This was even better than clearing Charlotte and Madeline. My own sister was innocent.
Chapter 14
Double the Trouble
“What’s al that?” Madeline asked as she flung open the door to her house and stared at Laurel, Emma, and Charlotte on the porch. It was Saturday afternoon, and al three carried paint-spattered jeans, grubby T-shirts, and old sneakers.
“Our costumes for when we go home.” Laurel set the dirty clothes on the porch swing. “I told my mom that Char and I were volunteering with the Habitat for Humanity housepainting crew today. I said Sutton should come, too—I promised it would be a rewarding experience for her.”
“The lengths we go to free you, Sutton,” Madeline said dramatical y, batting a long black braid over her shoulder. Charlotte winked at Emma, and Emma giggled. She didn’t have to hold her breath around them anymore; they were Sutton’s friends, not her kil ers. She was so grateful she’d let Laurel have the last low-fat muffin this morning, and she’d given Charlotte a huge hug as soon as they’d gotten in her car. “Someone’s cheerful this morning,”
Charlotte had commented. “Are you in love?”