Chapter 51 Caro
CARO
CARO IS FINALLY AT the top of the hike, looking out at the one view her dad wouldn’t take her to see. The one her mom loved so much that she died trying to get to it.
And she feels nothing.
Other people, other groups, are taking pictures, exclaiming, throwing their hands into the air and spreading their arms wide to take it all in.
Caro’s hang at her sides. The small daypack she brought on the hike weighs on her shoulders.
She doesn’t know what Ash is doing, how she’s feeling, what she thinks about being at the top or if she likes the view.
Caro doesn’t care. Her phone vibrates in her pocket—receiving texts, she supposes.
Normally that would bother her—Cell phone reception, up here?
In the middle of this beautiful natural spot where you should be able to get away?
—but she doesn’t care about that, either.
“Should we split up and look for her here at the top?” Ash, always focused on Hope. Even after seeing Wade here where he shouldn’t be.
“Sure,” Caro says, because that’s easier than arguing with Ash.
“You look around. I’ll stay in this spot in case she shows up.
” But she knows, they both know, that Hope’s not here.
The viewpoint isn’t tiny, but there are only so many places you can be, and if Hope wanted them to come here—or, if someone wanted to find them, or to bring Hope here and make some kind of threat (that’s so stupid, why would anyone do anything like that in such a public place?)—they’d make themselves known.
Ash is back within a few moments. “Nothing?” they ask each other at the same time, and they both answer, “No.” Caro is interested by her tone, which is flat and pleasant, and she can tell by Ash’s expression that it sounds strange to her, too.
“Well,” Caro says. “I guess that’s it. We tried.
Should we go down?” New hikers have arrived and are now taking their turns exclaiming and posing for photos.
“Should we take a picture for Hope?” she asks.
“So we can prove to her that we came?” Will that placate Ash and let them get off this mountain?
But Ash is now staring at her phone.
That seems to indicate that Caro should probably look at hers, too, so she does.
She has a notification. The @findhopehanover LikeMe page has been updated.
It’s a photo—a screenshot—of the three of them meeting online a few months ago.
Caro is smiling, big, right at the camera, at something that someone—probably Hope, whose mouth is open, whose hands are caught mid-gesture on the screen—is saying.
Ash has turned her head, distracted, and her office door is opening behind her, but you can see from her profile that she’s smiling, too.
There’s a lump in Caro’s throat. There they are. When they thought no one was watching.
But someone was.
And now this picture is out in the open. A moment they thought was private is there for everyone to see.
“I hate this,” Ash says.
“Me too.” Caro’s hand holding the phone has begun to tremble. “Something is messed up here.”
“I know,” Ash says. “But we need to find Hope and—”
“Something is messed up here,” Caro says again, raising her voice, “and I think it might actually be Hope.” She looks at Ash.
“How long have you been her puppet?” she asks.
“You’ve been the one sending these texts, haven’t you?
Or, wait. Are you so obsessed with her that you’re pretending to be her? ”
“No,” Ash says, looking stunned. “No, wait—”
A couple nearby has begun to pose for a photo, but they seem to have caught on that Caro and Ash are arguing and they move away.
“This screenshot.” Caro holds up her phone again. “It had to be one of us who took it.”
“Or our lurker,” Ash says.
“Right,” Caro says. “I think all of us—myself included—need to ask, Who lives in our houses? Who has access to our computers, even when we’re gone?”
“Fine,” Ash says. “I’ll go first. Wade, obviously. And my girls live in the house, but I can’t imagine any of them—”
“So you can imagine Wade,” Caro says.
“That’s not what I said.”
“It is weird that he’s here,” Caro says.
“It’s weird that Dan is here,” Ash counters.
“He’s here to help with my dad,” Caro says. “He lives in the state. And he told me he was coming. And I didn’t call and tell him where we were the very first night.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Ash says. Caro leaves that there, hanging.
“Your postcard told your dad,” Ash says. “Who is out of his mind.”
Caro feels a flash of anger knife through her. How dare Ash say that about Henry?
“And what about Spencer?” Ash asks. “Pretty weird and convenient that he happened to show up here and have booked the campsite right next to us.”
“I didn’t even know he was coming!” Caro hisses.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course!” Caro spits.
It’s not going to work out. Caro knows this now.
She’s standing up here on top of the world, and she can see it so clearly.
Her mom is dead. Her dad is as good as gone.
She saw a woman die. She lied to her husband.
She’s had these friends. She won’t anymore.
“What are you saying?” Caro asks. “You think Spencer has been spying on us? Somehow, even though I haven’t had contact with him since college?
Or wait. Do you think I brought Hope here to offer her as—what—some kind of sacrificial lamb to Spencer’s friends? ”
“No,” Ash says. “I—”
“Don’t you think Wade showing up here is creepy?” Caro asks. “Don’t you think he’s probably the one who’s been watching us?”
Ash doesn’t answer.
The corners of Caro’s mouth twitch.
“What?” Ash asks. “Go ahead. Say it. Whatever it is.”
“It’s what I said before.” Caro takes a deep breath. “I’ve been wondering if Hope is behind all of this, somehow.”
“You think she stalked herself?”
“Not that, exactly.”
“Why do you keep doubting Hope?” Ash’s voice is shrill with disbelief. “She might be dead, Caro! Why are you so hard on her? She’s your friend. Why do you keep asking me these things?”
Caro looks Ash right in the eyes. “I want to know if you’ve been in touch with Hope since she left.”
“No!” Ash says. “No, of course I haven’t!”
Their phones vibrate again in their hands. They both look down.
It’s another picture, but this one is texted to the two of them, not posted to the @findhopehanover LikeMe account. It’s of Caro and Ash, here. At the top of Seraph’s Perch. Arguing.
Caro spins around. Who is taking their picture? She tries to see behind the sunglasses, under the ball caps and sun hats, past the scrawny trees clinging for life to the rocks—
“Oh no,” Ash says. “They’re here.”
Caro’s throat has gone dry. “We know it isn’t one of us, then,” she says. “We know that neither of us could have taken this picture. We’ve been talking. This is from seconds ago.” Her hands are trembling.
Their phones vibrate again, but this time Caro sees the text is just for her. Her heart skips a beat. She looks at Ash. She seems to have gotten one, too. But she doesn’t ask what Ash’s text says. She can’t trust her anymore.
They came here with a plan. They were so close.
But they’ve failed.