You Can't Catch Me Read online

  “I had a moment. That’s all.”

  “Are you sure? Because it’s perfectly normal to have feelings about being raised in a place like this, and we’ve never talked about everything that happened after Todd died.”

  I slap on a smile. Everything that happened after Todd died isn’t something I want to talk about with anyone, even Liam.

  “I’m not . . . I’m not holding on to anything here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Liam’s face is in shadow, but I know how he looks. “And yet, you stole that article.”

  “I did.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  I can’t look Liam in the eye. “If I explained it, would it make a difference?”

  “It might.”

  “I doubt it,” I say.

  Liam watches me for a moment. “Was that guy harassing you?”

  “Of course he was. You think I faked the emails?”

  “You never said.”

  “I don’t tell you everything.”

  “We’re supposed to share the big stuff.”

  I feel a prick of anger. “I made a mistake, Liam. People make mistakes. And yeah, I was losing my job, and I was going to be left with nothing, so I played a card I’d been holding. And if it was wrong, I’m being punished for that, aren’t I? The money’s gone. That should make you happy.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “So why are you accusing me of . . . what? Being like Todd? Taking my moral cues from a sociopath?”

  “I never said—”

  “You definitely implied.”

  Liam runs his hands through his hair and looks away. It’s always so complicated between us. He’s too many things to me. Brother, mentor, father, savior, and not the thing I want most.

  “I want you to be well,” he says.

  “I’m working on it.”

  I stand next to him and we turn to face the downslope of the hill. Schroon Lake glints at our feet.

  “You don’t have to worry about me so much,” I say. “I’m doing okay.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Can I give you one piece of advice?” Liam asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Whatever you’re holding on to, and I know it’s something even if I don’t know what it is, let it go.”

  I look out over the view. I remember too many things, but mostly I remember what I can’t forget.

  “I will,” I say, the lie slipping easily through my teeth. “Thus endeth the lesson.”

  Chapter 10

  One More for Good Measure

  When we get back to the motel, there’s a surprise waiting for us.

  We’d stopped at the store to get food we could eat in the room for dinner, and then the liquor store because all I wanted for dinner was whiskey. I felt dirty after visiting the Land of Todd. Twenty minutes under a hot spray and then three fingers of Canadian Club sounded like a perfect evening.

  These plans get put aside when I open the door to our room and find an envelope from Jessie.

  “What’s that?” Liam asks as I pick up the manila envelope from the floor.

  The words I FOUND THEM are written across the front. We’d told her where we were staying in case she located the pictures from the bank. She’d given me a funny look when I’d said the words our motel room. I’d quickly explained that Liam was cheap, and that since we’d known each other so long we were more like brother and sister. Liam had frowned at that, which, frankly, gave me a bit of hope.

  I open the envelope and shake out a set of three photographs that are similar to the ones I got from the bank, only these are in color.

  “Pictures of Jessica Two,” I say.

  “Ah.”

  “You want to take a look?”

  “Sure.”

  “Drink?”

  “That too.”

  I put the bags on the shelf holding the TV and pull out the Canadian Club. There are two glasses in the bathroom that seem clean, but . . . “No ice,” I say to Liam.

  He’s sitting on the edge of one of the beds. It’s covered in a multicolored comforter that’s seen better days. The rug on the floor is another multicolored pattern, picked, I’m sure, for its capacity to hide stains. The furniture, such as it is, is laminated pine and probably was made before I was born.

  “I think I saw a machine next to reception,” I say to Liam.

  “Maybe later.”

  I screw the cap off and pour us each a drink. I hand Liam his, and down half of mine. It stings in the way I was hoping the shower would.

  “That’s the ticket.”

  Liam gives me a look, but I wave it away with the envelope. We move to the small round table in the corner. It has a lamp suspended over it that provides some faded light. The large window that looks out over the parking lot is covered in a slatted blind that Liam rolls up. It’s close to sunset, and the sky is pink and purple over the pine forest across the road.

  I place the photographs on the table one by one, then take out my own set from my bag.

  “This doesn’t even look like the same person,” I say.

  My Jessica Two has black hair that falls in a straight line to her chin. Her face looks narrow, her nose straight. She’s all angles. I remember thinking she was taller than I am, but we never stood next to one another. She wore heels and slim, fitted black pants. Her red lips and nails were the only other things that stood out.

  In contrast, Jessie’s photographs show a redheaded woman with long, wavy hair and a rounded face. Her clothes are loose, giving the impression of a plumper body underneath.

  “She’s good, I’ll give her that,” Liam says.

  “What am I missing?” I finish my drink. I’d love nothing more than to pour myself another one of equal strength, but I sense judgment from Liam, so I hold back.

  Liam points to how the woman in Jessie’s photographs and then mine is wearing her hair. “See here, you can’t see her ears in either photograph. Or her forehead.”

  “Why’s that important?”

  “It’s hard to change the shape of an ear, or where a natural hairline is.”

  “She was wearing earrings. Diamond studs, I think.”

  “That’s smart. It gives you something to focus on rather than their shape or other things like freckles or moles.”

  “What about the nose? Isn’t that hard to change?”

  Both of these women have straight noses, but one looks narrower than the other, and longer.

  “That’s easy to shade with makeup.”

  “How would she know how to do that?”

  “There’s lots of good tutorials on changing your face contours on YouTube.”

  “YouTube? You watch YouTube?”

  He gives me an exasperated look. “Everyone watches YouTube.”

  “Sure. YouTube, but not Facebook. Got it. And makeup tutorials, apparently. You were saying?”

  “I watch them for professional reasons. Anyway, if you take a look, you’ll get an idea of what you can do. Someone with skill can completely change their appearance.”

  “But what about things like height and weight?”

  “That can be adjusted with shoes, clothing, padding.”

  “Do you see any similarities?”

  He holds up the best picture of Jessica Two from my series and one from Jessie’s. “It’s a woman.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I could figure that out for myself.”

  “Don’t be so sure. She could’ve been a man.”

  I sit back in my chair. This has never occurred to me.

  “But you said she’s not.”

  “I don’t think so. The features are too fine. And see here?” He points to where Jessica Two is reaching toward the keypad in the ATM. “Her wrist is delicate. That’s another thing that’s hard to fake.”

  “So, a woman. Anything else?”

  “She probably is about your age, late twenties to early thirties. It’s hard to add more than four to six inc
hes with shoes, so she’s between five feet and, say, five six. She’s white. She has light eyes since you said she did, and the redhead does, and colored contacts can only do so much. Given her wrists, she’s on the thin side, but I couldn’t say much more than that. I don’t think she has dark hair naturally—her brows aren’t dark enough. So, she likely has lighter hair, blonde or light brown.”

  “Not red?”

  “Strawberry blonde is possible, but she doesn’t seem to have any freckling on her arms or chest, which is definitely harder to cover up than most things, so probably not red hair.”

  “Not all redheads have freckles.”

  “I’m working on averages here.”

  A pickup truck rolls into the parking lot. There’s a pack of kids riding illegally on the flatbed, like a scene from The Outsiders. They jump out and pull out a cooler.

  “Tailgate party?” I say.

  “What?”

  “Check it out.”

  Liam looks out the window and winces.

  “Great location you picked here,” I say.

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “If you say so. Anyway, not much to go on. A light-haired and light-eyed girl around my age and my height and weight, give or take ten pounds. This could be me.”

  Liam’s eyes rest on mine. “Is it?”

  “What? No.”

  He laughs. “Gotcha.”

  “Not funny. But how did you know it wasn’t?”

  “Because of this,” he says, taking hold of my wrist and turning it over, then pushing up the long sleeves I almost always wear. I’ve got a bad scar on my wrist—a burn that travels across my tendons and is visibly raised from my skin. He traces it gently, then drops my arm quickly. I shift my arm up reflexively, holding it against my body.

  “You can see the underside of her wrist clearly in one of the photos,” he says. “It would be hard to cover up your scar with makeup.”

  It is hard to cover up. I gave up trying long ago.

  “So, Todd saved me from your suspicions. Thanks, Todd.”

  He turns away, and I know I’ve done it again.

  “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “It’s fine.”

  I reach out and touch his arm. “Hey, Liam. Thanks for today. All of it. I appreciate it.”

  “Even Schroon?”

  “Even Schroon.”

  He looks skeptical as he pats my hand, then stands. “We should eat, then get some sleep. Long drive tomorrow.”

  I agree because I’ve done enough damage.

  But I’m not going back tomorrow. I’m going forward.

  Hours later I’m lying in my bed, trying to ignore the full fucking party that’s going on in the parking lot. The level in the bottle of Canadian Club is lower, but if I drink any more I’m going to regret it in the morning. Liam went to sleep an hour ago after the baseball game finished (another loss), but I can’t help but ask.

  “You awake?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m sleeping.”

  I stare at the ceiling, listening to his breathing. The scar on my wrist feels like it’s throbbing, but it’s not because it hurts. It’s because I want to get up and slip into the bed two feet away and throw caution to the wind. Peel my T-shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor. Rest my lips against his neck and throw my leg over his hip and . . . I’m starting to sweat. I have no idea how Liam would react to any of that, and my best guess is rejection, so I try to distract myself from the vivid fantasy in my brain by logging on to Facebook on my phone to see if there are any updates on my post.

  There’s nothing, but there is a message from someone named JJ.

  I saw your message. What do you want?

  I click through to her page. Her privacy settings are at the max, so all that’s there is a picture of her in a chef’s hat and her location: Philadelphia. I google: Philly, chef, JJ. A bunch of links come up, including several to YouTube videos.

  “Hey, Liam,” I say very quietly as I slip on my headphones and plug them into my phone. “I’m watching YouTube.”

  He doesn’t react. He probably can’t hear me over the thumping Ariana Grande.

  JJ’s a chef with a YouTube channel that has over a million followers. I watch one of her videos. She’s an army vet, and lost part of her left arm in combat, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She’s relentlessly positive and clearly loves what she’s doing. Eighteen months ago, there was a large profile on her in the Philadelphia Inquirer. All about how she’d become a successful YouTube star, with an annual revenue of over a million dollars.

  Uh-oh.

  I head back to Facebook and type: Is your name Jessica Williams?

  She reads and answers it quickly.

  Yes.

  Have you met someone else with the same name?

  Yes.

  Were you born on July 10, 1990?

  Again, yes. That’s what your message said.

  Why else would I write you?

  Just confirming.

  Well, it’s confirmed.

  Did this other JW steal your money?

  There’s a pause, then: Yes. You?

  Yes.

  When? she writes.

  Recently, I write. A couple of weeks ago. You?

  18 months, four days.

  Did you go to the police?

  Of course. They were useless.

  Same.

  I’m not going to them again, she writes.

  Me either.

  So why are you writing me, then?

  I have a plan.

  Oh?

  Yeah, but it’s . . . can we come see you?

  What do you mean, “we”?

  I found another Jessica.

  A long pause this time. Then: Okay. But please don’t tell anyone you’re coming.

  Why?

  She hasn’t been in touch with you?

  I think of the texts I sent to Jessica Two. She hasn’t responded yet. And maybe she won’t. I check my text threads to be sure. No answer. I text her again. I’m going to find you. I blame the Canadian Club.

  No, I write to JJ. She hasn’t been in touch.

  She will be.

  What did she do to you?

  It doesn’t matter. Just promise me you’ll be careful.

  I promise.

  We make a tentative plan to connect in Philly in a couple of days. Will I be able to convince Jessie to come with me? If I were her, I wouldn’t be able to pass up the chance, based on curiosity alone, and I’m counting on that to overcome her natural hesitancy.

  “Jess, what the hell are you doing over there?”

  I lay my phone down flat on my chest and pull my headphones off.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?”

  He sits up and turns his back to me, putting his feet on the floor. He stands and walks to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

  I put my phone on the bedside table and snuggle down into the covers. Liam comes out of the bathroom smelling like the cheap soap I used earlier. His bed creaks as he climbs back in.

  “You got a pen pal or something?” he asks.

  “I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  I roll over onto my side for good measure. I’m finally feeling sleepy, and if I tell Liam about JJ now, it’ll be at least an hour of questions.

  “Night,” I say.

  “Sleep well, Jess.”

  I listen to the thump of the music, and this time it starts to lull me away. I’m almost gone when my phone flashes on the nightstand, the light like a beam in my eye.

  I pick it up.

  Jessica Two has texted me back.

  You can’t catch me, her text says.

  There’s no more sleep after that.

  Chapter 11

  Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls

  Liam drives me to the High Falls Gorge after breakfast the next morning, where Jessie
suggested we meet after I reached out to her. It’s a part of the Ausable River that’s been a pay-to-see attraction since the 1800s. Jessie didn’t say why she wants to meet here. There are only a couple of cars in the parking lot, and an old-timey buggy guarded by a placid-looking horse. One of the cars is Jessie’s Prius. I can see her sitting in the front seat, looking at her phone. There’s a chill this morning, and it was one of those winters followed by a cold spring, so there’s still snow on the ground deep in the woods where the sunlight doesn’t reach. I wouldn’t wait outside either.

  “You sure about this?” Liam asks.

  “I’m sure.”

  He looks a bit tired. I’m tired, too, but I tried to hide that from him as I told him about the messages from JJ that I received last night. I didn’t tell him about the text I sent or received from Jessica Two, or tell him about JJ’s fears, but Liam’s uneasy anyway. He’s got a job lined up with a longtime client that he can’t skip and thinks I should postpone doing anything further until he can come with me. But I’ve reminded him that I’m nearly thirty years old and that it’s time for me to fix my own problems, and he’s reluctantly agreed so long as I promise to let him know the moment it gets dangerous.

  “Why do you want Jessie to go with you?” he asks.

  “I don’t think she’s told us everything she knows yet. Plus, there’s safety in numbers, right? That should make you feel better.”

  He ignores my jab. “You think she’s holding back?”

  “Not deliberately, but maybe something JJ tells us will jog her memory.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to go?”

  “Then I’ll ask her to drive me to Plattsburgh. Or I’ll take an Uber. We talked about this. It’ll be fine.”

  “This doesn’t seem like a great place for Uber service.”

  “I’ve figured out worse situations.”

  “I know you have.”

  I tap him on the nose. “It’s like you said yesterday. I’m all grown up now. You can let this little bird out of the nest.”

  Liam crooks his index finger under my chin, making sure I’m looking him squarely in the eye. “You keep making jokes. But this, what you’re planning, it’s dangerous. Maybe she’s only a con artist, someone who’s never had to do anything violent. But that doesn’t mean she won’t if she’s pushed. The smart thing to do is to take what you know and go to the police.”