Two hours later, Warren, Murphy, and I returned home. The dog had gotten a thorough cleaning, and now smelled faintly of chemicals. The groomer must not have cared that Murphy was a boy, because there was a pink polka-dot ribbon tied into his wiry hair, just between his ears. We had a bag full of supplies, including a dog dish, water bowl, bed, leash, and food. I hadn’t been under the impression that we were keeping him, but once Wendy had started picking out “the basics we’d need,” Warren had trailed her around the store, nodding at everything she selected, not stopping to consult me about the situation. It wasn’t until we were in the car driving home, just the three of us, Murphy panting happily out the window, his breath now much improved, that I turned to Warren and said, “I can’t believe this.”

“I know,” Warren said, shaking his head. He must have been attempting to look serious—his default expression—but it kept slipping into something a little more dreamy. “It must have been the renters last summer, right?” he asked. “Wendy said that that’s when the microchip information was entered.”

“And that’s their name,” I said. “Pretty conclusive evidence.” I paused at a stoplight, noting the fact that my brother had pronounced Wendy’s name in the tone of voice he usually reserved for facts about tollbooths and lightbulbs. “So what happened?” I asked, speeding up again, even though I knew my brother, who had all the answers, wouldn’t know this one. “They left him at the end of the summer?” I asked. I could feel my anger rising as I said it, getting furious at these heartless, spice-stealing renters, treating the dog that way. “They just abandoned him at the house?”

Warren shrugged. “Or perhaps he ran away,” he said, his tone becoming, finally, one that I recognized—measured, careful, weighing all the facts. “We don’t know the situation. We’ll tell Mom, and she can contact them. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Maybe,” I said, but not really believing it. I turned down Dockside, and as soon as we got close, Murphy pulled his head in from the window, scrambling up to try and sit on the console between us, straining forward, looking at the house, tail wagging wildly. And as I pulled into the driveway and he got more and more excited, I knew this was the proof, even more so than the computer’s confirmation. Murphy knew where he was, and was desperate to get back. When I killed the engine and opened the back door, he bounded out of the car and ran straight for the house, clearly delighted to have found his way home at last.

Truth and Daring

Chapter eighteen

I WAS ALREADY AWAKE AT TWO A.M. WHEN MY PHONE RANG. I HAD no I idea why I hadn’t been able to sleep, and it was enough to make me wonder if my dad had been onto something with his talk about the diner’s coffee. I’d been lying awake for the last few hours, because having no social life meant that you went to bed early, even on nights where there was more excitement than usual.

My mother had been equally upset at Warren, for bringing the dog home fully accessorized without checking with her first, and at the renters, for abandoning him in the first place. She hadn’t been able to reach them at the number she had, but she’d called Henry’s dad and found out that they had had a dog all last summer, a puppy they’d gotten right when the they’d moved in. Henry’s dad remembered because it had gotten into their trash a few times, and the Murphys hadn’t seemed to care very much about it.

Gelsey had gone into paroxysms of delight over the fact that Murphy had come home with us—even though, as my mother kept stressing, this was just a temporary situation. My father hadn’t come down one way or another, but I noticed him slipping the dog bits of his dinner throughout the meal, and when Murphy clambered onto his lap after the plates were cleared, my dad didn’t push him away, instead rubbing his ears until the dog made a sound that I’m pretty sure was the canine equivalent of purring.

Luckily, Murphy seemed to be housebroken—and even better, housebroken for our house. He knew our house with a familiarity that was a little unnerving, as we watched him settle in by the front windows that faced the street, pressing his nose against the glass, head resting on his paws. Even though Gelsey had begged to have him sleep in her room, my mother had refused, and had set up the dog bed just outside the kitchen. When we’d all gone to sleep, I’d been listening for any sounds of whining or whimpering—but the dog was quiet, and presumably sleeping better than I had been able to.

I’d rolled on my side and looked out my window, out into the sky dotted with stars. I was debating simply trying to go back to sleep or turning on my light and trying to read, when my phone rang.

This was surprising enough that I didn’t move for it right away, just stared at it on my dresser, lighting up the corner of the room with an unexpected brightness, beginning to launch into the chorus of my ringtone. By the second ring, though, I had pulled it together and had rolled out of bed and grabbed it before it woke the whole house—or at least my mother, who was a notoriously light sleeper. I didn’t recognize the number—or the area code—but answered it quickly anyway, wondering if it was a wrong number. I couldn’t think who else would be calling me at two a.m.

“Hello,” I said quietly into the phone, taking it back with me to bed and moving to the far corner of it, as if this would reduce noise traveling through the house. There was a long pause on the other end.

“Who is this?” a girl’s voice asked, slurring slightly.

“Taylor,” I said slowly. “Who is this?”

“Oh, shit,” the girl on the other end muttered, and just like that, I knew who it was.

“Lucy?” I asked, and I heard her sigh deeply.

“Yeah?” she asked. “What?”

“I don’t know,” I said, baffled as to why we were even having this conversation. “You called me.”

She sighed again, and there was a rustling sound for a moment before she was back on the line. “Dropped the phone,” she said. “So I need you to come to the beach.”

I sat up straighter. “Why?” I asked, suddenly panicking that I hadn’t closed the concession stand properly or something. Though I had no idea why Lucy would be calling me, apparently tipsy, to tell me about it. “Is everything okay?”

“Would I be calling you if everything was okay?” she asked. “Just come here, and—” I heard the rustling sound again, and then the line went dead.