The Almost Truth (23 page)

I wondered if Brendan was so sleep deprived that he was delusional. “It’s not really up to him.”

“I think he wanted us to wait because I think he was going to take your mom and make a run for it.” My heart paused in between beats. “He asked me last night when you were packing if my dad still kept his fishing boat down by the marina.”

“It’s been a good twelve hours since we left,” I said, looking at the clock on the dash.

“They could get a long way in that time.” Brendan rested his hand on my knee. “I don’t know for sure. I just kept thinking about him asking about the boat out of nowhere, and then when I thought about what he said last night, I realized he never said he was going to jail. He sort of talked around it.”

I mentally replayed our conversation. Brendan was right. He hadn’t just said good night, he’d been telling me good-bye.

“Are you mad?” Brendan asked. “I don’t think he said anything because he didn’t want you to have to choose between him and your mom and the McKennas. I might be wrong; I could be making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong.”

“Your mom might not have gone with him,” Brendan said.

I had an image of my mom with a scarf tied around her hair to keep it from blowing around as my dad guided the fishing boat across the water. I pictured them holding hands and I smiled. My dad knew people, not always the best people, but people who would know how to get fake identification. If they
played their cards right, they could be in Mexico by tomorrow. “I bet she went. I hope she did.”

I opened the door to the truck and waited for Brendan to join me. He held my hand and we faced the station. “Okay. You ready?”

I nodded. We walked up the stairs. As we got closer I could make out the officers bustling around inside. I saw the McKennas sitting in the corner. I’d called ahead and told the police I had to talk to them about Ava McKenna, so someone at the department must have told them something was up. Mr. McKenna was drinking out of a Styrofoam cup. Mrs. McKenna was wearing his suit jacket over her dress. Her head rested on his shoulder. Mr. McKenna looked up as the bell rang when we opened the door. Mrs. McKenna stood up. She smiled and opened her arms.

I looked at Brendan. “I’m ready.”

He squeezed my hand and we walked forward. No going back.

The person who gets the first thanks is you. Feel free to write your name here ______________ and then show all your friends and family. Thanks for picking up this book. I know there are a zillion things you could (and maybe should) be doing, so I appreciate your spending the time reading this book. To all the readers who showed up at signing events, conferences, told your friends they had to read my books, or took the time to e-mail, you made my day.

I can’t imagine a better team to work with, so I need to thank everyone at Simon Pulse. I adore my editor, Anica Rissi, more than cupcakes, and that’s saying a lot. To Roogie, my editorial dog, extra liver treats. Also big thanks to Jennifer Klonsky, Angela Goddard, Michael Strother, Mara Anastas, Bethany Buck, Anna McKean, Amy Jacobson, Lauren Forte, Annette Pollert, and
everyone else who works so hard to take my ramblings and form them into the book you’re now holding. To my agent, Rachel Coyne, thanks for the million things you do, not the least being talking me off the ledge when I need it.

To all my friends and fellow writers—I couldn’t do this without you. For every time you cheered me on, celebrated a success, or told me to pull up my big girl panties and stop whining—thanks. Appreciation also goes to my family. They continue to read my books and are proud of actually being related to me, in particular my dad and aunt Joanie, who flog my books when they are on vacation. If someone on a cruise or in a tourist trap tries to shove a book in your hands, then say hi to my family.

Lastly, thanks to Bob. I make stuff up for a living, and I couldn’t imagine a better person to have in my life. To my dogs, stop digging holes in the yard. No use blaming it on the neighbor’s cat; I can see you from my office window.

Also by

EILEEN COOK

What Would Emma Do?

Getting Revenge on Lauren Wood

The Education of Hailey Kendrick

Unraveling Isobel

Used to Be

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

First Simon Pulse hardcover edition 2012

Copyright © 2012 by Eileen Cook

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Designed by Angela Goddard

The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Cook, Eileen.

The almost truth / by Eileen Cook.

p. cm.

Summary: When a teenaged con artist realizes that she looks like an age-enhanced photo of a missing child, she decides to pull the ultimate con—until she begins to suspect she may actually be the missing child.

ISBN 978-1-4424-4019-7 (alk. paper)   ISBN 978-1-4424-4021-0 (eBook)

[1. Swindlers and swindling—Fiction. 2. Impersonation—Fiction. 3. Missing children—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.C76955Al 2012   [Fic]—dc23   2011049870