“Ever notice how he used to sell his songs to anyone who wanted them, but now he pretty much only writes for Bree Belacourt?” Hank asks.
Joan laughs, a deep, feminine sound. “You can’t lay off the poor girl, can you?”
“I’m just saying it’s extra suspicious.”
“We all know your theory, Hank. You don’t have to spell it out for us again.”
“We don’t know it,” Bree says.
My stomach is in knots.
“Maybe there are some new listeners tonight, tuning in for the first time.”
“Okay, fine.” Joan sounds patient. “Why don’t you share it with us while I cue up our next song?”
“It’s Bree.”
“The next song?” Joan asks.
“No, the songwriter. Duncan Doran is a pseudonym for someone who wants to keep themselves anonymous, obviously. The person has collaborated with Jaida once, and now Bree has this insanely catchy diss track that matches the vibe of all of Duncan Doran’s songs. That means they’re the same person, right? It makes sense.”
“Sure, Hank. Whatever you want. Now, coming at you is the latest from Bree Belacourt: ‘Hashtag Medusa’.”
The song begins, and Bree hits the radio button, throwing us into silence.
“I love when people get things so wrong,” Olive says. “You don’t knoweverything, Hank.”
Bree nods. Her eyes are trained out the window, and I want to know what she’s thinking. How much of that stuck in her head? What is she assuming right now?
“Is he wrong, though?” she finally asks, her tone quiet. “I mean, he’s right. Duncan wrote for everyone equally until I started singing, then I got priority. It felt like his songs were written for me.”
She won’t look at me, but deep inside, I have the feeling she knows. The rest of the drive home is uncomfortable. Colby turns on the radio again but finds a different station, and we pull over before we get home so we can all climb in the trunk and lay down. Bree chooses to lay on the other side of Zoey, so I’m not anywhere near her.
That’s definitely a signal.
Colby pulls into his garage without issue and we climb out of the truck, but when Zoey and Olive head inside, Bree puts her hand on my wrist to keep me back. Colby shoots us a look but disappears inside with the girls, letting the garage door fall shut with a heavy thud.
Bree releases my arm. She looks like she’s heavily concentrating on something, but when her eyes turn on me, they’re fiery. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re Duncan Doran?”
I inhale, the smell of Colby’s old garage filling my nose. “Yes.”
26
BREE
My thoughts had been dartingaround rapid fire until Benny’s confession a moment ago, and now they’ve all died to a steady, warm hum. The two remaining questions bouncing in my brain are pressing on me, though. Why me? And why didn’t he tell me?
“So much for real estate,” I say flippantly.
“I have a portfolio of properties too. That wasn’t a lie.” He takes a step closer, concern swimming in his blue eyes. “You have a right to be mad.”
“I’m not mad, just confused.”
“Okay, what can I…how can I make you feel less confused?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“I haven’t told anyone.”