Chasing Secrets: A YA mystery thriller (Gregory Academy Mysteries Book 1)

by Jill Cooper

  “Are you threatening me?” My voice edges up slightly, but I manage to control it.

  Mr. Davis shakes his head. “Just some friendly advice. I want to see you succeed here. Don’t make me regret it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  We go out for dinner at a pizzeria, but all I can think about is Mr. Davis and what he said. It makes me wonder what secrets the town is keeping and if they all cycle back to Amber Chetwood. Or are there more? Had Mr. Davis known her? Did he have information that I needed? If he did, how could I possibly get it? He didn’t seem like the type to spill his guts, which is exactly what I need him to do.

  I need to investigate a lot more than just Amber and her friends. I need to look into teachers, the Chetwoods, everyone. If the town was hiding a big, dark secret, I’m going to uncover it.

  When I return with two sodas, Mom is just hanging up her phone. “Who was that?” I ask, with no hope at all it might be my dad.

  “Grandpa Hector. He…wanted to see how we were doing.” Mom smiles but it’s a weak attempt.

  Hector is my Dad’s dad. He calls often but I can tell he feels guilty about what’s happened to us. Not that it’s his fault.

  “That’s good.” I grab a piece of pizza for my plate. “Is he okay?”

  “Sure, yeah.” Mom laughs. “He’s fine.” She tears the crust from her pizza and nibbles on it. When the door to the side of us opens, she glances over her shoulder.

  “Mom, you don’t need to be so nervous. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m not nervous.” She sits up straighter and brushes her hands together, flicking crumbs across the red and white striped tabletop.

  I smirk. “It’s probably just like Mr. Davis said. A prank. Hazing the new girl. We knew me going to a private school was going to be a hard sell.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be. You’re a great kid. I mean, look at you.” She leans over and runs her fingers through my hair. “You deserve to be here like everyone else. I don’t care who you look like; they won’t rob you of a good education. It’s not your fault…” Her voice fades, and she stands up from the table. She grabs her plate and cup before bringing them over to the trash can.

  I stare after her and chew down some cheese pizza. Poor Mom. Things have been hard for her since Dad left, and I hate to pile more crap on her plate. This is supposed to be our second chance. What if I’m messing all that up?

  Maybe I need to rethink my investigation, but I’m not sure I can let it go.

  Mom meets me at the table, and I throw my things away as we head toward the door. It pushes open, and I come face to face with Ryan again. He smiles, and I let out a nervous bubble of laughter. “I’m starting to think you’re following me.”

  “I’m just lucky, that’s all.”

  Mom raises her eyebrows at me with surprise. “I’ll see you at home, but don’t take too long.” She squeezes my hand and heads outside. I don’t know if I should feel relief or like I’ve been abandoned by my wingman.

  “Thanks for last night. Hitting the Chetwood estate, well, it saved my night.”

  Ryan smiles. “My pleasure. I love being haunted by ghosts and fleeing homes with you. Next time, we can try screaming all the way down the hill.”

  I feel a rush of excitement I try to ignore. “Let’s maybe keep that part to ourselves.”

  He steps to the side so he’s not blocking the entrance. “Oh, c’mon, Chase. Why not have a bit of fun? It’s the stuff legends are made of. It all gets twisted.”

  “Amber, she died. I don’t want to make light of what happened. Is that corny?”

  Ryan grows serious and shakes his head. “No. You’re right. I should respect the dead. What happened was a town tragedy. No one really got over it. The Sinclairs aren’t that bad, well except for Winnie.”

  I laugh. “I got the impression you two were close.”

  Ryan seesaws his hand back and forth. “Only because of who our families are. Otherwise, she wouldn’t pay me the time of day. Up at her house, birthright is more important than breathing. It’s all about blood.”

  “She’s not a vampire, right?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was.”

  I bite my lip. “I better get home. Mom’s waiting for me.”

  “Sure. Yeah. See you around.”

  I pull the door open, and Ryan touches the hem of my sleeve. “Can I message you? Maybe before the weekend is up, we can hang? Go for coffee? I’d really like us to get to know each other better.” He fingers a tendril of my hair.

  I enjoy how close he is. “Sure.” My heart patters out of control, but I keep the rapid excitement out of my voice. “I’d like that.”

  “Sweet.” He smiles. “I’d really like that, too. After our time in the old mansion, well, I think it’s pretty easy to get hooked on you.” He gently knocks my chin with his fist, and I grin. There might be one good thing about this town, and that just might be Ryan Alistair.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gregory Academy, Bay Harbor

  Jessica: September 9th, 2020

  I’m not supposed to meet Winfred until eleven on Saturday, which gives me time to work on my investigation without the prying eyes of school officials around. I wake up early and ride my ten-speed bike to the police station downtown. My bike isn’t glamorous but until I save up enough money to buy a car, this is what I have on the weekends.

  Unless I want to tell Mom why I need to borrow her car. Which I don’t.

  I arrive at the police station early. Just the place all teen girls like to be.

  “Detective Bruce McClain?” The desk sergeant asks and leans back in his chair. “What do you know about him?”

  “I don’t, but I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Yeah, well, you can’t. He’s not here. He retired back in 09.”

  “Oh.” My bubble bursts. “Do you know where I might find him? It’s for a school report I’m writing.”

  The desk sergeant stares at me, and I stare right back. His eyes narrow into little slits, and I do my best to appear angelic and truthful. When he starts to drum his fingers across the desk, I sigh. “Please, I’m not a hardened criminal.”

  Finally, he scribbles something on a post-it note and hands it to me. “Don’t get me in trouble with old Bruce, you hear? He goes there every morning for breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, short stack. If you catch him before coffee, it’ll be the end of your life. You hear me?”

  I hear him, but I won’t be deterred. “Thank you!” I skip out of the police station and head right for my bike. I have a diner to get to.

  Like all good diners, the front door jingles when I open it. Inside, chrome lines the walls, and all chairs and booths are bright vinyl red. The place smells good, though. It’s all coffee, maple syrup, and sizzling bacon. How can you go wrong with a place like that? I glance around at the different booths and the customers sitting at the counter.

  Which one of them is the former detective?

  “Sit anywhere you want, hon.” A waitress in a blue apron walks by, carrying a pot of coffee.

  “Okay, thanks.” I’m distracted. I walk along the side, looking for older men dining alone and eating blueberry pancakes. No one seems to fit the bill.

  “Looking for someone?”

  I turn and see where the voice came from. On the other side of the counter, Cameron stands with a fresh pot of coffee. “You work here?” I ask, surprised.

  “Nah,” Cameron smiles, “I always hang out on the wrong side of the diner countertop. Can I get you something?”

  “Coffee would be nice, thanks.” I take a seat at the counter and watch Cameron fill a mug for me. “I am looking for someone. He’s older and always orders blueberry pancakes. Have you seen anyone that fits that description?”

  “Today, no. But he comes in on the weekends. The only way I know is because he’s the only one who consistently needs his coffee warmed up. Even when it’s fresh. Not always the nicest guy.”

  I raise my eyebrows and open two
sugar packets to pour into my coffee. “Really?”

  Cameron nods. “It’s too early for him. He’ll be here soon. Usually by nine A.M.”

  The clock on the wall says I have about ten minutes. “I didn’t realize I left the house that early.”

  “Early bird gets the worm, right?” He smiles, and I admit to liking it.

  “You’ve been here a few months longer than me. What are your impressions of Bay Harbor?”

  Cameron shrugs and places the coffee pot down on its burner. “Nice enough. Coastal community. Everyone’s a bit quiet and closed off, I think. Maybe there are secrets simmering underneath. Especially at our school. So many clichés, man. The rich like things a certain way. I’m just lucky I got in, to be honest. I don’t want to rock the boat.”

  I hear that, but it seems I like to rock boats. “Seems you’re doing great so far. Me, not so much.”

  “We all have our talents.”

  The bell behind me jingles, and I turn to see an older guy enter the diner. He has silver hair and looks pleasant enough. When he sees me, he doesn’t smile but only heads to a booth at the back of the joint.

  I swivel back. “That’s him, isn’t it?” I whisper, almost afraid.

  Cameron nods as he pours a mug of coffee and sticks it into the microwave. “That’s him.”

  I watch Bruce McClain from behind my menu as Cameron brings him his coffee. I don’t want to jump in too fast, so I figure I’ll wait for him to order his food. But I keep my eye on him. Watching his mannerisms, wondering what he was like when he was younger. What would investigating the homecoming queen’s disappearance and murder have been like?

  Cameron returns and gives the order to the cook in the back. “He noticed you’re looking at him,” he says as he leans his elbows on the counter. “You know him?”

  I shake my head. “There’s an old cold case in town. About seventeen years ago. I’m curious and want to ask him some questions. He used to be a detective.”

  Cameron raises his eyebrows with interest. “Look at you. Little Miss Veronica Mars.”

  I laugh and dismiss him with a wave of my hand. “Hardly.”

  “Well, if you have some free time in your schedule, maybe we can go out for coffee sometime after school. My weekends are pretty chewed up here.”

  “Sure, yeah. That sounds nice.” I think of Ryan, but it’s not like anything has happened between us except for a kiss in a haunted mansion. I don’t know what his intentions are, and I sure don’t know what mine are either.

  “I’ll call you if you slip me your number.” He returns to the kitchen window to pick up a stack of blueberry pancakes, and I realize my big moment is coming up.

  I write my number on a napkin and leave it on the counter, and then I head over to Bruce McClain’s table. He’s drinking coffee and reading a folded newspaper, just off to the side of the tabletop. A wide-girthed man with a full head of white hair, he wears blue jeans and a tucked-in yellow t-shirt. I stop right in front of his table and twist my fingers together.

  I’m not sure how to start or what to say.

  “Can I help you with something?” He asks without looking up.

  “Are you the former detective Bruce McClain?”

  “I sure am, but no one really calls me detective anymore. They just call me old.” He glances up at me and violently starts. His head appears to be yanked back by an unseen force, and his eyes bulge.

  I hold my hand out. “I know who I look like, but I’m not her. I didn’t mean to scare you.” I keep forgetting the effect my face has on other people.

  He narrows his eyes. “Who in the hell—what do you want?” He folds his arms across his barrel chest and gives me the stink eye.

  “You investigated the death of Amber Chetwood?”

  Bruce nods. “Sure did. The both of them.”

  “Both of them?” I’m numb. I fall into the empty chair in front of him more than I sit in it.

  He shakes his head and gets a far off look in his eye—like he teleports to another time and another place. “Never forgot either of them. Not sure why I should open my heart to you about it.”

  “Painful memories. I get it.”

  Bruce’s eyes narrow, but he remains silent and studies my face. I don’t flinch, but it’s hard. I want to react and look away. I can feel how deep his scrutiny is. Slowly, his arms relax, and his lips part. I don’t know what he sees in me, but he starts to talk.

  “It was fall of 2003 and three weeks before homecoming when the station got a call from Martin Alistair. Boy was freaked out. Said he and Amber discovered a set of small bones at her house. I don’t know what he was doing there after midnight, but the bones were real. Amber was shaken. Almost couldn’t calm her down.”

  I swallow hard. “And the bones?”

  “A small child. DNA matched May and Rudolph Chetwood. Amber, or the teen we all knew as Amber, wasn’t a match for either of her parents. She was in no way a Chetwood.”

  I shudder. “That’s…. horrible.”

  Bruce nods. “Those tiny bones were ID’d to be the real Amber Chetwood, died as a small toddler. The skull was fractured. Anyone could’ve told you that just by looking at it. May and Rudolph confessed before it went to court. The jury had already been selected, and they saw the writing on the wall. They said it was an accident.”

  “But you didn’t buy it.”

  Bruce shakes his head. “Nope. Old man Chetwood had a temper. It might’ve been an accident, but it’d been one he caused.” Bruce pauses and pushes his plate of pancakes away. His skin goes a shade of green and looks like he’s going to be sick.

  “I’m sorry for making you relive that.”

  “I wish the story stopped there, but it doesn’t. Was only a short time later that Amber’s real mother showed up in town. Accused the Chetwoods of kidnapping her daughter in broad daylight. She was broke and strung up high at the time of her disappearance. Nobody cared about a junkie’s daughter.”

  Which was why they took her in the first place, I’m guessing… “Amber’s real name?”

  Bruce doesn’t even have to think about it. “Tessie.”

  My heart skips a beat—the letter I found in the Chetwood home was addressed to Tessie. It’s all starting to piece together.

  “The rich think they’re above the law. Especially the Chetwoods. They said they only wanted to dull their pain, but what they did rippled through this town deep. And whatever happened to Amber Chetwood on homecoming, started the day her real mother came to town.”

  “How?” I demand.

  Bruce leans forward, and there’s excitement in his voice. “There were whispers her friends turned on her. No one wanted to be friends with a commoner like Tessie Summers. Trailer trash, some called her. She was alone. The Sinclairs withdrew their support and her boyfriend, Jackson, I don’t think wanted to go along with it, but his mother…”

  “What’s she like?”

  “You ever hear of the bubonic plague?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “What a ringing endorsement.”

  He laughs. “That’s one way to put it. Rumor was, some of the kids were playing cruel jokes on Amber. Calling and hanging up. Spray painting her locker. When I heard she went missing, my first instinct was that it was a prank gone wrong.”

  I think back to everything I know. “Do you remember what your initial thoughts were?”

  Bruce nods. “I’d never forget it. Why is it important to you? Just because of your… resemblance?”

  “Isn’t that enough? She was my age, homecoming queen, and she was killed that very night. It’s tragic.”

  Bruce laughs bitterly, and his finger traces a circle on his newspaper. “It’s tragic, but it wasn’t like that.”

  I sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “This case gave me nightmares for years, and do you know why?”

  I shake my head and can barely breathe.

  I feel like he’s about to tell me something big. Earth-shattering. And I can’t
imagine what it might be.

  I cling to his every word.

  “No matter the evidence, no matter the reports and statements I pored over day after day, month after month, Amber Chetwood’s murder would never be solved, and do you know why?”

  I shake my head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Because not one damn person wanted it solved. The Sinclairs, the Alistairs, the police chief, and the mayor wanted it buried. Money runs this town, and solving Amber’s murder would do nothing but stop the gravy train. One of those families knows more than they’re saying. I just don’t know which.

  “Each of them had a kid at Gregory. Each of them had a motive to target Amber for revenge, jealousy, or anger. But there’s something I do know.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  Bruce taps the table firmly with his finger. “Amber Chetwood might’ve disappeared the night of the homecoming dance, but she didn’t die until nearly ten months later. The medical examiner’s report proved it.”

  My eyebrows edge up. Ten months later? “That’s how long it took for her body to wash up against the rocks.”

  “So we thought. Until we dated her decomposition rate and her waterlogged skin. She was in the water for less than two days.”

  The new information sucker punches me. “Where was she all that time?” I have visions of her being locked up in the Sinclair’s dungeon against her will, but I remember the letter. Amber was planning to leave town and go somewhere—but where? I thought her plans had been cut short because of her death, but now I’m wondering…

  What if she went where she meant to go?

  Bruce shrugs. “Beats me. I wasn’t allowed to follow up with any of the persons of interest I had in the case. Chief forced me to squash it.”

  Old money ran the town, and they liked their secrets. Maybe everyone in town was content to forget Amber, but I certainly wasn’t. “Do you remember who you were interested in?”

  “I’d never forget that. It’ll haunt me until the day I die but—” He leans forward. “Look, I can’t talk about it.”