I wanted very much to figure out what had happened. What I didn’t want was for Emma’s death to be turned into a spectacle. It would be debated and most people wouldn’t believe any of the ghostly parts of it.
The ones who didn’t believe would disbelieve anything I found out about Emma’s death. It had to be kept quiet. All of it. Emma deserved justice, not to be turned into some kind of pageant to show that the paranormal world was more prevalent than we realized.
My grand exit would have been a lot more dramatic if I hadn’t dropped my keys. I counted to three as I stooped to pick them up, frustrated with myself and my clumsiness. When I rose . . . Keats was right there next to me.
“Madison, people have the right to know that the world isn’t as cut and dry as they believe. There’s things out there that can hurt them and nobody knows about them. You and I can make sure nobody is in the dark!”
I unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing it in his face before he could say more. I wanted it to feel satisfying. It didn’t. I felt like a failure, both to Emma and to the world.
Maybe Keats was right. Maybe people really did have the right to know what was going on. If I made that decision, it would change everything.
No. I would find out the truth about Emma’s death. That was all. I wasn’t an investigator. I was a teenage girl with a desperate desire to figure out how her best friend had truly died.
With a decisive nod, I walked up to my bedroom and got to work. I had already hacked into the medical examiner’s mainframe. All I had to do was find Emma’s file.
I closed and locked my bedroom door behind myself before getting down to business. What I needed was simply to remind myself what had stuck in my mind from that night. I wasn’t sure there was enough strength inside me to see it again. There was no other choice.
Something had stuck out in my memory. What had it been, though? What detail would I have noticed?
I took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. I could do this. There was no other choice. It was the only way to find the answers I was looking for.
My heart fluttered as I entered Emma’s name into the search bar along with her date of death. All I wanted was to curl up and cry. Her file came up immediately, her picture at the top.
Tears filled my eyes as I scanned through the document. I had seen it all but to have it written out in the stark, unemotional way that file made it all sound was more painful than I could handle.
A shudder escaped me as I opened the file of pictures. It was a mix of photos taken by the medical examiner and the police. Everything about it made me feel sick.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and did my best to fight back the bile that rose in my throat. I breathed slow and deep, praying for strength. I needed it. Time to nut-up.
I held my breath as I clicked on the link to the pictures the cops had taken. It was like stepping inside my worst nightmare. It was so much worse than my nightmares, though.
The pictures showed in gory detail every aspect of the Gregory’s garage. It showed the organized way the tools were arranged, the bikes and other childhood toys, the shoes that Mrs. Gregory didn’t allow to be worn in the house. It was all there next to the distorted figure that hung from the rafters.
It was like I stepped back in time. The excitement that had been mine filled me up, only to be replaced by anguish. I had stood and stared for ten full seconds before my brain kicked itself into gear. I had called the police, hysterical. It was all so wrong.
That was when the thing which had stuck out in my memory registered in my mind. Emma’s sweatshirt was one I had given her for her birthday. Its string had sparkles which glowed in the dark. I had thought it was hilarious. Every time we’d wandered our way out into the woods, that was what she wore.
That was it. The sparkly string wasn’t on the hoodie. It was so obvious, yet also ambiguous. If I hadn’t known Emma, I would never have noticed it at all.
Ice filled my gut as I stared at the pictures. Could that have been it? Could Emma have been strangled, then hung in the garage to conceal how she’d truly died? Who would do that kind of horrible thing?
My mind flickered to Ian. He had specifically told me that he’d been annoyed with Emma the night she died. She had texted him, asking him to come and pick her up. Why? Where had she been? Where had HE been?
I scanned through the police file until my eyes fell on Ian’s name. He had been the first one home. After the cops had shown up, he had pulled in so they had asked him questions.
He had been angry. I remembered that very clearly. He never spoke disrespectfully to anyone in authority. That evening, I remembered him being very short with the guy who spoke to him.
What the file in front of me said, was that Ian had been out on a date. The girl’s name was listed and she had confirmed that he had been with her the whole time. Was it possible she had lied?
Why, though? Ian had gotten annoyed with his sister like any guy would. He hadn’t ever been cruel. He had always come through for her. I had never noticed any resentment in him for her.
What if I was wrong? What if it had all been a ploy? Even serial killers sometimes had sweet faces and outwardly friendly dispositions.
No. I would take nothing at face value. The girl’s name had been listed in the file. I would go and talk to her, see if she stuck to her story that Ian had been with her through their whole date.
FIFTEEN
I was not a girl who was comfortable in a mall. There were too many people. The beauty of shopping online was the lack of lines and the fact it enabled me NOT to have to set foot inside a mall.
The problem was, Ian’s date apparently worked there. Awesome. One more strike against the guy. He had gone on a date two years ago with a girl who worked in a place I avoided at all cost.
A laugh almost bubbled out as I saw the girl. I remembered her. Blossom had been a good-girl, a female version of Ian. She got good grades, NEVER got in trouble, never put herself in situations where trouble could find her.
The girl who stood behind the counter looked like ‘trouble’ was her middle name. She looked like she’d gone through a complete personality metamorphosis in the last two years. The Goth girl with leather, studs, tattoos, piercings and the distinct odor of weed about her, looked like she’d never seen a good-girl in her entire life.
I walked up to the counter and gave her a nod of greeting. “Hi. I don’t know if you’ll remember me. I’m—”
“You’re that hacker girl who always hung out with Emma Gregory,” she finished for me as her teeth toyed with what seemed to be a tongue ring.
“Uh, yeah,” I responded, surprised that she would have noticed me since we hadn’t moved in the same circles. “I’m Madison.”
She didn’t respond to my introduction, instead setting her hands on the countertop. “What do you want?” she asked, not appearing to care that I was a potential customer.
I decided to get to the point. “Do you remember the night that Emma died?” I asked and held my breath.
Blossom rolled her eyes. “Of course I do,” she snapped like she thought I was stupid for asking. “I got asked out by the kind of guy my mom has been trying to shove down my throat for years. Then the cops came by to see if Ian had really been on a date with me and my mom started flipping out, trying to tell the cops she always knew there was something wrong with Emma. It wasn’t the best day.”
My heart began to flutter wildly in my chest. “Blossom, can you tell me what happened that night?” I asked, my hands a little shaky with a mix of nervousness and anxiety.
What if she told me she had lied to the cops? What if she confirmed my suspicion? How could I handle something like that?
Blossom pinched her lips together and nudged her chin around the store. “Absolutely. You buy something and I’ll tell you about that night,” she finagled, her hands still on the counter.
I scowled and grabbed the first pair of earrings I saw, practically throwing them at her. “Tell me,�
� I ordered, desperate to know the truth.
Blossom used her teeth to worry her tongue ring before she began to ring up those earrings. “Nothing happened . . . at all. We went to dinner. He took me to a movie. We pretended to be interested in each other. He took me home ten minutes before curfew and left. He didn’t even try to kiss me. He was boring as dirt.”
“What time was your curfew?”
“11:00.”
“Did he leave at any point during your date?”
She huffed out a loud breath and held out her hand between us. “Why are you asking? It was two years ago. Why does it matter?”
I placed cash in her hand, my eyes fixed on hers. “I need to know. Emma didn’t kill herself. She was murdered,” I breathed, praying she would answer the question.
Blossom stared at me for a few uncomfortable seconds before she let out a loud snort of laughter. “And you think Ian did it? What kind of an idiot are you? That boy doesn’t have the heart to hurt a fly, let alone his precious little sister.” She continued to laugh as she slammed my change down on the counter between us. “Ian was with me. There were fifty people in the restaurant he took me to who can tell you the same thing, along with a few hundred people at the theater. He was the last good thing that happened in my life and if you can’t see that he’s a good guy, you’re dumb as a brick.”
I didn’t back down, determined to learn as much as she would tell me. “What if that’s all an act? How can we know for sure that—”
She swore at me before she leaned over the counter, took hold of my shirtfront, and hauled me closer. “Ian Gregory thought you hung the moon and stars with your brainy little hands. He talked about you like you were some kind of deity. ‘Maddie always says,’ or ‘Maddie told me the other day,’ every day. He got teased about it but he never cared. That boy would have done anything, either for you or his sister. And here you stand, accusing him of murdering her?” she shoved me away and waved her hand toward the entrance. “Get out of my store and never come back. If I see your smug little face again, I’ll break it.”
I stood still, my eyes filling with tears. She was right. Blossom had it absolutely right. I should never have even suspected that Ian could possibly have had anything to do with Emma’s death.
Tears slid down my cheeks as I shuffled my way out of the store. Ian. He had always been around, keeping an eye on me and Emma. He had been devastated by Emma’s death. I had concluded that he was a murderer for no real reason at all.
I owed Ian a serious apology. He had become important to me again in the last week. That brought me up short.
Maybe that was the issue. I hadn’t trusted Ian because Mom had taught me not to trust guys at all. She had told me every day of my life that males were liars who were selfish, lazy, and controlling. I hadn’t even realized that I had allowed her opinion on men to distort my views.
I swallowed hard and wiped away my tears. No more crying. It was time to nut-up and apologize to Ian. If he would forgive me, we had a lot of research to get done together.
I gnawed on my bottom lip, fidgeting with my fingers. What was I going to say? Ian was a very forgiving guy. That kind of thing would be difficult for anybody to shrug off, though.
Hey, I’m really sorry. I thought you might have murdered your sister then tried to make it look like a suicide. I would have kept believing it if not for Blossom, who now loathes me.
Oh yeah. Perfect phrasing. I would totally forgive anybody who said that to me. I gave myself a mental face-palm and sighed in relief as I stepped out of the mall. It was such a comfort to see the blue sky above me, to feel the cool breeze whispering over my skin, to hear . . . traffic. Ugh. More than anything, I wanted to go to our spot in the woods. The Gregory’s house was the only place that had ever felt like a home to me when I was a kid.
That was no longer the case. I had a home with Darlene, Imogen, and Serena. They had become my family. Dad was a part of my life. I wasn’t the lonely little girl anymore.
I gave myself a mental pep-talk while walking to my car. I could do this. Or maybe I wouldn’t have to.
It wasn’t like I’d specifically told Ian my thought process. I’d booted him out of my car and drove off at supersonic speeds. Maybe he wouldn’t need an explanation.
A groan escaped me as I got into my car. There was no way my luck would be that good. I would have to grovel. I had been a massive error code. I was a 404 error and deserved whatever he doled out.
With the younger version of Ian, what he would have doled out would have been a verbal smack-down. He would have given me a look of the utmost derision and made me want to cry for weeks.
The new and improved version of him . . . I had no idea. We didn’t know each other. We had spent a few hours in total in each other’s company in the last week. He had been sweet but I had seen him fighting to hold his tongue several times.
Yeah, he was going to rip me a new one. There was no guarantee he would ever talk to me again.
My stomach clenched as I turned the car on and the radio began to play. “The police have begun looking into the death of Manuel Brumoso after this finding. They no longer believe that either boy took their own lives,” the voice of the reporter said solemnly. “And now, on to sporting news.”
My hands shook as I turned the radio off. The police were looking into it. Maybe they would look into Emma. Maybe . . . but her case was closed. Her death had been ruled a suicide.
Before the thought had fully registered in my mind, my phone was out. I had a general memory of where to go, not a definite one, though. I needed the address.
My mind was blank as I began to drive. I wanted to call Ian. I wanted to think of the perfect things to say. I wanted many things. No clear thoughts would form.
I didn’t turn the radio on again. My hands were clenched around the wheel. They had to know. If they didn’t know, I would tell them.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot, my head had cleared at least a little bit. I had to be careful. I was most definitely treading on thin ice.
The smell of stale coffee and sweat greeted me as I pulled the doors open, the fluorescent lighting giving the building and all its inhabitants a starkness that almost made me cringe. I stood and stared for a moment, nervousness beginning to push its way inside me.
“May I help you?”
I blinked and looked over to find a young police officer sitting behind a desk, giving me an inquiring look. I kind of wanted to run away but it was too late. I had made up my mind. It was time to do what I had come to do.
I took a step closer and cleared my throat. “I’d like to speak to the detective in charge of the Manuel Brumoso and CJ Tucker cases,” I said, my voice a little weak.
“Do you have information regarding the case?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. “I . . . do,” I breathed.
The officer rustled things around on his desk before he extended a clipboard in my direction. “Fill this out and I’ll see what I can do,” he said noncommittally as someone came in the door behind me.
I walked over to a little waiting area and sat down, doing all in my power to stay patient. All I’d wanted was to talk to the detective to tell them about Emma. If I saw the detective at all, I’d be shocked.
I filled out the paperwork, nervous to have more information about me on file. Why hadn’t I called? It would have been so much easier. I could have left a message or something.
“You’re Madison Meyer, aren’t you?” a guy said from right next to me.
I looked over to find the man who had been talking to Dad the night before. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with a shaved head and the hard kind of expression that made him seem like he’d seen it all.
It made me nervous that he knew my name. I didn’t comment on that. I stood up and handed him the mostly filled out sheet of paper. “I am Madison Meyer, yes.”
“Detective Bukowski,” he said by way of greeting.
I inclined my head in acknowledgm
ent of his name and pressed on before my nerve failed me. “If it’s okay, I’d like to talk to you, Detective,” I said with a prayer he would listen to me.
He took the clipboard and motioned for me to follow him. That was all. He said nothing more as we walked through the rows of desks where police officers did paperwork and drank that stale coffee.
It made me feel like a criminal being led through there like that. I shouldn’t feel that way, though there it was. Despite the fact it had nothing to do with me, my mind would not allow me to forget the first time I’d been led through a police station by a detective.
I balked a little as Bukowski opened the door to what looked like an interrogation room. It wasn’t the kind you saw on TV with the mirror on one wall and table that had a bar to attach handcuffs to. It was only an office that I didn’t want to go in.
“Can’t I just tell you this in the waiting area?” I pleaded, nervous at the idea of being closed in that small a space with a guy I didn’t even know.
He shook his head and motioned me in without a word.
Okay, Madison. The time to nut-up has come, I told myself.
I took in a deep breath and strapped on my big-girl pants. It wasn’t even close to as creepy as I’d thought it would be, though. It was only a room, nothing intimidating about it in the least.
By the time I’d figured out there was nothing to be afraid of, Bukowski had closed the door and moved to sit on one side of the table. “Miss Meyer, you have a record,” he stated as though I didn’t know it.
I sat down and folded my hands on the table. “My record is sealed,” I stated.
I’d been eight when I’d written an algorithm to shut down the security system in the Gregory’s house when Emma had lost her keys. I hadn’t realized at the time that shutting the system down meant the security service was notified and the police were called. Because I had been so young, they hadn’t pressed charges against me. They had actually offered my mom quite a bit of money for that algorithm.
The Girl In White Page 10