by Marlie May
Manuel tucked me in, even pulling my blankets up to my chin and kissing the tip of my nose.
“You want prayers?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
I scowled, which brought out his snicker.
“I appreciate you hanging out with me,” I said, once I was over my snit.
“I want to. I know we’re not, like, official or anything like that but I freaked out when I heard you’d had an accident.” Dragging my desk chair over beside the bed, he sat. “You rest. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t even record you snoring.”
I rolled my eyes.
Now that I was lying in bed with Manuel sitting beside me, I felt wide awake. Sleep was overrated. I wanted to spend this time talking with him.
“So, what happened last night?” he asked.
I explained, then remembered something I’d avoided mentioning to my aunt.
“While I was driving home,” I said. “I got a text from an unknown sender.” I recited the warning. “Now, I wonder if all this is connected to the lamp that almost fell on me in the library.”
Since the maintenance man had explained it away as nothing, I’d put it behind me.
“That was you?” He raked his hair. “I’d heard…shit. Of course, this means something. Someone’s watching you, trying to hurt you. I don’t like this.”
“They must know I’m looking into my parents’ murder. And this proves it’s murder, doesn’t it? Someone doesn’t want me finding evidence to prove what they’ve done.”
Mr. Somerfield being my primary suspect.
“We should stop,” Manuel said. “Finding out who murdered your parents and Brianna isn’t worth endangering your life. Next time—”
“There won’t be a next time. I’ll be more careful.”
“How? You can’t hide behind locked doors. You’ll have to leave the house sometime.” Rising, he paced around my room. “We should talk to the police.”
That had gone really well last time. “We don’t have anything more than we had before. I’m not even sure the papers I found in Mr. Somerfield’s office mean anything.” I explained about them. “They could just be old chemical formulas from his past.”
He faced me, starkness apparent in his features. “Do you think that? Truly?”
I sighed. How could I? All of this had to tie together. “No.”
“Are you thinking the text is related to the accident or just a warning?”
“I don’t know what to think. But probably not. I pushed to make the green light, then swerved to avoid the car. I’m the one who hit the pole.” The events couldn’t be tied together.
“Maybe.” He growled. “I won’t stand for anyone threatening you.”
Me either. But I liked that he cared enough he wanted to protect me. I felt the same about him. “Maybe it was a prank. Or they got the wrong number.”
No one wanted me dead, did they?
“My phone was destroyed,” I said. “So, we can’t try to trace the message, even if we wanted to prove someone was involved.” Focused on the swirls in the painted ceiling, I told him that the photos of the formulas I’d found in Mr. Somerfield’s office would be in my cloud storage. “I can access them on my laptop. I’ll show them to Sean. He’s taking AP Chem and could tell us what it all means, if anything. My aunt could, too, but she’s stressed enough already.”
“Sean, it is, then. I’m curious to hear what he thinks.” Manuel strolled around my room, sliding his fingers along the spines of my books. Nancy Drew and the Boxcar Children. I hadn’t read them for years but hated to box them up and put them away. He paused by my desk. “You want your laptop before I go?”
I wished he didn’t have to leave at all.
“I think my aunt would kill me if she saw me using it.” I had a good suspicion that surfing online would not be considered resting.
“Oh, hey,” I said. Somehow, I hadn’t lost the scrap of paper with the license plate number of Mr. Somerfield’s visitor. I handed it to Manuel and told him about the man. “He might be no one, but he could be important. Any chance you can look up the plate number online?”
“I might be able to find some information about it.” He tucked the paper into his pocket. “What’s this?” He tapped the metal box I’d left on my dresser.
I told him where I’d found it. “I don’t know where the key is.” It hadn’t been on Dad’s car keychain, nor on the hook in the kitchen. I was determined to search his office again but hadn’t found time to do it.
“Hmm,” Manuel said. Tilting the box, he squinted at the lock.
He set it on my bed and strode into my bathroom, returning with a bobby pin, which he straightened.
“That doesn’t work except on TV,” I said. Actually, I’d already tried it.
His lips curled up on one side. “I told you I was magic, didn’t I?”
I huffed, refusing to feed his ego, but my smile couldn’t stop rising.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, he pulled the box onto his lap with the lock facing up.
I sat up to see better.
He pinched his upper lip with his teeth while sliding the bobby pin into the lock. With his eyes closed, he wiggled the pin around. Wiggled it some more.
With a click, the lock opened.
“Cool,” he said. He tossed the pin toward my trash bucket.
I leaned back, gaping at him. “How did you do that?”
“Lockpicking is just one of the skills I recently picked up.”
“Where did you learn something like that?”
He turned, and his eyes gleamed. “Already told you. I’m a librarian.”
20
Taking the box from him, I stared down at it lying on my lap.
Now that I’d finally discover if Dad had secrets, I wasn’t sure I dared delve deeper.
“You going to open it?” Manuel’s eyes rested on mine. “It’s not going to bite you.”
My shaky laugh burst out. He was right. I wouldn’t discover anything scary inside here, would I?
With trembling fingers, I lifted the lid. My sigh eked out of me. “Not much here.” Even I could hear the disappointment in my voice. I didn’t know what I’d hoped to find. Maybe something tangible from my parents I could cling to forever. Or a clue to unraveling this mystery.
“A notebook.” Manuel lifted it out, flipped back the cover, and started reading. “I’m not quite sure what all this is.”
I leaned closer to see better. My father had written in a list of names and numbers with dollar signs, in dated order.
“Eleven hundred dollars. Two thousand. Eight hundred,” I said. “And even nineteen hundred. Multiple entries, going back for almost fifteen years.”
“Payments to someone?” Manuel asked.
“Maybe.” I pointed to a line on the page. “Journey to Recovery Center. Sounds medical.”
Manuel pulled his phone and looked it up. “This one’s an exclusive rehab facility.”
“Like where old people go after they break their hips?”
“Like for addictions. Alcohol. Drugs. You name it.” He read from his phone. “In addition to alcohol and substance abuse disorders, we also specialize in behavioral addictions, such as food, sex, gambling, Internet, and shopping.”
Shopping. Like on Etsy?
Crap. Or like my aunt and her alcohol problem?
“If they’re payments, that’s a hefty fee,” I said. Why had my father sent so much money to a rehab facility? I didn’t want to jump to conclusions about my aunt but combined with everything else, but it sure was suspicious.
Manuel sifted through the notebook. “According to this, there were three payments made to Journey to Recovery during the past ten years.”
“A payment plan?”
“I imagine an exclusive place like this wants their money immediately.”
I waved to the notebook. “Do you think any of this actually matters?” Although, it must’ve mattered to my father since he’d put it inside a locked box and tucked it into hi
s closet. But now that he was gone, it could mean nothing.
“Hard to say.”
“Why lock it up?”
He shook his head. “We can search for the names mentioned next to the other amounts online if you want.”
“I’d like to call the recovery center, too. Maybe they’ll give us information.” For curiosity’s sake, if nothing else. I needed to try.
I yawned, and Manuel’s gaze followed the movement.
We tossed the notebook into the box, and he returned it to my bureau. Crossing the room, he leaned his butt on my desk.
“What now?” I asked.
“More reading?” He held up the Lord Byron book. “It was so exciting last time, you fell asleep. I’m starting to get a complex.”
I winced. “Sorry. I did love listening.” I twisted my lips into a frown. “What time is it? Not having a phone is going to drive me out of my mind.”
He pulled his. “Close to eight.”
“I don’t want you to go.” I didn’t like how clingy I sounded, but I’d attribute it to being weak after my accident.
“I can come by tomorrow after school and take you to get a new phone if you’d like. I’ve got my car back.”
“That would be perfect.” I paused. “I’ll have to sneak out, but my aunt has detention duty again after school.” What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. If I asked to go with Manuel, I had a feeling she’d say no. But I needed a phone and this was a perfect time to get one.
As if on cue, from downstairs, my aunt called, “Five minutes left.”
Ugh.
Manuel smiled and strolled toward me. “Lie back so I can tuck you in again.”
I hated to say goodbye. But my aunt would not let eight pass without storming my bedroom. She took her guardian—and auntie—role, much too seriously.
I flopped back onto my pillow and pouted. “I’m not going to sleep. It’s freakin’ eight-o-clock.”
“You just need to rest.” Pulling up the blankets, he tucked them along the side of the bed and smoothed the sheet underneath my chin.
“All I’ve done today is rest.” From my tone, anyone would think I was a petulant child but I couldn’t help it.
If I was this cranky, maybe I did need to rest.
Bracing his palms on either side of my shoulders, Manuel leaned forward.
“Three minutes,” my aunt yelled.
He jumped. “She’s stimulating me, that’s for sure.”
“I had fun last night.” Sitting with him by the sea had been special. I wanted to do something like that again. Soon.
“Me, too.”
“Hey, um, one kiss won’t excite me too much.” Bold of me, but I hadn’t been able to forget that kiss in Mr. Somerfield’s office.
Manuel’s lips brushed mine. “Don’t tell me I’ve lost my touch already.”
The next day, while everyone else went to school, I continued my invalid status. My head still pounded but not as bad as it had after the accident.
“You will not return to school until tomorrow,” Aunt Kristy said.
“Doctor’s orders?”
“Mine.” She propped me on the sofa again with pillows, beverages near at hand, plus the clicker, my computer, books, an array of snack foods, coloring books and markers—I wasn’t sure where she’d gotten those. And a bag of candy.
She tapped her foot and stared at me. “I’ll stop by during my lunch break to check on you.”
While I hated that she hovered, my heart warmed to her concern. I liked having someone care about me again.
Mid-morning, when I was scrolling through Netflix, Alex sent me a text. Heard you had an accident. You okay?
Yeah. Head hurts, but I’m mostly just stiff and sore. My dad’s car’s totaled, though.
Mom got me a car. I can come by after school and hang out if you want.
Sure. Secretly thrilled but trying to keep cool, I gave her my address.
Mid-afternoon, she knocked on the door. I let her in and offered her some snacks since I had a junk food buffet spread out across the coffee table.
“I’m not hungry, thanks.” She dragged a chair closer and pushed her polka dot glasses up onto her nose. “My mom’s looking at houses in this neighborhood. Maybe we’ll live nearby soon.”
“That would be great.” We could get together and study.
I wasn’t seeking Alex out solely from pity or because we had our burns in common. We connected in a way I hadn’t with anyone since Brianna. I only hoped she felt the same.
“I don’t remember you from last year,” I said, then slapped my hand over my mouth when I realized how the comment sounded. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s okay. I used to be really forgettable until this.” She lifted her hand to her pressure garment and gave a bitter laugh. “But no one will be forgetting me now, right?”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No, really, it’s fine. I’m sick of people feeling bad for me. I wish there was some way I could turn this into something less…horrible, you know? Like…” Standing, she waved her arms with a flourish. “I could be one of those women with a commanding presence. I walk into the room, and everyone notices me.” She shrugged. “Since they’re staring at me already, might as well give them something worth looking at.”
I snickered.
“Not that I’ll ever be a model, now.”
“Is that what you wanted to be, before…”
“I don’t know what I was going to study.” She coughed. “Well, I guess I should want to be a doctor or a nurse because they took care of me in the hospital.”
“Decent professions.”
“Maybe I’ll be a plastic surgeon. Help kids with burns.” Her attention focused on me. “How about you? What do you want to study in college?”
I’d always thought I’d study piano. But I hadn’t touched the keys since before I got burned. Would my fingers remember the music? “I’m not sure. Maybe liberal studies at first?” I could decide what I’d do after I got there.
Someone keyed the code on the door and it opened wide.
“Honey, I’m home!” Sean called out.
Alex’s lips drooped. “Him.”
Could she try to be nice to him? “Sean said he’d bring over my homework.”
She stood and fidgeted with the tips of her wig. “I’ve got to go.”
“You just got here.” I reached out to her, but she evaded my touch. “Stay a little longer? Please?” I hated begging, but we’d had fun. Sean wouldn’t ruin that.
“I can’t.”
Can’t or won’t? While I wanted to, I wouldn’t push. A good friendship might be in our future but if she couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Sean, we’d find that relationship challenging. It hurt that we might not be able to make this work between us.
Alex scooted past Sean and out the front door, which she banged shut behind her. In moments, her car started, and her tires peeled on the road.
I shoved out a breath, making my hair flip.
He stared after her. “Something I said again?” He shook his head and strolled into the room. “She’s…weird. And…weird. But, there’s something familiar about her.”
I really didn’t know what he was talking about. “She’s gone to Finley Cove High School for four years. While her face is different, her mannerisms must be the same. You must remember her from that.”
“That must be it.” Sean turned the chair around and sat on it backward. “But enough about her. How are you? Feeling better?”
“I’ve felt okay all along, just sore. I’ve still got a headache. I can’t wait to go back to school.” Something I never thought I’d say. Absence did make the heart grow fonder.
“You didn’t miss much today.” He handed me a notebook. “Everything you need is in there, including a study guide for your AP American Gov test you have Thursday, although the teacher said you could delay taking it until next week. I have notes from when I took it last year if you want.”
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br /> I thumbed through the pages, each addressing one of my subjects in neat handwriting. “Sure.”
We chatted about school, and Sean talked about one of our classmates who was also in the running for the Upstanding Citizen Award.
“Chris doesn’t stand a chance, does he?” I asked. “Not really.”
“Nah.” Sean glanced away. “He might’ve at one time, but not after the accident.”
“What do you mean?” I hadn’t heard about Chris being involved in an accident, but I’d been out of the loop lately with my own injuries and settling back into school.
“You didn’t hear about it? Last week, he and his dad were working in the shop. You know how his father sells those wooden things at craft fairs. For whatever reason, the guard on the table saw malfunctioned. Sliced two of Chris’s fingers clean off. They reattached them, but he’s going to be out of commission for some time. His grades have dropped. A lot.”
Unable to imagine how painful the injury must’ve been, I shuddered. “Wow.”
“Yeah. It was horrible. Just goes to show,” Sean said. “You need to be careful when you work with power tools. But I’m not worried too much about the Award. Not just because he was my only competition, but because I’ve clocked all those hours volunteering the past three summers at the Sacred Heart Veteran’s Center. That’s definitely going to give me an edge.”
“And will likely win you that scholarship.”
Color rose in his face, and he grinned. “My mom is going to be so freakin’ proud of me.”
“Your brothers, too.” Heck, I was proud of Sean. He’d worked hard to earn this honor. He deserved it. I leaned forward. “Hey, before you go.”
His lips twisted. “You telling me to leave already?”
“Ha, ha. But really, can I get your help with a few chemical formulas I’m trying to figure out? I’m clueless with chemistry. You know that.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“I’ll email them to you if that’s okay. And thanks in advance.”
“No problem.” He stood. “I actually do need to go home, though. I’ve got a paper due the end of the week, and I’ve got to work tonight.”
It always astonished me that Sean could maintain the best GPA in our class and still work thirty hours a week as a cook at a diner. With so much going on, he must be efficient with his time.