by Avery Bell
“Oh. Well...” Mrs. Beasley bunched her faded lips in thought. She was a few years older than our mother, but she took care of herself. Slim, attractive hairstyle. Makeup lightly and expertly applied in a way that I hadn't yet mastered. A lovely face. It brightened; she'd remembered something. “He was a young man, white, with dark hair and eyes.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Was he thin?” I asked.
She nodded, considering. “I'd say so, yes.”
“Did he wear a black leather bracelet around his wrist?” Callie was scribbling furiously. She glanced up at me, confused.
Mrs. Beasley laughed. “Oh Evi, I'll never remember that sort of detail. I wasn't paying much attention at the time. We were pretty busy that day. Saturday, you know.”
“Sure,” I said. “Do you remember if he had an accent?”
“What sort of accent?”
I shrugged my shoulders, as if I were picking off the top of my head. “I don't know. English, maybe. Just trying to help.”
“No,” said Mrs. Beasley. “He sounded All-American to me. I'm fairly sure I would have noticed if he'd had an accent.”
Curiouser and curiouser. Callie finished making notes and gestured toward the locker. “Could you open it again, please? Just for formality's sake.”
Mrs. Beasley stooped and keyed open the locker. Its door swung open to reveal an empty interior. No surprises there. But Callie and I bent down to get a better look. She unclipped a flashlight from her utility belt and shined it around inside.
I grabbed her arm and pointed. “Callie!”
She saw it too. Across the bottom of the locker, just visible in the harsh beam of the flashlight, was a faint, muddy shoe print.
Chapter 3
I was quiet on the car ride home. Callie was excited, chattering away. She was sure that the Captain would reassign her to the case now that new evidence had been found. After we discovered it, she'd radioed in and photographs had been taken of the shoe print. It was measured by a specialist – Men's size 11, same size as the victim's feet. Mrs. Beasley had been asked by about five different cops for a description of the person who had come to empty the locker.
Black hair. Black eyes. White skin. Young. Thin.
Maybe I was biased by all the stuff that happened at school that day, but it sounded a lot like they were describing Arbor Vitae Damo da Rosa. Except for the accent thing. But he could have faked an American accent, or maybe Mrs. Beasley just didn't remember.
I knew he was hiding something.
Of course, part of my brain was telling me that I was being ridiculous. Just because I didn't like the guy didn't mean he was a murderer. Though if it were true, he would probably be the hottest murderer in the history of the universe.
I didn't like him... right?
Shut up, Evi's brain. You're being paranoid.
And just like that I went from scared back to merely annoyed. Arbor's insane sexual energy was causing me to think about him when I really didn't need to be wasting time. I had too much homework to do, and what with all the exhausting police work I'd just accomplished, not enough hours in the day.
So I brushed thoughts of Arbor aside as we pulled into the driveway. I didn't even stop to check the voice mail on my phone before I unzippered my backpack and tackled my Math homework, while Callie started dinner. Soon the delicious smell of sauteed onion filled the kitchen. Sines and cosines were swimming before my eyes like women in one of those old Busby Berkeley musicals.
The night passed as pleasantly as could be expected, considering all the work I had to do. I took a break around 8 o'clock to see if Ellen was on Gchat. We typed back and forth for a few minutes, and I couldn't help asking, When did you-know-who move here, anyway?
She typed back right away.
– Are you SERIOUSLY still thinking about him? You are not allowed to have a crush on him, Evi. Not after the way he treated you.
– I definitely don't. I'm just curious.
I wanted to tell her about the murder investigation, but I was sister sworn not to. So I left it vague. Luckily, Ellen's not one to pry. She knows the value of privacy, living in a small house with all those kids.
– Well, he only got here a couple weeks ago before the start of school. So, mid-August?
Hmm. Well, I knew it was a little ridiculous to think he was the killer. England is a pretty solid alibi, assuming it checked out. But no, it made sense that he'd only been here a couple weeks. If he had been here since early July, he'd already have a girlfriend. And Britta would be out for her head.
I said goodnight and signed off. The rest of my homework would have to wait. I'm a horrible procrastinator, and this year I'd made a pact with myself to get all assignments done as soon as possible. I guess that was already out the window. Le sigh.
I went downstairs and gave Callie a hug. She was watching a rerun of Law & Order, and kept remembering plot twists a few minutes before they happened on the show. I sat a while and kibitzed, then headed up to bed. It was only a little after nine, but I'd decided to get up early and do some work before school.
I shimmied into my pajamas and slid under the covers, utterly exhausted. Cool breezes came through the open window, caressing my hot face and making the curtains flutter reassuringly. Mom never liked that I slept with the window open, thought I'd catch a cold. But I love the end of summer, when the wind brings a song into my bedroom at night. I sighed happily, listening to the rush of air and the chirping of crickets outside, and fell right to asleep.
*
A noise woke me. I blinked my eyes, came out of a kaleidoscope of confusing dreams. My mother, and school... She kept shouting, trying to tell me something, but the noisy students in the cafeteria were drowning out her words. It was still dark.
I rolled over, groaning. My alarm clock read 3:44 in glowing green numbers. Slowly, I sat up. What was that noise? I was sure I'd heard something.
Slowly my vision adjusted, and I could see the familiar contours of my room. Nothing seemed out of place. Posters of punk and metal bands on the wall. Solar system painted on the ceiling. My computer, screen dark. The mess of clothes on the floor. Jumble of old stuffed animals on the loveseat by the closet. I can never seem to throw them away. And then –
My breath caught in my throat. The window was shut.
Something... someone... had just shut my window.
Holy crap.
I pulled my blankets tight around me, aware all of a sudden that my flimsy pajama top didn't leave much to the imagination. God, what if someone was in here? Where could they be? There were so many shadows. They could have slipped inside the closet, or under the bed. Barely breathing, I reached over to my bedside stand and fumbled around for my nail file. It was the only thing I had in the room that I could reasonably pretend was a weapon.
Voice trembling, I spoke. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Anybody there?”
No answer. Maybe there was no one to answer. Calm down, Evi, it's all in your head. Though... if I were a serial killer, would I answer myself? Probably not. Suddenly graphic scenes from all the horror movies I'd ever seen started running through my head. Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Psycho. Halloween. And now I was the girl in her pajamas shakily asking the darkness, “Anybody there?”
You don't want to be that girl.
My palms were sweaty. The nail file was slippery and cold. Jamie Lee Curtis had at least had a knife.
“Screw it,” I muttered. The silence and darkness were too oppressive; I couldn't stand it any longer. I did a flying leap out of bed and slammed up against the wall, scrambling for the light switch. I swear, those were the two longest seconds of my entire life.
I finally found the switch, flipped the lights on and turned around in the blazing brightness of my room, nail file at the ready. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. I expected to see a man in a mask standing over me, ready to chop my head off. But there was no one there.
I let out a long, slow brea
th and sank to the ground, flooded with relief.
And then I laughed at myself. All that stress for nothing. There were tears in my eyes when I heard a knock at the door.
“Evi?” A tired-sounding Callie pushed her way in, blearily wiping her eyes. “What's going on?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Bad dream; I really freaked myself out.”
“Oh.” She put up a hand and rubbed the back of her neck, eyes still fighting to open. “All right now?”
“Yeah, thanks. Sorry I woke you up.”
Callie yawned, mumbling something that sounded like “Taaahsokayguhnight,” and shuffled back off to bed.
I couldn't go back to sleep right away. I went to my computer and turned it on. While it booted up I checked my closet and underneath the bed, turning on every lamp in the room for maximum brightness. Nothing. It really had just been a coincidence. The window had closed on its own.
Shivering, I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and went to check out the window. It slid up easily and latched in the grooves designed to hold it in place. I was sure I'd heard that latching sound earlier when I'd opened it to go to bed. I tugged down hard on the window. It didn't give. Oh well, maybe I'd neglected to slide it up all the way. I'd been pretty tired, after all.
Wide awake now.
My computer finally finished booting up. It's pretty ridiculously old. I bought it secondhand last year with money saved up from babysitting. And a little help from my mom. It was only an hour and a half until my alarm was set to go off anyway. Might as well do some of the homework I had left.
I reflexively went on Google and checked my mail. Nobody was in Gchat, not surprising, but I had a new message. Oh, Lord. It was from [email protected].
“Please,” I pleaded with the universe, “let it be weird spam.”
I clicked it open and a couple lines of text popped up.
Dear Evangeline,
Looking forward to our date at the library tomorrow.
- Arbor
It had been sent at 3:00 a.m. “Oh my God,” I breathed. I was really creeped out. First of all, how did he know my email address? I knew I hadn't given it to him at school. And secondly, who is up at 3 o'clock on a random Tuesday morning?
And thirdly, why did he think our meeting was a date? Unless the English use that word differently, or something. To mean, like, “appointment.”
My brief panic died down. Jeez, I was really jumpy. He was probably just feeling guilty about how I'd overheard him and George. I was obviously upset; I'm sure he saw that. Maybe he was trying to be polite, to make it up to me so we could get through our Latin project with a modicum of civility. And there are tons of kids at school who would have given him my email address. (Especially if he flirted with them while he was asking for it.)
That didn't mean I had to encourage stalkerish behavior, however. I deleted the email without answering it and started doing some research online for a writing assignment. Before I knew it, the sun was coming up. As I opened my window and stuck my head out, glad that the world was again bright and knowable, a horrible thought struck me.
What if the click of the window that woke me wasn't an accident... wasn't the sound of someone coming in...
But the sound of someone going out?
*
I told Ellen about the Arbor email on the way to school.
“What do you think? Creepy weird or well-meaning weird?” I asked.
She blew out her cheeks and shook her head. “I'm going to have to go with moderately creepy.”
“Yeah, that's what I thought too. What's my strategy?” I really wasn't sure how to approach him now. He was such a mystery. He seemed so cool and above it all, and then he goes out of his way to email me. In the middle of the night. Like a psychopath.
“Just be direct,” said Ellen. “Tell him you don't appreciate his getting your address from someone else.”
“Solid advice.” But so hard to take. I frowned. “Ugh, I hate confrontations.” I could already tell I was going to pretend that the message had been blocked by my spam filter. As far as Arbor was concerned, I hadn't seen it at all.
We got to school and I went to rummage through my locker before class. Ellen's mirror made me smile. I got a head start on walking up to Latin this time, and Britta fell into step with me as I trudged up the stairs to the second story.
“Off to see your Latin lover?” Her voice was low and urgent.
“Huh?”
“Come on, Evi. Don't be such a prude. Shelby saw his car parked on the street outside your house last night when she was driving home from work. It's a Benz, super flashy. Everyone at school knows about it.”
“Excuse me? Whose car?”
Britta grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You know who. Come on, what were you doing? Working on your project? Ten o'clock on a weeknight's pretty late to have a boy at your house...”
“Oh, him. He wasn't there. I don't know what you're talking about.”
Britta frowned. “Um, super lame, Evi. I thought we were friends.” Then the warning bell rang and she ran off, clomping back down the stairs to whatever her first class was.
So much for avoiding confrontations, I guess. Wait, so Shelby had really seen his car parked outside my house? At ten o'clock? That was after I was in bed.
What the hell was going on? It had to be a coincidence.
I realized as I slipped behind my desk that I'd been saying that a lot in the past few days about Arbor.
He was tardy again, but Quentin just smiled at him when he came in a couple minutes after the bell and took his seat behind me. I could have been imagining it, but I think his hand brushed my hair as he walked up the aisle past me. Coincidence, happenstance, accident... I could feel his eyes on me the entire period.
Afterward, I expected to talk to him, to confirm our “date” at the library after school. But he slipped out of the room just as class was ending. He didn't even look my way, or acknowledge my existence in the slightest. I decided that since avoiding confrontation did not appear to be the order of the day, I might as well get it over with. So I sprinted after him down the hallway and practically barreled into him.
“Were you at my house last night?”
He stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Pardon?”
“Evangeline Wild,” I said. “In case you forgot.” My voice was a touch louder than I meant it to be, but I couldn't help it. People in the hallway began to take notice of our conversation.
“No,” he said evenly. “I was not at your house last night.”
“You're lying. Shelby Winters saw your car parked outside. Were you spying on me? Because that's perverted.”
He turned up his lip in an expression of revulsion. “Why would I spy on you?” He practically spat the words; the edge of his voice was sharp, like a razor blade.
Crap. Why had I picked this fight again?
“You sent me an email at 3 a.m. You can't deny that.”
“I don't. I thought I'd make a friendly overture after... the incident yesterday. For the sake of our project.”
I nodded. “Sure. And your car?”
“Nowhere near your house. I don't even know where you live.” He paused, as if he were considering his words carefully. Then he added, “I didn't expect this sort of high school drama from you, Evangeline.”
He turned and walked off without a backwards glance. He'd displayed no emotion except for disdain, while I'd worked myself into a heated tizzy. People were whispering as I shook my head and retreated in the opposite direction. If I disliked Arbor Vitae Damo da Rosa before, now I truly hated him.
He didn't “expect” high school drama from me. What? Really? First of all, he doesn't know me. Second of all, I'm a high schooler. He can't use his own apparently lofty expectations of my character to make me feel bad for just being myself.
This is the logic I used at lunch when I huddled up with Ellen at the end of a long table. She agreed with me about eve
rything, of course. It sucks that boys can make girls feel bad about themselves all the time with so little effort. But there was something unspoken, something that kept nagging me. The feeling that really, I hadn't been “just being myself” when I lashed out at him. Oh, I was totally within my rights to confront him on the rumor. But it really wasn't my style to do it publicly like that. What had provoked me? The conversation with Britta? During second period Math I confirmed with Shelby that she had seen his car at my house. She was 100% sure of it, even offered to point it out to me in the student parking lot after school so I could keep an eye out for it in the future.
Things weren't adding up.
Arbor wasn't in gym, thankfully. I don't know how well I could have handled another interaction with him. Instead of rehashing the whole thing again, I channeled all of my energy into striking the volleyball with the most force I possibly could. I was all over the court, and my hands and forearms were pink and sore by the time the period was over and it was time to go shower and change.
Ellen called me the “volleyball team star.” Ha. I'll put that one on my resume.
I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon somehow, and declined Ellen's offer to drive me to the library. It was a nice, zippy fall day. You know, when the air smells like burnt cork and you can sense behind it the hollowness of winter. I wrapped a teal knit scarf around my neck, enjoying how it played off my fuchsia blouse and checkerboard-patterned skirt. Yeah, I know, I looked like a fifties diner. It made me happy.
The library is only a fifteen minute walk from school, down the hill from the back of the cafeteria, cutting across the soccer and football fields and the County Market parking lot. From there I ambled down Union Street, looking at all the cute houses and wondering idly what I wanted do “when I grow up.” Unlike seemingly everyone around me, I don't have a plan. I suppose the only thing I really want to study is language. Maybe a translator or something. For the CIA! That could be cool...