by David Gane
She nods, accepting the idea, and I think we’re good.
I turn to go, but she touches my arm. “Then will you do me a favour?”
“What’s that?”
“Can you and Charlie do what you do and stop this asshole?”
chapter 78
A few days later, Mom, Dad, and I go to Mike’s parents’ to pay our condolences.
We gather in the living room, where I have memories of Mike’s birthdays and sleepovers and the occasional high school housewrecker, and stand helpless now, watching his parents struggle against waves of sorrow and anguish.
They’re an odd pair—his dad, Alex, is tall and big like Mike, and his mom, Jocelyn, is only a bit more than half his height—but as the two of them huddle together on the couch, crying over the loss of their son, they’re almost the same size.
Grief can do that to you, make you shrink into yourself.
Mom consoles them, and Dad tries to keep the conversation going with happy, funny stories about Mike, but it’s rough. Only a few weeks ago, if our parents got together, Mike and I would’ve bolted from the room and gone to play Xbox or basketball in the backyard.
Jocelyn keeps running through Mike’s last days over and over, like a song stuck on repeat. “He was home so early the night before and then off to school the next day. If only I’d known that was the last time I’d see him … our last dinner … our last hug … our last chance to say ‘I love you …’ ”
I can’t imagine what they’re going through.
Charlie said that considering what the killer did to him, the cops likely wouldn’t have asked his parents to come in to identify his body and would instead have used some other distinguishing detail, like his wallet or school ring.
To not be able to see your son. To have him torn out of your life so suddenly and unexpectedly—
I ask to be excused and stagger to the bathroom, the crushing weight of grief making it difficult even to move.
I stop at Mike’s bedroom. The door’s open and it’s a disaster—either his mom has chosen to leave the space as he left it, or it’s simply far too painful to go in there to tidy up. Clothes are everywhere, dresser drawers wide open and half empty. There’s a poster of a ’64 Austin-Healey Sprite convertible, like the car his uncle owned and promised to sell to him when he turned twenty-one.
I remember that he’s got a stash of porn mags under his bedside table. As his best friend it’s my duty to dispose of them—although now is not the time.
I stand outside the bathroom, not really needing to use it, eyes closed, waiting, before reluctantly trudging back to the living room.
Mom is looking at photo albums with Jocelyn, and Alex is on the floor by the television, digging through home-
recorded DVDs, telling Dad about an old basketball game that Mike scored twenty points in.
Suddenly, Mike’s mom asks, “Anthony, you don’t know what happened to my baby, do you?”
Mom and Dad look panicked, like I’m going to say the wrong thing, and although I’ve been running the question through my mind all week, I still don’t have an answer.
“No, Mrs. Raynor,” I say, and then, as an afterthought, add, “but I wish I did.”
And although she may not be satisfied with my answer, I truly mean it.
chapter 79
Mike’s funeral is the next day.
Half the school shows up, filling the church. A lot of faces are here, many I don’t know or didn’t expect to see. A lot of girls are crying, and the bittersweetness of their tears makes me want to smile; I know Mike would appreciate the impact of his loss on the ladies.
Although Mike’s parents ask if we want to sit with the family, I tell Mom and Dad that I want to stay a few rows back. All of it—this place, this reason—it’s all too much and I need my own space to grieve. Mom and Dad sit beside me but leave me alone. Even Charlie is solemn and quiet.
I don’t cry during the service—I’ve had plenty of time beforehand—and I think I’m beyond it, until we’re at the cemetery and Mike’s casket is lowered into the ground. My throat starts to swell, and as I watch the coffin descend out of sight, I close my eyes and let the tears flow.
chapter 80
When we get home, I go into the backyard and sit in one of the lawn chairs. The clouds pass in front of the sun and I pull my coat around me. Ollie lies at my feet.
“Mind if I join you?” Charlie stands at the patio door, holding two cups of coffee.
I nod and he plunks down beside me.
“Figured it might help warm you up,” he says.
“Thanks.”
We listen to the sounds of the neighbourhood: the birds in the trees, the flow of traffic on the main thoroughfare several blocks over, someone practising saxophone a few houses down. A passenger plane passes overhead, coming in for a landing at the airport on the west end of the city.
“I don’t know if what we did has anything to do with Mike,” Charlie says. “We may never know. But I think you need to stop beating yourself up over it.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” I say, taking a sip of coffee. Its bitterness feels good on my tongue and warms my belly as soon as I swallow it.
“But, I’ve been thinking …,” he says, though he doesn’t finish the sentence right away.
His pause is so long that I complete his thought.
“It’s time we get off our asses and find the guy who did this to Mike.”
“Better than feeling sorry for yourself, right?”
I don’t say anything for a minute.
The birds keep tweeting and the cars keep buzzing along nearby. The saxophone player stops—practice must be done for the day. The sun comes up behind the clouds, and I start to warm up.
“Look. I didn’t know him very well,” Charlie says. “But I think we owe Mike that, at least. Don’t you?”
“Yeah, you’re right, Charlie,” I say, nodding slowly. “I think you’re absolutely right.”
chapter 81
By Thursday, we have a laundry list of people who may have crossed paths with Mike over the last few days of his life. As soon as Dad drops us off at school, we go our separate ways to cover more ground. I walk to the gym while Charlie sets off for the library. We agree to meet back at my locker before the first class starts.
I run into a lot of dead ends.
One guy saw Mike last Wednesday using the weight room in the morning, but he was going in just as Mike was leaving. A couple of other guys from the team shot hoops with him the night before, but all they did was trash talk each other’s game. I head back to find Charlie, and he tells me that the librarian hadn’t seen Mike since I was there with him the other day, and a girl from his homeroom said he was his usual self.
We proceed to the senior hallway, hoping to find the one person we’re hoping may have more info about Mike’s last days.
“Hey, Carrie,” Charlie says as we approach a cute blond girl sitting against the wall with a few of her friends.
Although I recognize her, we never really hang around in the same social circles, so I don’t really know her.
She glares at Charlie. “I was wondering when you’d come nosing around my way.”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” he says. He’s relaxed and casual despite her tone, and I remember that Charlie works with her at the doughnut place.
“I should’ve just listened to everyone and stayed away from Mike,” Carrie says.
“Why?” Charlie asks. “You couldn’t stop talking about him last time I saw you.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s because I’m an idiot.” She looks over at me for the first time. “I’m sorry for what happened to your friend, but he was a dog.”
Sadly, this doesn’t really surprise me—I know exactly the type of guy Mike is. Was.
Charlie shrugs, not even trying to make an excuse. �
�All we want to know is what happened between you two.”
“Why would I tell you that? It was embarrassing. He acted like a complete ass.”
Ouch! He’s barely been gone a week. I want to get mad, but he must have done something to piss her off so much. I need to find out what.
I kneel down so as not to tower over her. “Will you tell me what happened, exactly?”
“The nitty-gritty details? You a perv like your friend?”
I think she’s talking about Mike, but her eyes are on Charlie when she says it.
“You might’ve been one of the last people to be with him.”
“So? You think I’ve got something to do with his death?”
“No. But you might’ve seen something that could help.”
“And you think your perfect smile and silky voice is just going to charm it out of me?”
Wow. Now she’s dumping on me! What the hell is going on?
“Did I do something to you?” I ask.
“Yes … Well, no. It’s just that people like you—”
People like me? What the hell does that mean? I must be amping up because I feel Charlie’s hand tighten on my shoulder.
“What are you talking about, Carrie?” he says calmly.
“What do you mean ‘what do I mean?’ Him—” she points at me, “and his chiseled abs and perfect parents—”
“Hey, you don’t know anything about me!”
“Yeah, well, I’m probably right.” She looks at Charlie. “Right?”
Charlie’s grinning at me. “Your abs are pretty decent, Shepherd. And Ben and Keya are pretty fantastic parents.” He looks at Carrie conspiratorially, like they’re sharing a big secret. “His dad makes supper every night, and they sit around the table and talk about how their day went.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I stammer.
“Gah, that’s what I mean—you’re clueless!” Carrie shouts. “You probably even have brothers or sisters that you get along with and a big, adorable dog, and it all just comes so easy for you.”
“Wait, a second. Do you not like me because I’m …,” I struggle to find the words, “I’m normal ?”
“No. I don’t like you because you’re perfectly normal. You never have to put in any effort, you never struggle with confidence. You’re all good genetics and proper upbringing, and it pisses me off.”
Wow, I never expected any of this, and I have to take a deep breath and focus on why I’m here. “Look. I’m just trying to find out what happened to my friend.”
“And then what? What exactly do you plan on doing if you find out?”
“I’m only looking for answers.”
She sticks her hand in my face. “Nuh-uh! I’m not saying anything.”
This is frustrating. “Why does this matter to you?”
“It doesn’t.” She looks at her friends. “But I know what you’re up to. We all do. Leave it to the cops.”
“Please,” I plead. “You only hung out with him the one time—”
“Barely that.”
“—so why is this such a big deal?”
“God, you really are just a dumb jock, aren’t you? Look at this—” she waves her hands around herself.
I give her a quick glance, not understanding what she’s getting at. “Yeah? And?”
“Do you realize how hard it is for someone like me to get a chance with a guy like Mike? He’s way out of my league! But then Charlie gave me his number and says he’s interested and that I should call him.” She gives Charlie the finger. “That’s what I should have done, but no, I heckin’ called him! And he heckin’ said ‘yes!’ ”
She’s a mix of anger and self-doubt, but she keeps talking so I stay quiet, hoping she’ll continue.
“And then what the hell happens? He picks me up in his truck and that’s all he wants to do! Park in a heckin’ parking lot, and—you know—in his truck!” She points at Charlie. “I blame you! You set me up! You probably told him I was easy and he thought he’d get something!”
Unfortunately, I know this is all Mike.
“So you got out of there?” Charlie asks.
She sighs, shaking her head. “I should’ve. I really should’ve. But, like I said, what were the odds I’d get this chance again, so I tried to save it.”
“How?”
She sighs. “I suggested we go to the Belmont Café.”
I know the place. It’s a regular hangout for a lot of kids from school.
“Anyways, he agreed—which, of course, was my second mistake.”
“Why?” I ask.
She scowls at me. “Because, jackass, he bailed on me after twenty minutes—”
She holds for a dramatic pause and doesn’t go on until Charlie asks, “Why?”
“He hit on the barista. I’m pretty sure she gave him her phone number while I was in the bathroom.”
Aw, man, Mike! You really can be a jackass sometimes.
chapter 82
At lunch, Charlie and I walk over to the Belmont. It’s close to the school but also gets some spillover from the university crowd. The staff is young and hip, and although it’s not really my type of music, they usually have some funky bands playing on Friday and Saturday.
“The service is shit here, but the coffee is fantastic,” Charlie notes. “They source some of their beans from Sulawesi. Grown at a really high altitude. Creates a silky body, smells like chocolate, and at times has hints of pepper.”
Typical Charlie.
“Do you know the flavours at every coffee shop?”
“Somewhat. Some of these places change suppliers so much, or don’t give a crap about mixing their beans, that they aren’t worth my time.”
A skinny guy with a beard, not much older than us, greets us at the till. “Suh, dudes? What can I get you?”
Before Charlie can be a smartass, I step in. “Just wondering if you happen to know who was working here last Tuesday afternoon?”
The guy shakes his head, like I just blew his mind with the most profound question in the universe. He reminds me of a surfer from an ’80s movie. “Why you want to know something like that, dude?”
I don’t really feel like sharing any information with this new “dude” and Charlie senses it, so he takes over, grabbing a comment card from a plastic holder by the till. “We had some awesome service from a girl the other day and we wanted to know her name.”
Again, the guy shakes his head like Charlie’s slapped him with another truth bomb.
“Well, I’d have to look at the schedule,” he responds slowly.
“Ah. Right on, dude. That’d be cool if you would,” Charlie says, with no hint of sarcasm.
Suh Dude’s brain turns over the decision a few more times before he finally replies. “All right, but you two need to do something for me.”
“Sure,” I say. “Whatever you want.”
He reaches beneath the counter, pulling out a canvas drawstring backpack that’s been designed to look more weathered and older than it actually is. He opens it up and takes out a CD.
“Here’s my mix tape. Regular price, I would charge you ten, but I’ll give it to you for five, long as you tell your friends about me.”
“Deal,” Charlie says. “Pay the man.”
I pull out my wallet and Suh Dude goes to the back to grab the schedule. While we wait, Charlie flips open the CD to read the liner notes.
“Ooh, his first song is called ‘You’re My Only Angel,’ ” Charlie whispers. “Oh, then he gets down with ‘In and Out.’ I hear that one’s lit.”
“Shut up,” I hiss.
“Also on here is ‘Your Body Washes Over Me’ and “Come Back to My Heart.’ ”
“If you ruin this—”
Suh Dude comes back out and sees Charlie looking at his CD. “You like the a
rtwork? My ex, Cheryl, did it for me.”
By the look on his face—and some of the song titles—he may not have been ready to say goodbye to her.
Charlie nods. “I’m definitely looking forward to listening to it.”
Again, not a hint of sarcasm.
Suh Dude leans over the counter and flips through the schedule. “Looks like Autumn was working most of last week.”
“Autumn? What’s her last name?”
Again he pauses, thinking over how much he should divulge.
Charlie goes back to the liner notes; that seems to decide him in our favour.
“Flettner.”
Autumn Flettner. There’s a familiar ring to it, but I can’t put my finger on why.
“And when does she work next?” Charlie asks.
“She’s off for the next few weeks.”
Crap. Dead end.
“What’s she doing? Holidays?” Charlie’s nothing if not persistent.
“Uh. Thought you guys were just filling out a comment card?”
“Just curious, man,” Charlie says, but it’s obvious that Suh Dude is slowly—very slowly—realizing that we’re up to something.
Charlie changes the approach. “So, the honest skinny is my friend here has a small crush on Autumn.”
Thanks, Charlie, for throwing me into your lie—except Suh Dude doesn’t seem to care, so Charlie hunkers down beside him over the counter, all confiding-like. “See, my man’s been feeling down for the last month. His girlfriend of two years dumped him. Can you imagine that? Two years!”
Charlie looks over at me, waiting until the idea sinks into the brainpan of our coffeehouse friend before continuing. “Well, I had to get him out, and I brought him here for some fine coffee, and then afterwards—” Charlie drops his voice really low so that only the two of them are involved in this intrigue. Even I have to strain to hear. “Well, all he did was talk about Autumn, and I thought, ‘If I can help my friend move on from Zoey—that’s his ex—then, hell, I’ll do whatever I can.’ ”