by Clara Kensie
“Hello, Lily. Nice to see you too.” He raised his mug and took a loud slurp of his coffee. Black, I noticed. He should have been drinking hot chocolate, so it would match his eyes. “No, I do not know the exact time Neal Mallick died. Why are you asking?”
“I bet Will Duston knows.” I slid into the booth across from him and slapped the calendar page onto the table. “Neal and Will had plans to meet at midnight.”
Paladino froze for a moment, then put a forkful of cherry pie in his mouth. “So?”
“So, Will was there when Neal drowned.”
Frowning, he tapped his fingers on the Formica, waiting until Bubbles refilled his coffee to speak again. “You’re saying that Will might have witnessed Neal falling off the bridge.”
“I’m saying if Neal accidentally slipped off the bridge, Will should have called 911 right away. But he didn’t report it. Don’t you think that’s suspicious? Will jumped in the creek to save me. Why didn’t he jump in the creek to save Neal?”
“You sure like to jump, Lily. First you jumped off the bridge, and now you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Ha ha. Will warned me not to jump off the bridge,” I said. “Probably because he didn’t want me to find Neal down there.”
“Or because he knew it was a stupid, dangerous thing to do.” Paladino drummed his fingers on the table. Even his fingernails were good-looking. Perfectly shaped and nicely trimmed. “Where’d you get this calendar page?”
“I found it in Neal’s bedroom.”
His right brow shot up. “You’re quite the detective.”
“I just want to know what really happened to him.”
“Want to know what I think?” He took another bite of his pie and took forever to chew and swallow it. He wiped his mouth before speaking. “I think you’re trying to find something that isn’t there. There are almost two decades of bad blood between your family and the Dustons. And let’s face it, Lily, you aren’t exactly known for your calm, rational decisions.”
I pushed my curls behind my ears. Even though my parents hated the Dustons, they’d probably tell me the same thing and accuse me of
creating trouble
where there was none.
“But something doesn’t add up,” I said. “Shouldn’t you at least ask Will why he was meeting Neal at midnight?”
“Fine. On the off-chance that you’re right, I’ll look into it.” I nodded with satisfaction as he folded the calendar page into quarters and slid it in the pocket behind his badge. “Now I need you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Leave this matter to the police.” His chocolate-brown eyes seemed to bore into me through his thick lashes. “You stole that calendar page from Neal’s bedroom. It was illegally obtained. If it turns out that you’re correct about Will, I won’t be able to use it as evidence.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Sorry.”
“If anything, it’s proof that you broke the law, not Will. I don’t think your parents would be very happy with you.”
“You’re not going to tell them, are you?”
“No, but you need to let the police handle things before you get yourself into more trouble. Do we have a deal, Lily?” Paladino said. “You’ll stay out of it from now on?”
“Yes.”
He gave me a dubious look.
“Yes, yes, yes. I promise. Just don’t tell my parents, okay?”
“I won’t.” He raised his mug to take a sip of coffee, and I could see he was trying to hide an amused smile. The panic I’d felt just moments ago faded. Ha, he tried to act all stern and serious, but I knew he was on my side.
He slid out of the booth and stood to leave. “No more crashing your car or jumping off bridges either, got it?” He chuckled. “When I became a cop, I never thought Lily Summerhays would be my main source of trouble.”
I shrugged and batted my eyelashes angelically. “Just trying to keep you on your toes, Officer.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ever ~ Present Day
In a failed attempt to shield me from the rain, Keith keeps me tucked under his arm as we hustle across the school’s parking lot on Monday morning.
“The ball field will be soaked by this afternoon,” Keith says as we navigate around a puddle. “I hope they don’t cancel the game.” He raises his free arm in a greeting to a fellow Warrior.
I try to smile in reply, but I haven’t been able to shake off yesterday’s events. The visit from Ash Morrison, and then the chief of police. I haven’t told Keith about it, or Courtney. Or my dad, who’d slept through everything that happened just a few feet away in our driveway. They’d all tell me I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know what to do.
Keith pulls me back to let a school bus pass, its tires kicking up a spray of rainwater. As we near the school, thunder rumbles above us, threatening to rip open the sky. Holding up the hood of her pink raincoat, Miss Buckley rushes past, amazingly fast in her matching pink heels. Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is to run in heels on this wet concrete? Keith tightens his arm around me and we pick up the pace, joining the stream of students rushing toward the crumbling building.
Then I stop short. Fifty feet away, just outside the front entrance under the awning, stand two men. One in a gray suit and tie, the other in a navy uniform and flat cap.
Principal Duston and Chief Paladino. Together.
“Ever, hurry up. We’re getting soaked,” Keith says, prodding me forward.
But I barely hear him. Barely feel the chilly rain. A serious Chief Paladino is speaking to Principal Duston, who’s shaking his head, legs wide with his arms folded across his chest, as they watch the students rush through the parking lot.
I suddenly have the impulse to run and hide.
As I watch, Principal Duston visibly stiffens, and his gaze narrows in on someone. Ash Morrison strides through the rain, hunched over with his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.
Paladino says something to him, an angry expression on his face, but Ash stalks into the building without looking up from his boots.
“Ever, come on.” Keith pulls me forward. “What’s wrong? Did you forget a book at home or something? I can go back for it if you want.”
Shaking my head, I let him guide me to the building. I try to hide behind Keith as we approach the entrance, but it’s too late. Chief Paladino sees me.
I glance at Principal Duston. His gaze flickers to Paladino, then his head turns slowly, following Paladino’s line of sight until he’s focused on me too.
The mouths of both men curve down into accusatory frowns—frowns aimed directly at me.
Courtney’s desk is next to mine in our sixth period class, AP World History. My least favorite subject. I took AP U.S. History last year, and that wasn’t so bad. I’ve only lived in this country since the late 1930s, so learning about its history doesn’t trigger too many death-memories, or the deathpain that comes along with them. But in AP World History, sometimes the death-memories hit me like I’m a punching bag.
We have a quiz today about the Napoleonic Wars, a time period I struggle with. Not because I was a soldier killed in battle, but because my father was a soldier killed in battle, and two days later I, his only son, died at home of influenza at age nine. My last memory was of trying to draw a feverish breath, and my mother sobbing my name. Philippe, Philippe!
Mrs. Ricciardelli distributes the quizzes. This morning in Health and Wellness, Courtney drew an intricate design of dots and swirls the back of her left hand with an orange Sharpie, something she likes to do when she’s bored in class. Now she takes out a blue Sharpie and adds even more dots and swirls to the design. She doesn’t look up when Mrs. Ricciardelli puts the quiz on her desk. Tests always make her nervous.
In the back of the classroom, lounging at his desk with his long legs in the aisle, is Ash Morrison. I try not to look at him, but I feel his eyes on me.
In my periphery, I see a figure rush past the d
oorway. Principal Duston. Chief Paladino must have told him that I accused him of Lily’s murder. There’s no other reason he’d be walking past my classroom. He’s watching me. He has to be.
No. Stop. I’m being paranoid.
Duston rushes past again, going the other way. My eyes automatically focus on his wrist, but he’s too far away and he’s walking too fast.
Mrs. Ricciardelli places the quiz on my desk, snapping me out of my reverie. The first question is, ‘What political event started the Napoleonic Wars?’ I take a deep breath and brace myself. No deathpain.
But in my mind I hear my mother sobbing—Philippe, Philippe!—and my muscles ache and weaken, and I start hacking and gasping for breath.
“Sick again, Ever?” asks Mrs. Ricciardelli.
Wheezing, I shake my head. “I’ll be okay in a sec.” I try to breathe the deathpain away.
One…
Two…
Thr—
Mrs. Ricciardelli points to the doorway. “Nurse. Now.”
“I’m not sick,” I insist. “I’ll be fine in a second.”
“You look like you have a fever. Go. Do not come back without a note from the nurse.”
Court watches me as I slowly, weakly stand. “Should I take you?” she asks out of habit. She’s used to my sudden bouts of sickness that disappear as quickly as they come on. I shake my head. I’ll just go to the nurse’s office to get my strength back, get my note, and return to take the quiz. I cough again and almost trip over Ash’s leg on my way out. Jerk.
Halfway down the hallway, I stop short. Principal Duston is standing there. It could be the fever, but I swear I see a flash of his tattoo as he crosses his arms. “Go back to your classroom, Miss Abrams, and stay there.”
“Nurse,” I say weakly, then rush past him to the nearest doorway. It leads to the back stairwell.
“Ever! Stop! Do not go down those stairs!”
That’s exactly what I do, and he’s right behind me. I clutch the railing as I descend, anxious to get away from him, but scared of falling even more. Thirteen hundred people die every year by falling down the stairs, and I’m weak and dizzy as it is.
“Ever! Stop right now!” the principal demands.
I step on something on one of the stairs—a pen. Whoa, that was close. I could have slipped on it. I grip the railing, then see that scattered on the steps below me are papers and books. A shoe—a pink high heel—lies on its side, like it was discarded by its wearer.
With a sinking heart, I know what I’m going to see before I actually see it.
At the bottom of the stairs is Miss Buckley, her skirt ripped and her blouse half-untucked, sprawled on her stomach with one arm crushed under her and the other twisted over her. Her chestnut hair fans out, not hiding the fact that her head is turned the wrong way on her body.
Chapter Sixteen
Lily ~ Eighteen Years Ago
For four whole days, I watched and waited for Officer Paladino to arrest Will Duston for his involvement in Neal Mallick’s death, but Will kept showing up to school like nothing had happened. He walked past me on his way to class, he went to practice on Monday and Tuesday, he played in the game against Forest Grove on Wednesday, he hung out with us at The Batter's Box afterward like he hadn’t just been questioned by the police.
Like a well-behaved, responsible student, I did my homework every night, but nothing was really sinking in. How was I supposed to concentrate on classwork when
nothing
was
happening?
Everyone at school, everyone in this whole town, had moved on from Neal’s death already. It wasn’t fair.
Just after midnight, my phone rang. Yes. It had to be Seth, calling with news he’d heard from his father that Will Duston had been arrested.
Oh. It was Diana’s number on caller ID. “Hey, Di.”
A sniffle.
“Oh no, what’s wrong?” I asked, although I could bet it was more Brandon drama.
She blubbered about how Brandon was supposed to come over for dinner with her family that night. “We waited an hour for him and he never came, so I called him, but he never answered his phone!” she cried. “I called Seth, and Seth said that Brandon was meeting with some recruiter from the Yankees. I mean, that’s fine, that’s great for him, but he didn’t even call me to tell me! So I went to his house and waited in his driveway until he got home. When he got there, he said he forgot that he was supposed to come over for dinner. He forgot. He forgot about me. Again. So… ” She took a hitchy breath. “I broke up with him. For real.”
“You sound serious about it this time,” I said.
“I mean, he’ll be playing baseball for New York or Texas or wherever, and I’ll be going to school here at Griffin. He’ll be practicing all the time and traveling around the country for games. He’ll forget about me again. There’s no way it could last.” She released a mournful sob. “I did the right thing, right?”
“You did, Diana.” I said. “I know it’s hard, but you need to look out for yourself.”
Seriously, relationships weren’t worth the hassle, especially in high school. I loved Diana and I loved Brandon, but she had cried at least once a month for two years over him. And now they had broken up for good. All that drama for nothing. And look at my parents. They’d started dating in high school and gotten married just weeks after graduation because she was pregnant with me. I couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t both miserable. Mom was desperate to please my father, who never even noticed. Or if he did notice, he didn’t care. Diana would be much better off without Brandon.
“Hang tight,” I told my friend. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” My parents were sleeping. They’d never know.
She sniffled again. “Thanks, but it’s late. I just want to go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, if you’re sure. Call me if you need me.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I was late to school the next morning because I stopped along the way to get Diana a box of her favorite doughnuts from The Batter’s Box, something I did every time she and Brandon had a bad breakup. Hopefully, this was the last time.
As I rushed to school, I saw Officer Paladino’s patrol car driving down the street. I waved at him to stop. He slowly pulled over and rolled down his window.
He looked at me over his sunglasses. Holding my books to my chest, I leaned into his window. “Hey, Ricky. Want a doughnut? Double chocolate with sprinkles, still warm.”
“It’s ‘Officer Paladino,’ Lily. I’m in uniform.”
I smiled sweetly and handed him a doughnut. “In that case, I swear this isn’t a bribe, Officer Paladino.”
“A bribe for what?” He grumbled, but he still took the doughnut.
“Information,” I said. “What happened with Will Duston? You were going to question him about the calendar?”
“That’s right,” he said, eating a quarter of the doughnut in one bite. “I talked to him on Monday.”
Good. “And?”
“And nothing. Just like I thought.”
“But Neal was supposed to meet with him at midnight on the night he died.”
He sighed. “We had a deal, Lily. I’d follow up on Will, and you’d drop the issue. I followed up and it was nothing; and now you need to drop it.”
“But—”
“I’m on duty, Lily. Please let me do my job.” I followed his gaze to the movie theater. Vinnie Morrison’s olive Mazda was pulling around to the back alley. “I have to go. Aren’t you late for school?”
Of course I was. I stepped back as he rolled his car down the street toward the theater.
Except at lunch, I didn’t run into Will often at school. We didn’t have any classes together. He took lots of agriculture-type classes, which to me would be even worse than all the math and business classes my parents made me take. But I needed to find out what Will told Officer Paladino, so that afternoon I waited casuall
y by his locker. As he approached, he narrowed his eyes at me. I was never in this area of the school, in the Ag wing. “What do you want, Red?” he rumbled.
I smiled innocently at him. “I heard Officer Paladino had a little talk with you.”
That surprised him a little, and he almost stumbled. “Where’d you hear that?”
I shrugged. “What’d you talk about?”
He turned the lock on his locker. “None of your business.”
“Was it about why Neal was meeting you at midnight on the night he died?”
He froze then. “How do you know about that?”
I shrugged again. “I just think it looks suspicious. He met you at midnight, and then he drowned in the creek on the border of your farm.”
“You think I killed him?”
I decided to come out with it. “I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah.”
Will wasn’t a bad-looking guy, now that I actually looked at him. It was only March and he hadn’t been tanned in the sun yet, but his hair and eyebrows were light, like they were permanently sun-kissed. He was an inch or two taller than me, and I was taller than most girls and some boys. Working on the farm his whole life and working out with the Warriors made him lean and strong. But his eyes were icy with anger and annoyance, so I took away some points for that.
“If I’m such a cold-blooded killer, you should be afraid of me.” He made a shooing motion with his hand, flashing his crossed-hatchet tattoo. “Go. Run away screaming. Save yourself.”
I probably should have been afraid of him, but I wasn’t. “I didn’t say you were cold-blooded.”
“I did not kill Neal Mallick,” he said, grinding his teeth on his toothpick, “in cold blood or otherwise.”
“Then you should be willing to tell me what happened.” I took his arm. “Will, please.
I just want to know the truth. Why were you meeting him at midnight? Why was he on the bridge? If it truly was an accident, why didn’t you call 911? Why didn’t you jump in to save him like you saved me?”