by Clara Kensie
Will shifted, and his shoulder was almost touching mine, generating heat between us. “Maybe you’re right. When he asked me about that calendar page you found, he did tell me not to say anything about my canceled party. He said Neal’s death wasn’t my fault, but any connection to it would lead to controversy for the baseball team, which could hurt our standing.”
“All this town cares about is the stupid baseball team,” I said.
“Hey,” Will replied, feigning insult. “I’m on that stupid baseball team, and so are most of your friends.”
“But it proves that before I can tell the cops, I need to find who hit Neal with their car, and I need evidence.”
“We,” Will said.
“Hmm?”
“We need to find who hit Neal with their car.”
“You’ll help me?”
“Of course.”
Did he actually believe me, or did he just want to believe me so he wouldn’t blame himself for Neal’s death anymore?
Didn’t matter. It felt good to tell someone and not have them laugh at me or accuse me of stirring up trouble when there was none. I wanted his help, and he was willing to give it. “Okay,” I said. “We are looking for the owner of a blue car with a broken headlight.”
Ryland was a small town, sure, but there were probably a couple hundred blue cars. We didn’t even know the make or model. “We could ask Brandon,” Will said. “Whoever hit Neal probably brought their car in to Lennox Auto Body. It’s the only car repair place around.”
“We should go see if he’s working there today.”
But he didn’t move, and neither did I. His gaze flickered from my eyes to my lips and back again.
Oh, screw it. Screw not being impulsive. I planted a kiss on him.
It was delicious. And even more delicious: he kissed me back.
“What are we doing?” he asked between kisses. “We hate each other.”
I grabbed the collar of his Warriors T-shirt and pulled him closer. “Come here then so I can hate you some more.”
Brandon Lennox may have been working at his family’s auto body shop that day, but he wasn’t working very hard. When Will and I got there, Brandon was in the parking lot, tossing a baseball with Seth and Javier. It was probably my imagination—their faces were shadowed by the brims of their Warriors hats—but all three looked surprised to see Will and me approaching together.
“You crash your Firebird into another tree?” Brandon asked me.
“Ha ha,” I replied. “No. Has anyone come in recently who needed a headlight repaired? Like they’d been in an accident?”
Brandon lobbied the baseball to Seth, who caught it in his mitt. “Don’t know. This is my first time in the shop since baseball season started.”
“Can you check?”
He shrugged. Will took Brandon’s place, tossing the ball to Javier as Brandon brought me inside the cluttered shop and stepped behind the counter. Seth wandered in after us, pulling off his mitt. He opened his mouth and squeezed his bottle of red Gatorade into it as he fiddled with the car deodorizers next to the cash register.
“Don’t get that red shit on the merchandise,” Brandon snapped at Seth, then asked me, overly casual, “You talk to Diana?”
“Not since last night.” And when I had talked to her, I hadn’t told her about kissing Will. I hadn’t gotten a chance. All Diana had talked about was if she should get back together with Brandon or not.
“When you see her, tell her I need to talk to her, okay?” He turned on the computer. “She won’t answer when I call and she won’t answer her door.”
Suppressing a sigh, I nodded.
“What’s the make and model of that car you’re looking for?”
“All I know is it’s blue. It needed a new headlight and probably has a dent in it.”
He slid his Warriors hat backward on his head, then with the mouse, scrolled through the records. “Nothing here,” he said. “No headlight replacements, no dents, except for your Firebird three weeks ago.”
“Has anyone ordered a new headlight? Maybe they wanted to install it themselves.”
More scrolling and clicking. “Nope. Why are you asking?”
Seth, who was still guzzling Gatorade, choked on it. He coughed, spraying the car deodorizers on the counter with red liquid. “Damn it, Siegel,” Brandon muttered, rushing to get a rag. Seth, cracking up with laughter, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Some of the Gatorade dribbled onto his hatchet tattoo. It looked like blood.
I used the distraction to escape to the parking lot. Will and Javier were still tossing the ball. “Any luck?” Will asked. He’d taken off his Warrior’s hat, and the sun hit his eyes just right to make them deep and dark blue.
I shook my head. Lennox Auto Body was a dead end. The car that hit Neal was probably hidden in the owner’s garage or something. How was I supposed to find it now?
We, I reminded myself. How were we—Will and I—supposed to find it now?
“Why are you looking for a car with a broken headlight?” Seth asked from behind me.
“Um, I—”
“Hey, Lily,” Javier called from across the lot, rescuing me. “You want to come flying with me this afternoon?”
Normally, I would have jumped at the chance. But today Will and I needed to find that blue car. And maybe, probably, we would
hate
each other a little bit under his tree.
I met Will’s eyes and bit back a smile.
Seth cleared his throat and glared at Will. Was Seth jealous? I’d always made it perfectly clear to Seth that he and I were just friends. But if he knew I was hanging out with Will, he would tell his parents, who would tell my parents that I was crushing on a Duston. And then I’d get in trouble again.
I couldn’t risk it.
I stepped a few feet away from Will. “Yeah,” I said to Javier. “Let’s fly.”
Javier’s father was busy in the back storage room when we got there, so Javier distracted him while I slipped into the little single-engine Piper that they used for crop dusting. The desire to be with Will was surprisingly overwhelming, but the excitement of flying took the edge off a bit. Javier slid into the pilot’s seat next to me, then clicked and pulled and flicked the buttons on the dashboard, the hatchet tattoo on his wrist swiping and slicing. Soon the Piper was kicking up dirt on the runway. We went faster and faster, the engine
sputtering
whirring
humming,
and I let out a Whoo! as we lifted off the ground.
Javier laughed as I watched Ryland get smaller and smaller. “You never get tired of this, do you?”
“Nope.” This was freedom, flying like this. “Go higher!”
Javier, the little scaredy cat, never went as high as I wanted. “This is a low-altitude plane, Lily,” he said.
But we were high enough in the air that I could see Ryland’s farms spread out beneath us like a giant quilt of golds and greens. I couldn’t help myself—I checked Duston Farm for Will, hoping he’d be in his soybean field.
And he was, halfway between the creek and his farmhouse, scattering seeds among the sprouting greens. He waved his Warriors hat up at the plane.
I laughed and waved back at him, although I knew he couldn’t see me.
“Aren’t you two supposed to hate each other?” Javier asked.
“We do,” I said, unable to stop the grin from spreading. “We’ve hated each other a lot the past couple of days.”
From up here, Ryland didn’t look that bad. It wasn’t so suffocating. The rusty train tracks bisected the land between Duston Farm and my dad’s company, through the patch of trees along Deep Creek, running along Old Sutton Farm and its crumbling, abandoned barn, and finally running behind the buildings on Main Street and beyond. I could see only the roofs of the buildings along Main Street, but I knew the town well enough to recognize each building. The Batter's Box, the police station, the bookstore, the pharmacy, the movie theater.
The corner of Main and Adams, where Neal had been hit.
Huh.
“Hey, Javier,” I said. “Head back to the creek for a minute. To Railroad Bridge.”
“Why?”
“I just want to see something.”
Javier circled back over Main Street. I kept my eyes on the ground. Neal had been hit at the corner of Main and Adams. Whoever hit him must have driven his body to the creek—no way could someone carry a dead or unconscious body that far, so they must have driven him—but there was no road near the creek. The car must have driven through the fields and woods along the train tracks.
As we flew along the tracks, I kept my eyes on the ground, imagining someone—a shadow—driving his car from Adams Street, into the alley, then off-road, through the grassy, weedy fields of Old Sutton Farm. Getting as close as possible to the bridge. Putting it in park. Opening the doors. Then taking Neal’s body, dragging it through the trees to the bridge. Pushing Neal into the creek.
Okay. Now what would the driver have done? Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes.
Think.
The car had just hit someone. It was damaged, at least enough to break a headlight. Dented. The paint was scraped. Maybe, probably, the driver had a difficult time driving it through the field to the bridge. Regardless, I realized now, the shadow-driver most likely would not have taken the car back out onto the road and risked getting pulled over for a broken headlight. He certainly would not have taken it to Lennox Auto Body to be fixed, not after he’d killed someone with it.
He’d have to hide it. Quickly. Somewhere close.
I opened my eyes, and my gaze landed on the perfect place to hide a car that had just killed someone.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ever ~ Present Day
Over a hundred men with crossed-hatchet tattoos. I can’t get the thought from my mind as Ash and I exit the penitentiary and speed away on his bike. Gone is the thrill, the freedom, of flying down the highway on a motorcycle. I hug Ash tightly from behind, partly for warmth, mostly for comfort.
Over a hundred.
Principal Duston could have killed Lily, but so could have a hundred other men. It may as well be a million.
Ash doesn’t speak at all until he stops in my driveway. I take off his helmet and leather jacket and give them back. I’m shivering.
“You’re still not feeling well,” he says, rubbing my arms. “Your dad home?”
“He should be back tonight.”
“I’ll stay until he gets here.”
God, I want him to. I want him to come inside and hold me until I stop shaking, until the fear inside me stops swirling, until Ryland is safe again, until the world makes sense again. I want to breathe in his scent—
I jump at the sound of a door slamming. Keith’s front door, across the street. He steps out onto his porch, watching Ash and me. Frowning. I step away from Ash. “You should go. I’m sorry we’re at another dead end.”
“We can’t give up, though.”
I almost sag with relief. Ash is still in. He still believes me. He still wants to help.
“I’ll never give up,” I promise him. “But we can’t trust anyone. Even if it wasn’t Principal Duston who killed Lily, he might be covering for the person who did.”
“You don’t think it’s Duston anymore?” Ash asks, clearly confused. “But you said you overheard him and Miss Buckley talking about it at Kammer’s Pharmacy.”
“I thought it was him, but…” I shrug. “I don’t know. It could have been someone else.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Like who?”
My mind scurries to make up a believable lie. “When your father mentioned the baseball teams today,” I say, “I remembered that Miss Buckley and the man she was talking to said something about state champions. Maybe the killer is someone from those old championship baseball teams.” It’s the closest I can come to telling him the truth. The new truth. One hundred tattoos. One hundred suspects.
The dubious look did not leave Ash’s face. Across the street, Keith has left his porch and is on his way over. He doesn’t look happy.
“I just think we need to broaden our focus,” I say to Ash. Please, please, please, I beg him silently. Just believe me.
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, we’re not getting anywhere with Duston, so I guess we should cast a wider net.” He slides a glance at the rapidly-approaching Keith, then back at me. “I’m outta here. Stay safe. Call me if you need me.” He gets on his bike and roars away.
Keith takes Ash’s place on my driveway, replacing Ash’s suspicion with his own. “You were gone all day.”
I replace the lies to Ash with a lie to Keith. “We had to go out of town to do some research.”
“On his motorcycle?”
“I wore a helmet.”
“I want you to find a new group for that project, Ever,” he says, his voice low and threatening.
“I can’t.”
“Then do it without Ash.”
“I can’t.”
After an impossibly long moment, his anger turns to despair as he whispers, “Did you kiss him?”
“Kiss him? That’s a big leap, Keith. No, I did not kiss him. We’re working on a project. That’s all.” But is that all? I put my hand on Keith’s chest to reassure him, and myself. “I promise you. I’ve never kissed Ash.”
“Do you want to?”
I can’t answer him. I can’t meet his eyes.
He nibbles on his fingernail. “What is it about him?” he asks. “Is it his motorcycle? Do you want me to get a motorcycle? I’ll get a motorcycle if you want me to.”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” he asks. “Is it because of that girl in Eastfield last year? I told you, that never happened. It was just a rumor and it’s not true.”
“I know,” I tell him. “And no, I’m not trying to make you jealous.”
“Then why are you doing this?” He exhales with frustration. “Is it because I don’t want you to win that scholarship?”
“What?”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he says. “Fine. I don’t want you to go to college. What if you decide you don’t want to stay in Ryland with me? What if college makes you think you’re too good for me? You’re going to meet other people, other guys—”
“Jesus, Keith.” I pull away, but he grabs my arm.
“But I realize now that I was wrong to think that way,” he says. “I want you to get that scholarship. I’m okay with you going to college. I was holding you back, and I’m sorry. I’m just scared of losing you.”
His eyes are so large and pleading. He’s my little devoted puppy dog, so, so, so in love with me.
“I was saving this as a surprise for after graduation,” he says, “but you know that empty lot over there on Polk Lane? The one near the school? My dad’s going to co-sign a loan for me to buy that lot and build a house on it. For you and me.”
I sputter. “Keith, we’re still in high school. I still have four years of college. And then—” And then what? Why am I having trouble breathing? “What about Joey? I can’t leave him.”
“It’s just a plot of land for now,” Keith says. “But when we get married, we’ll already have a house. And if Joey wants to live with us, he can. I’ll manage the diner, you’ll do the accounting, and I’ll spend every day making you happy.”
My mind whirls. Am I hearing him correctly? “Joey can live with us?”
“I’ll do anything for you, Ever. You’re everything to me,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I love you.”
He waits for me to return his affections. Why am I hesitating? My stable, predictable, safe boyfriend has just offered me the stable, predictable, safe life I’ve always wanted. The life I need.
“Keith, I… thank you. I love you too.” I reach up and kiss him.
He kisses me back, then pulls away and holds me at arm’s length. “But none of that can happen if you
keep hanging out with Ash Morrison.”
Dad comes home in time for dinner that night, but he falls asleep in his armchair while his pasta is still warm on the TV tray at his side.
What would he say if I tell him that
1. I rode on Ash Morrison’s motorcycle today?
2. I went to the prison to visit Vinnie Morrison on death row?
3. Keith basically proposed to me, with an ultimatum?
Would he care about any of that?
As if Dad knows I’m looking at him, he shifts, his arm snaking out from under the afghan.
He grew up in Ryland. He played on the Warriors baseball team, but before they were state-championship caliber. I’ve lived with him my entire life so I know he doesn’t have a tattoo. But I have to check anyway. Slowly, so I don’t disturb him, I flip his arm so his palm faces up.
No hatchet tattoo on his wrist. I knew he didn’t have a tattoo, but I’m still relieved.
Joey is getting antsy, so I take him to his room and dump a giant tub of LEGO bricks onto his carpet and we build bridges and tunnels for his Matchbox cars. Cheeks the hamster runs on her squeaky wheel. Once Joey is engrossed in his cars and tunnels, I pick up my phone to call Ash. I have several notifications. Texts from earlier today, some from Keith but most from Courtney.
From Keith, 10:15 a.m.: Just checking to make sure you’re okay. What time will you be back?
From Courtney, 10:20 a.m.: Hey, where are you? The Batgirls are here to plan the Training Camp.
From Courtney, 10:30 a.m.: We can’t wait any longer. I have an away softball game later.
From Courtney, 10:47 a.m.: Keith just told me you’re with Ash Morrison. Seriously, wtf?
From Keith, 11:11 a.m.: Where are you? You OK?
From Courtney, 11:31 a.m.: What group project are you doing with Ash Morrison anyway? What class is it for? No one else has a group project.
From Keith, 12:18 p.m.: Why aren’t you home yet?
From Courtney, 12:49 p.m.: Ash Morrison is trouble. You need to stay away from him.