Kill Me Once, Kill Me Twice

by Clara Kensie

  “No! Wait!” I run after them as Paladino yanks Ash to the doorway, but Principal Duston grabs my arm.

  “Go back to your seat,” he warns. “Now.”

  From the hallway, Ash yells, “Save my dad, Ever!”

  There are a few seconds of stunned silence before my classmates burst into excited chatter. Principal Duston still has me by the arm. He pulls me closer and mutters, “Stay out of this. I mean it. You don’t want to get mixed up in this.”

  His teeth are clenched, his gaze intense and urgent and angry. He’s threatening me. I try to pull my arm away, but he grips it tighter, hurting me. His hatchet tattoo is hidden under his suit jacket, but I know it’s there. I can feel it. I feel faint. Deathpain erupts over my eye. Fear makes my knees weak, but I won’t let him know it. Not this time.

  “Let go of me,” I demand. “Do not touch me.”

  He releases me like my skin is burning him, and I shuffle back to my seat. The class is still chattering with excitement, and Mrs. Ricciardelli is yelling at everyone to calm down. I turn to Court, expecting help or sympathy or something, but the only thing she gives me is a desperate, teary glare. “You broke into Miss Buckley’s house with him?” she whimpers. “Now do you see how bad he is for you?”

  Principal Duston blocks the doorway as Mrs. Ricciardelli shakily begins her lesson. I can’t pay attention. I can’t look at Court. I don’t dare lift my head.

  Apparently satisfied that I’m staying put, Principal Duston leaves. I count to one hundred, then run from the classroom.

  The mousy receptionist behind the desk at the police station jumps when I run inside, breathless and frantic. “Ash Morrison,” I pant. “Where is he? I need to see him.”

  She licks her lips and squeaks. “Um…” Her fingers fumble over her keyboard. “Ash Morr… I don’t see…”

  “He’s not here?” I ask, hoping that she doesn’t hear the crack of panic in my voice. Ash isn’t here yet. There’s no way I could have gotten to the police station first, not when I was on foot. Where did Paladino take him? Visions race through my mind: the chief dragging a handcuffed Ash to a remote cornfield. The chief forcing him to his knees. The chief shooting him. I almost throw up.

  “Don’t worry. He’s here,” says a deep voice from behind me. I whirl around to face Chief Paladino. “Just not in the system yet. Who knows when I’ll get around to processing him. I’m very busy, you know.” He leans against the wall and holds up his hand, fingers bent, and examines his nails.

  I march up to him. “Let me see him.” Entering this small town jail is nothing after I visited Indiana State Prison’s death row. Ash is probably the only one back there anyway.

  “Can’t do that, sorry.” He reaches up to adjust his cap, and—

  Deathpain pummels me, and I have to steady myself against the wall until I can breathe it away.

  On his wrist. A tattoo. A crossed-hatchet tattoo.

  “No visitors allowed,” he’s saying when I can focus again.

  “That can’t be true. He has a right to visitors.”

  “Are you his lawyer?” he says. “Only lawyers are allowed to see him at this stage of processing.”

  I don’t know the law well enough to know if he’s lying or not. “He shouldn’t be back there anyway,” I say. “You planted that cocaine in his locker. You set him up.”

  He raises one eyebrow.

  “You set up his father too, didn’t you? Maybe you killed Lily Summerhays. That’s why you’re doing this to Ash.”

  He throws back his head and laughs, once, sharply, like a dog bark: “Ha!” Then he leans close. His teeth are perfectly straight and sparkling white, but his breath smells like coffee. “You’d better watch what you say, little lady, or someone might find drugs in your locker too. And then I’d have to stop what I was doing and go all the way to the high school to arrest you. And I really don’t want to do that. But I would, if I had to.”

  A flash of panic—how could I get Ash out of jail if I was in jail too? Who would take care of Joey?—but I can’t let the chief see that. Instead, I force myself to scoff. “No one would believe that I’d have drugs in my locker. They’d know someone planted it.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “Someone like Ash Morrison. Forcing you to hold drugs for him. That would probably be another charge against him.”

  That wasn’t what I meant at all. He’s turning my own threat against me.

  “Tell you what, Nancy Drew,” he says. “I’ll make you a deal. Put your little detective kit away, and I won’t bring charges against your drug dealer boyfriend. I’ll let him walk out of here like it never happened.”

  Paladino wouldn’t need to make a deal if Ash and I weren’t getting close to figuring out who killed Lily Summerhays. Save my dad, Ever, was the last thing Ash said to me before Paladino hauled him away.

  “I can’t let Vinnie Morrison be executed for a murder he didn’t commit,” I tell the chief. I stand as tall as I can and declare, “No deal.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Lily ~ Eighteen Years Ago

  It had been a few days, and Will and I still hadn’t found the missing Viper or figured out which of his teammates was missing his hat. My father still hadn’t offered to help the Dustons save their farm. Worst of all, I still hadn’t heard from CFGU.

  On the bright side, Dad was sleeping in the master bedroom with Mom again instead of on the couch in his study. On the even brighter side, Will and I were spending every free moment together, mostly kissing. He was the best kisser in the world. He was the best kisser in history, probably. I should know.

  What I didn’t know was what the future held for Will and me if I went to CGFU. Would we try to make it work long-distance—him here in Ryland and me in a different country every few months—or would we break up because it would be too hard to be separated?

  I didn’t need to worry about that unless I was accepted to CFGU. Until then, I was going to spend as much time as possible with him and have fun.

  He had baseball practice after class today, so I headed for home after school. Maybe a letter from CFGU was waiting for me in my mailbox.

  As I walked down Main Street, Rick Paladino was standing with another cop outside the police station. He was wearing his uniform, tanned and muscular and so handsome that I almost forgot that he was helping the bad guy cover up Neal’s murder and I was supposed to stay away from him.

  I slipped into the nearest store before he saw me. The Secret Garden bookstore. The advanced anthropology textbook I’d ordered should be in by now anyway. The store was bright and cheery, with walls painted floor to ceiling with flowers and leafy trees, and etched into the bark of the trees were images of characters from famous books. Pretty cool.

  The woman who owned the place, Mrs. Abrams, stood by a bookcase, taking new novels from a box and arranging them on the shelves. Her gold hair was in two long, messy braids down her back.

  Mr. Abrams came up and took the box from her. He gently caressed her belly, which was now huge. I don’t remember my dad ever, even once, looking at my mom with such love and devotion.

  “You’re working too hard, Daisy,” Mr. Abrams said. “These books are heavy.”

  She grinned at him. “I think I can handle a couple of books at a time.” Even so, she huffed a little as she squatted to place a book on the bottom shelf.

  “Let me help you,” I said, rushing over.

  “Oh, Lily, I didn’t see you. Thank you.”

  “How long do you have left?” I asked when Mr. Abrams returned to the back.

  “About a week,” she said. “Ben put a crib in the back room so she can come to work with us.”

  “She? It’s a girl?”

  “We haven’t found out officially. Ben wants to be surprised. But I feel that she’s a girl.” She nodded toward the counter. “Your book came in.”

  “Yay! Thanks!” I went to the counter, and there it was: Anthropology: A Study of Culture by Dr. Thomas Moore, a professor at CFGU. Eve
n for a college textbook, it was thicker and heavier than I’d expected.

  Mrs. Abrams wiped her hands on her maternity dress. “I really admire you, Lily.”

  I blinked, shocked at her words. No one had ever admired me before. “Why?”

  “Because the high school doesn’t offer anthropology, but you didn’t let that stop you from learning about it. You ordered your own college textbooks. You set your goals high and you settle for nothing less. You’re determined and fearless. I hope my baby is like you.”

  Determined and fearless. Not impulsive and irresponsible. I wished Daisy Abrams was my mother. “What are you going to name the baby?”

  She patted her belly and sighed. “We can’t decide.”

  “Whatever you do, don't name her after a flower.”

  “Why not? Flowers are pretty.”

  “I’m Lily, you’re Daisy. Isn’t that enough flowers in this town? And pretty is nice, but there are more important things than being pretty.”

  “True.” She laughed. “Well, what would you suggest? I want a name that’s meaningful. Something that shows I’ll love her forever.”

  “Hmm. Are there any names that mean forever?”

  “Oo, I like that idea. I’ll go look it up in one of the baby name books. Hang on.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Forever. Ever. You should name her Ever.”

  “Ever… Ever…” she said, trying it out. She looked down at her belly. “Ever Abrams. Do you like that name, little baby?”

  “It’s perfect,” I said. It was perfect on so many levels.

  “I think you’re right,” she said, grinning. “Ever. I love it. I’m sure Ben will too.”

  I peeked outside to the street as she rang up my textbook. Rick Paladino was gone. Time to get out of here.

  “$74.87,” Mrs. Abrams said. “Sorry. College textbooks are expensive.”

  “That’s okay.” I pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my handbag and placed it on the counter. When she started to give me change, I stopped her. “Keep it. For Ever’s college fund.”

  I raced away before Rick Paladino showed up again.

  First thing when I got home, panting a little because I’d rushed, I checked the mailbox. Still nothing from CFGU, darn it.

  I ran upstairs to drop off my backpack and my new anthropology textbook. I’d been keeping my bedroom neat to show my parents how responsible I was, but I must have forgotten to straighten it this morning. Especially my closet. My purses and tote bags, which I kept stuffed on a low shelf next to my pile of shoes, had all

  tumbled

  to the floor. Some of the contents had spilled out,

  cluttering

  the area with coins, socks, receipts, and old notes.

  I must have knocked the bags over this morning and hadn’t noticed. Thank goodness my mother didn’t see this. I scooped them up and shoved them back, then swept the clutter under the bottom shelf.

  The little drawer in my vanity, where I kept my scrunchies and other hair things, was open. The bottom drawer of my dresser was open too. My socks were spilling out. Did I leave it like that? Did I leave my vanity drawer open?

  Now that I looked, it seemed that lots of things weren’t as I remembered leaving them this morning. Everything looked just a bit out of place. A couple of the old stuffed animals that I kept piled on a chair had

  fallen

  to the floor. My pageant trophies, which I hadn’t looked at in years, were

  crooked

  on the top shelf of my bookcase. The things on my desk were moved, just so slightly—my CDs, my pictures, my makeup case. My snow globe of New York was on its side, a

  horizontal

  Statue of Liberty in a horizontal skyline.

  My mother must have been in here looking for something. Maybe she wanted to borrow one of my handbags, or a pair of earrings or a lipstick.

  A noise came from downstairs. A little tap.

  “Mom, is that you?” I called out. “Hey, were you going through my stuff?”

  She didn’t answer.

  I fingered my diamond pendant and slid it back and forth on the chain. If Mom had gone through my things, she would have closed the drawers after. If she’d knocked over my snow globe, she would have righted it. She certainly wouldn’t have left my pageant trophies out of place.

  Another little echoey tap. Like a shoe tiptoeing on our hardwood floor.

  I went to the top of the stairs. “Mom?”

  Silence.

  No answers from Mom, no more little echoey taps.

  But then: Tap.

  “Hello?” I shouted downstairs over the railing. “Is someone here?”

  Tap.

  Yes.

  Someone

  was

  in

  our

  house.

  Slowly, I walked down each step, listening for the sound.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The kitchen—that was where the taps were coming from. I had to catch whoever it was before they left through the patio door. Go, go, go! I flew down the hall and into the kitchen—

  But it was

  empty.

  The patio door was closed, and when I checked, it was locked from the inside.

  Tap.

  The tapping sound came from the window over the sink. A branch from a tree, waving in the wind.

  That was all it was? A branch and the wind?

  I checked again that the patio door was locked, then I looked in every room of our house. Nothing else was out of place. As pristine as always. Our electronics—our computer, our TVs, sound system—were all still there. My dad’s little fireproof safe was still in his study, under a stack of papers in his desk drawer. Upstairs, my mom’s jewelry cabinet, white and tall with spindly legs and painted with Japanese flowers, was untouched in her closet. Each piece of her jewelry was still perfectly displayed. The ceramic ash tray I made for my dad at summer camp when I six was on his nightstand, still filled with coins.

  Which meant that whoever had been in our house, if there even was someone in our house, had only been in my room. Going through my stuff. There was only one thing they could have been looking for.

  I went to my room again. My wooden globe seemed to be untouched. Europe was still facing out. My little yellow stickers were still in place. I opened the top and checked, just in case.

  The Ryland High baseball cap was still tucked inside.

  I was just being paranoid. My room was messy, that was all. I was always digging through my closet and drawers and pulling things out and not putting them back. And this morning I had been running late, as usual. My pageant trophies had probably been out of place for months and I’d just never noticed.

  I tucked my socks back into the drawer, straightened the trophies, righted my snow globe, tossed the stuffed animals back onto the chair.

  No one had broken into my house. I was sure of it.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Ever ~ Present Day

  No police cars are waiting for me in my driveway when I get home from the police station. I half-expected Chief Paladino to send someone to follow me, watch me, but the only vehicle on my street is a red sedan, and it’s driving away.

  I fetch Joey from Hayden’s, unlock our front door and usher him inside, then lock it again. Once he’s settled with a snack and his Matchbox cars, I open my laptop. I have to find a lawyer for Ash.

  From the corner of my eye, I see the blinking light on our answering machine. I press play, knowing it’s be a message from Dad. He’s the only one who calls our landline anymore. I also know his message will say that he won’t be home tomorrow, as he promised. He always calls the landline when he knows I won’t be home to answer.

  Hey, Ev. I’m going to be on the road for a few more days. I was heading home, but Seth Siegel called a few minutes ago. I have to turn around and pick up something in the Vegas warehouse and bring it to Seattle. Big job. Bonus pay. Thanks.

  Come on, Dad. I really needed you this time.
Just this once.

  I press the erase button. The house screams with sudden silence.

  Pulling the front curtains back the tiniest bit, I peek out to make sure Paladino’s cop car isn’t there. There’s no movement outside at all, except for the branches swaying in the breeze. Keith’s house is across the street, the lights off, the driveway empty.

  My doors and windows are locked. I double-, then triple-check.

  There’s an old phone book in one of our cupboards. The front cover is an advertisement for Siegel Freight and Transport, with Seth Siegel himself smiling over his dimpled chin and waving from behind the wheel of one of his cobalt-blue eighteen-wheelers. I open the phone book and try looking up the number for Ash’s mom, but the only listing I can find is for Morrison, Vincent. When I call the number, a tinny robotic voice informs me it’s been disconnected.

  Was Ash’s mom ever married to Ash’s dad? If not, maybe she’s still going by her maiden name, and I don’t know what that is. I don’t even know her first name.

  Dinner is elbow macaroni and jarred pasta sauce, cucumbers and dip, and strawberries. But I can’t eat it. Anxiety, worry, fear, and heartache are building up inside of me, making me almost dizzy and nauseated. I don’t know what to do. I need help, and there’s no one who can help.

  Joey’s not hungry either. He’s tired and fussy, so I send him to change into his pajamas while I Google lawyers for Ash. I don’t trust that Paladino will let him call one for himself.

  There are a handful of defense attorneys to choose from. That’s a good thing, but I get exhausted just thinking about calling all of them. What if I pick the wrong one? How will either of us afford it? What I really want to do is go to sleep. A dull headache throbs behind my eyes. Today was exhausting. These last few weeks have been exhausting. They were overwhelming, really, and now my muscles feel heavy. I just want to go to sleep.

  But I can’t go to bed yet. I need to help Ash. I pick the top attorney on the list. But before I can gather the strength to dial, Joey comes back into the kitchen. “Ever, I think Cheeks is sick.” He cups his hamster in his little hands. “She’s not moving.”