A deep foreboding settles around us as we race to school. Neither of us can speak. Dale’s jaw clenches and unclenches, his fingers gripping the wheel. This really is a long shot, but it’s the only move we have left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FRIDAY, 7:32 AM
Dale swerves into the parking lot, jerking to a stop in the first empty spot he finds. As he cuts the engine, we both look out at the milling crowds. The school is steadily filling with students. A cluster of freshmen tosses a Frisbee on the front lawn. A girl struggles to carry a cello into the music wing. Across the parking lot, Matt is leaning against the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette. Everything looks familiar, innocuous. But someone here hit me and is planning to bury my body deep in the woods.
Dale and I get out of the car as a yellow school bus pulls up to the curb, its brakes squeaking loudly before the door clunks open. Students file out in a lazy, unenthusiastic line. I scan faces as they go. Dale raises his hand in greeting as Adam steps off. Adam lifts his chin in acknowledgement and makes his way toward the school.
“So, how do you want to do this?” I ask.
Dale continues scanning the crowd, as if looking for someone wearing a sign that says: drunk driver and would-be murderer! “Let’s just wait until everyone’s inside, then we can do a little investigating. Do you remember anything else other than the low-sitting headlights? Maybe we can narrow down our search.”
I close my eyes and scour my memory of that night, but all I find is the image of the car’s headlights careening toward me, and the feeling of being hit. “I can’t remember anything specific, but if the driver was drunk, is it possible he was at study group?”
Dale snaps his fingers. “So, think back. Who was there?”
“Um . . .” I rub my forehead as I think. “It was a big group this time, but all the usuals were there. Amber, Penny, Lauren, Matty, Drue, Trent.”
“Well, we know it’s not Trent.” Dale kicks the heel of his Converse into the hard asphalt, almost looking disappointed.
“And it can’t have been Penny. She’s still trying to pass Driver’s Ed with Coach Gellar.”
Dale raises his brows. “You did say they were driving erratically.”
I narrow my eyes and make a face at him. “It wasn’t Penny. Trust me. She would have folded the second you started talking to her.”
With a screech, another car pulls into the parking lot and parks haphazardly. It’s Amber. She takes her time getting out of the car. Drue slinks out the passenger’s door, bleary-eyed as he closes the door with his butt.
I stare at them across the lot, thinking. “Amber was a little drunk on Tuesday night. It could have been her, but I’m positive it was two male voices up on the road last night.” I lift my arm to indicate Matt, who is stamping out his cigarette and ambling over to Amber’s car. “It was at Matty’s house, so why would he go anywhere?”
Dale rubs his lower lip with his knuckle. “Which I guess leaves that guy.” He tips his head toward Drue. “You did say they were worried about it looking bad. Something like this could seriously damage Mayor Stratham’s career. We all know how much he prides himself on being a family man.”
I cross my arms and stare at Drue as he shuffles up the stairs. It’s a strong possibility, although Drue would have gotten a ride to the party, unless his older sister was in a generous mood. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember what her car looks like and picturing it parked in Matty’s driveway.
But the only clear memory I have is pulling up in Amber’s car and swooning over a midnight blue Mustang.
The air in my lungs evaporates.
“So, who else—”
My expression makes Dale freeze. I spin to gape at the bus.
“Adam,” I whisper.
“Huh?”
I slowly turn back, studying Dale’s face as I ask, “Why was Adam taking the bus today?”
Dale gives me a weird look and shrugs.
“His mom always drops him off in the morning on her way to work. That’s her routine, she’s been doing it since freshman year,” I say.
Dale jerks back, his jaw locking as he shakes his head.
“He was there on Tuesday. He pulled up in his mom’s Mustang. I remember because Penny was drooling over that thing and we were joking that she should try to catch a ride to school one day. I haven’t seen it since.” I step forward eagerly. “You gave him a ride home from school on Wednesday. Do you remember seeing it in his driveway?”
“Shit,” Dale mutters, running a hand through his hair. “But it can’t be him.”
“Is he applying for a scholarship?” I ask.
“He’s not like your friends. He’s not the kind of guy to—” Dale’s face crumbles. “Shit!”
Dale winces and scans the lot. “They’re probably hiding it in their old garage behind the house.”
He pulls out his keys and unlocks his car. I jump inside, struggling to find the right words. Having what feels like a solid lead is great, I just wish the lead wasn’t one of Dale’s only friends. We rumble out of the school parking lot just as the last few stragglers enter the school grounds.
We don’t say anything as we make our way to Adam’s house, but Dale eases off the gas pedal the closer we get to the Hutton home.
“I might park a block or so away,” he says. “We can sneak in around the back.”
I nod as he parks his car on the edge of a wooded road around the corner from Adam’s house.
He shuts the door quietly and looks into the forest like he’s steeling himself. “Let’s get this over with.”
I follow him down the narrow track that winds through the trees. The dappled sunlight makes patterns on Dale’s curls and I can hear the trickle of water down the hill. Crossing my arms, I glance around the thick tree trunks.
I focus all my attention on the sound of Dale’s shoes crunching over the dried pine needles. We weave our way through the woods, following a small track that eventually leads back up the hill toward a flat patch of grass at the back of Adam’s house.
The Hutton’s garage is a plain white wooden structure smudged with dirt and moss. It’s detached from their house, which is mostly hidden behind a crop of trees. Dale walks over the yellowing grass to the structure. Placing his hands on the high window ledge, he pulls himself up to look in the window, his biceps bulging as he hangs on to the narrow frame.
“Anything?”
He drops down, the dry leaves crunching beneath his feet. “There’s a sheet blocking the window.” He brushes off his hands.
We creep around to the back door, which he tries to yank open. It bangs back and forth. “There must be a bolt across it.”
Returning to the front, he tries lifting the garage door, but it does the same thing, rattling and refusing to move.
“We’ve got to get in.”
I lick my bottom lip, eyeing the solid wooden structure. My mind is trying to tell me that walking through walls is impossible, but I know better. “I’m a ghost now.” I point at the whitewashed wood. “And I’m walking straight through you.”
Dale’s gaze flicks to mine, and his eyes shine with an affection I’m not quite brave enough to buy into.
“What?” I ask quietly.
He scratches the back of his neck and flicks his thumb at the wall. “Go on, then. Do your thing, vapor girl.”
I smile at him and approach the wall. I clench my teeth and start walking forward. My fingers go straight through the wood, but with a little weight, I push myself forward all the way.
“Are you in?” Dale calls from outside.
I open my eyes and look around the room. “Yeah.” The light is bleak, the covered windows casting a blue, somber tone over the dusty space. The old workbench beside me is covered with tools, cut wires, and pulled-apart mechanics; someone likes to tinker. I look up and there it is�
�a car covered with a huge cloth.
This is it. The moment of truth.
I approach the car and try to wrap my fingers around the calico cloth, but they glide straight through it.
“Come on,” I mutter, glaring at the material. Gritting my teeth, I place my hand on top of it, and try to slide it off, but it’s too heavy. I barely make a wrinkle.
“Nicole? How’s it going in there?” Dale’s voice is muffled.
I spin and yell at the wall, “I’ve found a car, but it’s covered with a big cloth. I can’t pull it off.”
“Okay, well, let me in and I’ll come help you.”
“How?” I raise my hands, exasperated.
“Unbolt the door.”
I gaze through the dim light at the back door of the garage. A thick, metal bolt is latching it shut. It looks heavy and unmovable. “I can’t—”
“You can do it, Nicky. I’ve seen you turn pages.”
“Pages,” I mumble to myself, racing across the musty garage. “Thin pages that weigh nothing.”
“Come on, hurry.”
Dale’s voice makes me jump. I check out the lock. Thankfully, the bolt isn’t padlocked. I reach to pull it open, but my air fingers are useless.
“Shit, it’s not working.”
“Keep trying. You’re not allowed to give up on me.”
I step back from the door and reassess the lock. It’s a long metal bolt. I just have to slide the barrel to the right until it springs free from the latch.
“Okay, give me a minute and don’t talk.” I lift my chin and roll my shoulders. “I need to concentrate.”
It takes a hell of an effort, but bit by bit, I manage to move the bolt until finally it comes free. I stand back from the door, a proud smile taking over my face.
“Okay, it’s unlocked.”
Dale turns the latch and pushes it open with his shoulder. Light floods into the room, highlighting the dust particles floating in the air.
Dale grins at me. “Not bad, Air Fingers.”
“Thanks.”
Dale’s smile vanishes as soon he notices the car behind me. I let him move past, worry eating at my insides. He doesn’t say anything as he stares down at the covering. Pulling in a breath, he reaches for the sheet, then stops, his shaky fingers hovering over the material.
I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking: If this isn’t the car, we’re going to have to follow the Drue Stratham lead. And every minute that ticks by, the chances of Dale finding me before they do grow that much slimmer.
“Do it,” I whisper.
With a heavy sigh, he curls his fingers into the fabric and drags it off the car. His frown lines grow deeper and deeper as he slowly removes the sheet. My lips part in horror as I stand behind Dale and take in the damage. The right bumper is completely scratched and warped, the metal severally dented. The front light is smashed and the edge of the hood is chipped and bent. Dale squats down by the right bumper, running his fingers into the gnarly indent. He stops and looks up at me, grim triumph on his face.
“Well, we’ve got our guy.”
I move down next to him, feeling a mix of relief and utter desolation.
“What do you want to do now?”
Dale jerks to look at me, like the answer is completely obvious.
I shake my head. “It’s not like we can go to the police”—the sickening realization dawns on us—“his dad is the police.”
“Son of a bitch,” Dale mutters. “He knows and he’s trying to cover it up.” He jerks to his feet, letting out a string of foul curses before slapping the roof of the midnight blue Mustang.
Dale’s nostrils flare as he tries to rein in his anger. “Come on, let’s head back to school and kick Adam’s ass. We’ve got to find you before the sheriff does.” He heads for the door, but freezes at the sound of someone whistling. “Do you hear that?”
“Whistling?”
The melodic sound dances through the air again, growing louder as if it’s moving toward us. That’s when I recognize it. My eyes bulge out.
“Ringtone.” Fear clips the word. “The same one I heard last night.”
Dale immediately crouches down behind the car.
The whistle cuts off. “Sheriff Hutton speaking.”
“Shit,” I whisper, crouching down beside Dale. “How the hell do we get out of here without him seeing you?”
“Let’s just sit tight and see if he leaves.” Dale speaks so softly I can barely hear him.
“Yeah. Can it wait?” The sheriff’s tone is gruff, irritation slicing through every word. “Look, just give me ten minutes and I’ll be there . . . Yep . . . Okay, bye.” He lets out a short curse, then I hear him dialing another number.
Dale presses his fingers into the back of the car, his jaw muscles working overtime as we listen to the sheriff’s stern bark.
“Where are you? I told you to meet me this morning.” Footsteps draw toward the garage, his voice getting louder with each step. “This is your mess, Adam. And I’m helping you out of it. I have to head into the station, but as soon as I’m done, you better be outside school waiting for me.”
The call ends with a definitive beep.
Dale holds his breath, peeking his head around the side of the car as we anxiously wait for the footsteps to move away from the garage. Unfortunately, they stop. I freeze and glance at Dale’s nervous expression.
“Wait a second,” the sheriff says under his breath.
Footsteps quickly approach the back of the garage and then we hear an explosive curse. “What the hell?”
Dale shrinks back against the car, frantically looking for a better place to hide, but he has no chance. The sheriff barrels around the car with lightning-quick steps and is soon towering over him. His dark glare is ominous—a frightening blend of outrage and desperate fear.
“What are you doing in here?” His deep voice booms around us. He grabs Dale by the collar and yanks him up. “You’re trespassing!”
“Let him go.” I run after them as he marches Dale out to his squad car and throws him against it with a bang.
“Turn around.” He forces Dale’s chest against the vehicle while he pulls out his cuffs.
“What are you doing?” I scream, trying to slap the sheriff’s arms away. My fingers fly straight through him and he doesn’t even shiver.
Dale doesn’t say anything as his wrists are bound with the shiny metal, but he has this really dark look on his face. He stares at the corner of the Hutton’s home, his expression rigid, like somehow he’s transporting himself to another place.
Opening the back door of the squad car, Sheriff Hutton shoves Dale inside.
Dale slumps back in his seat and closes his eyes. His scar burns red and he’s clenching his jaw so tight I’m worried his teeth will crack.
The car starts to pull away from me and I do the only thing I can think of. I run straight into the back door and land in Dale’s lap. I shuffle to sit beside him. His expression is grim as he looks away from me, training his eyes out the window.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FRIDAY, 8:51 AM
As we drive toward the police department, Sheriff Hutton eyes Dale through the rearview mirror.
“I warned you. I told you stay away from this and not go repeating the past, and here you are, right back where I thought you’d end up.”
Dale keeps his cool, not rising to the taunt.
“Were you trying to steal my wife’s car just now? Thought you’d take the Mustang for a joyride?” He shoots Dale one more glare, but as he looks back to the road, I catch a lick of fear flit across his face. He’s worried that Dale knows too much.
Time is ticking and there is nothing I can do to stop it. With Dale behind bars, Sheriff Hutton will be free to drive out to where my body is. They’re going to get away with this. The thought h
as me reeling. I wish Dale could talk to me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. But it won’t be. We’re too late and they’re going to bury me.
The closer we get to the station, the tenser the atmosphere in the car becomes. Sheriff Hutton is seething that Dale won’t talk, and Dale just keeps clenching his jaw, eyes still locked on the floor. I’ve never seen such a dark look on his face.
When we pull up, the sheriff slams the brakes hard and Dale lurches forward, his face smashing violently into the metal divider in front of him. With quiet dignity, he repositions himself on the back seat.
He doesn’t stay there for long. Hutton yanks him out of the car and I scramble out before he aggressively slams the door. As he drags Dale into the station, no one even bothers looking up, and the deputy asks no questions. I’m suddenly terrified that Dale will be forgotten here. The sheriff and Adam will get to my body and get rid of me, and no one will be any wiser.
Sheriff Hutton uncuffs Dale and pushes him into a cell. The bars slam shut behind us with a definitive bang. “You just sit tight. I’ll be back . . . eventually.”
Dale collapses onto the steel bench, his head in his hands, hair covering his face. I can’t see his expression, but I know it’s not good. I’m not sure if I’m more worried for him or for me.
I glide my fingers over the pale green jail cell wall and turn back to stare down at Dale. “Have you been in one of these before?”
His curls bounce as he nods at my question.
I sit down beside him. “I thought you said you were never caught.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t want you knowing I had a criminal record.” He sits up, thumps his head against the concrete wall and curses. “My parents are going to get a call asking them to come and collect their son from the police station. I promised them it would never happen again.”
“This is my fault. You’ve only ever been good to me and all I’ve done is ruin your life.”
Dale slowly turns to me. His expression is a little broken and I look away from it.
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