KATE: She looks confused. Head tilts slightly, brow scrunches together.
PHOEBE: No, you mean between Logan and Grant and those other guys.
DET. PIERCE: What other guys?
PHOEBE: I don’t know who they were. They showed up late. Really late. Most everyone else was gone. They pulled up in a white truck. There were two of them. They looked older, like they were in college or something. They asked where Logan and Grant were and we told them they were outside on the back porch.
DET. PIERCE: What happened next?
KATE: She’s chewing on her thumbnail. She doesn’t want to talk. Doesn’t want to tell him anything.
DET. PIERCE: I will call your parents and let them know you aren’t cooperating, Phoebe. Don’t push me on this.
PHOEBE: Fine, we all went to the window. One guy pulled Logan up out of his chair, while the other guy got up in his face. He pulled a knife, held it against Logan’s neck. Logan was terrified. My friend and I cracked the side door so we could hear what was going on. The guy with the knife was really pissed. He kept yelling, “Where’s the money?”
DET. PIERCE: Why do you think they were there looking for money? From the pictures we found, you were a regular out there. Don’t act like you don’t know what was going on.
PHOEBE: Logan placed bets for anyone wanting to put some money on a game. Didn’t matter if it was football, baseball, or water polo. My guess is that it had something to do with that.
DET. PIERCE: So Logan placed the bets through these guys?
KATE: She shrugs.
DET. PIERCE: What happened after those guys left?
KATE: She’s chewing on her bottom lip. Her hands are tapping nervously on the table.
DET. PIERCE: Phoebe…
PHOEBE: Logan pulled Grant off to the side and they argued. Logan said, “You were supposed to deliver it two days ago! Where is it?”
DET. PIERCE: What was “it”? The money?
PHOEBE: I guess. Grant said it was gone. Then he walked away. Logan grabbed the whiskey off the table and the bottle was shaking when he took a drink. He was seriously freaked-out. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him as scared as that.
NOVEMBER 7, 5:23 P.M.
PRIVATE NUMBER: It’s me. I’d rather not say my name if you know what I mean. I need to see you. Very important.
SHEP: OK. Tell me when and where
PRIVATE NUMBER: My backyard. Midnight. Can you figure out where that is without me saying my address?
SHEP: Yes. I’ll be there.
Just before midnight, I change quickly into some black yoga pants and a black sweater, hoping Shep is taking the same precautions about not being seen. I stopped at Walmart after work and bought one of those prepaid cell phones so I could text him without it showing up on my phone records.
Tiptoeing through the kitchen, I pause at the back door, listening for sounds of Mom. The soft hum of her snoring floats across the room and I turn the knob slowly, trying for stealth.
The old wooden ladder to the tree house is half-rotten, and each step has me terrified the entire thing will tumble to the ground. It’s been years since I’ve been up here.
When I was four, the Hernandez family moved into the other side of our duplex and they had a daughter my age and a son a couple of years older. Their dad worked construction jobs and he built this tree house for us on the weekends. The three of us spent hours up here. They only lived here a couple of years before moving to Texas when Mr. Hernandez got a better job. I came up here a few times after they left, but it was never the same.
When I finally get inside, it’s so much smaller than I remember. But it’s just like we left it. There’s the small table in one corner with a dust- and cobweb-covered tea set and a few wooden swords and shields scattered around the floor.
I can’t believe Shep is coming over here. I can’t believe I’m going to talk to him. To see him. I unfold the picture that was left in my pocket and put it down next to me.
All evening and into the night, I’ve been thinking which one of them left it for me and what it could possibly mean. One thing I’m certain about now: Shep is telling the truth about not knowing who shot Grant. There’s no way this didn’t come from whoever pulled the trigger.
It doesn’t take long before I hear the creak of Shep coming up the steps. My heart is pounding and I scoot across the small space, wedging myself in one of the empty corners.
When Shep pops up through the hole in the floor, it feels like I’ve lost the ability to breathe. He climbs inside and the interior of the tree house shrinks even more. Once he’s sitting on the floor, he has to duck his head slightly. We are close without even trying and it’s like we’re in our own little cocoon, just Shep and me.
“I thought you’d be up here when I didn’t see you in the yard,” he says.
I give him a small shrug. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else we could meet.”
He shifts around, hits his head on a branch that has grown through the side wall of the tree house, and lets out a low growl. “Clearly, this establishment was built with someone much smaller in mind,” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting up in a smile.
I laugh quietly.
“Ah, so you find amusement in my pain,” he says.
“I’m laughing because I haven’t been up here in years. I always thought it was so big. When I was six, I thought I could live here once I grew up so I could still be close to my mom.” I duck my head, embarrassed to share such a personal memory with him.
We both get quiet and just watch each other. Finally, I pick up the picture and hand it to him.
“What’s this?” he asks, confusion all over his face.
“It was shoved into my coat pocket during the fire drill,” I answer.
He studies the image and then looks at me. “This is why you looked freaked-out at school when we were waiting to go back inside.”
I nod, and his attention goes back to the picture. His expression gets more intense the longer he stares at it. He moves toward the steps. “I’ve got to go,” he says.
Grabbing his arm, I stop him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to talk to Henry,” he grinds out.
“Henry?” I shake my head. “No. Let’s think this through. If you go to him all mad and ready to fight, things will only get worse. And there’s a chance it was John Michael or Logan.”
“They can’t do this—threaten you—and expect me not to do anything about it,” he says.
“I agree. But hauling off and calling them out isn’t the best way to go. You told me last night that we’re on the same side. Is that true?”
He nods and scoots closer to me. “Yes.”
“Then we find out who shot Grant. It’s probably the same one who gave me this picture. That’s the only way to end this.”
“I’m not sure I can be around them and not say anything about this,” Shep says, waving the picture back and forth.
“Did the other three know you were texting me before…Grant died?”
He shakes his head. “They knew I was into someone, but they didn’t know who. I wouldn’t tell them who you were.”
Pulling back slightly, I can’t help but feel hurt. Was he embarrassed about me?
Shep sees my reaction and says, “No, it’s not like that. You don’t understand how it was with them. Nothing was off-limits. If they knew I liked you and I was talking to you, they would have gotten involved with it somehow. Made a joke of it and tried to humiliate me. I didn’t want that. I liked having you to myself. It’s why Grant didn’t know we were texting until I confronted him that night.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say, and I’m hoping it’s too dark out here for him to see me blush.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve had most of the day to think about this. Maybe they’re testing to see what’s between us. If they didn’t know we were texting before, maybe they think you’re approaching me now because I’m on the case. Maybe they
want to see what I’ll do, see if I’ll tell Mr. Stone or you about the photo. Or maybe they want to see what you will do if I do tell you. So what if nothing happens? Really, the picture was taken when you helped fix my car. We weren’t doing anything wrong. I mean, my hand is on your chest, but I could say I was pushing you away.” I can feel my cheeks get warm again.
He nods. “Okay, okay. So we ignore it.”
“So why do you think it was Henry who left me that picture?”
He cocks his head to the side. “I’ve been pulling away and he’s noticed. He’s always asking where I’ve been or where I’m going. I feel like he’s been watching me.”
“You two always seem to be fighting,” I say.
“Yeah. Well, he always manages to say something that pisses me off. We meet in that parking lot after we leave the lawyer’s office. We keep our mouths closed when we’re in front of everyone but let it all out once we’re alone. Henry’s been taking a lot of jabs at me lately. But hell, it could be John Michael. I wouldn’t put anything past him. He’s always disappearing and then turning back up but never says a word about where he’s been.”
I think about him jumping in that car the day of the St. Jude’s barbecue. I logged onto Mr. Stone’s computer and ran the plate. I wasn’t surprised to see it belonged to a guy he’d prosecuted for distribution a few years ago.
“And then there’s Logan. He’s a hothead. I can see him reacting like this if he saw me with you. Plus, John Michael and Logan have side businesses that could get them in a ton of trouble, and Grant was screwing around with both of them.”
“Yeah, I saw John Michael give Logan a huge bag of rolled joints and pills.”
Shep lets out a sharp laugh. “They would be considered each other’s best clients.”
“I know who was in the Grant costume at the football game on Halloween.”
He jerks his head toward me. “Who?”
“A guy who goes to Marshall. He said someone bet him to do it. And then I saw him later that night standing next to Logan’s Tahoe.”
He looks up at the ceiling of the tree house, disgust on his face. I can tell he’s trying not to get angry.
“It looks like it’s you and John Michael against Logan and Henry. Has it always been like that?”
His eyes are back on me. “No. That’s a new thing. We’re not all agreeing how we should handle this.”
“What do you mean?”
He rubs his hands across his face. “They’re okay never knowing who shot Grant. They don’t say it, but they feel like he got what he deserved. Grant could really be an asshole. They just want all of this to go away. We’re the only ones who seem to give a shit about finding out what happened that morning.”
“Do you think Henry shot Grant, or do you think it was one of the others?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain since this happened, trying to remember anything about that morning that would help. And it’s hard to look at my friends, to hang around them, and know one of them is being a coward and not owning up to the accident.”
My head falls to the side. “So you’re sure it was an accident.”
Shep takes a deep breath. “I am. I really, really am. I know these guys. I can’t see any of them killing Grant on purpose. I mean, I can’t even wrap my head around it.”
I think about the photo I took at River Point, how close Grant and his shooter were, and don’t feel nearly as sure but don’t push it. I feel bad for Shep, that he’s stuck in this impossible situation.
He twists his fingers in mine and chills race up my arm. “So…you don’t think it was me anymore?” he says softly. “Was it because of this picture?”
“No, I don’t think it was you. I thought about what you said last night, and you’re right. I didn’t know Grant. But I do know you.”
A small smile appears on his face.
“The picture didn’t hurt,” I add, and he lets out a soft laugh.
Maybe it’s because his face is partially hidden in the shadows and we’re tucked away from the world in this small space, but right now, I could say anything to him. “I wish we could have met that night, like we planned.”
Pain slashes across his face and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before he says, “I wish we could have met that day, too.” He opens his eyes slowly, pinning me with his stare. He moves just an inch or so closer, and the moonlight filtering in through one of the rough-cut windows bathes his face in light. “Don’t get me wrong, I love them like brothers and we always had fun, but it was getting old hanging out at River Point every weekend. The drinking. The partying. And then the heavier stuff. I kept thinking that whole day…the day of the Battle of the Paddle…that once you got there, we would leave and go somewhere else. We would go eat or see a movie, anything other than stay at that party. Things were out of control that night, and all I wanted was to be with you.”
His words wrap around me, easing some of the lingering doubt away. I don’t have to ask if he was one of those into the heavier stuff. I’ve already read the toxicology report on all of them, and I know he and Logan were the only ones who tested positive for alcohol but negative for drugs.
And for the first time, I hate how much I know about his case. He has no idea I’ve studied his interrogation tapes or read the coroner’s report.
I relax the grip around my knees, changing positions until I’m sitting cross-legged.
He’s silent a moment; then, trying to lighten the mood, he says, “If I had it to do over again, I’d ask you out, right there in the library. I’d blow Grant off, ask you to dinner. That’s what I wish I’d done.”
“Oh,” I say, and feel lame.
“When this is over, we’re going on a real date. In public. We’ll go to that fancy new restaurant where they make that dessert next to your table with all the fire. And then we’ll go to a movie. Or to get ice cream. Or hell, just walk down the damn street holding hands.”
I can’t stop the smile. “I like it. That’ll be our first date.”
And then Shep and I talk. Not by text message but face-to-face. We talk about music and movies, family vacations and crazy relatives, and everything else in between, avoiding anything to do with the last couple of weeks. He has shifted around until he’s lounged against the wall of the tree house, legs stretched out in front of him. I’ve moved closer too. I know the exact points along my body that are making contact with his. The toes of my right foot against his. My left knee against his outer thigh. My hand near his upper arm.
I yawn and he checks his watch for the first time.
“Damn, it’s late.” He’s sitting up, likes he’s getting ready to leave.
I glance quickly at my own watch. Two thirty in the morning. I had no idea we’d been out here this long.
I sit up straighter. My eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness, so it’s easy to make out every detail of his face.
We watch each other for a long moment. And then he moves in closer and I meet him halfway. His lips press against mine, his hands are in my hair, my hands pull at his shoulders.
Every reason why I shouldn’t be here with him melts away and all I can think about is kissing him. Without breaking contact, he lifts me up, moving me into his lap, my legs draped over his.
We kiss until my lips are swollen. When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing hard and I bury my head against his neck, embarrassed to face him. His hand runs up and down my back in a slow, rhythmic motion.
“Yeah, we should have done that weeks ago,” he says, laughing quietly.
I nod, still hiding from him.
He pulls me back, hands cupping my face. “We’re on the same team, right?”
“Yes, we’re on the same team.” I lean in and kiss him softly once more on the lips.
We’re close, his forehead against mine, his arms around my back, my arms around his neck. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer softly. “We need t
o be really careful. Seem to be a lot of eyes on us right now.”
It’s a while before he says anything else. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I better go.”
He kisses me once more; then I move off his lap, back into the corner I was in when he first climbed up here.
He slips through the hole in the floor, down the ladder, but stops just before he’s completely out of sight.
“It’s going to be hard to be near you at school and not talk to you,” he says.
I can’t stop the smile that breaks out across my face. “We’ll figure something out.”
With one last glance, he ducks out of the tree house. I wait until he’s down the ladder, then out of the yard. When I finally head back inside, I’m startled to find Mom up.
She’s standing at the sink, peering out the dark window that leads to the backyard. Oh, God, did she see us? Did she see Shep? My heart is thudding so loud I feel like it’s echoing off the kitchen walls.
Mom gives me a small smile and I let out my breath.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I ask.
“Nothing, sweetie, just couldn’t sleep.” She nods to the back door I just came through. “Should I be worried about who you were out with or what you were doing at this time of the morning?”
Since it’s almost always just been the two of us, we’re more like a team than mother-daughter. I have very few rules, but then again, I’ve never really stepped out of line.
I shake my head, instantly guilty. “No. No reason to worry. I was hanging out with a friend who needed to talk.” She would be so disappointed if she knew I just spent the last several hours talking to Shep, kissing Shep, and my happiness washes away.
“I trust you, Kate. Don’t make me regret that,” she says.
Hugging her quickly, I tell her good night, then head back to my room. Once I’m in bed, I can’t sleep. This isn’t the first time I’ve stayed up most of the night talking to him, but before, it was always by texts on the phone. And this was the first time that I knew exactly who I was talking to.
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