He buries his face in his hands. I run my hand up and down his arm.
“I didn’t shoot him. I know it. I try to visualize that gun cabinet in the house. Who picked up the Remington? But I don’t know. I can’t see it. And then I think back to everyone running toward Grant. Running toward the sound of the shot. I saw all of them. We were all coming from somewhere else. That’s why I think it was an accident.”
I pull his hands away from his face and sit in his lap. “But whoever shot him was close. Really close. The shooter wouldn’t have had to run to where he was—he would have already been there.”
“I know. I’ve thought about that. What if he was scared? And he panicked? Made it look like he was running in from somewhere else. It could still be an accident.”
He knows these boys better than I do, but I think friendship and loyalty are clouding his judgment.
Shep holds my hands in his. “But now that we’re getting these pictures, I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe.”
“So what are you going to do about this?” I say, pointing to the images.
“Nothing. Ignore it.” And then he says, quietly, “I’ve been keeping my distance from them, but not anymore. It’s time I started watching them as closely as they are watching me.”
Scrolling through my phone, I stare at the images of us fighting.
We’re falling apart.
We’re turning on each other.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Things were supposed to be better.
I swipe across the screen again and look at the image of Shep and the girl with the camera…Kate. What is he really doing with her? What’s going on between them? Is he going back on the pact to keep quiet and stick together?
There is something there between them. Something none of us knew about. Secrets are what tore our group apart the first time. Shep has forgotten what’s important.
Is he playing his own game, making sure he knows what’s going down before we do? Did he tell her where to find us? Did he know she was taking those pictures? At just the right moment, all it would take is for him to “remember” seeing one of us with the rifle that morning.
Is he forgetting we could do the same to him?
Before, I wasn’t sure if Shep knew about the picture I slipped in her pocket, but he’s seen it now.
Shep is predictable. He won’t ask who left those pictures for him, but he’ll try to figure it out.
Grant was predictable, too.
Always hunting that same little spot. Always thinking he could do whatever he wanted without any consequences.
I swipe to another picture. One I look at every day. One I keep close to remind me: Grant forgot what was important, too.
NOVEMBER 17, 1:45 P.M.
SHEP: We’re all nervous.
PRIVATE NUMBER: Have you found out anything that could help?
SHEP: No. Things are getting weird. They’re all acting weird.
The afternoon before the grand jury, Mr. Stone seems defeated.
The last few weeks, he’s been steadily plugging away at the case, but even the new evidence of the shooter being at a closer range than first thought doesn’t prove this was anything other than a very unfortunate accident. And without the identity of the shooter, it is very unlikely a grand jury will bring charges against all four of them.
He said early on that if he didn’t have the identity of the shooter, there was no way he was going to try to convince twelve random people to look past the absence of evidence and indict all four of them.
I can’t stand the idea that the shooter might get away with this. That he could hide behind his privilege and his friends’ silence. Grant might not have been who I thought he was, but he still deserves justice. Yet there is a small, selfish part of me that can’t help feeling relieved knowing it could all be over soon. If there’s no indictment, the shooter will get what he wants and there will be no more threats, no more hiding my relationship with Shep, no more lying to my mom or Reagan or Mr. Stone.
Because the truth is, knowing someone has been following me, taking photos and going through my stuff, really rattled me. I’m jumpy and exhausted. The only thing that keeps me going is Shep’s drawings. Every day I go back to that spot in the library and find something new he left me.
I scan the office, making sure no one is around, and pull out the latest one. It’s the tree house with a full moon shining down on it. And there I am, in the small cutout window. He drew me looking out into the yard, my long hair in a braid hanging out of the window. And at the bottom he wrote, My favorite place.
And I remember what I left for him. A photo of the table in the library where we first met with a message written in book titles on the spines of a stack of books I placed there:
Once We Were
Dreamless
Forever, Now
Awake and Dreaming
Every Day
Until We Meet Again
We’re almost done for the day when my regular phone chirps, breaking me out of my thoughts. I slide on Reagan’s name to open the message.
Heads up. You got a live one headed your way.
It’s that girl we met at Rhino.
I’ve barely read the message when Lindsey walks into the office.
Mom’s away from her desk on a smoke break, so I’m sitting in her chair.
She’s nervous. “Hey,” she says.
I stand up so quickly, Mom’s chair hits the wall behind me. “Hey.”
Lindsey shuffles from one foot to the next. “I came to talk to your boss.”
Motioning for her to wait a moment, I stick my head into Mr. Stone’s office to tell him he has a visitor, but he’s leaned back, eyes closed, listening to something over his headphones.
I tap him on the shoulder and he cocks one hazy eye at me. Removing the headphones, he says, “What is it, Kate?”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
Lindsey didn’t wait at Mom’s desk; instead she followed me into Stone’s office. I should head back out to Mom’s desk and leave them alone, but I’m dying to know why she’s here, so instead I step behind Mr. Stone’s chair.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
She moves farther into the room, her eyes darting from Mr. Stone to me and back again. His eyes are directed right at her, but I know, for him, she’s just an unfocused blob of color. More likely, he’s got a clear view of the window next to his desk.
I lean down and whisper in Mr. Stone’s ear, “It’s Lindsey. The girl Grant called the morning he died.”
He nods and raises his eyebrows at her.
“I, uh, I need to tell you something. I, ummm, I wasn’t sure if I should come in. I don’t want to get involved in…this, but I can’t stand it anymore.”
She’s wringing her hands and looks on the verge of tears. I start to head back to Mom’s desk, thinking she may do better without me there, but Stone catches my arm.
“Kate, why don’t you stay? And Lindsey, please have a seat.”
Lindsey drops down in the chair in front of Stone’s desk and he motions me to take the one next to her. I give her a reassuring smile and she lets out a deep breath.
Mr. Stone leans forward, his voice low and gentle. “Start at the beginning. Tell me why you’re here.”
The words spill from her mouth like a waterfall. “I was with Grant Perkins the night before he died. I was at River Point. We got in a big fight and I left.”
I can feel my heart beating in my ears.
“I was on the phone with him that morning. It was early. I was still pissed, so I was ugly to him. Picked another fight with him.” Big tears well up in her eyes, making them an even brighter blue. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
So I wasn’t the only one with regret that morning.
Mr. Stone hands her a tissue and she mops her face, smearing her makeup.
“Keep going,” he encourages her.
“Then it got…disturbing.”
She picks
up her phone, flipping it over and over in a nervous rhythm. We all thought this was a dead end, but it seems like there’s more to that conversation that morning. Is this why she looked so haunted whenever I saw her?
Mr. Stone leans forward, and says, “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“We were talking, arguing, and he was saying, ‘Baby, I’m sorry I was an ass last night. Let me make it up to you. You know I can make it up to you…’ That same old bullshit he says every time I get mad at him.” She runs a finger under her eyes, wiping away the tears. “Then he said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? You think you’re going to point a gun at me and…’ and he stopped, midsentence, just like that. And then I heard it.”
“Heard what?” Mr. Stone asks.
She takes a deep breath and says, “An explosion so loud it made me drop the phone. When I picked it back up, all I could hear was a scratchy silence.”
I’ve hardly taken a breath since she started talking.
“Did the line go dead? Did you hear anything else?” Mr. Stone asks. He’s excited, understandably so, but still trying to come across calm.
“I didn’t know what to think at first. I thought maybe one of the other guys shot a deer and he hung up on me. The line went dead. I tried to call him back, but it went straight to voice mail. I should have called the police right then, but I just didn’t think he was dead. How was I supposed to know he was dead?”
Bile creeps up the back of my throat and I’m nauseous. Lindsey covers her face with her hands and cries quietly.
Mr. Stone pulls out a small recorder and sets it next to her. “Please start again at the beginning,” he says in a tight voice.
This changes everything.
I don’t want to listen to it again. Before I can come up with an excuse to leave, she repeats the details from that morning. I get out of my chair and turn away, making myself look busy at his filing cabinet while I try to block out Lindsey’s voice. It’s no good. Her words seep into me and I know I will never forget a single word of her story.
This was not an accident. One of those boys shot Grant on purpose.
I’d suspected it, but hearing it confirmed is different. I feel numb, paralyzed.
Lindsey is crying loudly now, her makeup running down her face. I should go to her, comfort her in some way, but I can’t move.
“For the record, can you tell me your full name?” Mr. Stone asks her.
“Li-Lindsey Wells,” she stutters out.
“Lindsey, I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention. This was very brave.” Stone turns his chair around and says, “Kate, go grab the list from your mother’s desk that has Grant’s phone records and contacts.”
“Yes, sir.”
My hands are shaking as I shuffle papers around on her desk.
I bring the list back to Stone. “This one right here,” I say pointing to her number on the list. I see the nickname, Booty Call 3, and my stomach turns.
“Can you verify your number for me?” he asks.
She rambles off seven digits and I whisper to Mr. Stone that it matches.
“And one of your parents works for Simon, Banks, Wells, and Fuller since the phone is registered under that name?” Stone asks Lindsey.
“Yes, sir,” she says. “And before you ask, my dad doesn’t know I’m here. He is going to kill me when he finds out, but I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”
“How old are you?” Mr. Stone asks her.
“Eighteen. Why?” Lindsey answers.
“Just making sure we can talk to you without your parents present. If you don’t want to tell them you’ve come forward with this, you don’t have to, but they will find out eventually.”
She nods and says, “I’ll worry about that then.”
“I believe my assistant called you about this a couple of weeks ago…asked you about your call from Grant that morning. But you told her that you fought and nothing more.”
Her head hangs. “Yes, sir. I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Can I ask why you’re telling us this now? Was it the worry about how your dad would react?” Stone asks her.
Her voice cracks when she answers. “When I heard the news that Grant…died…and who could have possibly done it—I didn’t know what to do. Those guys are my friends. John Michael, Shep, Logan, and Henry…we’re all friends. And it sounds like it wasn’t an accident. I just didn’t know what to do. And then your assistant called. My parents were right next to me and I freaked out. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, my parents are friends with all of their parents. But then I keep seeing them—Henry, Logan, Shep, and John Michael. Grant’s gone, and they’re just acting like nothing’s changed.”
I know she’s thinking about that day in front of the courthouse, of Henry and that girl.
But her testimony changes everything. Stone finally has something really strong to go to the grand jury with tomorrow, and I’m not sure that it’s going to matter that they don’t know who the shooter is.
Lindsey rubs a hand across her face and pulls herself together. “I just kept thinking I needed to turn this over to y’all. I don’t want to be the only one who knows what really happened that morning,” she says.
She’s here because of me. She’s here because of what I said to her.
Mr. Stone smiles and says, “Lindsey, I’m going to have to call someone over to log your statement into evidence. We’re going to have to keep your phone for a little while. Is that okay?”
She nods and then blows her nose loudly into the disintegrating tissue. I hand her a fresh one and she thanks me.
Mr. Stone throws me a glance over his shoulder and mumbles, “Call Detective Pierce. Ask him to come up.”
I leave his office and move to Mom’s desk, picking up her phone. After I make the call to Detective Pierce, I slump down in her chair. I shouldn’t have deserted Lindsey and Mr. Stone, but I can’t bring myself to go back in there.
One of those boys killed their friend in cold blood, and probably the same person is threatening me and Shep.
I don’t move when Detective Pierce arrives; instead, I just gesture him to Mr. Stone’s office. There’s no way I can listen to her story again.
Mom comes back just as Detective Pierce is taking Lindsey’s statement. Another copy of the statement is made and logged into the computer, and her phone is bagged and sent down to evidence to be processed in. Detective Pierce leaves while Mom walks Lindsey to her car. She is a mess.
Mr. Stone calls me into his office once they all leave.
“That was hard to hear,” he says.
I nod, afraid what my voice will sound like if I try to talk.
“If he was on the phone with her when he was shot, then obviously he wasn’t the one who deleted the calls from his phone log.”
His words hang in the air. I lean against the door so I don’t fall over.
“So whoever shot Grant knows there is a chance someone overheard the whole thing,” I say.
He nods. “That seems like a real possibility. The best thing Lindsey has going for her is her contact name was Booty Call 3. Although if they were a known couple, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out whom he was talking to. I’ve told her she needs to keep quiet about this. Detective Pierce is one of the few police in this town I totally trust. We’re logging the evidence in under Jane Doe for now. So make sure this information does not leave this office.”
I nod and bite down on my lip to stop it from trembling.
“Do you think she’s safe?” I ask. “I mean, they wouldn’t do anything to her, would they?”
“I don’t know what they would do. I know if I go to Gaines with this information, the River Point dads will have every detail within the hour, and then so would the boys. Detective Pierce is going to assign an extra patrol around her neighborhood under the guise of responding to recent break-ins in the area. If it becomes necessary, we can make other arrangements for her.”
“So this changes things for to
morrow,” I say.
“Absolutely. When the grand jury hears Lindsey’s testimony, there should be no problem getting the indictment once we show the shooting was deliberate, and with the other boys’ silence, it’s clear they are covering for whoever pulled the trigger. It should be a slam-dunk getting all four of them on the hook for this. And there should be no more threat to Lindsey. It wouldn’t do any good to hurt her at that point, since her testimony will be well out there. And truthfully, I think once there is an indictment, the others won’t waste a second turning on the shooter.”
One loose thread is all it takes to unravel everything.
That phone was always going to be Grant’s downfall.
It was his tool and his weapon.
That’s why he didn’t use real names. If someone looked at his phone, he wanted to make it hard for them to understand who he was talking to.
How could I have known he would have been on the phone so early in the morning? When his phone rang as we all stood around him in the woods that day, I knew it was whoever he had been on the phone with, calling him back.
I knew there was a chance that person heard something.
Erasing the calls was stupid, but I panicked. Instead of using those few seconds before the others arrived to alter his call log, I should have tried to figure out what number belonged to Booty Call 3, since that contact name meant nothing to me…and she probably meant nothing to Grant.
I’ve been watching and waiting to find out who was on the other end of that phone.
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