“Yeah, Mom.” Rachel slipped her backpack off her shoulder and took out the plastic bag. “Shampoo. It’s new. Cleans, conditions, and highlights all in one step.” She peered at Georgia’s hair. “You should try it.”
Georgia was about to reply when the voice cut in again. “Who’s with you, Rachel? I thought we agreed. Homework first.”
Rachel grinned conspiratorially. “Why don’t you come down and see?”
Georgia heard the scuffle of feet scrambling down the steps. A moment later an attractive, dark-haired woman in sweats and a t-shirt bounded into the kitchen.
“Georgia!” Ellie Foreman’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around her in a hug. “What a surprise!”
Georgia tried not to let her awkwardness show. “I was in the neighborhood…”
Ellie stepped back, a shrewd look in her eyes. “Sure you were.”
Georgia pretended not to notice. “Actually, I wanted to talk to Rachel about Sara Long.”
Ellie looked at Rachel, then back at Georgia.
Georgia went on. “She was just starting to tell me what it’s been like at school.”
“Oh. Well. Don’t let me bother you.” Ellie turned around, opened the refrigerator, and rummaged inside. Georgia pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Like I was saying,” Rachel said self-importantly, “we’ve had advisories and meetings up the wazoo. Social workers and counselors are all over the place, and there’s some new resource every day we’re supposed to know about. Like we don’t have enough help already.”
Georgia stifled a smile. She sounded like her mother.
“They even had the police talk to us.” She paused. “But then, you already know that.”
Ellie turned around, leaving the refrigerator door open. She and Georgia exchanged glances. Apparently, Ellie hadn’t told her daughter about Georgia’s suspension. Not that there was any reason to. Or not to. Georgia answered, keeping her eyes on Ellie. “No, I didn’t.”
“Aren’t you working on the case?”
Georgia had rehearsed her answer, but she hadn’t expected to say it with Ellie in the room. “I am. I’m doing some—research.”
“Why?” Rachel said. “I thought they already got the guy.”
“There are still some… loose ends to tie up.” She and Ellie exchanged another glance. If Ellie was going to blow Georgia’s cover, it would be now. Ellie looked like she wanted to say something, then turned back to the refrigerator. “Who wants a pop?”
“Me,” Rachel answered.
“How about you, Georgia?”
“I’m fine.”
Ellie pulled out two cans of soda and handed one to Rachel. “Well, I guess I’ll go back upstairs. Give a call sometime,” she said to Georgia.
Georgia nodded.
Ellie gave her one more look before leaving the room. She was okay, Georgia concluded. For a civilian. “So there’s been a lot of attention on the incident at school?” Georgia asked Rachel.
Rachel nodded. “They want to make sure everyone who needs it has help.”
“Her friends?”
“Some. But there are plenty of wannabes. You know. Kids who weren’t really her friends but want the attention.” She popped the top off her can.
“Did you know her?”
“Sara? Not well.”
“You weren’t friends?”
“No. I’m not in that crowd.”
“What crowd is that?”
“They don’t really have a name, at least a name anyone would use in public.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the girls are kind of Barbie dolls, you know? Pretty but dumb, cool clothes and stuff. They spend all their time buying makeup and texting each other.”
“Sara was part of that group?”
Rachel nodded. “Yeah. She was gorgeous. She was a year older than me.” She took a swig of her soda. “How come you’re asking all these questions?”
“I told you. I’m just trying to tie up some loose ends.”
“What loose ends?”
Georgia didn’t answer.
Rachel cocked her head. “You don’t think he did it?”
“It isn’t my job to think one way or the other. That’s up to a judge and jury.”
Rachel stared hard at Georgia. “My mother does that.”
“What?”
“Gives me those non-answer answers when she doesn’t want to tell me what’s really going on.”
Georgia bypassed the comment. “Who are Sara’s friends? Can you give me some names?”
Rachel took another sip of her pop. “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?” When Georgia kept quiet, she sighed. “Okay. I know she was friends with Heather Blakely. She’s the anchor for the school news in the morning.”
“The school news?”
“Every morning during advisory, they make us watch the school news on these monitors.”
“You have TVs in the classroom?”
She nodded. “The PTA bought them a few years ago. I don’t know why. We don’t need them. I think making us watch the news is just an excuse to get some use out of them. Anyway, Heather’s the main anchor person. She thinks she’s Katie Couric.”
Georgia pulled out a memo pad and pen. “Anyone else?”
“Well, there’s Claire Tennenbaum. She’s probably one of the dumbest girls you’ll ever meet. But in a cute, puppy-dog kind of way. You know they’re stupid, but you can’t help liking them. Oh. How could I forget? Lauren Walcher. She lives in this incredible house in Glencoe with a pool and a separate guest house, and this goldfish pond that’s supposed to be amazing.”
“You’ve been there?”
Rachel took a swig of her soda and shook her head. “No. Only the cool kids get invited over to Lauren’s. I’m not in with that crowd.”
“For which we should all say a prayer of thanks,” Georgia muttered. She looked up from her notes to find Rachel regarding her, her eyes challenging. Georgia smiled. “You don’t need to hang out with the cool crowd. You’re already one of the coolest kids I know.”
Rachel couldn’t quite suppress a grin.
Georgia hoped she believed it. “What about a boyfriend?”
A blush crept up Rachel’s neck. “Craig? I—I’m not really—”
“Not you,” Georgia cut in.
“Oh.” She smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know. Guys are—were—always drooling over Sara. And her friends. At least in the hall and things. But I don’t know if she was going with anyone.”
“What boys?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Okay. Do any of the girls you mentioned have cars?”
“I think Claire does. Oh, and Lauren too. She has a black Land Rover. She used to give people rides.” Rachel frowned. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her much recently.”
“Got it.” Georgia finished writing, closed her memo pad, and dumped it in her jacket pocket. “Tell me something. Isn’t there someone named Ramsey at your school?”
Rachel nodded. “Monica Ramsey. She’s a senior.”
“Was she a friend of Sara’s?”
Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”
Georgia shrugged back. “Just curious.”
“Her father’s a big wheel, isn’t he?”
“A very big wheel.” Georgia agreed. “Hey. Do you happen to have a yearbook I could borrow?”
Rachel nodded.
“Maybe you could point out some of the people you just named?”
“Sure. I’ll get it.”
Georgia smiled her thanks. “Including Craig.”
***
Back in her apartment that night, Georgia waded through the police reports, grand jury transcripts, and witness statements. She found interview summaries from all the girls Rachel had mentioned. All three were at the Forest Preserve for the junior/senior powder puff football game.
Georgia pressed her lips together. The hazing incident two years ago had started the sa
me way. Why hadn’t anyone stopped it this time? Surely some adults, teachers, or other school officials must have suspected it could happen again. Memories weren’t that short. She got up from the couch and went into the kitchen. Adults make a decree, the kids ignore it, then the adults do nothing to enforce it. And they wonder why kids have trouble with authority figures.
She got a glass of water and drank all of it down. She was trying to keep herself hydrated. They said it helped. But eight glasses a day? That was overkill. Not to mention all the trips to the john. She finished the water anyway.
The transcripts confirmed what she already knew. The girls came back to the clearing where they saw Cam Jordan kneeling over Sara Long’s body, the bat on the ground beside him. They ran to call the police, and he apparently fled. The police found him wandering around a quarter mile from the crime scene.
Next she reviewed the police reports. They, too, were in line with what she already knew; nevertheless, she went through them carefully. The word “hazing” wasn’t mentioned, and no one confessed to bringing the bucket, the blindfold, or the bat. So how did they get there, Georgia wondered. Did they materialize out of thin air?
Georgia finished reading, then stacked the files in a neat pile on the floor. She knew about powder puff football, and she knew girls sometimes changed the rules to suit themselves. But she couldn’t imagine any rule that would involve Sara Long off by herself with a bucket on top of her head. More significantly, none of the police officers, apparently, had thought to ask. Or if they did, the answer wasn’t reported.
She went into her kitchen and stared out the window. The sun had set hours ago and the blackness outside lay in sharp contrast to her white curtains. The simplicity of the polar opposites was appealing. Black and white could never be confused, misread, or manipulated. She leaned her forehead against the glass. Somehow she doubted Sara Long’s case would have the same clarity.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE BELL rang, signaling the end of the period. Lauren was startled—she’d been deep into a worksheet analyzing the characters of Willy Stark and Jack Burden. She gathered her books, hoisted her Prada bag over her shoulder, and headed out of the classroom. A throng of students pushed and crowded and shoved their way down the hall. Lauren skirted the edges, staying close to the rows of lockers. As she reached the end of the corridor, she spotted Claire and Heather waiting for her around the corner.
“What’s up?” She was irritated by their presence. She had things to do. But they all had a free period at the same time—they’d planned it that way last spring. With Sara.
“You want to go outside?” Heather Blakely, petite and waif-like, prided herself on wearing a size two. Lauren thought she was borderline anorexic—she never ate a thing, at least in front of them. Today she was wearing a denim Citizen skirt with a flounce at the bottom and a pale green t-shirt that looked like it was Express. Feminine. Neat. Very Heather.
Lauren dug out her cell to check the time. “I only have a couple of minutes. Got to do some stuff. And I’m hungry. Let’s go to the cafeteria.”
Claire Tennenbaum, who was tall and slim and towered over Heather, shook her head. Her long brown hair was streaked with blond, and it shimmered, even in the fluorescent school light. “I gotta talk to you guys.”
Lauren frowned. “What about?”
Claire’s denim jacket covered her torso, just barely, and her Sevens jeans were low riders. She looked around and gestured toward the stairwell.
“Why do we have to go up?” Heather’s voice was suspicious. Shit. The girl couldn’t take yes for an answer. She had to know everything, right away. At least Sara had been more subtle.
“Just come upstairs.” Claire usually had a dull, vacant look, as though the neurons in her brain were slow to fire. But today, she looked anxious. Almost scared.
Lauren headed toward the stairwell which led up to a little-used corner on the third floor. Sometimes they camped out up there during free period. Few teachers came up there, if they could avoid it—too many steps to climb.
As they entered the stairwell, a wave of kids flowed around them. There were only five minutes between classes, and teachers enforced it by doling out detention whenever a student was late. Once on the third floor, they pushed through a set of double glass doors. Heather thumped down the hall. In Michael Kors clogs, Lauren noted.
Claire flopped down on the floor at the end of the hall. Heather arranged herself more carefully.
Lauren leaned against the wall, planning to cut out after she heard whatever Claire had to say. “So what is it, Claire?”
Claire’s jaws pumped up and down. She was chewing gum. She leaned forward. “I was coming into school this morning. It was early, ‘cause I was supposed to meet my math teacher to go over some stuff for a test. Anyway, I parked across the street in the lot, and—”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Get to the point, Claire.”
Claire glared at Heather. “I am.” She angled herself away from Heather toward Lauren. “Well, this woman stopped me near my car. Said she wanted to talk about Sara.”
Lauren straightened. Heather, Lauren noticed, took her cue and became interested too.
“What woman?” Lauren said.
“Georgia Davis.”
Lauren frowned. “Was she a cop?”
Claire clacked her gum. “I—I think so.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“She had a bunch of papers, and she kept going through them. I—I figured she was.”
“Was she wearing a uniform?” Heather asked.
Claire shook her head.
Heather stole a glance at Lauren, then pronounced, “Cop or no cop, you know we’re not supposed to talk about anything without our parents there.”
“That’s what I told her.” Claire nodded energetically.
“And?” Lauren said.
“She said we could call them, if it made me feel more comfortable, or we could go home and talk.”
Heather threw an exasperated what-are-you-gonna-do look at Lauren.
Lauren ignored it. “What happened next?”
Claire slowly folded her legs Indian-style and popped a gum bubble. She was thrilled to be the center of attention, Lauren thought. “Well, first, she looked inside the Jeep.”
“What for?” Heather cut in.
“I don’t know. Drugs, maybe?”
“You don’t have any drugs.” Heather scoffed.
“Of course not.”
“Claire…” Lauren cut in. “What did she want to know?”
“Well, she asked me about the powder puff game.”
“What about it?”
“She wanted to know how many girls were there… what the score was… stuff like that.”
“I don’t get it,” Heather piped up. “Why would she ask that? The police already know. It doesn’t make—”
“Shut up, Heather.” Lauren waved a hand at Claire. “Go on.”
Heather shrank against the wall.
“I asked her why I had to go over it all again,” Claire said. “Like, did I say something wrong the first time?”
“And?”
“She said they go over the same thing again and again. That sometimes people remember stuff they didn’t the first time. You know, details and things.”
Two geeky looking boys appeared at the other end of hall, talking boisterously. Both had the gang-wannabe look: oversized pants that hung below their waists, long tshirts, and baseball hats on backwards. They trudged toward the girls, waving their cell phones, comparing features and games. Having a cell phone on during school was a breach of rules, but you could get away with it on the third floor.
Claire smiled at them.
Lauren shot Claire a stern look, then glared at the boys. All at once they quieted, scurried past, and disappeared through the door. Lauren caught a powerful whiff of aftershave. One of them probably dumped an entire bottle on his face. She turned back to Claire, who was snapping her gum. “How many times do I
need to tell you not to waste your time on these guys, Claire? They’re—immature.”
Claire’s jaws stopped moving. She looked like she’d been slapped.
“So what else did this—Davis woman ask?” Lauren said.
Claire picked at her jacket, although there was no lint in sight. “She wanted to know who took Sara away.”
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.” When Lauren winced, she added, “I had to. The cops already know anyway.”
“Of course. You’re right. What else?”
Claire shrugged.
Heather gave a theatrical sigh. “Claire, I’m sure you can be more specific. Think.”
“Well…” Claire looked from Heather to Lauren, drawing out the moment. “I told her about Sara sticking her nose into everyone’s business.”
Heather winced.
“You know, all the stuff we talked about. Like how Sara had to know what everyone was doing.”
Lauren didn’t react.
“What’s wrong?” Claire asked, her tone defensive. “The police know that too.”
“Did you tell her about the blindfold?” Heather asked.
Claire nodded. “And the bucket. How grody it was, and how bad it smelled.”
“What else?” Lauren asked.
“I said the seniors may have wanted to teach her a lesson, but nobody wanted her to get hurt. I told her the crazy guy definitely did it.” She looked back at Lauren as if for approval.
“Did she ask who the seniors were?” Lauren asked.
Claire nodded.
“What names did you give her?”
“Annie Chernow, Judy Bobalik, Monica Ramsey…” Claire recited.
“You told her Monica Ramsey was there?”
Claire nodded.
“Anything else?” Heather asked.
“That was it. The first bell rang, and I had to go.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. Why are you asking so many questions, Heather?” Claire shot Heather an angry glance. “You can’t broadcast this on the school news.”
Lauren stifled a smile.
“I sit next to Monica Ramsey in Spanish,” Heather said in her self-important voice. A totally irrelevant piece of information, Lauren thought. But you couldn’t blame them. They were both clueless.
“And, like, I know Sara was our friend,” Heather went on. “And that boys were hot for her. But she wasn’t perfect. I mean, there were things she did—well, you know what I mean.”
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