The Foxglove Killings

by Tara Kelly

  “Not anymore,” Brandon said. “Mom started kicking them out by two a.m. at the end of last summer. They were getting too many complaints about people showing up first thing in the morning and…finding them.”

  “Huh—is that why they hate you?”

  He smiled a little. “Probably a big reason.”

  “And you know for a fact she’s still doing this?”

  A squirrel ran across our path, zigzagging into the bushes.

  “Every night in the summer. The cakes know if they’re not long gone by two, they’re getting busted.”

  That followed the timeline well. Amber’s body was dumped in the wee hours of Sunday morning—assuming she was killed first and then dumped. Usually the “planning” type didn’t kill in the same place they dumped the body. Too much evidence.

  “Why doesn’t she just come earlier and bust them?” I asked. “She’s gotta know there’s a ton of people getting wasted.”

  He took another drag. “And how would they haul them all in? Besides, their parents would bail them out and complain about the hassle. She’d get shit from the city council. Gotta keep our bread and butter happy. Make sure they have a good time.”

  I shook my head. What must it be like going through life and getting all these allowances? Zach never even seemed to be aware of it. But Christian knew exactly what he could get away with.

  “Anyway,” Brandon continued, “she sends patrols out to get the ones who try to drive home drunk. But…they can’t get them all.”

  “No, they can’t,” I muttered, spotting a barricade as we rounded a corner. Crime scene tape, telling us not to enter, was stretched between two tree trunks. There was a narrow path just behind the barricade that led back up the hill, toward the street. It wasn’t a real path exactly. More like a hidden, poorly maintained shortcut. Footprints in the mud, human and animal. Flattened shrubbery. “You know where that comes out?”

  “The midpoint between the two beaches, I’m guessing.”

  That path could answer either of my questions, maybe both. If Amber walked out this way, it would’ve been pretty easy to grab her, force her up the path—if they were strong or had a weapon. But why would she have come all the way out here by herself?

  The path looked pretty steep, and it was full of roots.

  “Think you could carry a body down that?” I asked.

  “Sure, if I had Hulk strength.”

  “Exactly.” Carrying a body down there might not be impossible—but it would be very difficult. Still, it seemed like the most protected way in and out of here. The cops obviously thought so, too.

  “What now, Detective Morgan?” Brandon asked. “You wanna search the ground for trace?”

  I elbowed him. “Shut it—this isn’t a joke.”

  “I know. Just thought we could use one right now.”

  “You sound like my gramps.” The sun was almost set—soon we’d need flashlights to see. Who knew if they had patrols coming around? Getting caught snooping was the last thing I wanted. “We should head back.”

  “You get any of your answers?” he asked.

  “Not really…”

  “No offense, but maybe you should let the actual cops handle this from here on out.”

  “You’re probably right.” I kept my focus on the path ahead of us, my thoughts racing again. Amber went missing after a party on Saturday night. Then her body was dumped after a different party on a Saturday night. Same place, same people. Probably not a coincidence.

  If I were going to dump a body, I wouldn’t do it on a weekend night at the most popular beach in town. Unless I knew the place would be cleared out by 2:00 a.m. That wasn’t something a random outsider would know—I lived here and I didn’t even know about it. And Amber probably didn’t just go wandering off by herself. Her going missing made a lot more sense if she was lured away by someone she knew.

  But how?

  As we were getting into Brandon’s car, an engine came roaring down Beach, sounding like it was doing about eighty. It was Christian’s orange Audi, coming from South Beach. He slowed as he passed the parking lot, almost like he was going to come to a stop. My breath caught in my throat. But then he gunned the engine again and took off, tires screeching.

  Dread filled my stomach.

  Tuesday, July 1

  My mom used to walk into the ocean at night, far enough to feel the waves crash into her body. She’d open her arms wide, close her eyes, and pray for it to take her to a better place. She said she’d never felt so alive. So pure.

  I tried it tonight and stayed there until my legs went numb, waiting to feel something. But there was no moment. There was just cold and darkness and salt water burning my nostrils and throat.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two detectives showed up at my house first thing the next morning. Mom shook me awake, still wearing her robe, her expression puckered and concerned. I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was.

  And completely unprepared.

  “Just be polite and give short and direct answers,” Mom whispered, as I scrambled into a pair of jeans and threw a dirty T-shirt over my head. “Don’t fidget.”

  “Mom, please. You’re making this worse.” I combed my hair with my fingers. The mirror reflected a tired and faded version of me. A little more pale. Shadows under my eyes.

  A cold sweat broke out across my skin, and nausea hit me, sharp and hard. I held my breath, closing my eyes. What if they asked me about Saturday night? These weren’t small-town cops busting grannies with pipes in their glove boxes—Emerald Cove PD couldn’t handle a case like this on their own. They could probably smell a lie on me before I said it.

  “Want some water?” Mom asked, rubbing my back.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to risk having anything in me to throw up.

  “Want me to tell them you’ll be a few minutes?”

  “I want to get this over with.”

  After giving my teeth a quick brush, I exhaled, slowly, and walked toward the living room. My thigh muscles quivered like they did after too long of a run. Mom guided a sleepy Gavin into the kitchen.

  Two men in button-up shirts and ties sat on our white leather couch. I wasn’t sure what to expect—I’d only seen detectives on TV. These guys looked like any Joe Smith in an office building. One had gray hair and smiling eyes, like someone’s grandfather. He probably was someone’s grandfather. The other was rounder and much younger—no more than thirty.

  The younger detective took a sip from Gavin’s yellow hot chocolate mug—probably the first thing my mom grabbed out of the dishwasher. He had a notepad in his lap, and he was already writing something down.

  “Nova?” the older detective asked. He gave me a polite smile, but his eyes went straight to my clenched hands.

  “Yeah.” My voice came out as a squeak. I took a seat in the brown recliner that was Eric’s favorite place when he was home.

  “I’m Detective Hahn from Neahkahnie County,” the older one said. “This is Detective Sandoval from OSP.”

  He went on to mention Amber and something about being here to gather information. Mostly I heard my heart. Fast, heavy contractions getting louder by the second.

  “Thanks for getting up to speak with us,” Detective Hahn said. “I know it’s early, huh?”

  I nodded, trying to smile a little.

  “Are you willing to answer some questions?” he pressed.

  “Sure.”

  Mom padded around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. Not so slyly listening in. Gavin kept whispering to her.

  “Did you know Amber Connelly?” Hahn asked.

  Obviously they knew the answer or they wouldn’t be here. “Yeah. But not well.”

  “Did you ever hang out?” Detective Sandoval spoke for the first time, an analytical glint in his dark eyes.

  “Not really. I mean, I saw her at parties last summer. She comes into the diner I work at sometimes. Came…”

  “The Emerald Spoon?” Sandoval as
ked, writing again.

  “Yeah.” Of course they knew that, too. They probably heard all kinds of things about me.

  “What about Zach West?” Hahn asked, tilting his head. “Do you know him?” His eyes weren’t smiling anymore.

  “We dated last summer.”

  “Do you still talk?” he continued.

  It was hard to swallow. Maybe I should’ve taken that water. “He comes into the diner, too. We say hi… That’s about it.”

  “So you’re not friends?”

  “No.”

  Sandoval kept writing, writing, writing. He pressed hard into the paper. The sound was quick and jagged. Accusing. I had the urge to tear the pen out of his hand.

  “Zach said he dropped by here last Sunday morning,” Hahn said. “Is that true?”

  My nails dug into my lap. “Yes.”

  They waited, probably expecting me to say more. I’d read somewhere they liked to keep their questions general and conversational at first. People talked more when it didn’t seem like they were being interrogated.

  “Was it just to say hi?” Sandoval asked, his lips turning up a little.

  I wasn’t going to bring up Alex’s name. Not until I had to. “He got this anonymous email. He thought I might know who sent it.”

  “Do you?” Hahn asked.

  “Like I told him—no. I offered to help him find out, though.”

  Hahn glanced over at Sandoval, and Sandoval shook his head slightly. What the hell did that mean?

  “Do you remember what you did Saturday, the twenty-first?” Sandoval asked.

  That was the day I’d woken up with “whorehouse” on my window, courtesy of Amber. The day Alex fought with Matt. “I worked most of the day…”

  “What about that night?” he pressed.

  It seemed like a million years ago. “I came home from work about five. Me and my mom watched Freaks and Geeks on Netflix.” I also went for a run and thought up creative ways to get back at Amber.

  “So you were home all night?” Hahn asked.

  “Just went for a half-hour run around seven.”

  “What about last weekend?” Sandoval’s voice was too high, too casual.

  I swore I could feel my heartbeat in my toes. If I lied and Christian talked, we’d look guilty as hell. They had to have seen his face, asked him if he’d been in a fight. But if he’d told them the truth, wouldn’t they have busted us by now?

  “Worked most of Saturday,” I said. “Then I went out with my friend Alex. We…drove. Around.” I’d done it. I’d just dug my own grave.

  Sandoval’s dark eyes flickered up to mine. “Alex Pace?”

  “Uh-huh.” They’d probably already spoken to him. That was why he kept calling yesterday. I should’ve answered or at least checked my email last night.

  Detective Hahn looked at my lap. My fingers were laced together so tight they ached. I flattened my palms against my jeans.

  “Did you drop by the party at Winchester Beach?” Hahn asked. “Last Saturday night,” he clarified.

  What do I say? What do I say? Alex wouldn’t admit to what we did, not unless he had to. I needed to choose my words carefully. Really carefully. “We drove around the area, but we didn’t go to the party.”

  My shirt clung to my sweaty back. My neck itched, but I didn’t want to scratch it. I didn’t want to move.

  “So, that’s all you did?” Hahn asked. “Just drove around…all night.”

  “No. Alex dropped me off pretty early.”

  “What’s early?” Sandoval asked.

  I was starting to get dizzy. “Like eleven.”

  Sandoval stopped writing. His full attention was on me now. “He have other plans?”

  “No. I wasn’t feeling well.”

  Neither of them said anything for what felt like forever, their expressions blank sheets of paper. If they knew I was lying, they would’ve called me on it by now. Right…?

  “Do you remember the last time you saw Amber?” Hahn asked.

  Every second of it. “She and her friends came into the diner Saturday morning—on the twenty-first. I waited on them.”

  Detective Hahn nodded and stared at me, like he was expecting more. Sandoval was still focused on his notepad.

  More silence.

  “We heard there might’ve been some kind of confrontation between you and Amber that morning,” Hahn said. “Can you tell me about that?”

  Sandoval was watching me now, his eyes narrowed.

  “Um…” I licked my lips. “I overheard her talking about me to someone on her cell—”

  “Where was this?” Hahn asked.

  “The diner bathroom. I was in a stall. She was by the sink.” I went on to tell them exactly what I heard her say. “Then I came out of the stall and looked at her. She turned and left.”

  “There was no exchange between you at all?” Sandoval’s brow was furrowed, a cynical expression on his face.

  “I think she cussed when she saw me. But that’s it. I didn’t say a word to her.”

  “Why not?” Sandoval continued. “If someone did that to me, I’d have something to say.”

  Because sometimes silence scares people even more. Bad answer. “It’s my family’s diner. I was on the clock. She’s a customer.”

  “Did you contact the police about the vandalism?” Hahn asked.

  I shook my head. “When I saw it, I wanted it gone. And I figured there wasn’t much they could do. It would’ve been my word against hers, right?”

  Neither of them answered.

  “Is there anything else you want to share? Anything you think would be helpful?” Hahn asked.

  “No. I…” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Like I said, I didn’t know her that well.”

  Everyone went quiet again, Hahn watching me, Sandoval scanning his notepad. Gavin kept whispering the same question in the kitchen. Is Nova in trouble? Mom shushed him every time.

  I wanted to ask them if I was a suspect, but I kept my lips pressed together. They hadn’t accused me of anything yet. Asking that might make me sound paranoid…or guilty.

  “Okay, Nova. We appreciate your help,” Hahn said, reaching into his pocket. “If you think of anything else—something you forgot to mention—give us a call, okay?” He handed me his business card.

  Detective Sandoval stood and dug one out for me as well. He gave me another nod and thanked me as I took it from him.

  Gavin bolted into the living room then, staring up at the detectives like they were a fireworks show. His mouth hung open a little. “Are you really police?”

  “Gavin,” Mom said, grabbing his shoulders and trying to turn him around. “Back in the kitchen.”

  Both detectives grinned.

  “We are,” Hahn said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Promise.”

  “Is my sister in trouble?”

  I gritted my teeth. Shut up, Gavin. Just shut up. They both glanced at me, but they didn’t say anything.

  Mom laughed. “Sorry.”

  “No worries. It happens,” Hahn said.

  “Have a good day,” Sandoval said, reaching for the door.

  As soon as they left, Mom wrapped her arms around me. “You okay?”

  “Did I seem nervous?” I asked.

  She pulled back, studying my face. “Everyone gets a little nervous in those situations—they know that.” She rolled her eyes. “I kind of froze up, too. It’s intimidating, you know?”

  “What’d they ask you?”

  She gave my arm a squeeze. “Just if I knew where you were and what you did the last two weekends. That kind of thing.”

  “What did you say?”

  Her eyes widened. “Pretty much what you said. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, grabbing the sides of my head. I needed to find the phone and call Alex. If they hadn’t talked to him yet, they were probably heading over there now.

  “You told the truth, right?” Mom asked again.

>   I nodded, moving away from her. “I—I have to…”

  “Nova—what’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” I did my best to keep my voice calm. “I wasn’t expecting them to show up so soon. It freaked me out.”

  “I know—this whole week has been a lot to take.”

  “I’m going to lie back down for a while. I didn’t sleep well.”

  She eyed me with suspicion, but she said okay and herded Gavin back into the kitchen. She wasn’t going to push things in front of Gavin, but I knew she wasn’t done with me.

  I grabbed the portable phone from her bed, dialed Alex’s number, and locked myself in my room. It seemed to ring and ring.

  “Please be home,” I muttered. “Please.”

  “Hello?” Megan answered, sounding confused.

  “Hey, you,” I said.

  “Why are you calling so early?” Now she just sounded pissed. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that we’d talk soon, but there was no time.

  “Is Alex there?”

  “He’s asleep.”

  “Can you wake him up, please? It’s an emergency.”

  “I doubt that.”

  My hand balled up into a fist. “Megan, I—”

  “Hold on.” There was a rustling sound, followed by footsteps walking away from the phone and a muffled knock.

  It seemed like a million years went by before Alex picked up.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice low and scratchy.

  “Have the cops questioned you about Amber?”

  “No. Why?”

  The breath I was holding poured out. “They just came by here and asked a lot of questions. Can you meet me?”

  “Where?”

  “The Rainbow Creek Park. Where the picnic tables are?” It was nice and hidden, but there were always parents and kids there in the mornings, which made me feel safer.

  “Okay. See you in a few.” He hung up.

  I opened my window and climbed out. Otherwise, Mom would insist on driving me and I’d have to explain why I was meeting Alex in a park all cloak-and-dagger-like.