Murdered at 17

by Christine Conradt

  Brooke looked over at her mother, who kneaded her fingers into the back of her neck. She was obviously upset, and that bothered Brooke. She wanted her mom’s support and hoped Alex could understand why it was necessary and would convey the importance to her mother.

  “There are going to be police officers in regular clothes all over, so if anything happens, they’ll be right there.”

  “You’re going to wear a wire?”

  “No,” Brooke assured him. “They’re going to put it in a plant on the table.” She saw Alex exchange a dubious look with her mother. No, no, no. She needed him to convince her it was a good idea, not agree that it wasn’t. “Ossa thought that was the safest way.” Throwing Ossa’s name in there, she figured, would help her case.

  “The whole thing is absolutely crazy,” her mother asserted. “I can’t believe she wants to go through with it.” It irritated Brooke when her mother referred to her in the third person while she was standing right there. It was only something she did when she was angry.

  “Jake feels close to me. He thinks I’m going to be his wife someday. If he’s going to tell anyone the truth, it’ll be me.” The logic made complete sense to Brooke.

  “And this is the only way?” Alex asked, still looking at her mother.

  “Yes,” Brooke insisted, even though she wasn’t entirely sure. If the plan worked out, by this time tomorrow, Maddie’s killer would be in custody and Brooke’s name would be officially cleared.

  “And they want her to go to school tomorrow,” her mother added, walking past Alex into the kitchen.

  Alex turned to Brooke, who shook her head, letting him know she was disgruntled with her mother’s attitude. “Why?”

  “They want everything to seem normal,” Brooke explained calmly. “Just in case he follows me. They’re going to put police outside the school, watching for him too.” What were they so worried about? Brooke felt completely comfortable going to classes knowing that cops were stationed outside. She felt like the daughter of a Mafia family—watched and protected wherever she went. Alex sighed and walked into the kitchen, leaving Brooke alone.

  When Brooke entered the kitchen, Alex was holding her mom in a comforting embrace. Her mother’s body jerked slightly and Brooke knew she was silently crying. I hate myself for putting them through this, Brooke thought. But thinking of Maddie gave Brooke the courage to stand her ground. Regardless of what her mother, and Alex, and even Ossa, wanted, Brooke couldn’t forget that she was responsible for connecting Jake and Maddie, and now she had no choice but to resolve things the only way she knew how. She had to get that confession.

  “Please don’t cry, Mom,” Brooke uttered. “Everything’s going to work out. I can’t not do this.”

  Her mother was silent and Brooke thought for a moment that perhaps she’d gotten through to her. Finally, her mother nodded. It was a strange nod, suggesting she accepted Brooke’s answer but still didn’t agree.

  “What time does this all happen tomorrow?” Alex asked.

  “Four. I’ll leave right after school and go to the restaurant.”

  “Where?”

  “Brody’s. It’s two blocks off Girard.”

  “And how many plainclothes police officers will there be?”

  “Six,” Brooke said. “Four inside, two outside.”

  A heavy silence filled the space. Despite wishing her mother and Alex would hop on board with this plan, Brooke was just satisfied that they were no longer rejecting it. Her mother drifted over to the cupboard and pulled out a frying pan. Brooke stood there, watching as her mom began to make dinner. The conversation must be over, Brooke thought. Unsure what else to say, Brooke shifted her weight back and forth uncomfortably.

  “I’m going to go do my homework,” she finally said and left her mother in the kitchen with Alex, to share the silence together.

  Twenty-Seven

  The Scarlet Letters

  Brooke couldn’t sleep at all. Her mind kept playing over and over what she would say to Jake to elicit his confession as if she were memorizing lines for a play. Every time she looked at the clock, she felt panic rise inside her. She needed to sleep. Her brain needed to be sharp tomorrow when she sat across from Jake and made him believe she was in love with him. The minutes were ticking past, shortening the window of time she had to prepare. Dammit! Relax your brain and sleep, she ordered herself. She thought about getting up and taking a sleeping pill but it was already after midnight and she was afraid it wouldn’t wear off before she needed to get up for school. And she didn’t want her brain to be foggy.

  Halfway through the night, she saw the first shimmering snowflakes of the season begin to float down past her window. Watching gave her some peace and helped her slow her thoughts. Jake, I need to know what happened the night of the party. I can’t remember and people keep telling me all these different things. You’re the only one I trust to tell me the truth. She had to get him to tell the story in his own words. Detective Meyers, when he came into the room to coach her the day before, had been very clear about that.

  “Don’t have him start from the beginning,” the detective had said. “Have him start in the middle and ask questions that make him tell you the story backward.”

  “Why?” Brooke had asked, puzzled.

  “When people memorize a story, they memorize it from beginning to end. When you interrupt that linear form of thinking and make them tell it in pieces, out of order, they’re more likely to make a mistake and tell you more than they wanted to.”

  Brooke had nodded. It wouldn’t be easy, but at least she understood what they wanted her to do.

  “And when he stops talking, just wait. Don’t speak. Just nod your head and act like you’re thinking,” Linly had added, demonstrating the nod.

  “She’s right,” Meyers had said. “Silence makes people uncomfortable. They’ll talk just to fill it. Let him be the one to keep talking. He may tell you more than he planned to.”

  “Okay,” Brooke had said, hoping she’d be able to remember their instructions on the day. She was certain she’d be nervous and she tended to overtalk when she was—the exact thing she wasn’t supposed to do. Make him tell the story out of order, and be quiet when he finishes talking, she told herself. Remember that.

  Without even a good half hour of sleep, Brooke got up before her alarm went off and dragged herself into the bathroom to shower. As the hot water cascaded down her naked body, she closed her eyes and created a mental picture of herself, seated at the restaurant. In the image, she was wearing bright red lipstick and the engagement ring. He reached out and held her hand and she knew she’d fooled him.

  I’m a mess, Brooke thought as she backed out of her parking space and squared up her car, twisting the steering wheel hard to the right. I can’t even park the stupid car. How am I going to get through this?

  On the drive to school, she’d been so preoccupied with checking her rearview to see if Jake was following her, she’d missed the entrance to Bellamy High’s parking lot. She’d had to make a U-turn and go back. The good news was that she hadn’t noticed either the Ferrari, or the pickup tailing her, so she was pretty sure he hadn’t been. And she’d picked a parking stall near the street so he’d be sure to spot her car if he drove by at some point during the day.

  As Brooke got out, she looked around. Where were the cops who were supposed to be watching? There were a lot of students funneling toward the school, but she didn’t see any adults sitting in parked cars. That worried her. What if the detective had lied and didn’t send anyone at all? Or maybe they were just so good that they couldn’t be detected. She needed to trust the police to do their job, even though that was hard.

  Brooke pressed her thumb down on her key fob and heard the chirp from her car alarm as she hustled toward the school. She fixated on the ground to keep herself from looking around like a paranoid weirdo.

  Opening the door, Brooke was hit by a warm blast of air. She went to unbutton her coat only to realize she’d nev
er buttoned it in the first place. She was so focused on making sure the day played out correctly, she couldn’t even remember putting her coat on at home. Fuck, I’m so tired, she lamented. She’d swing by the cafeteria and buy a coffee on her way to cheer practice.

  Peeling open her backpack, Brooke stuffed her homework into her locker. She knew Keisha had wanted to meet a little early this morning so they could come up with the new routine they planned to dedicate to Maddie. Caffeine would help her remember the order of the stunts.

  Slamming her locker shut, she turned to see a man in janitor’s coveralls using a bottle of green spray and a rag to wipe down the lockers. She didn’t think much of it at first until the man turned and looked straight at her. Detective Meyers. Brooke just stared. He didn’t smile or let on that he knew who she was in any way, just turned back and continued to clean the lockers.

  Brooke felt a rush of relief come over her. The cops hadn’t forgotten. They were doing exactly what they said they would. Then, out of nowhere, Brooke felt sick to her stomach and started to walk toward the girls’ restroom. The closer she got, the more nauseated she felt and she barely got to the stall in time to heave up the bile that had worked its way from her stomach to her throat. She threw up a second time. Still, nothing but foamy bile. She hadn’t eaten since the night before. Her hands flew to her face and she felt flushed.

  I can’t, Brooke thought. I can’t go learn this routine right now. She was so exhausted she wasn’t sure what she could do. She couldn’t go home. And even though she wanted to go back out to her car, curl up in the back seat and sleep for an hour or so, she knew she couldn’t do that either. She had to stay there. So she decided to skip cheer practice and go to the library, where she could lay her head down on the table in a quiet corner.

  Brooke: I’m not feeling well. Gonna chill in the library. Go ahead and work out the routine and I’ll learn it tomorrow.

  Brooke sent the text to Keisha, knowing she’d be disappointed. She also hoped that she’d understand. Brooke turned her phone to silent and slipped it into her purse. Passing by Detective Meyers she headed down the hall to the library. She glanced back over her shoulder once, wondering if he was keeping an eye on her. He wasn’t.

  Brooke felt somewhat refreshed after her nap in the library. Checking her phone, she saw it was almost time for the bell to ring. There was a response from Keisha.

  Keisha: Np. Riley and I will work out the routine.

  Brooke was glad. At the very least she could now focus a little better and prepare herself for the meeting with Jake later.

  As she came around the corner of the long corridor, she saw the principal and a janitor standing in front of her locker. A few students had also congregated around. At first she thought the janitor was Detective Meyers but it wasn’t. It was one of the regular janitors, an older gentleman, and Brooke didn’t know his name. What are they doing at my locker? she wondered, picking up the pace a little.

  When she got close enough to see, she stopped short. The word “Murderer” was scrawled across her locker in big red letters. Brooke couldn’t move. She realized as she tried to breathe that she was hyperventilating.

  “Brooke!” Principal Sorenson said as he turned away from the locker and saw her standing there. He rushed over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down and breathe.” Brooke could feel eyes on her as she stared at the scribbled word that ran top to bottom. Who would do something so horrible? Was it supposed to be a joke? Had Jake somehow slipped into the school undetected and done it to mess with her head? Could it have been Detective Meyers? Maybe this was one of their many tactics to get her to confess.

  “Come with me,” Sorenson said and turned Brooke around. Her heart was thundering in her chest and she couldn’t seem to get air into her lungs. By the time the principal steered her down the hall to his office, she thought she might actually pass out.

  “Sit down,” he instructed and disappeared for a moment. Brooke sat, her fingernails digging into the wooden arms of the chair. Murderer, they wrote. Everyone thought she was a murderer.

  Principal Sorenson came back into the room with a brown paper bag. He shook it open and handed it to her. “Breathe into this,” he said. Brooke cupped the bag around her mouth and exhaled, filling the bag like a balloon. It worked. A few breaths later, she felt more in control and lowered the bag to her lap.

  “Are you okay?” Sorenson asked, kneeling in front of her.

  No, I’m not okay, she wanted to cry. Someone had accused her of killing her best friend, by tagging her locker for the entire school to see. She nodded anyway.

  “Mr. Malta thinks he has the stuff he needs to remove it.” Mr. Malta. That’s right. That was the janitor’s name. Brooke nodded again.

  “It wasn’t there an hour ago,” Brooke whispered. It’s all she could think of to say.

  “We’re going to figure out who did it and I can assure you they’ll be suspended.” He said it like it made a difference, like he was talking about some student who had defaced a pep rally sign or stopped up a toilet with paper towels.

  “This is a very serious offense,” he continued as if he had read her mind. “And I know you’re dealing with a lot right now. I’m going to bring it up at the assembly.”

  “What assembly?” Brooke asked.

  “In a half hour, there’s going to be a mandatory assembly in the auditorium to inform the students about Maddie. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. We have grief counselors here as well. They’re setting up in the cafeteria. You can go there instead if you want.” Grief counselors? Assembly? It was too much information at once.

  “I’ll walk you down there,” Sorenson said. Brooke stood up, still in a fog. They walked side by side down the empty hall to the cafeteria, where two women and a man sat at various tables, far away from each other. They all looked up at her and the principal. Sorenson took her to the closest one, an Asian woman with short black hair.

  “Miss Lim, this is Brooke. She was very close to the victim. They were on the cheer squad together.” Brooke bristled at “the victim.” Maddie. He meant Maddie.

  “Brooke, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Miss Lim said with compassion in her voice. “Would you like to sit down and talk?” Sorenson pulled a chair out for Brooke, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit. She didn’t want to talk to this stranger about Maddie. What could this woman possibly say to help her? She didn’t know anything about her relationship with Maddie or how she’d lied to the police and hidden the very knife that killed her. She didn’t know about Jake or how there were undercover cops roaming the building to protect her from him before she had to go convince him to confess to murder. This woman didn’t know she suffered from IED and was seeing a real therapist who had been helping her for the past year. This whole thing was pointless.

  “No, I really don’t,” Brooke said, more to Sorenson than to Miss Lim. “I want to go to class.”

  Sorenson seemed surprised. “If you try to keep the grief in, it’s sometimes harder than letting it out,” he said. Brooke knew he was trying to be sensitive but it came off sounding stupid.

  “I said I don’t want to talk to anyone.” Brooke raised her voice, asserting herself. “I’m going to class.” Brooke turned on her heel and stormed out of the cafeteria and away from the makeshift counseling center.

  She marched straight up to her locker, where Mr. Malta was scrubbing away at the R-D-E-R-E-R. The M and the U were already gone. She grabbed a rag, and without speaking, began to rub at the R as well. Mr. Malta stopped momentarily, then continued to scour away the ugly word.

  They were still scrubbing when Mr. Sorenson’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers, inviting everyone to the auditorium for an assembly. Brooke didn’t want to go listen to him repeat what had happened to Maddie. She knew all too well what had happened and had replayed the whole thing over more times in her mind than she could count. But she wanted to know what they were going to say about her, and she wanted to talk to Ke
isha too.

  Brooke spotted Keisha filing into the auditorium and rushed to catch up with her. She was still wearing her practice uniform.

  “Hey,” Brooke said as she sidled up next to her.

  “There you are,” Keisha said. “I was worried about you. I saw your locker and thought maybe that’s why you went to the library.”

  “No, no,” Brooke corrected her. “It was like that when I came back. Someone did it during first.”

  “I think I know who it was,” Keisha whispered conspiratorially. Brooke snapped her head toward her.

  “Who?”

  “Tryg,” Keisha said in a voice that was barely audible. “He was telling people yesterday that he saw you at the police station and the cops are about to arrest you.”

  “What?!” Keisha made a motion to keep her voice down. “What an asshole,” Brooke continued, dropping the volume a little. “That’s not true. I was at the police station but not because they think I did it. Besides, if he was there, they were obviously asking him questions as well.”

  “No one believes him. Everybody knows he’s a jerk. Plus, the whole school is talking about how shitty he was to Maddie before she died. He must’ve hit on half the senior class.”

  Brooke shook her head, disgusted, and took a seat next to Keisha in one of the middle rows. “I think Jake might be involved,” she said quietly. Keisha looked up at her wide-eyed.

  “Are you serious?”

  Brooke nodded, but instantly regretted spilling the information. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? That’s just between us.”

  “Why would he do that?” Keisha asked. It was the question that Brooke herself couldn’t seem to find the answer to. But she hoped she’d find out later that afternoon.

  Twenty-Eight

  Deceiving the Deceiver

  Brooke stared up at the aging redbrick building with a hand-painted sign that read Brody’s in block letters next to a peeling picture of a meatball with a fork sticking out of it.