Blind Spot

by Laura Ellen

  Greg shook his head. “No idea.”

  Fear. Fear would get him talking. I sat up. “What if a witness claimed to have seen Jonathan with Tricia that night after everyone left the party? If he thought he was about to be arrested, maybe he’d try to set Dellian up again.”

  “What could he possibly frame him with? He’s already left the cloak, the photos—what else would he use?”

  I thought for a minute. “What if I tell him I remember that night—tell him I won’t press charges if he tells the police what happened to Tricia and fesses up to the fire? At least we’d get him on something, right?” But even as I said it, I knew I couldn’t do it. I wanted him to pay for everything he’d done—or tried to do.

  “But you don’t remember. All you know is what Dellian claims to have seen.”

  “Are you saying you don’t think it happened?”

  “I’m saying you don’t remember what happened and he knows that. You’d have to give him some details to prove you suddenly remember. What if you say the wrong thing and Jonathan catches on?” Greg shook his head. “No. No way will you be alone with that creep again. We’ll come up with something else.”

  “Well, there is nothing else!” I flopped back on the bed.

  Greg stretched out next to me. “Then we let the police handle it.”

  “Please,” I said with a snort. “Tricia’s corpse could walk in and tell the police every sordid detail, and they’d still say it’s circumstantial and speculation—”

  That’s it! I sat up again. “Who would have the most incriminating things to say? Who would Jonathan fear most?” I didn’t wait for a response. “Tricia!” I leaped to my feet. “I know how to get Jonathan to talk!”

  My excitement was drowned out by the hum of the garage door opening. “Crap! You have to go.”

  “But what’s the plan?” Greg asked as he pushed his feet into his shoes.

  “I’ll explain tomorrow. Just get Dellian and Heather over to your house tomorrow afternoon, okay? Fritz and Missy too. I think this is more of a group project.”

  I spent all day planning Jonathan’s demise. It really was like planning a school project—except the outcome had more weight than anything I’d ever done for school. The plan depended most on Heather, Dellian, and me. Dellian I wasn’t so worried about, but Heather? I hadn’t spoken to her since the fire. I wouldn’t blame her if she refused to help. But I needed her. I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone else with her part.

  As soon as school got out—three o’clock on the dot—Greg called. “I’ll be there soon. I’m bringing Fritz and Heather with me. Missy will meet us there. Mr. Dellian said he’ll help if he can, but”—Greg mimicked Dellian—“‘I cannot risk tarnishing my reputation any further with illegal antics.’ He said I could be his human tape recorder, though.”

  “I thought you were my human tape recorder.” I laughed.

  “I was protecting you when I said that,” he said.

  A ton of emotions rushed through me. “I know. Thank you.” I bit my lip to keep my voice steady. “Greg? I couldn’t have done it yesterday without you. I mean it. You were great. I’m so sorry about the fire and Jonathan and—”

  “Stop, I forgave you hours ago. I’m leaving school now. As soon as I round everyone up, I’ll be by to get you.”

  “I’ll meet you at your house,” I said, then explained. “Detective King’s bringing me. We can’t afford to screw this up.”

  When Detective King and I arrived, Missy was just walking over, and Heather was dragging Fritz’s wheelchair out of Greg’s back seat. “Here.” I grabbed the handles from Heather with a nervous smile. “Glad you came. I—”

  She threw her arms around me. “I missed you! I can’t believe everything! First the fire, then jail, now rape.” She slapped her hand over her mouth.

  “It’s okay. I figured he’d tell you.” My bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry about the fire. Really. I never should’ve used you like that. There’s no excuse.”

  Heather shrugged. “You didn’t know they’d really set a fire. You thought you were helping.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought I was doing. It was wrong.” I turned to Fritz. “Fritz, I feel sick about what happened that day. I am so, so sorry.”

  “Hey, we’re cool, okay?” Fritz smiled. “Totally cool.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Greg asked once we were all inside.

  I grinned at him. “We’re going to catch Sasquatch to prove he exists.”

  “Huh?” Heather and Missy said in unison.

  Greg waved his hand to quiet them. “Explain.”

  “Remember that article my dad sent about Big Foot in the Alps? It turned out to be a hoax some guys pulled with an ape costume. But until the lab ran the tests, the guy who found the alleged corpse thought he’d seen the real thing. He told people all sorts of stories about seeing Big Foot, while his friends were laughing it up because they knew it was a hoax.”

  “Fascinating,” Missy said.

  “Yeah, seriously,” Heather said. “I thought you had a plan?”

  “Just let her talk, you two,” Fritz said.

  Greg’s eyes were glued on me, a smile creeping across his face. “I like the way you think.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “I like that you get the way I think.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “I’d like to think you both upside the head! What are you two yammering about?”

  Detective King looked at her watch. “Could we speed this up a bit?”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Right now, Jonathan’s free because Tricia’s about the only person who could pin a crime on him. And she’s dead.”

  “But if she weren’t, she’d know everything. All the details. The perfect witness,” Greg finished.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “But she is dead,” Heather said.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “Maybe the coroner made a mistake and misidentified the body, or she faked her death.”

  “Or she’s come back from the grave for revenge,” Greg said. “I’ve seen her. Haven’t you, Roz?”

  Fritz chuckled. “I’ve seen her.”

  “Her ghost?” Missy asked. “You’ve seen it?”

  “Not for real, doofus!” Heather said. “We’re going to pretend.”

  “Maybe I talked to her,” I said, “and she told me all about that night—”

  The playful grin on Greg’s face clouded over and dissipated. “No way are you putting yourself in jeopardy! Twirling around a few yards away from him or leaving messages is one thing, but you are not going to be alone with him. He’ll hurt you.”

  “How else would we get a confession from him? It’s the only way,” I said.

  “Can’t we just pretend she’s alive and see what he does?” Greg looked at Detective King for help.

  “It’s worth a try,” Detective King said. “If we get him rattled enough, he may incriminate himself on a wiretap or even confess. It has to be planned carefully, though. What exactly did you have in mind, Roswell?”

  “Nothing too dramatic. I figure for him to believe she’s alive, he has to hear it indirectly, you know? From people who aren’t tangled in any of this.”

  “You want to spread a rumor,” Missy said. “I could totally do that in my sleep.”

  “Starting it is cake,” Fritz said. “It’s the rumor that’s tricky. People have to believe it—and there was a funeral, man. A casket, with a body.”

  “That hardly anyone went to,” I said. “If everyone who was there knows we’re doing this, there’re no problems.”

  Detective King shook her head. “We’ll have to tell a few people, obviously, like Abbey and Rodney Dellian, but I recommend keeping as many out of the loop as possible.”

  Ruth, JJ, and Jeffrey would be ecstatic to hear she was alive— and I didn’t want to hurt them like that. But Jonathan knew them. What if he asked them? Tortured them for the truth? As much as it hurt to let them believe she was alive,
I realized it was safer for them not to know what we were doing. “Okay, we don’t tell anyone the truth unless Detective King clears it, agreed?”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “All right. We say the coroner somehow misidentified the body. That Tricia really ran away to Seattle. She called her sister and is coming back in a few days. Detective King, can you put surveillance on Jonathan?”

  “Already have.”

  “Good. Once Tricia is supposedly in town, you know Jonathan will be curious. When he comes looking, the police will alert Abbey, and we’ll make sure Jonathan sees Tricia. If I can’t contact him”—I looked at Greg—“then hopefully seeing her will be enough to get him rattled and talking.”

  Missy frowned. “How’s he going to see Tricia, though?”

  “Heather lives in the same building.” I smiled at Heather. “How are you at playing dead girls?”

  Heather grinned back. “Do I get to wear her cape?”

  Seventeen days after

  Missy and Fritz started telling Tricia’s bizarre story at school on Monday. Like the flame from a lit cigarette dropped into dry grass, the rumor quickly spread and took on a life of its own. Since I was expelled, I didn’t get to hear it told over and over, but the day after it was set in motion, Mom came home from work talking about it. She’d heard the rumor from one of the other cosmetic reps, who’d heard it on some morning talk radio show.

  Most people focused on the incompetence of the police and coroner’s office—which meant Detective King had to inform the coroner of the plan—but a few radio and TV hosts began calling Abbey, requesting interviews with Tricia. Detective King said we’d need to speed up the timeline before the situation got too out of hand. So Wednesday, Fritz and Missy set the second rumor in motion: Tricia would be arriving home on Friday.

  That morning I sat alone at home watching a Ghost Team marathon, wishing I could be at school with the others to see how the news was received. At 10:35, just as the ghost hunter was telling the ghost to bang on the wall, my doorbell rang. I thought maybe it was Greg, skipping class to hang with me—crazy, yes, but what else did I have to fantasize about?

  I flew to the door and ripped it open without peeking through the peephole.

  Jonathan stood there.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t expect Jonathan to contact me. I did. We all did. We knew that if he talked to anyone other than Ethan, it would be me. That’s why they put a tap on my landline and cell. And they said if he attempted a face-to-face encounter, they’d warn me, since Jonathan was under surveillance at all times.

  No one had called to warn me, so why would I have expected him?

  “Jonathan?” I stuck my body in the way and tried to casually close the door to eliminate any available space.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” he said with a grin as if we were still friends. “What’s going on?”

  My pulse rocketed. I tried to stay calm. “Oh, just watching some TV—”

  “I mean with Tricia.” He pushed at the door with his palm. “You hear the rumors?”

  I buckled my arm firmly against the door. “I can’t have anyone over. Mom’s . . . sleeping.”

  He nodded and lowered his voice. “I thought it was a practical joke, but everyone’s talking.”

  “Yeah, crazy, huh?” I aimed my eyes on his to give the appearance of eye contact, even though I was looking at the door frame next to his head. For once I was glad for my disability. I couldn’t pull this off if I had to look into his eyes for real.

  “Seems weird. You think it’s for real? That she’s really alive?”

  “Of course it’s for real!” Could he hear my heart pounding? See it jumping from my chest? “I mean, why wouldn’t it be? Everyone’s talking about it. Who would be sick enough to make that up?”

  “Yeah, pretty cool if she is alive. Just seems crazy.” He was quiet for a second. “You went to her funeral—didn’t you notice it wasn’t her? I mean, damn!”

  “Yeah, I guess no one looked closely—she was, you know, in the water a while and all.” I had to make sure he believed this. I took a deep breath through my nose, letting it out slowly to calm myself. “I heard she’s coming home Friday.”

  He nodded. “I heard that too.” He smiled. “You wanna go with me, check it out?”

  Go with him? Was he insane? After everything he’d done to me? “I don’t think so, Jonathan. Last time I did something with you, I landed in jail.”

  “Sorry, Beautiful.” His hand reached up to touch my face, but I flinched away. He cocked his head. “You scared of me?”

  “No,” I said, hoping my snort sounded sincere. “I’m pissed at you! I was jailed and expelled, thanks to you.”

  “I was afraid they’d get me in the slammer too, you know? Was it rough?”

  “Jail? No, it was a trip; a real kick in the pants.”

  He gave me an amused smile. “You really crack me up sometimes. Why’d we break up again?”

  I glared at him.

  “Oh, yeah.” He smirked. “Come with me Friday, please? She’ll talk to me if you’re there.”

  “Why do you need to talk to her? She’s alive, right? That means we’re off the hook—well, you are. I still have a drug charge and the fire . . .” God! I’m not supposed to talk him out of going, I thought as panic over the whole plan began to rise. But if he tries to speak to her, Heather’s cover will be blown and he’ll realize it was a trick. How was I supposed to get him to drive by or hide in the bushes and watch for Tricia without talking to her?

  He studied me for a second, as if deciding to tell me something. “Look, I gotta talk to her because—you know that photo you found in D.’s desk?”

  I swallowed. “Yes?”

  “Tricia and I set that all up. I know as soon as Dellian gets the chance, he’ll get her to confess to the police. I gotta get her to keep her mouth shut. If you go, I’ll tell the cops I made that anonymous tip, that I was with you when you took that money out”—he paused—“and I’ll tell them Ethan started the fire.”

  He had just confessed! And . . . I had nothing on me to get it. Damn it! This plan was working, though. “You’d do that?” I said. “Tell the police the truth? All I have to do is go with you to see Tricia?” With me there, I could keep him from talking to Heather, and maybe I could get him to confess on the way over too.

  He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  Scout’s honor? Did he even know what a Scout was? “Okay,” I said, “I’ll go with you Friday.” I cracked a smile as I shut the door. For once with Jonathan, I was running the show.

  Nineteen days after

  “No, no, no!” Greg said. “Absolutely not! She’s not going with him.”

  It was Friday afternoon. Everyone, including Mr. Dellian and Abbey, had met at Greg’s house to go over the plan and get ready. I told Detective King what I had learned from Jonathan about our change in plans but had purposely not told Greg. I knew he would try to talk me out of it. And I was doing this. I had to.

  “Greg, it’s fifteen minutes between my house and Dellian’s apartment, okay?” I said. “Besides, he’ll be too focused on seeing Tricia to do anything on the way there.” My stomach was in knots. I hoped I was right.

  “No. You’re not going in his car alone!” Greg said.

  “We’ll have an officer tailing them,” Detective King said.

  Dellian frowned. “Jonathan is an imbecile, but he is observant. How do you think he got to Miss Hart’s house without your officers knowing on Wednesday? If he spots this tail, he will get suspicious. A jilted lover following them might work, however.” Dellian looked directly at Greg. “Your presence will not only give you peace of mind, it will occupy Mr. Webb the entire ride. He can’t resist playing the conquering king.”

  “I don’t want him ‘conquering’ anything!” Greg said. “That’s the whole point!”

  “Greg, calm down,” Detective King warned. “Roswell will be fine. I’ll be listening to the conversation with a wir
e the entire time, police cars seconds away if needed, and at the apartment, officers will be positioned inside and out.”

  Greg’s concern rattled me. What if he was right? Jonathan couldn’t be trusted; he’d proven that time and again. What if he did try something? I needed reassurance. I left Greg pleading his case and sought out Heather and Missy. They were bleaching Heather’s hair in the bathroom.

  Yikes. “Too blond, don’t you think?” I asked when I saw her hair. “And your complexion is several shades darker.” I slumped down on the edge of the tub. This wasn’t going to work. “He won’t be happy with a quick glimpse. We can’t pull off a close-up. This plan was stupid.”

  “Come on, it’s a great plan, Roz.” Heather scrubbed her hair dry with a towel. “Have faith, I’m a professional.”

  “With professional makeup.” Missy waved a large cosmetic trunk at me.

  “Roz?” Detective King peeked in. “You ready for the bug?”

  The fear in my stomach twisted tighter. I followed her back into the living room.

  I expected an elaborate wiring system taped under my clothing. Instead, Detective King handed me a tiny button-shaped microphone. “This should be as close to your mouth as possible. Your lapel is best.” She frowned at my gray, logoless sweatshirt. “That’s too plain. You need a collar or buttons, something to attach it to that won’t be obvious.”

  “I’ve got something.” Greg came back a few seconds later with a black Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. “The microphone should blend in with this, but just in case . . .” He handed me a collared dress shirt. “Wear this overtop to cover it.”

  Greg’s dryer-sheet smell emanated from the shirts and filled the tiny bathroom where I was changing. Just breathing it in calmed me, made me confident. I pulled the T-shirt over my head, slipped my arms into the dress shirt, and rolled the sleeves. I can do this, I told my reflection. I can totally do this.

  Detective King mounted the receiver near my collarbone. “Try not to fiddle with this too much, okay? These wireless receivers have a decent range, but reception can be spotty if they’re not placed correctly.”