by Hannah Jayne
Anger pricked in Sawyer’s gut, and she felt herself narrow her eyes. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you—or prove anything to my best friend. Are you saying you don’t believe me?”
“No, of course I believe you, sweetie. I was just asking because—”
The anger blossomed. “Because the medication makes me a little loopy? God, Chloe, I thought you would be the one person to understand.”
“I do, Sawyer, and what I was going to say was that, you know, he drove Libby home that one time, and he is always super helpful with the honor society. He talked to everyone.”
“Was always super helpful.”
“What?”
Sawyer licked her lips. “He was always super helpful. I’m sorry I’m snappy. It’s just—I almost wasn’t sure it was a pass either. But I know how I felt and it was gross. I felt gross afterward. Like I needed a shower. Or a shot of penicillin.”
“Are you going to tell the police that?”
“No. I can’t, Chlo—they’ll think I did something to him.”
“But the note! And Kevin! He was your boyfriend. Why would you kill your own boyfriend?” Chloe’s voice hitched on a sob. “You loved him. He was crazy about you.”
Sawyer wanted to confide in Chloe, but how could she after she’d kept Kevin’s feelings, his abuse, hidden for so long? The lie—even the simple lie of omission—sat in Sawyer’s gut like a fat black stone. “Yeah,” was all Sawyer could answer.
The next morning Sawyer dressed quietly and slipped out the door while Tara and her father were still sleeping. By 7:00 a.m. she was parked in front of the Crescent Hills Police Department, listening to her heartbeat and watching the automatic glass doors of the station swing open and shut as officers came and went. Her hands felt clammy gripping the steering wheel, and her fingers itched to click the key in the ignition, to start the car and drive away.
On a deep, steadying breath, Sawyer got out of the car and stepped into the police department, blinking in the harsh, fluorescent overhead lights. She wasn’t sure what she expected of a police department, but this wasn’t it. The main office was relatively quiet and heartlessly businesslike, with wall-to-wall gray industrial carpeting and dusty silk plants interspersed between modern metal desks manned by uniformed officers. Sawyer started to nervously tug at the strap of her purse.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“May I help you?”
The officer who smiled down at her had a head of close-cropped dark hair that made his bright green eyes stand out. He was tall and pale and there was something incredibly familiar about the lopsided smile he offered.
“Can I help you?”
Sawyer bit her lip. “Um, maybe? Yeah. I guess.”
“Okay…how about we start with your name?”
“I’m Sawyer.” She wasn’t sure if she should put out a hand to shake or just wave. She chose the latter. “Sawyer Dodd.”
“Are you a student, Ms. Dodd?”
Sawyer nodded, not sure why that would matter. “Yeah, at Hawthorne.”
The officer nodded and smiled. “I thought I recognized you. My brother goes to Hawthorne. I’m Stephen Haas.”
“Haas? You’re Logan’s brother.” Sawyer did a mental head slap. “Detective Biggs mentioned his partner but I didn’t realize—I didn’t put two and two together, I guess. I remember Logan saying that his brother was a cop, though.”
“You can call me Stephen.” He nodded, offered Sawyer a hand. “So, you are a friend of my brother’s?”
Sawyer nodded. “Kind of. He has the locker under mine, and I drove him home from school once.”
Stephen cocked that half smile again and pointed at her, green eyes narrowed. “Ah, that’s right. You’re that Sawyer Dodd.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“My little brother kind of has a—let’s just go with mammoth—crush on you.”
Sawyer’s cheeks flushed red, and she felt the heat go to her ears. “Oh.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“Oh, right. Actually, I was looking for Detective Biggs. Is he in?”
Stephen checked his watch. “He probably won’t be in for another couple of hours. Is there something I can help you with?”
Sawyer chewed her bottom lip. “Well not to be rude but no, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, let me put it this way: Detective Biggs won’t be in for another couple of hours, and even then, it’s pretty likely you’ll be talking to me. I’m his liaison.”
Sawyer smiled in spite of herself. “Liaison? That sounds very French.”
“And masculine, right? Why don’t you follow me over to the conference room and you can tell me what’s going on. I can start the case file for Detective Biggs.”
Sawyer’s fingers still worked the strap of her purse, and she felt herself shift her weight from one foot to the other. “Well…”
But Stephen Haas’s face was so earnest, so open, that Sawyer smiled thinly and followed him into the conference room.
“So,” he said, whipping out a yellow legal pad, “what can I help you with?”
Sawyer’s eyes followed the blank lines on the notebook, and she licked her parched lips, fisted her hands, which seemed clammy once again. She cleared her throat. “Well,” she began, feeling her mind whirl with everything that had happened—and how preposterous it would sound. “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing.” She stood. “You know, I should really just go.”
Stephen laid a gentle hand on her forearm. “Sawyer, if whatever is bothering you is enough to make you drive all the way down to the police station at seven o’clock in the morning, it’s something I want to hear about. Besides”—he flashed that sweet, relaxed smile of his—“I’ll be the judge of whether or not we send in the SWAT team or the guys in the white coats with the straitjackets.”
Sawyer sunk back down, still nervous, but feeling a genuine smile twitching at the edges of her lips. “Well, Detective Biggs came to my house a few weeks ago—just after my boyfriend, Kevin Anderson—died in a car accident.”
Stephen nodded. “Kevin Anderson. It was a drunk-driving accident, right?”
Sawyer pinched her lip. “Yeah. But they think someone else was in the car. Someone who escaped. They think it was me.”
Stephen’s eyebrows rose. “And was it?”
“No. No. We got in a fight that night and when I left him, he was drinking but he was alone.”
“Okay. But I don’t see how this is—”
“And the Monday after his funeral,” Sawyer went on, her eyes fixed on the faux wood grain veneer on the conference table, “I got a note. It said, ‘You’re welcome.’ And there was a newspaper article with the note—it was the one about Kevin’s death.”
Nate leaned back in his chair, sucking in his breath and tapping the end of the ballpoint pen on the still-blank notepad. “Sounds like a prank to me. A prank in really bad taste.”
“And then my Spanish teacher was killed.”
“Uh, Mr. Hanson, right? Logan told me about that. But he wasn’t murdered; he died of an allergic reaction.”
“Yeah, but then I got another note. Oh, and before that, we were at a party and someone attacked my best friend, Chloe Coulter.”
“Can you spell that last name?”
Sawyer bit her nail. “Maybe you shouldn’t write that down.”
Stephen raised his eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t I write it down?”
“It’s just—we were out, late—and Chloe’s parents don’t know.”
“If this was an attack, Sawyer, this is pretty serious. Tell me what happened.”
“It was serious. Someone tried to cut the brake lines on Chloe’s mother’s car. And Chloe walked outside—”
“Where did this happen?”
“Oh, at the Rutgers’ house. But maybe you sho
uldn’t—”
“Let me guess. This girl’s parents didn’t know they were hosting a party?”
“It was a guy, actually, Evan. Evan Rutger. And no.”
Stephen sucked in a breath. “Okay. Just tell me what happened and we’ll figure out who to talk to—if anyone—after, okay?”
Sawyer nodded. “Okay, I guess. Anyway, someone hit Chloe in the head.”
“Was she injured badly?”
“Not very. But enough. He drew blood.”
“So you know it was a male.”
“No, not—I mean, that’s what Chloe said, but she also said she really didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Did anyone call this in?”
Sawyer shook her head again, feeling slightly ashamed. She should have made Chloe call the police that night. “No. Chloe didn’t want to get in trouble.”
“Okay, so your friend got attacked. Did she receive any of these notes?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Has anyone messed with your car? Have you seen anyone who fit the description of Chloe’s attacker?”
“No.”
“So there really isn’t any reason to believe that the same person is targeting both of you?”
“No.” Sawyer frowned. “I guess not.”
Knowing that her best friend wasn’t a target of Sawyer’s admirer should have made her feel better, but the thought that two horrible people out on the loose in Crescent Hill wasn’t any more comforting.
“So you said you got a note after your teacher passed away.” Stephen cocked his head. “Did you bring any of these notes?”
Sawyer wagged her head. “No. I didn’t really plan on coming here this morning.”
“Do you recognize the handwriting, or was there a postmark? Anything recognizable?”
“No.”
“Well, Sawyer, I understand your concern and I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, but I really think this is just—”
“A coincidence? A prank? Someone sent me flowers too, at school. And then someone spray-painted my gym locker—right after making coleslaw out of my clothes while I was in the shower.”
Sawyer listened to the tension rising in her voice and cringed inwardly. Everything she was saying did sound preposterous, coincidental—like a prank. Someone was playing with her—was capitalizing on the horrid things that had happened and trying to freak her out. Sweat beaded along her upper lip and she sighed.
“Maybe you’re right. This is probably just a really bad prank.”
Stephen pressed his lips together in a sympathetic smile and patted Sawyer’s hand as it rested on the table. Her eyes followed his hand.
“I’m sorry that someone would do this to you, Sawyer. Kids can really suck. And from what I hear from my brother, your class has a particularly mean streak.”
Sawyer thought of Logan sitting in her car in his sweatpants and forced a smile. “I guess so.”
“He’s mentioned some kids—your late boyfriend included, sorry—who have pretty much tortured him from the time he set foot on campus.”
Sawyer dug her fingernail into the table’s veneer.
“Is there anything else I should know about these incidents? I’ll write a report just so we have something on file, should there be any more—”
Sawyer’s eyes flashed and her whole body stiffened, the thought of another note, another murder, like a steel fist to her gut. Stephen seemed to read her immediately. “Not that there will be any more incidents.”
She thought of the peanut butter label and shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Call me Stephen. Or Officer Haas, at worst. Not sir.”
Sawyer nodded wordlessly and stood when Stephen checked his watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting to school? If you leave now, you can just make the last bell.”
“Yeah.” Sawyer gathered her purse. “Thanks.”
As she left the police station she felt an overwhelming sense of relief—fueled by stupidity—and the tiniest bit of calm. Yeah, she convinced herself as she drove the distance to Hawthorne High, it’s just a prank. A stupid, bad-natured prank. I’m not responsible for anything.
She repeated the mantra even as she guided her car into the parking lot and pulled it into park. She gathered up her backpack, a twinge of confidence bolstering her movements. Just a prank…The words resonated in her head and seemed to fill her with a modicum of calm. But somewhere, deep down, Sawyer knew the calm wouldn’t last.
TEN
Sawyer was feeling slightly more comfortable after homeroom and had nearly forgotten the notes, the flowers, and the shredded clothes by the time she got to second period. When she walked into the choir room, she was downright giddy thinking of her solo, appearing in her new choir costume. Chloe bounded over to her.
“Hey! You’re smiling. Kind of like an idiot.” She poked Sawyer in the ribs and grinned. “Anything I should know about?”
Sawyer shook her head, feeling her soft brown hair tumble over her shoulders. “Nope. I’m just feeling pretty decent today.”
“Good to know.”
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Mr. Rose strode through the door, hands up as though he were conducting the students’ conversations. “Tone it down now. I suspect you all have been looking over—and loving—our new set list.” He shuffled some papers. “We’re going to start today with the third number first so we can work on everyone’s solos.” His eyes flashed to Sawyer’s and she gulped, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, crap. I forgot my sheet music,” she murmured.
“Huh?” Chloe asked.
“My sheet music.” Sawyer’s hand shot into the air. “Um, Mr. Rose? Can I run to my locker for just a sec? I left my sheet music in there.”
Mr. Rose sat down at the piano and nodded, waving absently toward the door. “Hurry.”
Maggie rolled her eyes as Sawyer shimmied past. “And the whole world waits for Sawyer Dodd,” she muttered just loud enough for Sawyer to hear.
Sawyer pushed into the deserted hallway and, head down, beelined toward her locker. She looked up just in time to avoid a collision with Cooper.
“Oh, hey.” He flushed a blotchy red from exposed neck to forehead and then broke into an uncertain grin.
Sawyer looked from Cooper to her locker—less than three paces away—and back to Cooper again. “What are you doing out here?”
He waved a pink hall pass. “Bathroom break.”
Sawyer bit her lip and pointed over Cooper’s right shoulder. “The boys’ room is in corridor C.”
Cooper’s smile looked uncomfortable, forced. “I thought I’d take the long way. Trig is killing me.”
Sawyer cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “The very long way.”
“What are you doing out here in the middle of class? I mean, besides general interrogation.” Cooper’s voice was light, amused, but there was an edge to it that made Sawyer feel uncomfortable.
“Forgot something in my locker,” she said.
“Oh, your locker is in this corridor?”
Sawyer nodded, unease traveling the length of her spine. “All the junior lockers are.”
“Right. We were all kind of mixed up at my old school.” Cooper dangled the hall pass again. “Well, I should be getting back to class. Someone’s going to catch on that it doesn’t take this long to pee.”
Sawyer said nothing while Cooper hurried past her down the hall. He headed away from corridor C, away from the bank of math classrooms behind them. When she finally turned to her locker, Sawyer spun the lock, feeling a weird sense of calm and dread. If there is a note, Cooper is suspect number one, she told herself.
She immediately thought of their conversations, of the delicious heat that crept through her when his lips were on hers. She thought of the softness in his eyes and
felt herself slump. “God, I’m freaking paranoid.”
Cooper would never do anything to hurt me. He—she paused in mid-thought, about to utter the word “loves.” He likes me, she corrected herself.
Even people who like—or love—you can hurt you, her conscience warned her. Sawyer ignored it.
“Prank,” she muttered out loud, as if trying to convince herself. “Stupid prank.”
But there was nothing amiss in her locker, and her sheet music, her track clothes, and her photos were exactly as she had left them. She slammed the metal door, her heart thumping in a way she could barely remember—normally.
She whistled the chorus of her new solo as she skipped back to class.
***
“So, I figure I’ll head home and change, and then drive over around five. Sound okay?” Chloe asked.
“Yeah, that sounds good. I say we do an all-night bad-movie chocolate fest. If I get through chem today, I’m totally going to need it.” Sawyer turned to head to her locker when Chloe laid a soft hand on her forearm.
“Hey, Sawyer”—she licked her lips—“I’m really glad you’re—you’re feeling better.”
Sawyer felt a lump grow in her throat, but this time, it didn’t have the sharp pang of despair that she was now so used to. Instead, she smiled—genuinely—and pulled her best friend into a hug. “Me too. And you too.”
Chloe pulled back, confusion flitting across her face. Sawyer cocked her head, gently brushing her fingertips over Chloe’s forehead, over the still-healing cut above her best friend’s eye.
“Oh, right.”
“Hey, Chloe, speaking of that. Did you—did you ever go to the police?”
Chloe shook her head. “I told you—my mom would kill me. Besides”—she wrinkled her nose—“Ryan was able to get the car towed without anyone being the wiser. His dad owns that garage out on Forest, you know.”
Sawyer nodded. “But someone attacked you, that’s pretty—”
Chloe put her hands on Sawyer’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “It’s over, Sawyer. No big deal.”
Sawyer wished she had an ounce of her best friend’s bravery. Maybe then she wouldn’t nearly jump out of her skin every fifteen minutes or scrutinize cute guys who were just trying to be nice to her.