Chasing Truth

by Julie Cross

  I guess that’s true, but the other scenario makes so much more sense. “But who? Who would want to kill Simon Gilbert that badly that they plotted and planned and walked through the woods in the middle of the night and then took Simon’s own gun and shot him with it?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispers. “But we have to find out.”

  I look at Miles. I need to know what he thinks. I need someone to help me decide what I should think. “Do you think he should have taken the gun from Simon?”

  “I don’t have the USSS rule book memorized.” Miles shakes his head. “But given the circumstances—no one else in the house, he was filling in for someone, didn’t know the family details, he made a plan to inform the senator and waited for them—it’s likely he followed the protocol.”

  “But he could have taken the gun,” I say, emphasizing the word “could.” “He had a choice. No, he made a choice. He’s a human, not a machine. He could have done something.”

  “You can’t make your own rules in the Secret Service. You follow orders, you keep the people you protect alive. It’s the only way. I would have done exactly what he did.”

  I don’t know what kind of reaction I’d expected from Miles, but this certainly isn’t it. I mean, we’re talking about his best friend, we’re talking about one broken rule that could have maybe saved his life. “Jack broke the rules tonight. Explain that.”

  Miles shakes his head. “I can’t. I seriously don’t get it. But still it’s not the same as with Aidan. He’s younger, newer. He needed to follow the rules for everyone’s safety.”

  “But he was supposed to protect Simon,” I whisper, barely audible. “And Simon’s dead.”

  “It’s not a perfect system.” Miles tugs at a thread on my comforter. “It’s never going to work all the time, but you still have to trust the system. Otherwise it’s just chaos and instinct.”

  “I would have never left that room until Simon handed over his gun or locked it up, and then I would have locked him up in a separate room.”

  Miles’s jaw tenses. “But you’re forgetting something. Simon didn’t kill himself. Aidan’s actions would have been different if he’d thought someone was trying to hurt Simon.”

  Right. Except it’s hard to know what to believe anymore. Why do I keep doubting Simon’s mental state? Why can’t I have the rock-solid conviction Miles has and hang on to it? Miles trusts it. Trusts himself. And I’m the opposite. I can’t even trust Simon after he’s dead.

  “Whoever did it got lucky that Simon had a gun, that Aidan had seen it,” Miles continues. “But that doesn’t mean he or she wouldn’t have found another way.”

  Found another way to murder Simon. I mean who would kill Simon Gilbert, the nicest kid in the whole school. The roommate who helped Miles get through his homesickness.

  But what about the Simon Gilbert who made up lies about my past, who secretly hooked up with Dominic and built a safe in his own room to hold his unregistered gun? It’s definitely more possible someone might want to kill that guy.

  Miles stands up and moves toward the window. “We’re gonna figure this out. I swear to God we are. But I need you. I can do it alone, but together…well, we’re good together.”

  I should be rubbing this in his face—he was wrong. But instead, I stare at my knees, hating the compliments. Hating that he trusts me. That he’s putting faith in me. And I’m doubting everything, including whether or not I can pull another stunt like we did tonight. After seeing Harper so upset.

  “I need to get Dominic to talk,” he says. “It’s long overdue, but also touchy. If I go too far, it’s over—”

  “Miles?” I say, interrupting this new plan.

  He was about to swing a leg out the window, but he stops and looks up at me. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry. About the file in Geist’s office. Sorry I didn’t apologize right away.” The words spill out, relief wrapped around them.

  “Okay.” He nods and then gives me a little smile. “You know, you’re not the villain you keep trying to become. Trust me, I can spot a villain better than anyone.”

  Not always, Miles.

  My heart sinks. Outside of this quest, he and I will never be in the same circle, the same world. Ever. He doesn’t know it yet, but he hates everything about me.

  After he’s gone, I stare at the ceiling, too awake to go back to sleep. I run through every aspect of the last twelve hours in my mind until I pause on something I’d seen but had yet to process. I shoot up in bed, my heart pounding.

  Simon’s safe.

  There was a pen. With the logo of a woman in a long gown, her arms spread out and children seated around her. The words “St. Felicity’s Shelter” printed across the pen.

  I don’t want to fall down Connie’s conspiracy theory rabbit hole and I don’t want to think about the weird coincidence of that pen popping up in similar places, but I do want to use that information to get her help. It’s risky revealing my connection to Holden Prep and Simon, but then again, Connie’s the epitome of discretion. No digital footprint will be left when I’m done being her friend. And maybe it will keep Miles from ruining his own future. Which is what would have happened if he’d been caught tonight. I’d like to give him that if I can. For his trust in me.

  I take out my phone and send a text.

  ME: found something new. About that thing you’ve been researching

  My phone vibrates seconds later. Not sure the woman ever sleeps.

  CONNIE: srsly? Come see me!

  ME: I need a favor. A big one. I need a police report from a crime scene

  CONNIE: how old?

  ME: Recent. 6 months.

  CONNIE: what state?

  ME: Virginia

  CONNIE: shouldn’t be a problem. Is there a name?

  I take a deep breath, knowing I’ve hit the point of no return. But surely this beats biking between Dominic’s house and the Gilbert mansion over and over as if clues will fall into my lap. And it’s got to be less risky than breaking and entering.

  ME: Simon Gilbert

  CONNIE: Ok, now I’m really gonna be up all night

  That makes two of us.

  CHAPTER 36

  Connie lifts an eyebrow when I enter the store not alone.

  “You didn’t tell me you had a partner,” she says, like this changes everything.

  Beside me, Miles looks like he’s itching to search every inch of this place for bugs, but he manages to hold still except for the hand he extends to Connie. “Miles. Ellie’s classmate.”

  “I got what you asked for.”

  Both Miles and I stiffen, but after a quick exhale I say, “The thing I wanted to tell you…”

  I take a few minutes to explain our adventure the other night at the Gilbert mansion. Miles listens intensely, because I haven’t really had a reason or time to explain this whole St. Felicity’s Shelter thing in detail.

  “How exactly did you see inside this secret safe belonging to the senator’s dead son?” Connie asks.

  Miles gives me a pointed look. “Great question.”

  “I was there with a family friend. He works at the Gilberts’ home.” I flash both of them a smile. “He was helping me with algebra and I took a detour on my bathroom break. Ran right into that safe, crazy, huh?”

  “Okay then,” Connie says, not as if she believes me, but as if I’ve left her no room to argue.

  “St. Felicity,” Miles repeats, his voice eerie and distant. “The patron saint of widows and mothers of dead sons.”

  “Is that her title?” Connie says at the same time I say, “Wait, what?”

  “I think that’s right.” Miles scratches his head. “Saint Felicitas…Felicity of Rome.”

  Connie bangs a fist against the counter. “God, I’m an idiot! I didn’t even think to look at the religious origin as a metaphor. This changes everything. I need to start back at square one.”

  “One more thing,” I interject before Connie’s knee-deep in a whole new research
project. I grab a pen and slide her notepad toward me, jotting down: alleyesonyou@gmail.com. “Think you could figure out who this email address belongs to?”

  She looks at it and frowns. “Maybe.”

  I shrug off the disappointment. “Just give it a shot.”

  “Will do. Now…let me show you what I found.” Connie tugs a brown envelope from beneath her laptop and proceeds to open it. “This copy is yours to keep, but I would destroy it after you look everything over.” She points to a sign above her head with the words Burn Don’t Shred and another that says, Real Geeks Use Fire.

  The police report emerges from the envelope and Miles says, “How exactly did you manage to get this? If you don’t mind me asking…?”

  “Friends in high places. Before I opened this store, I was a lawyer,” Connie says, rolling her eyes. “I know, right?” When we don’t react to whatever inside joke went over our heads, she clears her throat. “Anyway, maybe this isn’t what you were hoping to hear, but I’m definitely seeing some holes in this suicide declaration—”

  “Like what?” Miles and I both say together.

  “Okay, maybe it is what you wanted to hear…” Connie reaches into the envelope and pulls out a small stack of photos. “First off, the angle of the gun technically allows for self-firing, but the window of accuracy is very narrow.”

  I don’t know why we hadn’t anticipated this, but it’s obvious by the quick intake of air that neither Miles nor I considered the possibility of crime scene photos. As in pictures of Simon. After.

  The store around me vanishes, my eyes hyper-focused on the photo in front of us. A large bloodstain sits on the Gilberts’ perfect wood floor, right where the rug has since been placed.

  “…plus, there’s not one mention of that container of ice cream on the table. Why would a suicidal kid go to the kitchen for ice cream at one in the morning? You can see the condensation. I’d estimate it’s been out of the freezer about forty-five minutes based on…”

  While Connie spouts off mathematical formulas, I shift to the next photo and gasp. Beside me, Miles exhales and his hand shoots out to grip the counter.

  It’s Simon. Blood spread across the space around his head, so thick and heavy it’s nearly impossible to see where the bullet went in. My stomach tosses and turns until I have to look away from the picture. My throat tightens. I hear the jingle of the bell above the shop door before I turn and realize Miles is gone.

  With trembling hands, I stuff the photos back into the envelope and then tuck them inside my jacket. “Thanks for this,” I manage to say to Connie, who is wide-eyed and worried now.

  “God, I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” I assure. “It’s just—I mean we were…we knew Simon…” I point at the door. “I should go check on him.”

  She nods, not needing any more explanation. I head out the door and pick a direction to head in. I find Miles minutes later, behind a row of stores, pale and leaning over a Dumpster. I touch a hand to his back and he quickly loses balance, swaying. I grip his face with one hand in time to see his eyes roll upward.

  I hook an arm around his waist and pull us both down until we’re sitting on the ground, leaning against the building. Miles’s head falls right into my lap, his eyes closed. My heart picks up, panic engulfing me. He had better fucking wake up, because I sure as hell can’t carry him to a hospital.

  “Miles…” I give his shoulder a shake, then his cheek a light smack. “Miles!”

  He peels his eyes open and rolls onto his back, looking up at me. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I sigh with relief. “For what?”

  “This.” He gestures between his head and my lap. Sweat trickles from his forehead through his dark hair. All the color has drained from his face.

  It reminds me of that first day in the secret room when I nearly passed out from not eating enough. “Maybe we should get you something to eat?”

  He shakes his head furiously. “Not now.”

  Okay, I get it. Not after those pictures. He needs a distraction. “So…what else is new?” I ask lamely.

  Miles cracks a smile. “My parents will be back in the country in a couple of weeks. They want to meet you.”

  His parents. As in supersecret agents that we never call supersecret agents out loud. My mouth falls open. They want to meet me? “Why?”

  “Relax.” Miles slowly sits up; some color has returned to his face. “It’s kind of standard whenever someone becomes aware of their jobs.”

  “What jobs? I don’t know anything about their jobs.”

  Miles rolls his eyes. “Come on, I know you’ve guessed enough. And I told them I blew my cover with you.”

  “Why would you tell them that?” I demand. This is all his fault.

  “They’re my parents,” he says, as if that explains things.

  “Does that mean they know why you picked Holden—”

  “Some of it,” he admits. “They assume I picked Holden to get some closure, learn things I didn’t know about Simon, which is basically the truth.”

  “But not that you wanted to uncover a murderer and avenge Simon’s death?”

  “Not that,” he agrees. “But to my credit, I didn’t know that’s why I was here, either. Just that I needed to look into it.” He shifts topics, probably to avoid another relapse. “So I’ll get my parents’ schedule and make plans.”

  I cover my face and groan. “What happens if I say no?”

  “It’s not a big deal.” Miles tugs a hand from my face. “They just need to get to know you better. Since you’re in the know about their jobs.”

  Get to know me better. Comforting thought.

  “It will be painless, I promise. Just a little weekend trip. As friends. Maybe we’ll work in a college visit. Make my parents, Harper, Lawrence, and Ms. Geist happy all at once.”

  “A whole weekend?” I lean against the brick building and shake my head. “Why not like a dinner meeting. Something simple and in a public place.”

  “Clearly you have mixed-up information regarding individuals in their profession.”

  Clearly. Guess I have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

  Miles pulls himself to his feet, looking much stronger. Then he holds out his hand to help me up. “Coffee on me. Then we’ve got work to do.”

  ...

  Suspect 1: Justice

  Motive: Taking Simon’s spot as #3 in our class

  Suspect 2: Bret

  Motive: Not sure, but sneaky behavior gets him a spot at the top of this list. He’s also angry about Dominic keeping secrets from him

  Suspect 3: Dominic

  Motive: Not wanting to be outed, maybe Simon wanted to tell ppl about them and Dominic flipped out? Now known “second-to-last person to see Simon alive”

  “If Dominic is a suspect because he was the second-to-last person to see Simon alive, shouldn’t we include the last person to see him?”

  “You?” Miles says.

  I shake my head, guilt already knotting my stomach. “I mean Aidan. If we’re making a complete list of any and all suspects, we have to include Aidan.”

  Miles adds him to the growing list. “Then we need to add any other Secret Service agents on duty or any who have access to the Gilberts’ mansion.”

  “Like that Rider guy,” I suggest.

  “And Jack,” Miles says tentatively, knowing that Jack is the reason we aren’t in major trouble right now.

  I lift my hands. “So basically everyone is on this list. It could be anyone. It could be me. Have you listed out my motives yet?”

  “Have you listed out mine?” Miles challenges.

  No. I haven’t. “Well let’s see…clearly you were jealous of all his friends at Holden Prep. You were mad that he loved you? I don’t know…I got nothing.”

  In what seems to be an impulsive move, he reaches across the table in the secret room and squeezes my hand. His face flushes, and he tugs his fingers away. “Thank yo
u. I was beginning to question my innocence after all this.”

  I pick up his pen and write Jack’s name down. Under motive, I put: known liar, good with math/angles.

  “Simon could have known something about Justice. I saw them talking a few times last spring,” I add. “And things with her parents are super tense. They seem uptight.”

  “So yeah, could be freakin’ anyone,” Miles assesses. “But some definitely stand out more than others, and a few are beginning to connect. We aren’t going nowhere anymore.”

  I draw a line to connect Aidan’s and Jack’s names, then join Jack’s and Ryder’s names. Miles connects Jacob to Chantel and Bret since he’s the one who told us about Chantel being in Bret’s car that night. In fact, Jacob has guided me in a few directions. He could be a mastermind, steering me exactly where he wants me.

  I say this to Miles, and he frowns. “Yeah, we better follow that trail a little. I’ll work on him.”

  “And I’ll dig into Chantel and Justice some more,” I say.

  We reach what feels like a good breaking point just in time for Miles to get a text from his dad. He looks up at me, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Does next weekend work for you?”

  “No.” I drop my head to the table. “Definitely not.”

  He laughs in a way that clearly says I’m going to have to make it work. But I think I’d rather face murderers.

  CHAPTER 37

  Miles’s isolated home appears to be out in the middle of nowhere, a little ways outside Baltimore. He’s driving Clyde’s car, and after three hours on the road, he turns down what looks like a dirt trail. It’s a road, I think, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. We left right after school today, and now it’s nearly eight at night.

  There’s snow on the ground that fell early last week—the first of the season. I’ve spent most of my life in the southern part of the country and can’t remember the last time I saw snow. We haven’t gotten any in Virginia yet, but I’ve been looking forward to it.