“I think...I think Jimmy was murdered. And I’m kind of looking into his death. For Dan’s sake.”
She looks at me uncomprehendingly.
“Do you know anyone who might have been on the outs with Jimmy? Can you think of any arguments with teammates? Someone from another school who might have a grudge against him?”
“Everyone loved him,” she says in a firm voice. “Even if they were jealous of his star status on the team, the guys still worshipped Jimmy.”
“Who? Who was jealous?”
“They didn’t actually say they were jealous. You could tell just by the way they looked at him run onto the field that they just wanted to be Jimmy.”
“So his teammates? Todd? Sam?” They were the only names I could think of. For many people, including me, Jimmy Hawkins might as well have been a one-man team. He carried everyone. Overshadowed them. I imagine that would make some people stew over the attention he got.
Her trembling hand touches her lip as she stares at her own reflection. “They were his friends.”
“Or frenemies.”
“I can’t believe they’d want to hurt him. Sam ribbed Jimmy about getting slow in his old age, but it was harmless stuff.”
Sam. One of the drunken guys at the wake.
“Could be worth checking him out,” I muse. “Everyone’s under the microscope.”
“Including me?” she says with a tinge of bitterness. I prepare myself for another flood of tears, but she holds them back.
I meet her gaze steadily. Though I’ve unscientifically eliminated Aimee, I also have to account for the fact I believed for years that she was shallow and gossipy. I didn’t trust her, and I guess that’s because I didn’t know the real Aimee Barton. Maybe Mara’s right. The best way to find out is to unnerve her.
“Where were you the night Jimmy died?” My stark question has the effect I was looking for—she’s rattled. Her tear-splattered face grows furious.
“You think I killed him?! That’s crazy! I loved him. I wanted us to be together. Go to prom! Go to the movies and parties. I didn’t want to spend my senior year crying over him!”
I hear the anguish in her voice and try desperately hard not to dissolve into a blubbering mess. “I’m sorry, Aimee. Really. I had to ask.”
“Jimmy was my whole world. Cheerleading, school, none of it mattered when he was around.” Her eyelids squeeze shut as she struggles to regain composure. “But he didn’t love me like I loved him.”
Softening, I say, “I’m sure he loved you.”
“Keira, it’s nice of you to try to make me feel better, but...I know the truth.” Aimee’s skin tone brightens as her tears dry. “Look at me. I’m in a restaurant bathroom waiting for my dead ex-boyfriend to show up. Have you ever seen anything so pathetic? Don’t answer that.”
I give her a supportive smile.
“I should head back to the house.” Aimee adjusts her clothing. Light-footed, she moves to the door. At the last second, she turns to me. “Jimmy was right to break up with me.”
“Aimee, don’t torture yourself—”
“No, I see that now. We were on totally different paths.” She smiles despite herself. Either she’s always kept this insightful part of her hidden under her vacuous cheerleader guise or losing Jimmy has made her a better person. My admiration for her goes up a notch. Who knew? “But if you find out who the killer is, come get me before you go to the cops so I can kick his butt.”
“Will do.” I salute her. “Are you going to be okay? Have you got someone to talk to? Friends?”
“My friends.” She gives a rueful scoff. “They’ve been MIA since Jimmy’s body was found. Guess they don’t know what to say to me.”
Squeezing her arm, I say what I never in a millennium thought I’d say, “I’ll be here whenever you need me. Not ‘here’ as in this particular restroom, of course. But...you know what I mean.”
Her eyes widen with shock, and then they fill with gratitude. “That’s real nice of you.”
“Oh, one more thing. Use the side exit. Don’t go out the front door.”
“Why not?”
A vision of Mara’s dark, disapproving expression pops into my head. Jimmy is my ghost and I’ll handle the “investigation” just the way I want to.
“There’s a ton of people in the dining room. I’m sure they’ll be all over you, asking questions about Jimmy.”
Aimee shudders. “I’m not ready for that kind of attention.”
“Figured as much.” I smile sadly as Aimee sweeps out. Her hysterical grief over the past week wasn’t just for show. It was genuine. I would have to be made of marble to not feel that now. Mara’s just going to have to deal with the fact her chief suspect isn’t the stereotypical black widow.
When I return to the dining area, I find a family of five sitting at my table. Mara’s nowhere in sight.
“Your friend had to go,” says a gum-snapping waitress with curly brown hair as she walks by. She tucks an order pad into her pristine uniform pocket.
I blink. How much time did I spend in the restroom?
“Where?”
“I don’t know, but she ran out of here like she had someplace special to go,” says the waitress. I reach for my purse, mentally counting the pennies in my wallet. “She took care of the check, honey.”
What was so important that Mara had to leave without saying goodbye? Could she have stumbled on a lead and wanted to take the credit for it?
For me, finding Jimmy’s killer isn’t about glory. It’s much bigger than that.
I drop a few dollars in the tip jar and make my way home. As far as I’m concerned, Mara’s welcome to do her own investigating. Her gut feeling about Aimee just doesn’t align with mine.
Chapter Nineteen
Another school day passes without an appearance from either Dan or Jimmy. In the privacy of my thin-walled bedroom, I lay out the Mandala spread and picture Aimee’s face. I’m not being creepy. It’s just that I suddenly find her intriguing. Enough to want to do an unauthorized reading on her personality.
From the center of the spread, I turn over the first card in the position that’s supposed to give me an overall view of Aimee. Pictured in a glimmering diaphanous gown is the High Priestess, her body floating toward the heavens. She’s telling me there are secrets to unravel within Aimee, that there’s more beneath the surface, a lot of good things she hides from others.
I turn the remaining eight cards, learning more and more about her. Her weaknesses include abandonment issues, which fits in with her fears over breaking up with Jimmy. But is she a killer? The Universe doesn’t return a clear-cut guilty verdict, but it does confirm Aimee’s not nearly as shallow or unfeeling as I once believed her to be.
A tiny movement catches my eye. My heart leaps at the thought of Jimmy returning. Instead of getting a laid-back greeting from my long-lost ghost pal, I get an intense whiff of lavender.
“Grandie?” I clutch the cards in sweaty palms, forgetting momentarily that the oils from my hands are doing no favors for the delicate gold patina. A silvery gray mist gathers in a corner of my room, right by a window. I can’t help but notice the mist is the same color as Grandie’s tightly curled hair.
The mist rolls toward me, enveloping me from head to toe. I feel no fear, no chill. Only love. My voice cracks. “I’ve missed you, Grandie. Talk to me!”
But as soon as the plea comes out of my mouth, the mist disappears. No words of wisdom or even a hello from my grandmother.
“Dammit!” Why won’t she show herself?
My gaze falls on the notepad Dan sketched on a few nights ago. He’d taken the portrait of me with him, but the imprint of his drawing remains on the blank pages. All I can think about is how he stood in this very room with his arms tight around me. Kissing me senseless.
I pick up my phone and stare at his number in the contacts list. Dan needs friends right now. He needs me.
Just as I flick my thumb towards his number, the phone vibra
tes. I gasp at the display before answering eagerly.
“Dan?” I stammer. “I...I was just thinking about you. How are you holding up?”
“A lot better than my mom. On the outside.” His voice comes down the line with an unmistakable husk. He clears the huskiness—and the sexiness—from his throat. “Any sign of Jimmy?”
“No. Not even a blip on my ghost radar app.” I sigh, wishing I could just call or even text Jimmy like a normal, living person whenever I want to contact him.
“There’s an app to detect ghosts?” he says, sounding understandably incredulous.
“Welcome to the twenty-first century.”
He chuckles. “Look, some of his teammates are here, and I...I just want to know if you could come over. With your cards.”
“You want me to do a reading for them?” I can’t imagine those jocks being open to tarot. “Why?”
He pauses before answering grimly, “So we can figure out if one of these ass-hats killed my brother.”
* * *
When I get to Dan’s house, a woman who introduces herself as Aunt Katie lets me in. She’s clearly in mother-hen mode. In minutes, I have a juice in one hand and a peanut butter cookie in the other. She shows me to the ultra-luxe basement where Dan’s hanging out. The room’s half the size of my house and filled with boys’ toys. Three of Jimmy’s buddies slouch on an L-shaped sofa and listlessly toss a football between them. Video footage of a Wolves game plays on an enormous curved TV screen. Someone near the cameraman shouts, “Go, Jimmy!”
“Glad you could make it.” Dan squeezes my hand and lets go quickly. In my ear, he whispers, “Just so you know, I haven’t mentioned tarot reading yet.”
My stomach lurches. Great. “I’ll think of a way to bring it up. Don’t worry.”
He smiles gratefully. “Hey, Todd, Sam, Jake. You guys remember Keira, right?”
“Hi, guys,” I say after they mumble greetings. Not one of them can raise a smile. I don’t blame them.
“I’ll grab some more food,” Dan says, reaching for an empty glass bowl. “Be right back.”
I sit in an armchair. My feet dangle three inches off the floor. It was obviously made for taller, Hawkins-sized people. Sports magazines sit untidily on a coffee table next to me. I discreetly push them to the side in a neat pile and lay out my cards. Never in my life have I felt so awkward.
Just remember this is for Jimmy and his family. Not for you.
The guys remain focused on the TV, occasionally offering commentary on the game.
“Man, what an arm,” Jake says, shaking his head.
Everyone murmurs agreement. Even me.
“How did he do that?” Sam says with wonder. He stands up, gripping the ball and keeping his eye on Jimmy sprinting toward the end zone.
I tune the guys out and channel all my thoughts onto the cards. Charlie had mentioned Jimmy’s lost car keys. While it’s improbable to think the cards could give the exact longitude and latitude of the keys, maybe a mental picture of the location will magically spring into my mind, just like the car.
Thwack!
“OW!” Pain reverberates in my head.
“Oh, shit! Are you all right?” Sam says. He leaps up and picks up the ball. The pointy end of which I can now say really does hurt like hell when it hits at thirty miles an hour.
“That was nasty!” Todd says. He offers me his ice-filled drink to press against my head, but I refuse.
“I’m fine.” I shake my head to clear the blurriness from my eyes. Dazed, I glance toward the stairs. What’s taking Dan so long up there?
“Really? ’Cause I’ve copped a few hits with a helmet on and gotten a concussion.” Todd holds up three fingers. “How many do you see?”
“Eleven.” I manage a weak but brave smile. It’s not a big deal compared to Jimmy’s injury. The boys seem relieved that I’m still conscious. Todd and Jake hunch back down on the couch.
Sam points at the cards spread out in front of me. “What’s this, a fancy type of Solitaire?”
I laugh now that the pain as well as the possibility of concussion seems to be fading. “No, it’s not a game. These are tarot cards.”
Sam’s grin falters. “Tarot? You mean like fortune telling?”
“In a way.” I shrug.
“Cool.” But the way he says it makes me think it’s anything but cool. Ridiculous, maybe.
Dan returns to the deck carrying a veritable Everest of cookies. Unfortunately, they all seem to be choc-chip. The smell of gooey warm chocolate makes my brain spin. He sees me rubbing the back of my head, and looks concerned.
“What happened?” asks Dan.
“A close encounter between my head and a football.”
“She made full contact,” Sam says, grimacing.
Dan’s eyes flash as he glares at Sam. Something tells me he’d like to give Sam a taste of “full contact.” The guy’s got about fifteen pounds on Dan, and he’s known for using his size to intimidate on the field. But here he steps back. I glance between the two of them. There’s a definite air of jealousy on Dan’s part.
“She says there’s no harm, no foul.” Sam swipes a cookie. “Keira was about to teach me some card tricks.”
Wincing a little at his comment, I sweep up the cards. I curse the fact I’d forgotten to bring my lucky quartz crystal. Nonetheless, I carry on with constructing an imaginary white bubble of protection.
“You’re open to a reading?” I ask Sam, who’s halfway through his third cookie. Crumbs spill from his lips. Chocolate crumbs.
“I guess. Maybe you can tell me who’ll be captain now that...” Sam glances at Dan and hesitates.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I can’t see the future. What I can do is give you some insights into you as a person.” See if you’re capable of murdering your teammate in a jealous rage.
Dan wafts the plate under my nose. “Keira, have one before the cookie monster eats them all.”
“No!” I slam back in my chair. Both boys look at me like I’ve turned into Medusa. “Does your aunt have any more of those peanut butter cookies? Sorry, I should have told you I can’t eat chocolate.”
“You’re kidding me!” Dan says.
“I wish.” I grimace. I thought I told him years ago. Maybe he’s blotted it from his memory. “I’ve got an EpiPen in my bag, so if I accidentally inhale a cookie, I should be fine.”
He looks down at the plate, then back at me. “Okay, I’ll...uh, I’ll see what else I can rustle up.”
“I’ll have those if no one else will.” Sam ignores Dan’s sharp glare and tugs the plate out of his hands. After Dan disappears upstairs, Sam slides into a chair next to me. “How about doing a reading on him?”
I stare hard at Sam. “Why?”
“He’s hard to figure out.” Sam leans back and laces his meaty fingers behind his tousled brown head. Body odor wafts faintly. “Word is he was jealous of Jimmy.”
Interesting. Seems to me everyone’s got a theory on who killed Jimmy. What’s also interesting is that I’m not sure the cops publicly said they believe he was murdered. “What are you implying, Sam?”
He lowers his voice. “Come on, how would you feel if your brother had everything handed to him? Jimmy got a brand-new car for his birthday. What did Dan get? Art supplies.”
“I don’t have a brother or sister, so I wouldn’t know.” I can sympathize with the feeling of inequity, though. “Still, Dan hardly seems affected by it. Art makes him happy, not cars. It’s not like his parents force him to live in the attic and eat gruel. Has it occurred to you that Dan doesn’t want materialistic stuff?”
Sam turns his attention back to the TV. “Man, Jimmy was good. Who knows how far he could’ve gotten if he didn’t hurt his leg in that game?”
My vision blurs as I watch Sam mindlessly stuff cookies into his mouth. Tiny black ants spring onto his wrists. I try to focus, blinking once, twice. The ants grow bigger. No, not ants. Letters. Neat strings of random Helvetica letters. But they ma
rch like ants, spiraling around each of his stubby fingers, all the way up to his nails. Sam doesn’t even notice.
Of course he doesn’t. This is my hallucination.
Sam claps cookie pieces from his palms. The letters vault to the ceiling. They shuffle around, forming syllables, forming words.
Forming a headline.
Career Over for Top Quarterback.
“You’re Anonymous,” I whisper.
Sam’s eyes go round as the cookies he’s devouring. He blinks rapidly.
“You were one of the few people who knew about Jimmy’s injury. You wrote that article,” I say, my voice low and tight.
He clears his throat, but his voice comes out high and unnatural. “Article? No idea what you’re saying.”
“Why did you write it?” I plow on. “Maybe you’re the jealous one here, huh?”
“I don’t—”
Heartbeats echo in my head, drowning out all but one thought. I lean forward, close enough to land a punch on his chiseled chin if I want to. Boy, do I want to. Words rush out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Sam, did you kill Jimmy? Because you wanted to be captain? Talk about a sheep in Wolves’ clothing.”
“That’s bullshit!” he yells. His voice echoes around the room. Todd and Jake throw us curious looks. Sam stands up, the chair banging to the floor. Fury makes his face red and sweaty. I notice the tremble in his hands as he tries to put the chair back in place.
“You okay, bud?” Todd asks, turning the TV volume down.
“Yeah. We were just talking about Jimmy. You know how it is,” Sam replies, his face tense.
Jake nods in sympathy. “It’s cool, man. We’re all having a rough time.”
Sam moves to the foosball table in a far corner. I follow him. In a low voice, he says, “I don’t know how the hell you figured it out, but, yeah, I wrote the article.”
“Why?”
He sweeps his hair back in frustration. “Because I couldn’t get Coach to listen to me. Having Jimmy out there, with that burnt-out leg, we’d be handicapped.”
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