The Suicide Club

by Gayle Wilson

  “I have a vested interest in trying to figure this out.”

  Shannon had the grace to look embarrassed. “If I really knew anything I thought would help you do that, I’d tell you, Linds. I promise. Or I’d call Jace. As of now, all I know is that there are a couple of kids in your program that I wouldn’t put anything past. That’s not enough to go to the authorities. At least not for me. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about what’s going on. And I meant what I said about staying here. You’re welcome anytime and for as long as you need a place.”

  “I know. Look, I’m gonna go,” Lindsey said, sliding off the stool. She leaned over to kiss Shannon on the cheek. “Sorry about waking you up on a Saturday morning.”

  “Hey, it’s the weekend. I needed to be up enjoying it. Neither of us is going to enjoy much about next week.”

  “We can talk Monday about the visitation, okay? I don’t want to go by myself.”

  Shannon nodded, lowering her eyes to consider the remaining piece of toast.

  “You okay?” For some reason, Lindsey was hesitant to leave, despite the Saturday errands she needed to get done.

  Shannon looked up. For a moment it seemed as if she intended to say something serious. Instead, she smiled, managing to make it look almost normal. “I’m fine. And remember what I told you.”

  Lindsey racked her brain, trying to think what she could be referring to. “Okay, clearly I’m not remembering.”

  “Jace and the twenty-first century. You ain’t gettin’ any younger, Petunia. Just remember that.”

  “Oh, please,” Lindsey mocked. “Talk about stuck in the last century. I’m surprised at you, Hippy Princess.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Free love and nickel beer. Or was that century before last?”

  “Gotta go. And you remember what I told you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No more mixing booze and pills. It’s stupid.”

  “I know. That’s not a normal thing, you know.”

  “Well, once is too often. Promise me.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Good girl. I’ll call you later.”

  “Checking up?”

  “Catching up. It’s different. I care about you.”

  The silence was short-lived, but awkward. Shannon finally broke it. “If I think of anything that might help, I’ll call.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you later.”

  Shannon nodded. She gave a half wave with a twist of her wrist as Lindsey walked toward the back door before she picked up the remaining piece of toast and brought it up to her mouth.

  Seventeen

  It was after eight when Jace’s doorbell rang. He was feeling almost human after five hours of sleep and a shower, but he hadn’t been expecting company. Nor did he want any.

  He picked his holstered weapon up off the coffee table as he crossed the room. After he looked through the peephole, he laid it back down on the top of the TV. Lindsey was standing in the hallway, holding up what looked to be a grocery sack.

  “I hope you like barbeques,” she said, when he opened the door. “Something in the way of a bribe.”

  “For what?” he asked, stepping back to allow her to enter.

  “You said if I needed to, I could come back tonight.”

  He closed the door, taking time to slip the chain into the slot before he had to face her. Despite what he’d told her, he hadn’t thought she would take him up on the offer. He figured she’d either go to her folks or tough it out at her house.

  Tough it out. What he’d do if he were scared. What any guy would do. But, rather obviously, Lindsey wasn’t a guy.

  Since she’d come back, he wasn’t sure what she was expecting. It had been pretty clear last night that she was interested only in his protection. Tonight was an entirely different proposition.

  Then, she’d been coming to terms with the reality that someone had attacked her again. He’d been mentally exhausted and in pain. Despite that, it had been all he could do to keep from issuing a different kind of invitation. Tonight…

  He turned, surprised to find that Lindsey had moved only a couple of feet into the apartment. Although she was holding onto that same bright smile with which she’d greeted him, it seemed forced. And her eyes reflected that uncertainty.

  “You were going out, weren’t you?”

  “Just to get something to eat,” he lied.

  He had thought about doing that when he’d gotten out of the shower, but hadn’t been able to dredge up the energy. In the end, and only because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, he had decided to nuke something from the freezer.

  Now the smells emanating from the sack Lindsey carried were making his mouth water. And since she—and it—were here, there seemed no reason not to take advantage of one of them.

  “But you’ve just made that trip unnecessary.” He moved past her to head toward the kitchen.

  “If you’ve got a date, just say so.” She followed him, putting the sack down on the table. “I can stay with Shannon or go to my parents’ house.”

  The fact that she was here was evidence she didn’t want to do either. And if he were honest, he didn’t want her to.

  However, she was still emotionally vulnerable, operating from a sense of gratitude and a possible case of hero worship, both of which should put her off-limits. Neither of which made her any less appealing.

  “I haven’t gotten that far in the Randolph social scene.”

  “That far? To have a date? You’ve been here, what? Four months? Don’t tell me you haven’t had a date in all that time.”

  He took two plates from one of the upper cabinets and set them out on the counter. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  “Because it isn’t true?”

  “Not exactly. It’s been more like six months. This is not the easiest place I’ve ever lived in for meeting people.”

  That was the truth. As far as it went. There was little nightlife, and what there was seemed to be limited to a few seedy bars on the interstate. He hadn’t been interested in meeting the kind of women who made up their clientele.

  It wasn’t that he thought he was too good for them. In his profession, he knew the type too well and wasn’t interested.

  Because you’re an arrogant prick.

  “Soda, water or something stronger?” He set glasses beside the plates. Maybe she’d take the hint and let the subject drop.

  “Sweet tea?” Her voice was hopeful.

  “An acquired taste.”

  “One you haven’t acquired, I take it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Soda, then. Diet anything you’ve got.”

  “Silverware’s in the top drawer.” Jace tilted his head backward toward the cabinet next to the sink.

  “I don’t think we need any.”

  “I thought you said barbeque.”

  “Barbeques. Sandwiches. And onion rings. You do eat those, don’t you? Or are they an acquired taste, too?”

  “I think I can manage to choke them down.”

  He carried the glasses over to the refrigerator, filling both with ice. Then he popped the cans of soda, making two trips to convey everything to the table.

  He looked around to find Lindsey arranging the sandwiches and sides on the plates he’d put out. She brought them to the table, placing one on one end and the other opposite it.

  As she straightened, she met his eyes for the first time since their conversation at the door. Hers were still uncertain, maybe even a little apprehensive.

  “You have a preference?” she asked.

  He stepped to the end of the table where she was standing and pulled out the chair. “We can christen this,” he said as she settled into it.

  “The table?”

  For him, mealtime usually consisted of something he’d grabbed on the way home or something that went into the microwave. And he ate it in front of the television, trying to catch up on the eve
nts of the day.

  “Seems silly to sit in here when I’m eating alone.”

  “I know. I eat in the den.”

  He had already taken his place on the other end of the table before he realized there were no napkins. He’d expected those to come out of the sack she’d brought. He usually used paper towels or the hand towel hanging by the sink. Neither seemed appropriate tonight. “Napkins?”

  “Sorry, they’re in the sack.”

  He started to push up, but she beat him to it, slipping out of the chair and walking over to the counter. She was wearing jeans, maybe the same ones she’d had on the first night he’d taken her out. Faded with age, the denim emphasized the swell of her hips as well as the length of her legs.

  Feeling his body react, Jace lowered his eyes to the sandwiches she’d put on his plate. Although the smell had made his mouth water earlier, another, stronger hunger dominated his brain and his body right now.

  “Here.”

  He looked up to find her holding out a stack of paper napkins. He took them, unfolding a couple to lay in his lap and leaving the rest beside his plate.

  “It’s Country’s. They’re the best.”

  She was talking about the barbeque. Taking a breath in a fruitless effort to stem that sudden flood of desire, he picked one of the sandwiches up and took a bite. Although he was no expert, judging by the smoky tenderness of the meat and the sharp-sweet tang of the sauce, she was probably right.

  “Good?”

  He looked up to see that her smile was back, more relaxed and genuine this time. “Very.”

  She nodded as if she’d been vindicated and then picked up her own sandwich. They ate in silence, devouring the meal as if it had been days since they’d eaten. He was well into the second barbeque before she spoke again.

  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I didn’t think about food today, and then when I started this, it was like I was starving. Did you hear from the Web site company?”

  “Probably not until Monday, when they’ll have the people who do what I need back in.”

  He had told her that this morning. He couldn’t decide if she’d forgotten in the stress of reading Andrea’s profile, or if she were just trying to make conversation.

  “I told Shannon about the site and that we thought someone else had done it.”

  She had thought that, based on reasons he hadn’t found totally convincing. And of course, he hadn’t known then everything he knew now. “Her mother recognized the picture.”

  Her eyes came up, widened with surprise.

  “Andrea had it done by one of those places that specializes in doing hair and makeup to make their subjects look like celebrities. Her mother went with her. Apparently there was a series of photographs, each made in different clothes and with different props. According to her mother, that particular pose was more of a joke than anything else. Mrs. Moore wasn’t sure what had happened to it. She thought it would be in the folder in Andrea’s room. We went to look, and it wasn’t there.”

  “But…That just doesn’t seem like something Andrea would want to do.”

  He’d said from the first that it was possible Lindsey didn’t know the girl as well as she thought. Could anyone really know what went on inside a teenager’s mind?

  “The photographs, at least one of them, were intended as a birthday present for some boy. Not the shot on the site, but another much more ‘ladylike’ pose, to quote her mother.”

  “To a boy?” She shook her head, her lips parted in disbelief. “She had a boyfriend? Did her mom know who it was?”

  “She told her mother his name was Todd. And that he didn’t live around here. She met him at a college fair last spring.”

  “In Montgomery,” Lindsey said. “I encouraged my kids to go. Several of them did, but…I don’t remember Andrea saying anything about it. I could check. I’m pretty sure I gave extra points to those who attended. I could ask to see my grade book for that semester—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Lindsey. The important thing is that photograph is real. It hadn’t been manipulated.”

  “Then you think he’s the one who put up that profile? The boy she gave it to?”

  It would probably be a relief for her to believe that. After all, that would mean none of her students had been involved. Unless that student was Andrea, of course.

  “I don’t know. Maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly what it seemed. A profile Andrea put up.”

  “I don’t believe that. She didn’t write that stuff. You didn’t know her, but…That wasn’t her, Jace.”

  “You said that about the picture.”

  Her chin lifted, but she didn’t argue. It was hard to cling to a set of beliefs when one of their central tenets had been disproved.

  “So what did Shannon think?” His change of subject had been deliberate.

  “About the site?”

  He could tell that she was still dealing with the revelation he’d made. Lindsey been so convinced the Moore girl was as pure as the driven snow. Now she was trying to decide exactly what she could believe.

  “Yeah. The profile.”

  “She didn’t see it. I thought you were going to have it taken down, so I didn’t suggest she look. She’s far more technologically savvy than I am. I asked her which of the kids could have manipulated a photograph—” She stopped, obviously aware that skill was no longer central to this investigation.

  “And?”

  “She said almost all of them. She said she could do it, and she wasn’t nearly as good as most of kids in my program.”

  “What about the writing? You said that based on Andrea’s style, you didn’t think it was hers. Using the same criteria, could you identify the writer?”

  “Whoever did it was trying to make it sound like Andrea. Like a girl who would be involved in those things, but…I know you’re going to think this is crazy—and I can’t prove it—but I think a guy wrote that blog.”

  “Based on what?”

  She shook her head, her eyes leaving his to look into the distance. “The things that were said about the sexual activity. Those all seemed to be from a masculine point of view. A male’s perspective rather than a female’s.”

  He supposed that was better than saying the phraseology was masculine, but again, it failed to convince him. And it wouldn’t convince any judge he approached for a warrant.

  “That picture doesn’t make her a slut.” Her eyes, challenging, came back to his. “A lot of people have those shots made. Like her mother said, it was a joke. So what we’re left with is the writing. Maybe if I gave you samples, you could have them analyzed to see if any of them match.”

  The idea of taking a bunch of schoolboy essays and trying to match them stylistically to the blog and comments on that site would be a nightmare. If any expert would agree to try. He could imagine what the sheriff would say to that request.

  “I doubt that would be possible. Logistically, I mean.”

  “Meaning you don’t think it’s worth the effort.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “At this point? Concentrate on verifying who put that page up. Maybe try to find Todd and see if he knew of anything that would make Andrea take her life. Find out if he knew anything about that rumored pregnancy.”

  Something happened in Lindsey’s eyes. She opened her mouth and then closed it, as if she’d thought better of whatever it was she’d been about to say.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Probably nothing,” she amended.

  “What kind of nothing?”

  “When I went to ask Dave about turning off the lights at halftime, he was in the field house. He and Coach Spears usually eat together there before the game, but Coach had already walked over to the stadium, I guess. Dave was still in his office, though, talking to Walt Harrison.” She stopped, her eyes losing focus again.

  He waited, but she didn’t go on. “And?”

  “I don’t know what they were
talking about, but Walt said something to the effect that the rumors were out there and he felt Dave should know. Dave asked what he was supposed to do about them, and Walt said—” She hesitated again. “This may not mean anything. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what he said?”

  “He said, ‘I thought you should know.’ And then something about there not being any secrets in this town.”

  “There aren’t any secrets?”

  “Or maybe it was more like ‘You know how this place works.’ I don’t remember exactly, but I got the impression that whatever Walt had been telling Dave might be personal. That…” She shook her head again. “That it was about him.”

  “The rumors were about him?” Jace clarified.

  She nodded.

  “And my talking about the pregnancy rumor made you remember this? Do you think they were talking about Andrea?”

  “I did at the time. But I was thinking about Andrea. I’d just talked to Renee. I was there to ask Dave’s permission for the memorial. Maybe I just put the two together in my head.”

  “Have you heard rumors about Campbell?”

  “No, but I’m not sure that means anything. I never heard the rumor about Andrea. If I had, maybe I would have done things differently that day.”

  “How would you characterize their relationship?”

  “Dave and Walt’s? Dave’s the principal. We work under him. There’s the normal amount of grousing about that, but Dave’s a good guy. He’s generally well respected.”

  “By the faculty?”

  “Faculty. Staff. Community.”

  “Kids?”

  “The bright ones. I’m sure you could find plenty who wouldn’t have anything good to say about him. Their parents probably wouldn’t, either, but that goes with the territory.”

  “Harrison do much of that grousing?”

  “No more or less than anyone else. I’ve done my share.”

  “About what? In particular?”

  “Inconsistencies. Generally they’re small, but they make it hard to be sure how students are going to be treated if you send them to the office.”

  “Inequities in discipline?”