by Gayle Wilson
“He can’t think Tim had anything to do with those. You knew that boy. You know he wasn’t involved in anything like that.”
“Then maybe just connected to me. To what’s been happening since Jace made a point of singling me out.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Somebody left a note in my box this afternoon. I thought it was from Walt. It was block printed, and Jay had told me he’d been looking for me. I thought maybe he wanted to talk about the conversation I overheard.”
“What conversation?”
“Last Friday night. When I went to ask Dave’s permission for the ceremony at halftime, he and Walt were in Coach’s office in the field house. Walt told Dave that the rumors were out there and that nothing could be kept secret in this town.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“At the time I thought he was talking about Andrea. The rumors Walt had told us about in the lounge. I told Jace what he’d said, and he asked him. Walt said they were talking about some boosters, but that wasn’t what I heard. I know it wasn’t.”
“Okay, maybe I’m slow, but I don’t get what any of this has to do with Tim. Or how he’s connected to Andrea.”
“Maybe they aren’t, but when I saw the note, that’s what I thought Walt wanted to talk to me about. That conversation.”
“You check to see if Tim has a profile on ‘My Place’?’”
“What?”
“A page like Andrea’s. Something out of character.”
“I came straight here to tell you. I didn’t want you to hear about Tim from somebody else.”
“Then let’s go see.” Without waiting for a response, Shannon turned and headed to the back of the apartment where her computer was set up in a corner of her bedroom.
“Jace says Andrea’s page wasn’t done on her computer. Do you think—?” Lindsey realized she was talking to herself.
When she reached the bedroom, Shannon was already seated in front of her computer, typing in an address. Looking over her shoulder, Lindsey watched as she navigated the popular site with a skill that bespoke familiarity.
“There,” Shannon said as the image of a smiling Tim, looking normal and completely happy filled the screen.
It was last year’s yearbook picture. Lindsey had seen it a dozen times as she’d thumbed through the pages. He seemed ridiculously young. Innocent. Filled with potential.
All of it now lost. All gone.
They read together in silence. Lindsey wasn’t sure what Shannon had been searching for when she’d pulled this up, but there was nothing here that reminded her of the travesty Andrea’s profile had made of her life.
This was exactly what she’d thought at first glance. Normal. A portrait of an ordinary, small-town teen.
There were pictures of band practice. Posed shots of laughing friends. Scenes from the beach with the same kids. Family photos. Even the visitors’ entries were appropriate for a sixteen-year-old’s site. Nothing to raise any alarms.
“Walt probably had his password,” Shannon said. “Maybe even parental control. There’s nothing here.”
“Did you expect there to be?”
“You said Jace thought they were connected.”
She hadn’t really meant Andrea and Tim were connected. She had been thinking of each of them being separately connected to the fires. Or to the things that had happened to her. But the two of them were connected in one undeniable way.
“Because they took their own lives,” she said aloud.
“Is that what he meant?”
“I don’t think so, but it’s true.”
Shannon turned, looking over her shoulder. “And he thinks the reason they did that is the connection.”
It wasn’t a question. As Shannon said the words, Lindsey knew she was right. She couldn’t have articulated why, but it resonated with the ring of absolute truth.
“Because they knew something?” she suggested.
“About the fires?”
“Jace keeps saying that to me. That I know something they’re afraid of.”
“So…what would those two kids know that would make them kill themselves?”
They had discarded the possibility either of them could have been involved with the arson. It was so out of character that neither she nor Shannon could fathom that. Which left—
“Maybe they didn’t,” Lindsey said softly.
The words hung in the air between them a long time, neither willing to take the next step. Because that, too, was something neither could fathom.
“Does that mean what I think?” Shannon asked finally.
“I don’t know. Maybe suicide was a possibility with Andrea. She had a history that would make it seem…possible. But Tim? It doesn’t make sense. You said so yourself.”
“That’s quite a leap, Linds. I’d think long and hard before I suggested it to anyone else. Especially to Jace.”
Jace was the one who’d first suggested to her the possibility concerning Andrea, but he’d discarded it with the results of the autopsy. In any case, Shannon was right. Thinking someone might have killed Tim was way out of bounds. Maybe the result of the guilt she felt about so many things.
“Sorry. I’m just…exhausted. And emotionally strung out. We all are.”
“Yeah, well, we aren’t all talking about murder.”
“Forget I said it.”
“That you can even think that—”
“I guess it seemed better than the alternative.”
“The alternative?”
“I tried to get him down, Shannon, but I couldn’t. The paramedics said it was too late by the time I got there, but I’ll always wonder. Maybe if I’d gotten some help—”
“Stop it. You played this game with Andrea. I never realized you had such a martyr complex before.”
“I just keep thinking that there might have been something else I should have done. In both cases.”
“There wasn’t anything you could do. They chose to end their own lives. And in ways that precluded intervention.”
Which was also highly convenient…
Once the thought that they might not have committed suicide had formed, Lindsey found it difficult to get it out of her head. “You think any sixteen-year-old really wants to die?”
“I know two who apparently did,” Shannon said.
“They threaten. They leave notes. They call people. They call 9-1-1. Neither of these kids did any of those things.”
“Because they weren’t posing.”
“Tim Harrison wanted to die? Do you really buy that?”
“You saw some pretty graphic proof of just how much.”
“I don’t believe it.”
She didn’t, Lindsey realized. No matter how much it went against everything she’d seen and been told. She had known Tim. He’d been in her class today. And there had been no indication he was suicidal. For him to go downstairs only a few hours later and hang himself—
Shannon pushed up from the computer, leaning over to click out of Tim’s page. “You don’t want to believe it. I swear you’re as bad as Jace. Is that what you get from sleeping with a cop? Conspiracy theories? Better than an STD, I guess.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent with me. I know you, remember. I knew the first night you slept with him. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. About time if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you. It isn’t any of your business.”
“You’re right. I just thought it might offer an explanation as to why you’ve gone off the deep end.”
“Me? Hey, you’re the one who claims to know kids who might be capable of setting those fires. I’m the one who defended them. But you know what? Things are getting way out of control. If Jace is right—and despite whatever you think about him, he is a detective—then the suicides, the attacks, are all connected to those fires. Isn’t it about time you went to him with whatever information you have? We’re past the point of pr
otecting somebody from having suspicion cast on them.”
“I don’t have anything concrete to base it on. I told you that.”
“Whatever you think, whoever you suspect, he’ll keep what you tell him in confidence.”
“Like he did with what you told him about Walt?”
“I never asked him to. I knew he’d have to talk to Walt. And at that point, I was beyond caring about the niceties. Getting locked in a burning building does that for you.”
The stakes had started climbing when she’d found the rattler in her hamper. The fire at the stadium had pushed them higher still. Now, with the deaths of two students…
“I’ll think about it,” Shannon said. “I promise. My instinct was that going to the police with what’s only intuition would be a betrayal of the student/counselor bond. But maybe you’re right. Maybe that kind of ethical consideration is a luxury we can no longer afford.”
“If Jace can narrow down the possibilities for the computer where Andrea’s page was created, he might be able to get a warrant. I know he’d like to question its owner. If he has a chance to do that, something might come of it.”
“And that might have nothing at all to do with the fires.”
“Maybe not, but do you think it might have had something to do with Andrea’s death? The fact that everybody in school knew about that garbage? For someone with her history, don’t you think that might have been enough to push her over the edge?”
“I told you I’ll think about it.”
Lindsey knew if she said any more, Shannon’s stubborn streak might kick in. “Fair enough. That’s all I’m asking.”
“So, is he any good?”
Despite the abrupt change of subject, she knew what Shannon wanted to know. “Yes, but if you’re looking for details, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Just trying to live vicariously.” Shannon led the way out of the bedroom and down the hall, her words floating back in the gloom. “It’s been a long, dry spell. I may have to call Rick.”
“If you do, please don’t blame it on me.”
“Dumb and dumber.”
“You said that. I didn’t.”
“I’ll probably just settle for booze and my vibrator.”
“Well, there you go.”
They’d reached the kitchen where Lindsey had left her purse. She picked it up, leaning over to hug her friend.
“No pills, okay. Not if you’re really going to drink.”
“Don’t worry. You were supposed to bring the alcohol, remember. I doubt I’ve got enough here for a good buzz.”
“Good. Go to bed early and get some sleep.”
“You think we ought to go over to Walt’s in the morning?”
“The way he looked at me at the funeral, I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he’ll want to offer him comfort.”
“You found his son, Linds. At some point he’s gonna want to talk to you about that.”
She swallowed hard, thinking about the difficulties of that conversation. “Yeah, but I’m not sure I can do that tomorrow.”
“He may not want to, either. The police can give him enough information for now. More than he’ll want, I’m sure.”
Lindsey nodded, grateful for the reprieve. She walked over to the back door. “Call me when you get up.”
“I will. You going to your folks?”
Lindsey’s hesitation gave her away.
“You’re going to his place,” Shannon guessed. “Good. At least I’ll know you’re safe.”
“It’s a good feeling.”
“As I said, long overdue.”
“Call me.”
Shannon nodded. She threw the night latch on the door, holding it open as she switched on the porch light. Lindsey pushed open the screen, but before she could step out, Shannon’s question stopped her.
“Were you really serious about what you said?”
“About what?”
“That they might not have killed themselves.”
She could deny that’s what she’d meant. Or make a joke of it. That’s what Shannon wanted her to do.
Kids did stupid, impulsive things all the time. She had ten years of experience with them that proved that. None of it convinced her that Tim had written her a note, climbed up on a desk, put a noose around his neck, and stepped off.
“I guess it’s like that intuition that leads you to suspect someone of the church fires. Mine says Tim wouldn’t do that. Not to his father. Not to himself. And if he didn’t…”
If he didn’t, then Jace’s arsonist and her attacker had crossed the line to murder.
Twenty-Three
As soon as he closed the apartment door behind him, Jace loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. He pitched his jacket, which he’d shed before he’d gotten back in his car, at one of the chairs as he walked over to the credenza that served as his makeshift bar.
He took a bottle of Scotch out of the bottom and poured a couple of fingers into one of the glasses. Then he downed the liquor in one gulp, feeling the burn all the way to the bottom of his stomach.
He hadn’t had to break the news of his son’s death to Walt Harrison, but he could imagine few things worse about his job than the interview he’d conducted with the grieving father. Maybe if Harrison hadn’t just been allowed to view the body…
He knew that with some of his questions he’d probably crossed the line between accusing the dead boy of knowing something about the arson and letting this pass as another troubled kid trying to find a way out of whatever was going on in his life. And other than infuriating Harrison, he couldn’t think of anything he’d gained from doing it.
His cell vibrated in the pocket of his shirt. Probably someone from the department notifying him of the complaint Harrison had filed with the Sheriff about that.
He fished the phone out, holding it up to read the number before he flipped open the case. “Where are you?”
“Leaving Shannon’s.”
Lindsey’s voice sounded remarkably normal, considering the afternoon’s events. Of course, the person with whom she’d been discussing Tim’s death wasn’t as personally involved as Walt Harrison had been. “You okay?”
“Compared to what?”
To what your life was like before I screwed it up…
“To normal,” he said aloud.
“I’ve forgotten what that was like. Where are you?”
“Home.”
The silence that followed lasted several seconds. She was waiting for him to invite her over. God knew he wanted to. He just wasn’t sure his reasons for wanting her here jibed with the reasons for which she would want to come.
“Are you in for the night?” she asked.
“Unless I get called out again.”
Another silence, this one more awkward.
“Have you eaten?”
Lindsey’s question reminded him that it had been a long time since the burger he’d grabbed at lunch. And the Scotch he’d consumed was reinforcing that realization.
“Not yet. Want to meet somewhere?” Meeting in public would be safe. Having her come here, given the effects of the alcohol, probably wouldn’t be.
“I thought I might pick something up and bring it home.”
Home. Her use of the word in this context should have bothered him. It didn’t. She’d spent the last few nights at the apartment. He’d enjoyed having her here. And not only in his bed.
“Sorry,” she spoke into his hesitation. “I shouldn’t have said that. Your home. Not mine. It’s just…I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Me neither.”
That was the truth, he realized. He’d been looking forward to having her spend the night. Perhaps that was a confession he shouldn’t have made, not at this stage of their relationship, but he was too tired right now to play “relationship games.”
He wanted her. In more ways than just sexually.
“Thanks,” she said softly. Her voice strengthened on the next ques
tion. “Any preference?”
“Just food. Lots of it.”
“On the way. See you in a few minutes.”
He was surprised at the speed with which the connection was broken. She hadn’t given him time to say anything in response. Not even “Be careful,” which is what he’d been thinking.
He considered calling her back before he decided he was being paranoid. She was going to be in a public place buying food, probably by going through some drive-through out on the highway. Then she would come straight here. There was no reason for the anxiety he felt.
Too much Scotch on an empty stomach. Or too much death, up close and personal.
He needed a shower and to get out of these clothes, which seemed to hold the smell of the morgue. He pulled off his tie as he headed to the back of the apartment. By the time he got to the bedroom, he’d stripped off his dress shirt and T-shirt.
When he turned on the light, he saw that Lindsey had made the bed before she’d left. Another bit of domestic tranquility that would normally have set his teeth on edge. The only effect it had tonight was to cause him to hang up his slacks and put his shoes on the floor of the closet. He carried the shirt and underwear with him to the bathroom, throwing them into the hamper before he stepped into the shower.
He’d been under the pulse of hot water only a minute or two, not long enough to have bothered yet with the soap, when the doorbell rang. Maybe Lindsey had gotten supper before she’d called. Or maybe she’d decided she wanted something more substantial than fast food.
He turned off the faucets and stepped out of the enclosure. Wrapping a towel around his waist and leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him, he headed to the front door.
Despite his state of undress, he never thought about checking the peephole. Instead he opened the door, prepared to let Lindsey in and return to the shower he’d begun.
Shannon Anderson stood on the threshold. Her eyes widened slightly before they crinkled with amusement. And then changed again with some other emotion he couldn’t read.
“Obviously I’m interrupting something,” she said.
“Just a shower.” He’d realized by now that Shannon knew about the change that had taken place in his and Lindsey’s relationship. If she expected him to be uncomfortable, she was in for a disappointment. “You looking for Lindsey?”