by Natasha Deen
I glanced at Mr. Meagher.
“Marlo,” he said gently. “The scholarship, school, his friends. Maggie’s right. They’ll need to be notified—”
“Who cares! My boy is dead!”
“We have to care.” Mr. Meagher kept his patience. “Because someone else’s Kent may need the money—”
“There is no one else’s Kent.” Her voice was thin and high. “There was only one and now he’s gone!”
Mr. Meagher took a soft breath. “It’s what Kent would have wanted.”
“What he would’ve wanted was a father who was present! Who didn’t skip town and bankrupt the family!” She shoved herself from the chair and stumbled to her bedroom, and slammed the door closed.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie—”
“It’s okay, Mr. Meagher. It’s just her way of grieving.”
“Maybe.” He sounded doubtful. “The scholarship.” His head swivelled left then right. “I’m not sure where he would’ve kept the papers.”
“It’s probably in his room.” I stood. “Shall we go and check?” I started for the hallway.
Mr. Meagher followed.
“Had it really been months since you’d last talked?”
“He was just always so busy. We’d text. Email. But a phone conversation? Six weeks, at least. And seeing him in person…”
“I’m sorry.”
He gave me a small smile, then gave a confused glance at the closed doors. “I’m not sure which one is his. This isn’t my house—we had to sell to pay for the lawyers we’d hired...” He trailed off and gave me an embarrassed smile.
“Only one way to find out.” I opened one door that turned out to be the washroom. The second door was his. I expected to see Kent, but the room was empty, except for the bed, desk, dresser. Posters of sports celebrities, scientists, and the occasional model hung on the walls.
Serge wasn’t there and I wondered if he was in with Mrs. Meagher. “Sir, do you want to check his desk?”
Mr. Meagher didn’t answer.
“Mr.—?” I looked over my shoulder. Kent’s dad stood at the threshold of the room.
“I c-c-can’t—” He took a rattling breath. “I just—”
“It’s okay. Just stand—sit—sit there and I’ll look for it, okay?”
He nodded, sank to his knees. “You never think this will happen. The doctor tells you that you’re having a kid and all you want—all you pray for—is for the baby to be healthy. Every day, you pray and hope. And when he’s born with ten fingers, ten toes, and healthy heart—” Words failed as the tears took over.
I turned my back to him—partly out of cowardice because I didn’t know how to comfort him, mostly to give him some privacy—and started digging through Kent’s desk.
Hey, Mags.
Did you see Kent?
No. I figure he’s probably out. No matter how much he may love his mom, he’d need a break from sitting Shiva with her. Serge looked over at Mr. Meagher. Parent-kid issues or not, it must still be nice to have someone who’ll cry at your passing.
I’d cry if you left.
Aw, really?
The joy would be unbearable.
Ha ha. Deadhead.
Where were you?
I was doing looking between the walls to see if he had any hidden compartments.
And?
And yeah. There are papers in it. I sent you an image to your phone.
Really? I thought you only did text.
I figure if Kent could turn solid enough to ring a bell, I should be able to send pictures.
Okay, I’ll forward it to Nancy.
He flopped down next to me. What are you doing?
Looking for information on his scholarship. Can you look in on Mrs. Meagher? She’s carrying the bottle in her coat pocket. I stole a pill but I didn’t get a chance to read the label.
Yeah, no problem. He left the room.
I sighed and sat back. “Mr. Meagher, I’m sorry. The only things in his desk are articles on ADHD medication, and some stuff for bio class, maybe.” I gestured to the papers on plant growth.
“It’s okay, I can look for the paperwork later.”
He sounded like looking for his next breath would be a struggle. “Do you remember the name of the scholarship? I can Google it and contact them on your behalf.”
“Oh. Give me a minute...”
“Take your time,” I said. “Maybe he kept the files in his dresser.” I went to the piece of furniture and opened the top drawer. Man, this guy was meticulous. The socks were arranged according to shade—the whites at the top left, the darks at the bottom right—and they had been folded into precise squares.
I took out half of the pairs, checked to see if there was anything underneath and did a quick tug on the bottom of the drawer. No false bottom. I did the same to the remaining drawers.
I saw the bottle on her night table. Serge came back. It says it’s for strep throat and the expiry date is from two years ago.
Great. Another set of questions. Look at this drawer. Do you think this is weird?
No, I think he’s got some kind of anal-retentive disorder.
Not his tidiness—the clothes. Look at these labels. This is high end, designer stuff.
Serge’s eyebrows went up.
Don’t look so surprised. Hanging out with Nell is a master class in fashion. Just because I don’t wear labels doesn’t mean I don’t know what they are.
What do his clothes have to do with anything?
So how does a kid who’s on scholarship for school afford this kind of stuff?
Maybe he had a part-time job.
Maybe. Definitely, we’ll be talking to him about this.
Serge laughed. I can’t wait. Kent, I can’t help but notice your boxers are high-end silk and those wife-beaters run about $70 a pop. Please tell us about your buying habits.
Ha ha. This doesn’t make sense. Maybe getting him to talk about this will jog his memory about the night he died and who might have done it.
No argument there. I want to know what’s in the secret box.
I did some more searching of his room, but found nothing except more questions. Finally, I stood. “Mr. Meagher, I can’t find the papers. Maybe I can come back later and try again?”
He nodded and slowly got to his feet. “Thanks, Maggie. I should go and check on Marlo.”
“And I should go. My dad will be wondering where I am.”
He walked me to the door. Serge followed.
My nose twitched at the smell of burnt electronics and when Mr. Meagher took my coat from the closet, I knew why.
“What happened?” He spun the coat to where a dark spot stained the front pocket.
“Oh, man,” groaned Serge. “I bet I overheated the phone and burned it when I was trying to text the picture. Captain Canuck can turn himself solid enough to knock on a door. I trash your phone.”
I took the cell out. Oh, man. If Dad wasn’t going to kill me before, for sure I was going to get it when he saw what I’d done to my phone.
Chapter Seventeen
“What’s the damage?” asked Nell as she came into my room the next evening.
I waved my hand toward the plate on the night table. “See any of Nancy’s treats?”
“No.”
“That’s my punishment. For a month.”
“Ouch, your dad plays hardball.”
“You’re not kidding. I had to beg for him not to take Nancy off cooking duties and install himself.”
“Whoa.” She flopped down beside me on the bed. “He must have been really ticked.”
“He’s not the only one.” I told her about Kent, the hidden box of files, the clothes.
“Don’t wig out just yet. He may have shopped consignment or online for the clothes.�
��
“Okay but what about the hidden stash of papers?”
“Have you seen what they are?”
“No.”
“So it could be porn.”
“A cut-out hole in a wall is pretty far to go for dirty pictures.”
She shrugged. “With his mom, maybe it was the only step to take.” Nell sat up. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Serge went looking for him. He thought he should talk to Kent first. Thinks it’s better than me going in and asking about Kent’s underwear.”
“I could always ask about them.”
“Your questions would be inappropriate.” I dug in my pocket and pulled out the green and black capsule. “Abriule.” I told her about the old bottle and the strep throat. “That bottle said the doctor was Dr. Auger. Does the name ring any bells?”
“Just because my dad’s a doctor with doctorly connections doesn’t mean I can Rain Man the information—”
“What’s a rain man?”
She sighed and snatched the pill from my hand. “We really got to up your knowledge of 80s movies.”
“You know all the doctors.”
“Yeah, I do, but I don’t like you taking my knowledge for granted.”
“Nell…I’d never do that. I firmly believe you not only rain man information, you can thunderstorm girl it, too.”
She rolled her eyes but grinned. “Dr. Auger retired a couple years ago.”
“Scratch him as a lead. What about the pill? Doesn’t your dad have that giant textbook with every medication listed? Pictures and descriptions?”
“What you, living in the stone age? We have technology, now.” Nell took out her phone and plugged the drug’s name into the search engine. “It’s used to treat anxiety. And alcohol withdrawal, but my money’s on anxiety with Mrs. Meagher.” Nell pressed the capsule back into my hand. “Sometimes doctors give it to patients before surgery, but that wouldn’t be the case with her.”
The door opened. Serge and Kent came in.
I shoved the pill back into my jeans.
“I’m sorry I missed you when you came over,” Kent said. “And I’m sorry you think I was keeping stuff and not being more helpful. I was—part of me is so used to going things alone—and everything’s so confusing right now…” He took a breath and then took another one. “Serge asked me about the clothes. When I volunteered at the hospital, I got friendly with a nurse…”
“Or five,” said Serge.
Kent’s face went red. “It was flattering to get the attention of older women. And some of them bought me stuff—”
“Good enough for me,” I said. Nancy had been right in her belief he hadn’t been covering up anything illegal, just something embarrassing. “Were any of them married?”
“God no!”
Okay, so no death at the hands of a jealous spouse. “What about the papers?”
“In the wall hole? That’s just me being overprotective about my research and intellectual property. You can go ahead and look—it’s just a project I was working on for ADHD. Refining the drug so it’s more effective, with fewer side effects for patients.”
Nell followed all of this on her cell. “I thought you were into healthcare reform.”
“I wanted to do more than one thing.”
“Are you talking about the research or the nurses?” she asked.
His cheeks flared red. “I’m ready to help now,” he mumbled. “No more hiding stuff from you.”
“Speaking of which, your scholarship. Your folks have to contact them. Where’s all the information?”
He frowned. “It’s not in the desk?”
“No.”
“What about the emails on the computer?”
“Didn’t check.”
“The information should be there. I’m not sure why the paper files are gone, but I’d scanned and made back-ups on the laptop. It was the Le Lorche Scholarship, through the university.” He paused. “That’s really nice of you to help my parents.”
Not really. As long as I was “helping,” I was in a position to poke around the house and their lives. But since I couldn’t trust that Kent could or would remember vital information, no way was I going to tell him any of this. “It’s a hard time for them,” I said. “And any-thing I can do to help with the paperwork gives them a chance to grieve.”
“On it!” Nell looked up from his text, then returned her focus to the phone. “I’m texting my dad to call her in for an appointment.” She told Kent about the medication his mom was taking.
“I get her taking something for anxiety,” he said, “but that stuff’s hard core.”
“I’m going to get my dad to bring in your mom, talk to her and make sure she’s not on any medications that might have a bad interaction—”
“She takes Aspirin sometimes.”
“Geez,” said Nell. “No wonder she was listing like a drunken sailor. The web page said those two meds would definitely interact—” She paused as her phone binged and read the text. “Dad says he’ll get on it right away.”
“What does that mean?” asked Kent.
“Let’s find out.” Nell typed, then waited. Another bing. She read then rolled her eyes. “It’s amazing how he conveys sarcasm over the phone. He’s going to stop by and visit with Mrs. Meagher.”
Kent stood, rubbed his palms against his jeans. “I should go and...I don’t know but I should be with my mom. You guys mind?”
“No, go ahead—”
“For sure, totally understand.”
Kent walked into the door. He bounced off the wood and grabbed for his head. “What happened?”
“When you’re really emotional, it can affect your ability to manipulate objects,” said Serge.
“I’ll get the door.” Nell stood. “I should go, anyway. I want to make sure Rori’s okay.” She gave me a quick hug. “Kent, why don’t you come with me? I’ll drive by and you can do a drop and roll out the car.”
Serge’s face darkened as he watched them walk out the door. “Maybe I should go—”
I grabbed his arm and held him back while the other two left. “Rein it in. We need to work.”
“On what?”
“I got in the door with the Meaghers, but if I’m going to stay in and find out stuff, I need to do my part.”
“Which is...?”
“That scholarship. If we can get some basics, then I have a reason to visit Mr. and Mrs. Meagher and start asking questions.” I pulled out my laptop and opened a search page. I entered the Le Lorche scholarship. Nothing came up. “That’s weird.”
“What?”
“No results.”
“Is that even possible?” He came over. “Maybe you spelled it wrong.”
I tried a few variations. “Nothing.”
“Try searching out medical scholarships, University of Alberta.”
I did, then scrolled through the hits. “Still nothing.”
“What about the doctor? Maybe you can find it via his foundation.”
I tried that. “No.”
Serge put his head next to mine. “You’ve got to be spelling it wrong.”
I shrugged and went with a few variations of the spelling. Could I have heard wrong? I tried again, using different words that sort of sounded like Lorche. “Still nothing.”
“Keep trying.” He stepped away from me and headed back to the bed.
“You’re not going to help?”
“I’m moral support.” He un-muted the TV, tucked his arm behind his head and went back to watching the cop show.
“Thanks.” I went for using another search engine to see if that helped.
“Hold on a second.” Serge turned down the volume. “What did you say the name of the scholarship was?”
“Le Lorche.”
He stared
at me for a minute.
“What? You’re creeping me out.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Could you blink or something? You’re looking like a shark and I feel like chum.”
“Hold the metaphor—”
“I think that’s more like a simile.” I waited.
“You realize if you rearrange those letters it spells Rori’s name.”
“It doesn’t spell—oh, man, it spells Rochelle. Crap. I’m such an idiot..”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence.”
“What kind of coincidence could possibly explain this?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing. What does that mean?”
“It means it’s time to go and see Kent. Wait. Check that. I think it’s better to go and see Dr. Pierson. Then we’ll go talk to Kent.” I texted Dad to let him know what was going on, then we headed to the hospital.
I climbed out of the car, crinkled my nose against the smell of burned trees and brush, and surveyed the damage to the park. “I don’t understand what happened here.”
“When an incendiary device and dry wood mix,” said Serge, “a chemical reaction known as fire occurs when oxygen from the air—”
“Thanks smart guy. I meant how could a fire happen? The ground’s covered in snow.”
Serge sniffed the air. “Smells like chemicals on the wind.”
I pulled out my cell and phoned in the sheriff’s office. “Hey, Frank,” I said when the deputy picked up. “I’m out on Garden Road, south of Running Creek and I think there’s been a fire. I can smell smoke in the air and I there’s a chemical tinge to it.” I stopped, listened to him. “Yeah, I know it’s weird that there’s a fire when there’s snow on the ground but”—I swallowed my sigh, rolled my eyes at Serge—“yeah, could be that someone’s camping but…” I listened some more and practised not letting my breathing give away my impatience. “I was just taking a drive…” No need to tell him I was aimlessly loping the streets and trying to figure out how to confront Dr. Pierson “…because it helps me think and I’m pretty sure we can agree, I’ve got a lot to think about.” More listening. “I just thought, since you were dealing with the vandalism, you’d want the head’s up. Yeah…yeah, you too. Have a good night.”