“What type of gun was it?”
“I was just about to register it, if that’s why you’re asking,” she answered defensively. “It was a .357 Magnum.”
Something flickered in Nash’s eyes.
“I need the man’s name,” Nash said, leaning forward.
Sadie shrugged. “I don’t know it. He made this big deal about no names and no job talk. I thought it was sexy at the time.”
Nash eyed her skeptically. “Do you remember if he paid you at the restaurant with a credit card?”
“Cash.”
Z glanced at Nash, expecting him to leave. They needed the name, and she didn’t know it. But Nash just kept staring Sadie down, not moving a muscle. A tactic he’d learned in FBI training?
A second later the ringing nearly blasted out Z’s eardrums.
I don’t care how long this guy looks at me like that, I’m not telling him I saw that psycho’s license when he paid. Devon Warner. I’ll never forget that creep’s name.
Devon Warner.
Z had gotten the name herself.
“Well, thanks for your time,” Z blurted, standing up. Nash instantly stood to leave as well. He knew Z had what they needed.
And it was just in time because, as soon as they stepped out of the apartment, Z’s nose started gushing blood.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You know if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m here,” Coach Brandt told Justin as he leaned his massive frame back in his desk chair.
“Yeah, cool, thanks,” Justin responded quickly, hoping that would end this meeting faster. He was embarrassed and frustrated in front of Coach Brandt after stinking up the field the entire game last Friday. He’d been waiting for Coach Brandt to grab him after the game, but it would be Coach’s style to want Justin to cool off and think things through over the weekend. The only thing Justin had come up with was confusion. He couldn’t understand why what used to be easy for him, natural even, now seemed to be slipping between his fingers. Even Gabby’s earlier explanation — that he was distracted by the investigation — didn’t totally make sense, because he thought he had managed to block all that out as soon as the game clock started Friday night.
“It just seemed like you were … a little ineffective on the field during the game,” Coach Brandt prodded. That was putting it mildly.
“At least we won,” Justin said lamely. Luckily, their kicker had pulled out a thirty-five-yard field goal with just seconds left in the game.
Coach Brandt didn’t seem to care. “I’m on your side here, Justin. I want you to be as good as you can. If there’s anything going on in your personal life, I’m here to help.”
Sure. Well, the FBI tricked me into drinking some weird serum, and if I concentrate hard enough, I can lift your desk off the floor without moving a muscle.
“I know I’ve been off lately,” Justin began, attempting to cut off any more questions about his personal life, “but I’m good now. I’m going to kill it in the next game.” And he meant it. He was already planning on doing an extra weight-training session every day until then and staying after practice to run drills. If he had to set the case aside, so be it.
“I hope so,” Coach Brandt said. “Because the Florida State scout just confirmed he’ll be at the game in two weeks.”
Justin’s stomach dropped. Florida State was his first choice. Not only could he play football there if they awarded him a scholarship, but he’d get the hell out of Cedar Springs, across the country and away from his mother. Last year, that scout told Coach he was keeping an eye on Justin because their starting tight end was graduating. It wasn’t as if his mom was going to help him pay for college. She’d told him a week earlier that he needed to get a job on the weekends so he could finally “be a man” and start paying for his own groceries.
“All right, then. I guess that’s it,” Coach Brandt said in that same disappointed tone. “Just remember, I want you to get this scholarship as much as you do.”
Justin seriously doubted that.
* * *
When Justin left the meeting with Coach Brandt, Hindy was waiting for him in the hallway. Luckily he could tell that Justin had no interest in recapping his meeting with Coach Brandt as they walked toward the senior lockers. Instead, Hindy went on and on about a party he wanted to go to at Colorado State. Justin couldn’t focus on anything, though, except the possibility that he was throwing his entire life away.
“… but I think sorority girls want something more classy like champagne. What do you think?” Hindy was asking.
“Yeah, sure,” Justin responded, not even pretending to be interested in what he was talking about.
“I know you’re pissed off, but everyone has a few bad games.”
“I’m not pissed off,” Justin said, knowing he kind of sounded pissed off.
“You’ve just been MIA lately. Silvestri said he saw you hanging out with that weird chick with the buzz cut. Tell me you’re not hooking up with that freak.”
“What if I was?” Justin said, glaring at him.
“It’d be cool.” Hindy raised his arms in surrender.
Z drove Justin crazy with her conspiracy theories and trustafarian attitude, as if having truckloads of money was the world’s biggest burden. But he had way more in common with Z than he did with Hindy. Hindy, whose mom and dad practically erupted into applause every time he entered the room, didn’t know what it did to you to have your parents write you off. Or what it felt like not to be able to trust anybody but yourself. Z did. If Hindy was insulting Z, it almost felt like a direct attack on Justin, too.
“You can invite the hairless girl to party with us if you want,” Hindy offered.
They were almost at his locker when Justin suddenly perked up. Gabby was standing right next to it. She started pulling the straps of her backpack down as if she suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.
“Uh, hi,” Justin said when they reached her, trying to make his body language less awkward than his voice. He could feel Hindy’s nosy, gossip-hungry eyes on them.
“Hi,” said Gabby.
“I’ll see you later, man,” Justin said, dismissing Hindy.
“Aren’t you coming to lunch?” Hindy countered. Couldn’t he just get the hint to take off?
“I’ll catch up with you.”
“All right, dude, whatever,” Hindy mumbled. He finally walked away.
“Did something happen with that Devon Warner guy?” Justin asked her quietly, after making sure no one else was within earshot. As soon as Z was on her way home from Sadie’s apartment, she’d texted all of them what happened. She sounded pretty stoked that she’d found out the name of the guy who’d stolen the bracelet. They all had responded with pretty much every celebratory emoji on the planet. Devon Warner had stolen Sadie’s bracelet two days before Lily’s murder, which meant he was probably the one who dropped it at the cabin. He could be Lily’s killer and the one who had the serum. Z had gotten another amazing lead. Justin could tell himself all he wanted that he could quit the case and focus on football, but it wasn’t going to be easy. He’d never been a part of anything except a football team, and this was so much bigger. But solving the case wasn’t going to get him a Florida State scholarship.
“I haven’t heard anything,” Gabby responded. She suddenly looked uncertain. “I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
Three cheerleaders passed by, interrupting them.
“Hi, Justin,” they said in unison, their arms linked as if they were glued to one another. Justin couldn’t believe he used to think they were hot. Compared with Gabby, they were about as attractive as his ancient physics teacher.
Justin ignored them and turned to Gabby. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
* * *
They parked themselves on a stone bench in the courtyard behind t
he school. People rarely used it except for in the spring, when the cool teachers sometimes held class out there. But with the temperature dropping, it was deserted except for Justin and Gabby. Justin wished he’d grabbed his coat, but he didn’t want to look like a wuss and go in and get it now.
“So what’s up?” he asked curiously.
“I’ve been thinking about your football problem,” she responded. He was surprised. A good kind of surprised. “Do you think it has something to do with … what’s happening to us?”
He shrugged. “You mean being distracted?”
“No, I meant …” She lowered her voice even though there was no one else around. “Because of the serum.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not that I really knew you then or anything, but haven’t your, uh, past problems mostly gone away?”
He realized she was talking about his violent temper and he felt embarrassed. Even when punching out assclown Nick Preston onstage in the middle of an all-school pep rally, Justin had always worn his fury like a badge of pride. It was a not-so-subtle warning to others to stay away or else. Since he’d taken the serum, the anger seemed to have simmered off him. Sure, he still got annoyed. But the deep, instinctive rage that made him not just inflict violence but relish violence … that was nowhere to be found.
“I’m not as angry as I used to be,” he admitted.
“That’s exactly what I mean. What if that was what made you so great on the football field?”
He couldn’t believe that had never crossed his mind before. “You’re right. Jesus. The reason I suck is because I don’t need to pummel everyone like I used to.”
Gabby exhaled as if she’d been nervous.
“Do you think I should ask Patricia for the antidote?” Just saying the words deflated him. A tiny, menacing thought lingered in the back of his head, though. What if that still didn’t work?
“Maybe you don’t have to.” Her eyes were smiling. “I have an idea.”
“What is it?” he asked, trying not to sound too desperate.
“Well, it’s kind of cheating, but not exactly.”
“I’m not juicing, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She looked horrified. “What? No, not that. What if you used your psychokinesis on the football field? To move the players?”
“Move them?”
“You know, out of the way. Or you could tackle them just by looking at them. I mean, you’d have to really practice so you don’t hurt anyone. But I think you could do it.”
It was definitely better than choking in front of the Florida State scout in a few weeks. Or getting Patricia to inject him with the antidote. “That’s pretty genius. I have a game on Friday, so if I start sucking like last time, I’ll give it a try.” If it worked and he was back to himself on the field, that meant he could focus on the case and play football.
She smiled sweetly. “It seems unfair that you have to decide between feeling good or playing football. The rest of us don’t have to do that.”
Justin had never wanted to kiss a girl this badly in his life. But he’d also never been less sure of himself. “Thanks, Gabby. Who knows? I might still have a shot at Florida State.”
“Is that your first choice?”
“Yeah. It’s the farthest school from my mom where I can still play football.”
“What about your dad?”
Justin hesitated. He’d never told a girl anything about his personal life. “I don’t know where he is. He bailed like a week after I was born. My mom said I cried all the time and it drove him crazy.”
Gabby’s eyes widened. “She blamed it on you?”
He didn’t want to admit he still carried it around. Instead, he just shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve cried since, though.”
She saw right through him. “Come on. That’s not true. Not even during a movie?”
“Nope.”
“What about Braveheart? Don’t all guys cry during that movie?”
Justin shook his head. “Nah. Mel Gibson had it coming to him.”
“Bambi? Dumbo? E.T.?”
“Never saw them. My mom only watched movies she wanted to watch when I was little. I’ve seen Steel Magnolias thirty times. And no, didn’t shed a tear.”
Gabby raised an eyebrow. “The Blind Side?”
Crap. She had him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That night, Sabrina stood in her kitchen, washing the few dishes that remained in the sink a little more vigorously than necessary.
When Z had texted everyone about her discovery, Sabrina couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit jealous. Z had delivered a huge clue. They had a name now. Devon Warner. They knew he had taken Sadie’s bracelet and gun from her after he knocked her out in the motel room.
Had he been the one to take the bracelet to Lily’s house? Did he use Sadie’s gun to kill Lily?
This case seemed to be moving quickly now, and Sabrina was still coming up blank in seeing any other spirits. She was starting to worry that the serum had somehow worn off. Was it less potent for her than for the others because she was the oldest? Or maybe it was because she had taken so many drugs before. If she didn’t perform, would she be kicked off the team?
Andrew had suggested that she concentrate on something specifically related to the ghost she was trying to conjure up. She’d tried rummaging through some newspaper articles about Lily earlier, hoping it would spark something. She’d even done a little online research that afternoon on paranormal sightings to see if there were any tips she could follow. But she still had no luck.
As she finished the dishes, she wondered if maybe trying to summon Anthony again would be easier than Lily. He wouldn’t necessarily help with the case, but she’d been longing to see him again. She wanted to make sure he was okay. To tell him she loved him. And to ask him what he meant when he’d said, “Be careful, Beanie.”
Her online research into the supernatural realm suggested that spirits were often all-seeing, aware of everything going on among the living they visited. So was Anthony warning her about some new specific imminent danger he could see coming her way … something to do with this case? Or was the warning more general, or about something else entirely? Could he have merely been cautioning her to stop numbing her body with drugs?
That was the problem. Even when Sabrina could see these spirits, they spoke to her in a cryptic way that was impossible to pin down. The same thing had happened with Lily. When she’d said, I know why they want it, there was no guarantee she was even talking about the serum. She could have been musing about why people wanted her candles!
Suddenly, she heard a rustling behind her. Her back stiffened for a moment — could it be Anthony? She waited for cool air to blast over her or for the lights to begin flickering like last time, but nothing happened. She turned around, realizing it was probably just Rocket begging for scraps but was surprised to find her mother on one of her rare expeditions outside her bedroom. She was so frail and haunted in her thin nightgown that she might as well have been a ghost.
“Sabrina, it’s you,” her mother said, as she shuffled by to get a glass of water. Christine Ross was still a beautiful woman, even with the vacant stare she wore whenever she was awake. Her thick, dark hair resembled Sabrina’s, though it was usually tangled, the effort of brushing it too much for her to handle.
“Yeah, it’s me, Mom,” Sabrina sighed. Who else would it be?
She stepped aside so her mother could fill her glass at the sink, each movement sluggish and heavy as though she was moving her limbs through mud. Sabrina gnawed the inside of her cheek, silently begging her mother to hurry up so she could get back to trying to summon Anthony. People always talked about wanting something so badly that you could taste it. That used to make sense to Sabrina. When she’d lust after a pill, she could literally feel the bitter, chemical ta
ng on her tongue moments before it was even in her hands. But her desire to talk to Anthony had bypassed her taste buds and gone straight to her heart.
When Christine finally turned the water off, she took a long sip, then looked up at Sabrina.
“Oh, I just spoke to Anthony a few minutes ago, honey.”
“What?” Sabrina asked. Had she heard right?
Her mother shook her head, mildly disappointed. “I’m afraid your brother isn’t very happy.”
“What do you mean? What did he say?” Her mother had claimed to have spoken to Anthony before, but Sabrina always dismissed it as the drugs talking. Her mother was on a cocktail of medications no sane doctor would approve of mixing.
But now Sabrina saw it in a different light. What if it actually was the drugs talking? Patricia had told them certain drugs had the ability to open up channels in your brain, to stimulate dormant senses.
What if her mother was telling the truth?
Christine shivered and narrowed her eyes. “You need to be careful, Sabrina.”
“Careful of what?” Sabrina asked, clutching the edge of the counter. “What do you mean?”
Christine opened her mouth, then closed it, as if she’d thought better of speaking.
“Mom, please,” Sabrina begged, but she knew it would do no good. The moment was over as quickly and strangely as it had begun.
* * *
Sabrina gazed out the window from the last row of English lit the next day, still preoccupied with figuring out some way to unlock her abilities. If she could just see Lily again, maybe she’d be able to expand on what she’d told Sabrina the first time. I know why they want it. Could Devon Warner be part of the “they” Lily Carpenter had been referring to? And if so, who was his partner in crime?
“Sabrina.”
Mr. Wincott was standing beside her, a concerned look on his face. He was one of the youngest teachers on staff at Cedar Springs. Not so coincidentally, he was also the one most of Sabrina’s classmates were infatuated with, his witty observations sending them into fits of giggles from their front-row seats. What bothered Sabrina, though, was how much Mr. Wincott got off on it.
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