I couldn’t afford to lose him.
“They said I can go home on Tuesday,” Garrett said. He’d only been fixated on his official discharge from the second he regained consciousness. Well, that and his hot physical therapist. “Dad’s getting everything ready for me.”
“Not everything.” The mischievous twinkle in my eye told him exactly what I’d meant.
“No, Kylene. No party. Absolutely not—”
“But it’ll be fun—”
“No—”
“And small—”
“No—”
“And totally lame—”
“Not happening—”
“Just me, Tabby, AJ—if you guys have sorted things out—and a movie. And food, of course, because I’ve seen the stuff you’ve been eating lately and I hardly think it counts.”
“Ky.…”
“Really. It’ll be no big deal. I promise.”
His dubious glare said he wasn’t buying my story. “I’m going to live to regret this, aren’t I?”
“I mean … that’s totally possible, but…”
“Fine. But only you three. That’s it.”
“Great. It’s settled. I’ll call Tabby and let her know the plan.”
“Why do I think giving her advance notice about this is a bad idea?”
“Because you’ve met her.” I winked at him as I dialed her number. All I had to do was say the word “party” and she was a squealing incoherent mess. At best, I understood every third word she said before she hung up, leaving Garrett and me both staring at each other.
“This is going to be a shit show,” he muttered under his breath.
“Agreed.”
He opened his mouth to complain when his long-legged physical therapist walked in. Her pale brown eyes sparkled when she looked over at him. Like magic, his irritation disappeared.
As she approached, I noticed her hair.
“I thought you didn’t go for blondes,” I mumbled under my breath, leaning toward him in conspiratorial fashion.
He flashed me an impish grin.
“Rules were made to be broken.”
* * *
On my way home from the hospital, I got a text from Dawson telling me that ten of the suspects on his list had been cleared. Unfortunately, none of those suspects were ones I was hoping to see eliminated. And that got me wondering …
We knew who had opportunity, but what about motive? And, even better than that, leverage to be puppeted into the whole deal? If the AD was pulling the strings behind the scenes, which it seemed he was, then what could he possibly have on those suspects to make them do his bidding?
Those questions haunted me well into the night.
TWENTY-THREE
Motive.
That one word churned over and over in my mind while I watched Mr. Callahan, looking pompous as ever, at the front of physics and Coach shouting at some kid who tripped while doing sprints in gym. By the time lunch rolled around, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to do something.
On my way to the cafeteria, I blurted out something to Tabby about needing to talk to Principal Thompson and bolted before she could ask why. I ran down the hallway, her questions slowly dying in my wake. I didn’t stop running until I found myself standing outside room 333. Callahan had been connected to every victim we knew of so far. All we needed was hard evidence to tie him to them or a viable motive. I had no idea what I thought I might find in his office, but I knew I had to look. And since his TA had a thing for me, I thought I might be able to use that connection to get me in there.
Shitty? Yes. Practical? Also yes.
The door was open, so I poked my head in to find AJ sitting at Mr. Callahan’s desk, headphones on. I tried calling his name twice to no avail, then walked up beside him and tapped his shoulder. He jumped in his chair and turned to look at me with wild eyes. I stifled my giggle. AJ always had scared easily.
“Now who’s stalking whom?” he asked, slipping his headphones off.
“I thought I’d turn the tables on you. Keep you on your toes.”
His broad smile told me how much he approved. “You feel sorry for me because I’m stuck up here.”
“Maybe.”
I heard voices in the hall. Not wanting to be disturbed, I ran over to shut the door. Once I did, AJ’s interest most certainly piqued.
“Do we need privacy?” he asked. The sultry tone in his voice sent shivers up my spine.
“Maybe.”
“Is that the only answer I’m getting out of you today?” he asked, sliding off his stool. He walked toward me slowly as if I were a cornered animal—like he was afraid he’d spook me.
“… maybe.” I added a wry smile for good measure, and he took the bait. “Okay, no, it’s not the only answer. And I’m here because I kinda need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
There was far too much heat in his stare when he asked that question—a dangerous amount.
I took a deep breath to steel my nerves. “The kind that lets me into Callahan’s back office.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Ky—”
“I know what I’m asking of you, AJ. I need you to trust that it’s for a good reason. A noble one.”
I’d played the white knight card, knowing he’d have a hard time saying no to that.
“Are you in trouble?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“No. It’s not about me, I promise. Can you help me, AJ?”
He glanced to the back of the classroom where the door to Callahan’s private office stood closed, then back to me. I could see the conflict in his eyes. Duty versus cause.
“What are you going to do in there?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, to be honest.”
His lips pressed to a grim line. “He’ll be back here in about fifteen minutes. You need to be long gone before that,” he said, heading to the office door. He pulled out a key and unlocked it for me. I slipped past him to enter and he stopped me short with a hand on my shoulder.
“Fifteen minutes, Ky.” I nodded in response. “Please don’t make me regret this.”
“I’ll owe you one,” I said with a smile. In a flash, that heated gaze was all over me.
“Deal.”
He closed the door, leaving me in a room full of old lab equipment, a row of file cabinets, and Callahan’s desk. For such a small space, it was an overwhelming amount of stuff, and I felt hemmed in by it. I set the timer on my phone for thirteen minutes, then set about ransacking the place as quickly and quietly as possible. I rummaged through all his desk drawers for anything incriminating, and any open file cabinet I could find. The one labeled “TESTS” was locked, not surprisingly. I didn’t have time to try to jimmy it open, so I went back to his desk, focusing on the piles of crap he had on top.
Folder upon folder of uselessness was stacked there, and I searched through them for anything obvious like “PROSTITUTION 101” or “WHERE I BURIED THE BODIES” but found nothing. Then my eyes fell upon his day planner and an idea struck. If I couldn’t find motive, maybe opportunity would suffice.
I riffled through it, looking for the day of Danielle’s murder. I searched the pages for anything damning, my eyes wild and darting all around until they landed on two little letters. Letters that seemed so innocuous on their own, but once combined with the knowledge of Danielle’s death had unmeasurable gravity.
There, on the day she was murdered, were the initials “DG.”
With my heart in my throat, I started thumbing back through the planner, looking at the days before she died. On multiple occasions the initials “DG” appeared with no further explanation.
I whipped out my phone and started snapping pics of all the pages I could find with her initials on it. I was about halfway through when my alarm went off.
“Nooooo!” I groaned, shutting it off. Seconds later, I could hear footsteps outside, undoubtedly AJ coming to drag me from my search, but a voice cut both his approach and my breathing short.<
br />
“Did you get those assignments ready for me?” a muffled Mr. Callahan asked AJ.
“Yes, sir. I was just going to go drop them on your desk,” AJ replied, sounding calm and cool.
“I’ll take them,” Mr. Callahan said, his heavy footfalls nearly paralyzing me. Then I snapped out of it.
In a quiet scramble, I straightened up his desk and bolted for the door that led directly to the hallway from his office. But as I rounded his desk, I knocked a stack of files over. I froze instantly, blind panic rocketing through my veins.
“What was that?” Mr. Callahan asked, hurrying toward his office door.
The one I hadn’t locked.
I dropped to the floor and reached for the handle, turning the lock as quietly as possible before crawling toward the exit. The key in the lock was the soundtrack to my escape, and I flung myself out into the hallway just as I heard it turn. I pressed the door closed behind me, then bolted down the hall to the girls’ room. I could hear Callahan shouting at AJ about something strange going on as he opened the door I’d narrowly escaped through to look for a potential intruder.
I listened to AJ explain that he’d been in there earlier to get something and that he must have bumped the stack, setting it off-balance. He apologized profusely, using his patented AJ charm. Mr. Callahan calmed down, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted to do was get AJ in trouble.
I really did owe him big-time.
I wondered how long it would be before he came looking to collect.
TWENTY-FOUR
I texted Dawson the pictures as soon as I could and buried my phone in my bag just before Ms. McManus caught me using it. God forbid she opened my texts and asked me to explain the messages I’d sent. It would be another date with Principal Thompson for me.
Dawson was waiting for me outside our Spanish class, and it didn’t take long for me to find myself embroiled in a mini-interrogation right there in the hall. His face was only inches from mine so he could keep his voice low, but his proximity was distracting. I kept trying to look around him to see if people were staring—I know I would have been.
“How did you get those pictures?” he asked, his voice low and harsh.
“That’s not important—”
“I think a court of law may disagree.”
“I didn’t steal anything. I just took pictures. Pictures that make Callahan look a lot guiltier.”
He had no clever response for that one.
“I’m going to have someone at the bureau start digging into his personal life and financials. I need to see what kind of secrets he’s hiding.”
“Like a shit ton of money and dead bodies?”
The warning bell rang.
“Something like that.”
Without another word, he rushed toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I called after him.
He turned back and winked.
“My unexcused absences have earned me a date with Principal Thompson.”
He disappeared down the stairs, leaving me behind. I hated being left behind. Always Watson to his Sherlock.
* * *
After school, I wanted to meet up with Dawson to see how it went with Principal Thompson, but I’d promised to run errands in town for Gramps first. By the time I finished, it was nearly dinner. I walked into the house, bags in hand and starving, to find that Gramps was nowhere to be seen. The only trace of him was a note on the table—his trademark move—that said he’d been called in early and hadn’t had time to make dinner. Next to the note was a ten-dollar bill.
“Takeout it is,” I muttered to myself, feeling bad that Gramps thought he’d had to do that. I thought for a minute about what I could get for that amount that would have leftovers for him the next day. My conclusion was a grim one. Marco’s Pizza was a dubious mom-and-pop establishment famous for pizza coated in enough grease to give you a heart attack by the third slice. That said, it was amazing.
The owner, Marco, however, slightly less so.
He was a Sicilian-born Brooklyn boy who moved to Jasperville when I was in grade school. People tended to give him a wide berth when he walked down the street. Covered in tats—neck and all—and built like a Mack Truck, he was intimidating as hell. Rumor was he’d escaped the mob and been planted in Jasperville. And by planted, I mean by the feds—witness protection for snitching. But for all his scary attributes, he’d never been anything but nice to me, so I had no issue going to his joint to get a thin-crust special. Even if my arteries protested the whole time.
Marco’s was only a few minutes from my house, so it wasn’t long before I found myself walking in. The door still jingled when it opened, drawing the attention of the few people dining there. Most who went there always got takeout—because of Marco. He looked through the open kitchen at me and smiled, his gold tooth near the back gleaming in the fluorescent lights. He barked some orders at the poor kid working alongside him, then stepped to the counter.
“I recognize you…”
“Kylene,” I replied with a smile to match his. A warm one tainted with trouble.
“You’re Bruce Danners’ kid, right?”
“Yep. A dubious honor to hold in this town, but I hold it proudly nonetheless.”
He jerked his head in a nod. “Family is the most important thing.” He sounded like the Godfather when he said that, and I had to stifle a laugh—because I wanted to live.
“Agreed.”
“So, what can I get for you, Danners’ kid?”
I scanned the menu, taking in the prices more than anything else. The ten dollars in my pocket was feeling light as I did.
“Just a small cheese, please. Extra thin.”
“Like it should be,” he said before turning to the kitchen and hollering out my order. “That’ll be nine ninety-nine.” I handed him the ten and took my penny change. “Have a seat. Should be out in a few minutes.”
I nodded my thanks and crossed the room to a tiny two-person booth in the corner. Sitting there, I toyed with the crushed red pepper flakes jar, twirling it around and around in my hands. I was staring at it so intently that I didn’t notice the man standing next to my table.
I looked up to find an average-looking guy with dad-bod, fidgeting with his keys.
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.
“Not unless that someone is a small cheese pizza, no.”
He apologized for bothering me, then rushed out of the building.
“Weirdo,” I muttered under my breath as I continued to twirl the pepper shaker, hoping it would distract me from the growing volume of the conversation across the tiny pizzeria. One that didn’t surprise me. One I wasn’t in the mood for.
“It’s a shame what happened to that Shipman boy. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with takin’ a few drugs to up yer game. And that nonsense about him tryin’ to kill those kids … bullshit. That’s all that is.”
Twirl … twirl …
“It’s that damn Danners girl,” someone else said, his voice loud and pointed and, from what I could tell without looking, directed right at me. “Stuck her nose where it don’t belong and got bit. But girls these days can say anythin’ and police’ll believe ’em. Damn feminists. Women are best for two things, and thinkin’ ain’t one of ’em.”
“Gonna be a sad end to a great football season this year,” the other man said, his voice now traveling directly over to me.
Twirl … twirl … twirl …
“Sure is, Earl.”
Footsteps headed toward me.
Twirl … twirl … CRASH.
One of the guys knocked the shaker from the table to the seat across from me. It didn’t break, but it made one hell of a noise when it smashed into the plastic bench seat.
“You hear me, girl?”
I lifted my head enough to give him a sidelong glance.
“I hear you,” I answered with venom in my tone. “I can’t understand a damn thing you’re saying because I don’t speak hillbil
ly, but, yes, I hear you just fine.”
The man sneered at me. “You think yer pretty damn smart, don’tcha, girlie?”
“I feel like that’s a loaded question.…”
“If yer that smart, then maybe you should get your ass outta this town.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked him, straightening my back against the weight of his warning. “Because, I gotta tell you, threatening me in a public place isn’t really a great idea. You see these other people in here? They’re called witnesses.”
The two men exchanged a glance and laughed.
“Ain’t nobody in this place seen nothin’. Not if Edson and me tell them they don’t. You catch my meanin’?”
I did. And it wasn’t good.
Not liking my position, I stood up, pushing my way out of the booth.
“All this over a lousy football team? You know we never would have held up against those big private schools from the city in the finals. Even you two aren’t that dumb.”
“Guess we ain’t gonna find out now since you ruined everythin’.”
“She didn’t ruin shit,” a gruff female voice said from across the room. “And you two rednecks know that.”
They turned to face the tall brown-haired girl, who stood up well against their scrutiny. She had balls—I had to give her that.
“Why don’t you and your friend drag yer skinny asses back to yer single-wides and yer junkie mamas, trailer trash bitches,” Earl said, stepping closer to where she and her black-haired friend sat silent in the booth.
“Or maybe you should go make some money to pay for yer mama’s habit,” Edson added.
“Fuck you,” she snapped, making a move for him. I cut her off on the way, giving her my best “not now” face. She seemed to read it loud and clear and stepped down.
“Now boys,” I said, turning my attention back to them, “I can assure you that Donovan deserves to be in jail. He put the sheriff’s son in the ICU—that’s the intensive care unit for those not so stellar with acronyms. He tried to kill me, he beat his girlfriend, and he—” I cut myself off before blurting out that he’d taken naked photos of me, too. Somehow I doubted those two Neanderthals would see anything wrong with that. “But maybe you’re more worried about football and the good ole boy system to care.”
Don't Say a Word Page 14