Authors: Gemma Halliday
Went to Spin class. Cake in the fridge. Love you.
Cake. Some days I loved my mom. I went straight to the fridge and pulled out a chocolate thing dripping with icing. Okay, so it was made with chickpea flour and carob frosting. But, really, there wasn’t much you could do to ruin chocolate cake. I cut myself a huge slice, then dug into the freezer for my secret stash. There was half a pint of Chunky Monkey left. I scooped it on top of the cake, then sat at the counter and savored every decadent bite.
After I had completely gorged myself, I trudged up to my bedroom, turned on MTV, and pulled out my trig book. How was it fair that I had to conduct a murder investigation
and
do trig? All Raley did was sit outside my house in his sedan, no doubt downing donuts.
Several deliciously dramatic reality shows later, I heard Mom’s minivan pull into the driveway, followed closely by a knock at my door.
“Hart? You there?” Mom asked as she peeked her head into my room.
I did a little wave from my cross-legged position on my bed. “Hey.”
“Homework done?”
“Yep.”
“You get something to eat?”
“Yep.”
“You doing okay?”
“Yep.”
“Got everything you need?”
“Yep.”
“Okay . . .” Mom lingered in the doorway even though she’d clearly run out of questions to ask.
“Well . . . have a good night, then,” she finally said.
“Thanks.” I paused, then added, “you, too,” feeling just the teensiest bit guilty about lying to her after she made me a cake.
Okay, I guess technically I wasn’t lying. But I certainly hadn’t felt compelled to tell her that I was planning to slip out to meet an anonymous witness at midnight in the deserted football field.
Then again, considering such information was likely to give her a heart attack, I was actually being a pretty good daughter by lying.
I looked up at the clock. 11:30 p.m. It was now or never.
I PULLED ON A PAIR OF BLACK STRETCH PANTS, A BLACK
hoodie, and my sneakers, just in case there was anything lurking out there to run away from. I looked out the front window. Raley was still parked at the curb, his fender just visible from my vantage point. No doubt his beady little eyes were trained on my front door as if Josh might magically appear at any second.
Unfortunately, I didn’t think he’d miss me slipping out of said door, either.
I turned around and looked to my back window. If Josh could climb in, surely I could climb out, right?
I crossed the room, lifted the window open, and looked down.
That ground looked awfully hard and awfully far away.
I hesitated a brief moment, wondering if it was too late to call Chase and take him up on his offer to meet Deep Blogger. But that meant swallowing my pride and admitting I was a chicken. I’d had my ego bruised one too many times already in the past week. I wasn’t sure it could recover from another hit.
So, despite my better judgment, I took a deep breath, stepped over the sill, and leaned toward the oak tree that Josh had used to climb in my room. I experienced just the slightest tinge of vertigo as my foot hung suspended in air over the two-story drop.
Be cool, Hart. Be cool.
I took another deep breath and leaned to the right, stretching my foot as far as I could. The tip of my Nikes touched the largest branch. I let go of the sill with one hand, again stretching toward the tree, channeling Mom’s yoga obsessions. I got one foot on, but it was hardly a stable foothold. I was gonna have to jump for it.
I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and held my breath. I could do this. I was monkey girl. I would not fall.
I pulled my leg back onto the sill, kneeling in the opening. Then I swung my arms and jumped.
For one terrifying moment, I was suspended in air above our crabgrassy lawn. Then my hands connected with the tree branch, and I clamped on like my life depended on it (which, at this point, it did). I gave myself a two count to collect my strength again, then shimmied down the branch, feetfirst, toward the center of the tree where the limbs converged.
The second my feet hit the trunk, I let out a sigh of relief so loud, I was sure Raley heard me out front. I crouched down in the dark, listening with my entire body to the sounds of the suburban night: a TV in my neighbor’s bedroom spouting canned laughter, a cat yowling down the street, a dishwasher humming contentedly from the house behind mine.
But no nosy detectives.
So far, so good.
I wrapped my arms around the trunk, slowly easing myself downward, then dropped the last few feet to the ground. I slunk around the tree, keeping to the shadows and out of range of the motion-detecting lights on our back patio, until I reached the side yard. Careful to avoid the garbage cans, I undid the latch on the back gate and peeked out.
Raley was still parked in the same spot out front, eyes glued to the front door.
In the immortal words of Mr. Burns . . . eeeeeeexcellent.
I quickly slipped out the gate, latching it behind me, then ducked my head and took off toward school.
It was only about a ten-minute walk to the football field, but I felt like a fugitive the entire way, ducking the big bad law stationed on my street.
I was shivering from the cold by the time I hit the school. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands, wishing I’d brought my down coat. But it was white. Not exactly stealth colored.
Blowing out visible puffs of air, I skirted around the front of the school. It was originally built at the beginning of the last century, all tall columns, tons of white concrete, and large imposing steps up to the front doors. Lit from below with strategically placed lights, it looked like a giant mausoleum in the night.
Not that my imagination was running away with me or anything.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying not to play any particular horror movie scenes in my head as I speed walked the length of the building, crossed the back parking lot, and hit the quiet, dewy football field.
Deep Blogger had said specifically in the email Chase forwarded to me that he would meet me beneath the back bleachers. I blinked in the darkness, trying to get my bearings as I entered the first row of seats.
I took three steps, then thought I heard a sound to my left and quickly swung around. I squinted through the nothingness.
“Hello?” I called out.
No response.
I swallowed a gulp of cowardice, quickening my pace toward the last row.
Where I was sure I heard a sound this time.
“Hello?” I called again. “Deep Blogger?” I felt kinda ridiculous calling out his pseudonym, but “Hey, mysterious informant!” felt just as silly.
There was a pause. Then a raspy voice answered back. “Are you alone?”
I was surprised to hear it was female, though I could tell she was taking pains to disguise it by adding a fake rasp. Because I would recognize it? I took a step forward, trying to make out the owner, but all I could see was the faint outline of a person. It looked like she was dressed all in black, a hoodie pulled up over her head. She could have been Heidi Klum or the Unabomber for all I could tell.
“Yes,” I answered. “I’m alone.”
“Are you armed?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. Why would I be armed?”
“Turn around so I can see you.”
I held my arms out and did an exaggerated spin for my dramatic informant’s viewing pleasure.
“Satisfied?” I asked.
I saw the form nod.
Good. Time to get down to business.
“You saw who killed Courtney Cline?” I asked.
“I did.”
I paused, waiting for her to go on. When she didn’t, I prompted, “Well? Who was it?”
“First I need some assurance that I’ll be safe.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll protect my identity.”
“Well, considering I have no idea who you are, that shouldn’t be a problem. How do you know who killed Courtney?”
“I saw the killer.”
“How?” I asked.
“I was outside Josh’s house when Courtney was killed. I saw the killer go inside.”
I bit my lip. “Okay, I’ll bite—who did you see?”
“I’ll tell you.” The shadow took a step closer, coming toward me. “It was . . .”
The voice faltered. I heard a sound like feet tripping over each other on the grass. There was a sharp intake of air and a second later a high-pitched yelp.
Then I watched in horror as my best lead yet turned and began to run in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” I shouted, turning after her. “Don’t go!”
But Deep Blogger didn’t pay any attention, taking off at a full sprint toward the parking lot.
I ducked my head and ran after her.
Only I didn’t get far.
As I passed the spot where she’d been standing in the shadows, I felt myself trip over something on the ground, my left foot catching as I slipped forward.
I threw my hands out in front of me to break my fall, my palms sliding on the wet grass.
I craned my head back to see what I’d stumbled on.
And that’s when I heard a new sound. A long, loud scream, echoing eerily off the abandoned metal bleachers.
It took me a minute to realize it was coming from me, as my entire being was focused on the object on the ground that, incidentally, my left foot was still caught under.
Kaylee Clark lay on the grass, her legs twisted under her body, her vacant eyes staring blankly into the starry sky, a dark pool of blood under her head.
I QUICKLY PULLED MY FOOT OUT FROM UNDER KAYLEE AND
scrambled to my feet. Or tried to. I tripped, falling on the ground again, wet mud squishing between my fingers. It felt like it took an eternity for me to find my feet a second time and actually make them move in the opposite direction of the body. When I finally did, I took off running, my body moving without any input from my brain. Which was a good thing, because at present the only thing my brain could do was chant, “ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod” over and over again. I ran blindly through the dark, making it to midfield before I ran into a solid wall.
“Whoa.” Hands went around my upper arms, holding me still.
“Rape!” I screamed instinctively, swatting at my attacker. It was far from the truth, but as a girl it was what I’d been programmed to yell when attacked. I smacked in the general direction of his face.
“Hartley!” His head jerked back, but his hold stayed strong.
I paused. I recognized that voice.
“Jesus, calm down.”
Let me tell you, I had never been so glad to see that overweight, redheaded cop in my life.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod! Kaylee. Over there. Ohmigod!”
“Calm down,” Detective Raley said again. “Take a breath.”
I did, dragging in cold air that burned my lungs. “Kaylee Clark. She’s”—I took another breath—“dead.”
In the shadows, I could see Raley’s eyebrows hunkering down, making his forehead a mass of wrinkles.
“Show me.”
While the last thing I wanted to do was go back to where I knew Kaylee was bleeding beneath the bleachers, the tone of Raley’s voice broached no argument. So, I did.
My feet refused to move any farther as soon as the bleachers came into view again, so I pointed a straight arm (okay, a slightly trembling arm) toward the last row.
“There.”
Raley nodded. “Stay here.”
Yeah, like I was going anywhere.
I watched Raley approach the inert object under the bleachers. I saw him crouch down, examining Kaylee closer, then straighten back up and pull out his cell. I was too far away to hear more than a muffled conversation, but I could well imagine what he was saying. I’m pretty sure the word “coroner” was involved.
I hugged my arms around myself, the chill biting despite the sweat I’d broken into at the first sight of Kaylee. I looked down at my feet. A big, red smear covered the toe of my white Nikes. I told myself it wasn’t blood. Probably just ketchup I’d dropped during lunch. Maybe nail polish I’d spilled at some point. Definitely not blood, and definitely not from a dead girl. I forced my eyes up, making myself promise never to look at my feet again.
Raley walked back over to me, a grim expression on his face.
“She’s dead.”
Even though I knew that had been coming, I felt my stomach roll. Another dead body at Herbert Hoover High.
And found by me.
A sick sense of déjà vu hit as I watched the CSU crawl across the football field. The area was lit up now by the huge floodlights circling the stadium. Uniformed officers staggered every four feet made a human chain, scanning the grass for evidence. The coroner and a handful of other guys in cheap suits knelt over poor Kaylee’s body. And Raley stood in front of me, feet planted shoulder width apart, his notebook out, grilling me like a summer hamburger. Apparently I hadn’t been quite as stealthy as I’d thought, as Raley had, in fact, seen me slipping down the street and decided to follow me. Though, at the moment, I couldn’t be too upset that he had. If he hadn’t stopped me, I’d probably still be running through the night, fueled by pure adrenaline.
“So, what were you doing out here?” he asked, pen hovering.
“I told you. I was meeting Deep Blogger.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “And who is this ‘Deep Blogger’?” he asked, doing air quotes around the name as if he didn’t quite believe me.
“I don’t know. That’s the whole point of her being Deep Blogger. It’s an alias.”
“Yeah. I got that.” He looked down at his notes. “You don’t have a name?”
“No.”
“But you said, ‘her.’ You know it’s a girl?”
I looked down at my feet. Bad idea. The Smear stared me in the face. I quickly raised my eyes to meet Raley’s. “The voice was female. That’s all I know.”
“And you think this Deep Blogger killed Kaylee?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.”
Again with the raised eyebrow.
I took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know. I was meeting her here, and all of a sudden she just turned around and ran.”
“And why were you meeting her?”
I bit my lip. As much as I knew it wasn’t the wisest decision of my life to lie to the police, especially when dealing with a double homicide, I had promised Deep Blogger that I’d keep her identity as a witness safe. Not that she’d actually had time to tell me what she’d witnessed, but tipping my hand to Raley wasn’t going to help that any.