Under Cover (7 page)

“How are you, Mr. Reimer?

“Phil. I keep telling you, it’s Phil.”

“And I’m Cree.”

He sat down at his desk and asked what he
could do for me.

“I’m wondering if you can tell me anything,”
I said, “about that high school murder in Hudson Hills. The kid
named Johnny Kinsser. I mean, more than was on the Internet and the
paper.”

He said, “That was pretty much the same
thing, as I recall. What more do you want to know? And for what do
you want to know?”

“Just some details. I have a—personal
reason.”

It seemed easier to go with the truth, even
if it sounded silly. I told him about my dad, the letter, and the
house in Hudson Hills.

“I want to know who Hey Buddy is, who Liam
is, and what it all has to do with my dad.”

“And you think there’s some connection with
the killing?”

“I can’t help thinking it. That’s what I want
to find out.”

He gave me a twisted smile. “It sounds as if
you know more about the case than I do. Unfortunately, it’s not my
beat. The day it broke, I was on another assignment. They gave it
to somebody else and I doubt you’d get any more from her. The
police haven’t released the other kid’s name, only the victim.”

“So you’re saying the reporter who covered it
wouldn’t know anything either?”

“Frieda Snyder. She might, but she’s not here
right now. I’ll ask her when she gets back but I doubt she’ll be
much help.”

In spite of his denials, I kept trying. “It’s
so maddening. My dad came all the way from Borneo and went straight
to that house, and nobody will tell me anything.”

“I do apologize.”

“I don’t mean you, I mean my whole family.
And my dad. I haven’t seen him since he got out of the car. He’s my
father.
Before that, I didn’t see him for six years. He
hates me. I got to thinking maybe he’s not my father. Then who
is?”

“Lucretia,” said Reimer, “nobody could hate
you. How about a Sprite?”

He went out to the soda machine and got me
one. He got himself one, too, and popped it open as he went on
talking.

“I’ll ask Frieda if there’s anything she
knows, but if it’s a name I’m afraid that’s hush-hush. Except the
victim. He’s not covered anymore.”

“Johnny Kinsser. The newspaper said he was
friends with the suspect. I mean the car owner.”

“Musta had a falling out. You never know.
Kids get emotional.”

“Does he have any family? Johnny
Kinsser?”

“I do know that much,” Phil said. “The
parents are divorced. He lives—er, lived with his mom.”

“Any brothers or sisters.”

“Nope.”

“That’s sad.” I was thinking of his
mother.

The coat hanger kept bugging me. I tried to
imagine the logistics. Johnny had been found on the front passenger
side. I supposed the car’s owner would have been in the driver’s
seat. How could he garrote somebody sitting right next to him?

I was about to put that question to Phil when
his phone rang. He spoke for a moment, then picked up his
jacket.

Dismayed, I asked, “Are you leaving?”

“Got a job to do.” He took his pocket tape
recorder out of a drawer and stuffed it into his pocket.

“But—can you tell me anything else you know?
Like quickly, while you’re putting on your coat?”

He gave it a tug to straighten it. “It’s this
way, Lucretia.”

“Cree.”

“Right. Cree. This is an ongoing police
investigation. The police won’t tell us anything until they’re
ready to hold a press conference. That’s how it works.”

“They won’t even tell a reporter?”

“Especially
a reporter. I’ll see
ya.”

What a maddening world, I thought as I
trudged back up the long steps. Phil couldn’t help who he was. Some
reporters would push until they got their story even if it meant
stepping on toes or bypassing the law. Just my luck Phil wasn’t one
of those aggressive types.

I couldn’t do much about him, but there was
someone else I could depend on.

Me.

Chapter
Seven

I didn’t feel like going home and badgering
Grandma, who claimed she knew nothing. That just might be true.

Ben didn’t know anything either. A lot less
than I did. I knew he was busy, but I couldn’t help myself.

When I got to Frosty Dan, I didn’t see Ben at
all. The only one behind the counter was the girl in brown shorts.
I didn’t know if Ben had told her who I was. Probably not, so I
went over and introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Cree. I’m a friend of Ben’s. Is he
here?”

Without a word she went to a door at the back
and yelled, “Ben! You have a visitor!”

I heard Ben’s voice, but couldn’t make out
what he said. The girl answered, “Somebody named—” She turned to
me. “What did you say your name is?”

“Lucretia.”

She seemed befuddled. It wasn’t what I’d told
her before. I gave it an Italian twist. “Lucrezia. As in Borgia.”
That baffled her still further.

“Just tell him Cree Penny,” I said.

Ben opened the door and looked out. I greeted
him with a finger wave. Behind him I could see a desk with a
computer lit and running. So that was how he got his homework done.
On break time, with the boss’s equipment. Ben wouldn’t do that
without permission.

“Be right with you.” He closed the door.

My eyes swept over the row of pictures in
back of the counter. I could have gone for a banana split but I
wasn’t about to ask the girl for anything. Besides, I had barely
any cash on me and I knew Ben didn’t want people taking advantage
of his position. The offer would have to come from him.

Ben came out, untying his big white apron.
“What’s the problem?”

How did he know there was a problem? Wasn’t
there always? I beckoned him to a table in a far corner.

“Who is she?” I asked in a whisper.

“Who’s who?”

“Her.” I gestured with my head and saw her
watching.

“That’s my coworker,” he said. “Didn’t we
talk about this?”

“Not really. What’s her name? Is she from
around here?”

“Of course she’s from around here. Do you
think a person would commute to a job like this?”

“Why can’t you tell me her name?”

“What difference does it make?”

He gave a low chuckle. He knew he was making
me crazy.

I had done it to myself. After being dumped
that time by Troy Zoller, and being walked out on by my dad, I was
so insecure I could be a jealous bitch without half trying.

“I told her who I was,” I said. “I mean, I
told her my name but she didn’t return the favor.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty quiet. Makes her a good
person to work with. Is that why you came all the way here? To ask
about her?”

“No, I came to talk about Hudson Hills. I
went to see my friend at the newspaper but he said it’s not his
beat.”

Ben shook his head as though trying to clear
it of my garble. “What do you need to know about Hudson Hills and
why?”

“I told you all that. Because of Dad. And
that letter, and prison and stuff. I keep thinking there’s some
connection with the murder. And who Hey Buddy is. I pictured him as
someone Dad’s age, but Mrs. Mulvaney looks about Dad’s age and she
said Liam, who I think might be Hey Buddy, is her son.”

“You don’t know that,” Ben said. “Hey Buddy
could be Liam’s father. Or an uncle, or grandfather…”

“Mei said there’s no Mr. Mulvaney.”

“He might exist even if they parted company.”
Ben got up and retied his apron. “Break is over.”

I caught his arm in passing. “Kiss me.”

“Not here. Maybe later.” Gently he eased
himself out of my grasp.

“Ben—”

“Sandy Boyd,” he hissed, not loud enough for
her to hear. He went behind the counter, greeted Sandy with a smile
and some comment that made her laugh, and got right back to
scooping ice cream.

I stood up. Sat down and tried again. How
could he be so indifferent? Ben wouldn’t dump me without any
warning. Would he? He’d never sneak up on a person with that sort
of thing, the way Troy Zoller did. Ben was literal and honest.
Subtlety, innuendo, were not in his nature.

Or mine, it seemed. Why on earth did I ask
him to kiss me? Was I trying to show off to Sandy Boyd?

Now I faced a long walk home. It wasn’t easy,
but I managed to leave the store without looking back at either of
them.

The strip mall where Frosty Dan was had cars
parked with their noses right up to the curb. I wandered past a
silver submarine without giving it a thought. My brain wasn’t
engaged, except to mope over that brush-off from Ben. And his
friendly smile for Sandy Boyd. If she asked him to kiss her, what
would he do? Leap at the chance?

I looked into windows without seeing them. I
already knew what was there. A sushi nook. A unisex hair salon. An
overpriced dress shop. A place where you could rent stuff like
machinery and appliances.

Finally something registered. It was a little
stationery store that sold magazines and newspapers. I stood there
for a moment before it really clicked.

Inside was a whole rack of newspapers, both
local and not so local. Maybe one of them had some more
information. I went in to see what there was.

If I started paging through the papers
somebody would squawk, but I could look at the headlines. The main
story had already been around and any emerging details would be on
the inside. I was ready to give it up when a sound caught my
attention.

A voice. I knew it well, but hadn’t heard it
in months.

It was Stacie Marr, the girl who used to be
my neighbor and best friend. The girl who stole my boyfriend seven
months ago, just in time for the Harvest Moon Dance so I never got
to go. That was his doing as much as hers. Almost immediately she
got her comeuppance. Her father was hauled in for molesting her and
everyone knew about it.

She wore her hair short, blond, and fluffy,
like a dandelion gone to seed. She had on jeans so super tight I
didn’t see how she got into them or how she could sit down.

She must have felt my eyes on her. It made
her turn around. Her mouth opened then closed. I wasn’t sure how
she would react, knowing I knew all about her dad. She hadn’t been
in school since it happened.

If it were me, I’d have turned and run. All
Stacie did was stand there looking confused. I said, “Hi.”

Then I said, “How’ve you been?” She didn’t
turn and run.

She paid for the magazine she was holding and
came toward me. “Cree Penny! You haven’t changed.”

How did she expect me to change? Cut my hair,
the way she did? Go into mourning for the loss of Troy Zoller?
Anyone who could dump me just before the Harvest Moon Dance wasn’t
worth mourning.

“It hasn’t been that long,” I said. Not even
a year. “What are you doing these days? Where did you disappear
to?”

She mumbled, “Here and there. This and
that.”

“Sounds fascinating.” I didn’t mean to be
sarcastic but I couldn’t think of anything else. I wasn’t about to
ask after her dad. Or Troy. I’d seen Troy around, but didn’t talk
to him. I knew they weren’t still together.

I asked, “Are you coming back to school?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

That was a lie, I could tell. I’m not too bad
at reading people. She wouldn’t come back, but didn’t want to say
so. Everyone was still too aware of her family situation.

Finally she asked, “What have you been up
to?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m trying to find a job.
Everybody else has something. My friend Maddie does typing for her
dad.”

I choked on the word “dad,” because of
Stacie’s, but went on babbling. “Her brother Ben found a job at
Frosty Dan. It’s menial, but he can do it after school and on
weekends, and it will last him through the summer.”

Now why on earth did I tell her that? She
didn’t know Ben, but she’d seen him a few times with Maddie and me.
At the very mention of him, she got a greedy look.

Stacie and I grew up together on Riverview,
until her family moved away. She was a blue-eyed blond and guys
went for her. She used to wear her hair long, coiled on her head,
when we studied ballet together. After the studio closed, she cut
it short and told me I should, too. No way would I do that. My hair
was
me.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” she said as we
left the store.

“Mm—maybe.” I couldn’t miss those eyes
sliding toward Frosty Dan.

Quickly they came back. She had a new idea.
“Why don’t we get together sometime?”

“Us? You and me?” How could she think that,
considering our recent history with Troy Zoller?

“You know, to talk. Like we used to.”

When we were kids. That was centuries
ago.

“About what?” I asked.

“You know. Stuff. Where’s your car?”

“Stacie, you know I don’t have a car. Or a
bike, either, anymore. I got here on my two little feet.”

“All the way from Riverview?”

“It’s not that far. Walking’s good for
people. It tones your muscles and sharpens your brain. You should
give it a try.”

She made a resigned sort of noise, like a
moan. “I suppose we could talk in my car.”

The silver submarine. She still had it, even
though Troy Zoller had managed to crash it into a chain link fence
when she first got it.

I’d never been in that car and didn’t want
to. “How long has it been sitting there in the sun, all closed up?”
I asked.

“We could go somewhere shady.” She
contemplated the car. I didn’t see a dent or a scratch on it. She
must have had it body-shopped after Troy’s mishandling. Or else her
dad got her a new one.

She opened a door and swung it back and
forth, fanning the inside. “Hop in. I’ll turn on the air
conditioner.”

I entered a wall of heat. She revved it up
and drove us to the high school. I asked, “Do you miss this
place?”