“No, I swear . . .” But then his head cocked.
She recoiled. “You did.”
“Okay. I did do a search for ‘Makani and Hawaii,’ and I think, now, that I might have found something on Reddit.” He didn’t notice her shudder, but he spoke faster, betraying his concern. “How could I have known what I was looking at? I barely even remember the thread. I discarded it so quickly. It wasn’t your name.”
Her blood drained. There it was. Proof that her past was available for anyone to discover. It wouldn’t be a huge step to notice the dates of the incident, search for her old name, and then find her in the swim team photos on the school’s website.
Ollie was following her train of thought. “No. It’s too unlikely.”
“Too unlikely that a serial killer with an elaborate plan would have the patience to discover that I’m actually someone else?”
“You aren’t someone else.” This distinction seemed to bother him.
“But it’s the only explanation that makes sense. I don’t have a single connection to the other victims.”
“That’s not true,” Alex said, jumping in. “He’s clearly attacking one person from every clique. He’s plucking out the shining stars for some macabre collection.”
Makani glowered. “I’m not a member of a single club or team. I don’t talk to anyone but you guys. And who says Rodrigo was a shining star?”
“Me,” Alex said. “He was really freaking smart. Probably the smartest person in our whole class. Probably the whole school.”
“So, what’s my special talent? Having brown skin?”
Alex hesitated. “Well. You do stand out.”
Makani stared at her for several long seconds. “Fuck,” she said, looking away. She didn’t know if she was angrier with Alex for pointing out something so stupidly obvious or for the idea that her skin color or being biracial or whatever might even be a fraction of David’s motivation. Of course it could be.
Even smushed between Makani and the love seat’s arm, Darby managed to tuck his thumbs under his suspenders. “Okay, let’s pretend your theory is correct, and David was trying to punish you. What about the other victims? What did they do?”
“They were probably assholes, too,” Makani said. “I mean, look at Matt.”
Ollie frowned. “Some of his friends are worse.”
“Yeah, but Matt was their leader. He set the example, and his friends followed.”
“What about Rodrigo and Haley?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know,” Makani said. “But none of you knew what I did. Everyone has secrets.” She couldn’t help glancing at Ollie, but he was distracted, so he didn’t notice.
“I don’t know about Haley,” he said. “But I do know something about Rodrigo.”
Makani felt Alex’s spine straighten beside her.
“It feels wrong to speak ill of the dead, but one of his friends gave the police a tip, which they checked out—and it was true. Rodrigo was a troll.”
Darby frowned. “What kind? Like, a comments troll?”
“The kind who threatened women,” Ollie said.
Makani’s stomach dropped.
“Dozens of platforms,” he continued. “Hundreds of aliases. Mainly against women in gaming. He stopped doing it a few months ago. The friend said Rodrigo realized it was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what had happened to trigger his conscience.”
Alex twitched sharply. This new information appeared to upset her more than Makani’s confession.
“So . . . I’m right.” Makani pressed her clenched fists against her forehead. Suddenly, everyone was taking her theory a lot more seriously.
Darby tugged on his suspenders. Their elasticity wouldn’t last long under this much stress. “I don’t know if you’re right, exactly, but there is a strong pattern. And there could be something unknown about Haley.”
“So, who else would David have on his list?” Ollie asked.
“But that’s the thing,” Makani said. “We don’t know. Whatever they did, it’s probably a secret.”
“Unless . . .” He sagged with fatigue. “I mean, Zachary Loup. Right?”
The waiting room fell into a hush. This was the closest Makani had heard to Ollie admitting that he’d known the rumors about him and Zachary. He sighed. “Look, I know one of us was supposed to be the killer. And maybe I am a loner, but he’s definitely an asshole. It’s reasonable to assume that he’d be a target.”
“Oh my God,” Alex said. She didn’t need to think about it.
“We have to warn him,” Darby said. Instant agreement. “We can’t take the chance.”
Ollie called his brother. Chris sounded doubtful, but he promised to check in with Zachary. A minute later, a text arrived. It was the owner of Greeley’s Foods: Your shift has been canceled. Store closing early so employees can attend the memorial.
“Shit!” Alex sprang from the love seat. “I’m supposed to be in the band room in five minutes.”
Makani’s fear reignited at the thought of anyone leaving her sight line. “What? Why? You can’t go on campus!”
Alex tried to allay Makani’s concern with a reassuring smile. It didn’t work. “We’re playing the memorial. They’re just letting us in to pick up our uniforms.”
“Don’t worry,” Darby said as he hustled Alex away, car keys already in hand. “I’ll drop her off, and then we’ll both be safe in the crowd.”
When Makani and Ollie returned to Grandma Young’s room, her bed was gone. The nurses informed them that she’d been wheeled away for a test. They sat on the floor and picked at the cold food that Ollie had brought earlier from the cafeteria. Now that they were alone, Makani wanted to talk more about her past—she wanted to be comforted—but Ollie was deep in contemplation about something else. The moment didn’t seem right.
The vibration was faint, but they sat up like a shotgun blast.
“It’s Chris,” Ollie said, checking his phone.
Makani stood and walked to the mirror above the sink to give him the privacy of a few feet. Futzing with her shirt, she peeked at Ollie’s reflection. His pale brows were pinched, which matched the frustrated tone of his conversation. The call was short.
“The police can’t do much,” he said. “They don’t want to freak anyone out. But Chris did check in with Zachary, and he’s safe. He’s at home with his mom’s boyfriend.”
“So . . . that’s it?”
Ollie’s jawline was rigid. “Yep.”
“I thought they might send a patrol car to watch over him or something.”
“Maybe if they were a bigger department. Or if we had any shred of proof. But they’re stretched thin, and now they have to work the memorial. Chris is already there.”
Makani slumped. “I’ll let Darby and Alex know.”
Darby’s response was immediate: But we just saw him!
Her breath caught. z’s at the memorial?
Yeah we saw him walking toward main street. There are a TON of people here. I just dropped off Alex so I’ll find him to make sure he understands how serious this is!
don’t!!! what if david is stalking him?? we’ll help you!! we’ll be right there!
Ollie read the texts over her shoulder. “What about your grandma?”
Makani stopped, halfway to the door. She’d vowed to be more honest with her grandmother. What possible excuse could she give for leaving the hospital right now?
“We’ll leave a message with the nurses,” he said, decoding her troubled expression. “We’ll say that we wanted to pay our respects, that we’ll meet up with my brother, and that we’ll be back as soon as it’s over. None of that is a lie.”
It wasn’t a lie. But it didn’t feel good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Zachary Loup was stoned. He’d only come to the memorial because it was better than being at home, better than being alone with his mother’s lecherous boyfriend. Zachary saw the hatred burning in Terry’s eyes whenever Amber wasn’t looking. What kind of man was
jealous over his girlfriend’s son? What kind of man felt threatened by that relationship? Zachary prayed that Amber had the sense not to marry Terry. Zachary’s first stepfather had been bad enough. He was beating the shit out of some other family now.
Black satin ribbons were tied around every telephone pole on Main Street, and they fluttered in the crisp bite of the wind. The marching band was warming up in the grocery store parking lot. Brass instruments hummed and bass drums boomed. Cops were patrolling the two-lane street, which had been blocked off from traffic. The quaint thoroughfare was packed with county locals, vibrating with fury and injustice, as well as every news-media outlet that had raced to Nebraska to chronicle it.
The memorial was supposed to be a dignified remembrance of the victims, but even Zachary could see that wasn’t exactly what was happening. From the makeshift stage, a flatbed truck parked in front of the old bank, Principal Stanton shouted declarations to the masses: “This spring, the school fountain will be turned into a monument for the victims!”
Cheers.
“This weekend, our drama department will hold a fund-raiser for the victims’ families!”
Cheers.
“And tomorrow night, our football team will take to the field in the playoffs!”
Losing-their-goddamn-minds cheers.
The principal was a balding man with a sturdy frame who wore his masculinity as if it were a badge of honor. Zachary detested him. Stanton was a son of a dick who punished Zachary for every fight, even the ones started by other students. Today, the principal sounded more defiant than respectful, and the spectators sounded more aggressive than supportive. The whole town was seething with outrage as their fear reached its boiling point.
Which came first, the outrage or the fear?
Ms. Clearwater, his favorite counselor, liked to give him Zen koans to keep his mind engaged. But koans were paradoxical riddles, which meant this wasn’t actually a good example. Zachary knew from experience that fear always came first.
He drifted through the agitated flock. Every conversation was about David. A middle-aged woman spoke loudly to whoever was listening. “Did you see that picture where he was posing with that buck carcass?”
“Creepy smile,” a guy with meth-mouth said. “Gave me the willies.”
“His family goes to my church,” a conspiratorial male voice said. “The dad always seemed real shady. The mom’s a prude, too. Never looks happy.”
Zachary stopped wandering when he reached the fringes. He felt more comfortable on the outside of any crowd. Leaning against the brick storefront of Dream’s Bridal, the outmoded boutique across from Greeley’s Foods, he checked his messages to see if his friends were coming to watch the circus.
Damn. Drew and his brother were headed to an out-of-town wrestling match, and Brittani’s mom had quarantined her until David was behind bars.
David Thurston Ware was born two days after Zachary. Zachary had been held back in eighth grade, so he was still only a junior, but they’d spent enough time together that he knew David wasn’t what he seemed. Osborne was raring to cast ominous insights onto his character today, but just last night they’d been confused. I can’t believe it, they’d said. He seemed like such a normal teenage boy.
Years ago, Zachary and David had lived next door to each other. Like most children who happen to be neighbors, that also made them friends. They watched cartoons, played Legos, went dirt biking. Zachary remembered David as a quiet kid prone to sudden outbursts. Unlike Zachary, who yelled at and threatened and terrorized the younger neighborhood boys, David held in his anger until he couldn’t anymore. Until he snapped.
Admittedly, Zachary was no role model. But he still didn’t think holding it in was healthy. He’d never forget the day when he’d borrowed David’s new bike without asking, something he’d done a dozen times before, and David flew into the street and shoved him to the ground. The fall broke Zachary’s arm, but that wasn’t what had scared him.
It was the unbridled rage on David’s face.
At the time, Zachary shook it off. Fair was fair. But deep down, it unsettled him that David had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. He must have been hiding in the bushes. He’d been waiting.
But geography had been stronger than their friendship. When Zachary’s mom remarried, his family moved into the trailer park, and things with David came to their natural end. The last time Zachary remembered talking to him was nearly two years ago, when they’d run into each other in the candy aisle of the drugstore. They’d debated the merits of chocolates versus gummies like they were kids again.
A new text vibrated in Zachary’s hand: BUSTED. ERIKA SAW U AT THE MEMORIAL!! GET UR ASS HOME RIGHT NOW!!!!!
Not Drew, not Brittani.
Amber. Mom. Erika was Amber’s coworker at Curlz & Cutz. She was only a few years older than him, and she was hot. Dark hair, sexy tattoo. Why had she ratted him out? Fuck that. Fuck them both. No way was he going home for some quality time with Terry. Amber picked the worst times to give a shit about him.
On the stage, Principal Stanton exited to make way for Pastor Greeley from Grace Lutheran, who introduced his son, Caleb. The Greeley family ran Osborne. The pastor’s brother owned the grocery store and several of the buildings downtown. Their father founded the grocery store and had been mayor for a record-number of terms. They were the opposite of Zachary’s family, and Zachary resented them for it.
Caleb was a senior, like David. Like Zachary was supposed to be. Caleb was round-eyed, square-faced, and as earnest as his khakis, but as he spoke about their classmates, it sounded like he hadn’t really known them. He talked about Haley, Matt, and Rodrigo by using pull quotes that Zachary recognized from the news.
Zachary grew irritated. And then bored. His gaze roamed until it settled on a very pretty girl—a very pretty girl who was heading straight toward him.
Caleb Greeley hopped off the flatbed truck with as much dignity and respect for the dead as possible. He strolled to the edge of the crowd, and then, as his father raised his hands to address them, sprinted down the side alleys to the grocery store’s parking lot.
Caleb played first trumpet. He didn’t want to miss his second act.
After the sermon, his father would lead the crowd in a prayer, and then the band would march everybody up from Main Street to the memorial of flowers and cards in front of the high school. Everyone would be holding a candle. A cable-news program had donated them, though Caleb doubted the gesture was made out of goodwill. More likely, someone with a lot of money had recognized that it’d look better on television if the thousand crying marchers were also holding a thousand lit candles.
Caleb understood this, even if he didn’t respect it. He was an overachiever, too. He’d been the youth leader for Grace Lutheran Church since he was fifteen and the trumpet section leader for the O.H.S. marching band since sixteen. Excelling in all his classes, he’d successfully campaigned to remove the word evolution from their textbooks, and he already had post–high school plans to do missionary work in Papua New Guinea. He would be the first Greeley to leave Nebraska in several generations.
His belongings were on the loading dock behind the store, where he’d left them. He hurried into the bibbed trousers and jacket—freshly dry-cleaned, that pungent uniform smell impossible to erase—and slid into the padded shoes. Slipped on the white gloves. Reaching for his hat, he realized it was missing its gold plume. Caleb grabbed his instrument and ran toward his section. “Alex! Have you seen my plume?”
Alex Shimerda’s lip curled. “No one wants to see your plume, Caleb. Gross.”
His face grew red with embarrassment. He hated jokes like that. They made him uncomfortable. “Has anyone seen my plume?”
The trumpeters who bothered to pay attention shrugged.
“Thanks for the help,” Caleb muttered, jogging away.
“Ask the boosters,” Alex called out.
But they hadn’t seen it, either. A mother with a bobbed mom-hairdo scolde
d him. “It wasn’t in your hat box? You’ll have to pay to replace that, you know.”
“I had it earlier. I must have left it in the store.” Before the memorial, he’d been practicing his speech inside the employee break room.
“Better hurry,” she said.
As he fumbled with the key to the back entrance, Alex dashed over to him. “We’re lining up. It’s just a stupid plume. Don’t worry about it.”
“Have you seen how many television crews are out there?”
Alex looked startled. And then her disgust returned. “Right. You wouldn’t want to look bad on TV.” She shook her head as she stalked away.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” The key rattled inside the lock, but it wouldn’t twist. Dang it. Caleb didn’t care how he looked. He didn’t want the band to look bad as a whole. It would be awful if they appeared sloppy—like they didn’t care about the victims—because they all cared. They cared about their classmates a lot.
The key gave way, and Caleb burst through the door.
Zachary stared at the candle in his hand. It had a paper ring to catch the wax drippings, and it looked like the type that his church brought out when they all sang “Silent Night” on Christmas Eve. Amber only took him to church on Christmas Eve and Easter. He preferred the Christmas service. The world seemed more at peace.
Katie Kurtzman stood before him, talking about . . . something. She’d given him the candle for the walk. He tried to concentrate, but he was high, and she was pretty. Katie was tall and graceful with long hair that shimmered and changed colors in the light. Right now, caught by the rays of the sun, it looked like copper. Pretty copper.
She was different from the rest of the smart kids. Those other assholes acted like he was invisible, which was why he treated them like shit. Zachary made people look at him. But Katie was nice to everyone, and everyone liked her back. It’s how she got to be student-council president. He’d tried to be rude to her once, and she’d called him on it. He respected that.
“Oh, no!” Katie dropped the cardboard box that held the candles. A man had spilled a blue slush on her arm.
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