The Perfectionists

by Sara Shepard

  If their reputations had been so easy to damage, Julie didn’t stand a chance.

  Suddenly, Katy Perry’s “Firework” came blasting out of her cell phone. She jumped, then picked it up and frowned down at the caller ID. Speak of the devil. Ava was calling. As soon as Julie picked up, she could hear Ava saying “oh my god, oh my god” over and over. She glanced nervously at Parker.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Julie said tentatively.

  Ava stopped oh-my-god-ing. “I think Granger killed Nolan.”

  Julie froze, her fingers clutching the phone. “Our teacher Granger?”

  “I’m almost sure of it.” Ava’s voice was hushed and trembling. Julie motioned Parker over, then put the phone on speaker.

  “I was in Granger’s house,” Ava went on. “He offered to help with a paper, although that was bullshit—he’s a complete perv. I shouldn’t have gone, but that’s another story. Anyway, I found . . . pictures. On his phone . . .” She trailed off. It sounded like she was crying.

  Slowly, Julie was able to get out of Ava what the pictures were of. Then Ava told her about the Nolan video where he’d threatened Granger. Julie’s heart gave a lurch in her chest. “That’s probable cause,” she said slowly. “But you really think he could have done it?”

  “He wanted to kiss me when I left today,” Ava explained. “And when I said no, his face—” She broke off and sobbed. “It was awful. And he has an Oxy prescription. I saw it in his bathroom.”

  “I can’t believe you went to his house,” Parker blurted.

  “I know how it looks,” Ava wailed. “But I was just trying to get help with my paper. Honest.”

  “We believe you,” Julie insisted. She stood up off her bed and started to pace. Granger had seemed so nice. So . . . supportive. It was shocking that he could be such a jerk. She thought back to the day in his class once more. Could he have overheard?

  Caitlin had leaned forward across the desk excitedly. “Oxy. Everyone knows it’s his drug of choice,” Caitlin had said. “Or cyanide. He’d be dead in minutes.”

  Julie had cleared her throat, her gaze drifting to Nolan across the room. He was in a group with Ursula; Ava’s boyfriend, Alex; and a meek girl named Renee Foley, and they all looked miserable. “We are just kidding, right?” she asked nervously.

  “Of course,” Mackenzie said quickly, her laugh shrill.

  Then Parker leaned forward, caging her fingertips together thoughtfully. “Though we don’t have to kill him to take him down.”

  “What do you mean?” Ava asked slowly.

  Parker thought for a moment. “Well, the next time he hosts a party, we can prank him. Obviously we won’t use cyanide, but what about Oxy? He loves the stuff anyway. Not too much—just enough to knock him out. Just enough to take some incriminating pictures.”

  A gleam of excitement dawned in Caitlin’s eyes. “We could take pictures of him with his pants down. Or Sharpie his face.”

  Mackenzie shifted. “Everyone hates him. They’re all just too scared to admit it. We’d be heroes if we pranked him.”

  Ava straightened her back and lifted her chin. “Should we do it?”

  “I’m in,” Mackenzie whispered.

  “Me too.” Caitlin nodded.

  The girls had looked at Julie. As much as she wanted to take part, it so wasn’t her. But she took a deep breath. “Where do we get the Oxy?”

  At that moment, a shadow fell over her. Parker shot her friend a warning look, and Julie wrenched around in her seat to gaze up at Mr. Granger. For a moment, Julie was sure their teacher had heard everything. Sometimes, he had this way of sitting in on conversations as though he were a fly on the wall. Julie, like all the other girls, was flattered and a little unnerved by his attention—he was so good-looking and charming, and he had a vast, impressive knowledge of amazing films. But that day, he’d stared down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

  But then he’d said, “So how’s the discussion going over here, ladies?” And given them a big smile.

  Now Julie swallowed, her throat dry. “He did come over right at the end of our conversation,” she said worriedly to Ava.

  “Maybe he did hear everything,” Ava said.

  “So how do you think this went down?” Julie thought aloud. “Granger slipped upstairs and gave Nolan more Oxy after we left? And how? Shoved it down his throat and made him swallow?”

  “Maybe Nolan woke up after we left,” Ava suggested.

  “And you think Granger was watching us the whole time? Like he heard our conversation in class and decided to, like, piggyback off our plan?”

  “Why would he pin it on us?” Parker asked. “I mean, he doesn’t seem like that bad a guy.”

  “Uh, hello?” Ava interrupted. “Didn’t you just hear my story?”

  “True,” Julie said. “But what did we do? Why would Granger have it out for us? Was it simply out of convenience? Is he that much of a psycho?”

  “You should go to the cops with this,” Parker said firmly.

  “I can’t go by myself!” Ava shrieked. “You have to come with me. I already talked to Caitlin and Mackenzie—they said they’d come, too. I’ll even pick you up.”

  “No!” Julie almost screamed. Parker looked at her warningly. “I mean, I’m not home. I’ll just meet you at the station.”

  Twenty minutes later, she and Parker pulled into the parking lot of the police station. The asphalt was cracked and uneven, and she stepped into a deep puddle as she got out of her car, soaking her sneakers. They ran toward the awning outside the glass double doors, where Mackenzie, Ava, and Caitlin were already huddled together.

  Ava’s face was swollen from crying, her makeup smeared. Caitlin had an arm around her shoulder and looked nervous but determined. Julie’s hands clenched slightly, a hot rush of anger toward Mr. Granger spiking through her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked Ava fiercely.

  “Fine.” Ava looked miserable. “I’m just . . . pissed off. And scared.” She glanced at the others. “I think he realized I’d seen his phone.”

  Julie glanced around, half expecting Granger to be sitting in the parking lot, staring at them. But there were only rows and rows of police cars.

  She turned toward the door. “Let’s go,” she said. “You need to turn this asshole in, Ava.”

  She led them into the station. It was nearly nine, and the waiting area was almost empty. A young officer with a dramatically waxed mustache sat alone at the desk, snickering at something on his computer screen. When he saw them, he raised an eyebrow.

  “What can I do for you, ladies?” He leaned over the desk, looking them all up and down. Julie dug her nails into her palms. The last thing Parker needed was some idiot in uniform staring at her.

  Julie jutted a finger at Ava. “She needs to talk to someone about the Nolan Hotchkiss murder,” she said, her voice ringing clearly through the room.

  The cop stared from one to the other of them, gulping like a landed fish. But before he could recover, a deep baritone spoke from farther back behind the desk. “Send them back, Deputy.”

  It was Detective Peters—the one who had been going from classroom to classroom questioning the kids. He’d come to Julie’s calculus class, and she’d masked her handwriting as best she could, hoping it looked nothing like the happy, bubbly letters she’d penned on Nolan’s face.

  Silently, the deputy opened a little gate in the desk to let them through. He led them into a large interrogation room with venetian blinds across a big one-way mirror. Julie felt Parker stiffen—the farther they got from an escape path, the tenser she got. Julie touched Parker’s arm comfortingly, willing her to relax.

  They sat down on uncomfortable folding chairs on one side of a rectangular table. The detective sat across from them. The room smelled faintly moldy, like something moist had gotten into the heating vent. A large poster showing Mount St. Helens exploding hung on one wall.

  “Sorry to make you sit in interrogation. My office isn
’t big enough for all of us.” Detective Peters smiled and leaned back slightly in his chair. “Now, what did you want to tell me about?”

  Julie shifted her weight uneasily. She’d talked to enough cops after Parker’s hospitalization to know that Peters was trying to coax them into telling more than they’d planned.

  Julie exchanged glances with the others. Mackenzie pressed her fingertips together in quick, nervous patterns, her dirty-blond hair in a messy side braid. Caitlin’s lips were a thin line on her face. She looked even smaller than usual in an oversize USA soccer sweatshirt. Parker gripped the edge of the table as if she were on the edge of a cliff, and it was the only thing for her to hold on to.

  Ava finally spoke up. “I think I know who killed Nolan Hotchkiss.” Her voice was so soft Julie could barely hear.

  Detective Peters’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I think it was Mr. Granger,” Julie added. “Our advanced film studies teacher.”

  The detective licked his lips, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. “That’s a very serious accusation, Miss Jalali,” he said finally. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “He’s been . . . intimate with a lot of the girls in our class,” Ava said. “And Nolan knew it. He was blackmailing him.”

  “I see,” said Detective Peters soberly. “Do you have any proof of this?”

  “He came on to me,” Ava said miserably. “Today.”

  “I’ve heard it happening with other girls, too,” Julie pointed out, even though this was all news to her.

  “And how do you know Nolan knew?”

  This time, Parker cleared her throat. “Because I used to be friends with him. He told me he knew. He said Granger kept pictures of girls on his iPhone.”

  Julie stared at Parker, astonished by her quick thinking. They hadn’t rehearsed this. The other girls looked surprised and pleased, too.

  The detective scratched his head. He glanced at Parker, then quickly looked away, perhaps put off by her face. “I see.”

  “You should search his phone,” Ava piped up. “A-and you should look through his house. For evidence of Oxy.”

  “And you should at least arrest him for what he’s doing to these students,” Julie added. “It’s wrong.”

  Detective Peters tapped on the top of his desk. Finally, he shook his head. “Perhaps Granger has some things to answer for, but as far as we’re concerned, Nolan’s death isn’t one of them.” Then he leaned back in his chair again and gave them a long look that was hard to decipher. “But we do have some questions for all of you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WE DO HAVE SOME QUESTIONS for all of you. The words reverberated through Mackenzie’s mind, but before she had the chance to wonder what he was talking about—what type of questions he might ask—Peters went on.

  “We looked through Nolan’s phone shortly after his death. We found some pretty steamy pictures of you there, Miss Wright,” he said, looking straight at Mackenzie.

  Her stomach dropped. She lowered her head, too humiliated to make eye contact with the others. By their gasps, it was clear they didn’t know what he was talking about. “Nolan does that to everyone,” she mumbled.

  Peters didn’t look impressed. “We also tracked down the IP address of the individual who sent out the photos of Mr. Hotchkiss . . . defaced . . . at that party, to an internet café. Several people say a blond girl with your height and build was seen at the time in question.”

  Mac felt her cheeks turn red. “It wasn’t me.”

  Then the detective turned to Ava. “We also found a death threat from you.”

  Ava blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  He opened the manila file on the table in front of him and took out a thick folder. When he opened it, the first page showed a printout of text messages.

  “‘If you keep telling lies about me, I’ll kill you,’” he read out loud.

  Ava’s lips turned downward. “He was spreading rumors about me. I just wanted him to stop.”

  “Twenty different kids told me they saw you heading upstairs with him the night of the party, Miss Jalali.” He gave a mock-confused smile. “I guess you were a little mixed-up the last time we talked, huh?”

  Then the detective looked at Caitlin. “It’s no secret why you might want him dead, Miss Martell-Lewis. But killing a bully isn’t the way to deal with a problem.”

  Caitlin turned pale. “You don’t know anything about me,” she spat.

  “And I saved the best for last.” The detective then held up a photo. It was a close-up showing the word Monster on his face. Julie gasped. “We’re still waiting for a final report from forensics, but you see that funny-looking M, with a loop-de-loop up the middle? Familiar, huh?”

  Then the detective stood. “Look. I don’t know what all this means, but I do know you ladies are lying. I don’t know why, but I’ll give you a break: Tell me the truth now, and we can work something out. It’s better to get everything out in the open before things get really crazy.”

  The room was dead silent. From down the hall, they heard a phone ring. Mac’s hands twitched in her lap. She considered confessing about helping to put Oxy in that drink. It was a simple prank, after all—nothing more than that. They weren’t killers.

  Julie spoke up. “We only came here because you promised we wouldn’t get in any trouble if we had information about the murder. We know it was Mr. Granger. He had the weapon—the drugs—and the motive. All you have to do is prove it.”

  Detective Peters smiled again. This time it wasn’t the affable, easygoing grin but a cold, hard smile. “I assure you we’ll look into Mr. Granger sexually assaulting students, ladies, and we’ll talk to him about that. But I want to talk to you about Nolan. Nolan didn’t die from the OxyContin. Nolan was murdered with cyanide poisoning.”

  “Cyanide poisoning?” Mac blurted, though she hadn’t meant to. Ava kicked her ever-so-softly under the table.

  “That’s right.” Peters closed his manila folder again, his gaze moving slowly and intently over each of them. “Now if you come up with any more theories, be sure to come see me right away. Or maybe I’ll be paying you a visit before you have the chance.”

  He looked at them like he knew everything. For a few seconds, nobody moved. Mac’s brain cycled around the same word again and again and again. Cyanide. Cyanide.

  Then Caitlin stood up violently from the table, shoving her chair back. She walked heavily toward the door. Mackenzie jumped up and scrambled after her, and then the others followed.

  Outside, they crowded next to Mackenzie’s Ford Escape. Caitlin wiped angry tears from the corners of her eyes, then turned and kicked the curb.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” Mackenzie’s eyes were wide. “Should we confess the prank? We didn’t lace that drink with cyanide. I don’t even know what cyanide looks like, let alone how to get it.”

  “No,” Julie insisted. “You saw him in there. He won’t believe us.”

  “Guys, what are the odds that someone killed Nolan just like we planned?” Caitlin said. Her face was red and her breath was coming rapidly like she was on the brink of hyperventilating. “There’s no way that’s a coincidence. None.”

  “Definitely not. Granger must have overheard us,” Ava broke in. “It has to be him. Now we just need proof.” Her eyes darted back and forth. “And I think I know where.”

  It was easy to get into Beacon Heights High, even late at night—so many overachievers came in for meetings and rehearsals that the security guards kept the doors open until after ten most nights. When Mac and Ava swept through the lobby, no one was even sitting at the front booth to sign them in. The halls were quiet and dark, their footsteps echoing down the empty hallways. The girls had decided it was best that only two of them went, and Mackenzie and Ava promised to call the others when they were done.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to find something?” Mackenzie asked as they came to a stop in front of Granger’s doo
r. They’d talked about breaking into his house but decided they’d start with the school. It seemed less extreme somehow.

  “Only one way to find out.” But before she tried it, she looked curiously at Mac. “Those pictures on Nolan’s phone the cops were talking about. He was blackmailing you, right?”

  Mac lowered her eyes. “Not exactly. It was a dumb bet with his friends. And I was an idiot for falling for it.”

  “We were all idiots when it came to him,” Ava said, gripping her hand and squeezing hard. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed. He did that to everyone. I heard he had the same sort of pictures of your friend Claire.”

  “Claire?” Mac blinked. Claire had never told her that. “When?”

  Ava shrugged. “It was when Nolan and I were dating. But who knows? He could have been lying. He said he had pictures of tons of girls.”

  Mac turned and tried the knob. Locked. But she had a plan for that, too. Once, during a recital trip, a bassoon player from Oregon had taught her how to pick a lock with a reed. She glanced up and down the hall, then pulled the stiff wooden reed from her patchwork purse. She leaned down over the doorknob and fiddled with it. A moment later, Mackenzie heard a soft click. They were in.

  “How do you know how to do that?” Ava breathed, astonished.

  Mac smirked. “I’m full of surprises.” She slid the reed back in her pocket, and they closed the door carefully behind them.

  The ghostly outlines of not-completely-erased words lingered on the chalkboard. Ava strode to Granger’s office, which was locked, too. But Mac was able to pick that lock as well, and they pried the door open and went inside.

  It was darker in here, and the office was dustier than the classroom. The air smelled faintly of the cucumber Aveda hand soap Granger used, and the shelves were piled with books and old photography equipment.

  Mac jerked open the top drawer. It was full of paperwork—stacks of homework, a bundle of permission slips for their upcoming field trip to the Majestic Theater in Beacon, pens, and paper clips. In one compartment, they found a pack of cigarettes and an overripe apple.