She started out a little wooden with her first lines, but quickly her voice took on a sincere tone, and she slid into the role as easily as if she'd just pulled on a sweater.
Bron was surprised to find that she had real acting skills. Her singing was nowhere as cool as Whitney's, not as soulful.
As she began to sing, he realized that she had a pretty voice. It wasn't amazing. She had probably never been trained, but it was better than average.
Her tapping was impeccable. The stage had a few leftover props here and there—stairs that went to nowhere, an overturned bucket, a barber pole.
Galadriel danced up the stairs, twirled the bucket, swung on the pole.
When she finished, there was enthusiastic applause, and Bron saw Whitney and Olivia with the other judges exchanging urgent notes. When they finished, Olivia nodded, and Bron felt sure that Galadriel was in.
The sun was setting after the auditions, when Bron walked Galadriel to the car.
When they left the school, Tuacahn had a festive air. Orange lights lit up the school and the theater. People had begun to arrive for the Tuesday performance of "Tarzan," and were lining up on the plaza, talking contentedly. The snack counters wafted a scent of cinnamon-coated almonds and caramel corn, while lights in the gift shop illuminated bronze statues and wall hangings.
"That was so great," Galadriel said. "That was so great!"
Bron said nothing. He realized that he should be on the lookout for strangers. He saw plenty, but none with the cruelly focused gaze of Olivia's enemies.
Bron and Galadriel strolled down in the evening shadows, into a parking lot that was rapidly filling. It was that gloaming time, when shadows deepened toward pure darkness. A crimson glow limned the red rock cliffs behind the school, and bats weaved crooked patterns across the sky, as if writing words that only prophets might read.
If a squad of enemy masaaks is hiding down here, Bron realized, I'll never see them.
Bron got in his car, as Galadriel hopped in the passenger seat. He turned the key with a sense of relief, and sat for a moment, just letting it idle. Some old people walked past on their way uphill to the outdoor theaters.
He glanced at Galadriel. She'd surprised him. He wondered, Do I really have any talent? Sure, I played the guitar today, but that wasn't really me. Olivia loaded me with memories, taught me to play.
But where does the teaching end and me begin? I'm not sure that I'm any better than a karaoke singer.
Bron didn't want that. He wanted the music to be a part of him, as natural as a laugh, as essential as bone.
"That Whitney girl has a crush on you," Galadriel said.
"Yeah," Bron said. "I've got a crush on her, too."
He wondered where he should take Whitney on Friday.
He wondered how he could even be thinking about Whitney with Galadriel in the car. His mind spun. Galadriel was pretty, and apparently talented.
He drove slowly out of the parking lot and downhill, then reached the turn at the road. He had not gone far when he realized two things: he seemed to be heading the wrong way, driving up the hills into the sunset, and Galadriel was just leaning back in her seat, staring at him.
He kept driving for a long mile, and saw a sign announcing that he was entering Snow Canyon Park. There was a ranger's shack just ahead, and the park was closed.
He pulled off the side of the road, and Galadriel laughed in amusement. "Man, you're lost. Turn around already. Unless ... you brought me out here for a reason?" She smiled teasingly.
Bron felt the blood rise to his cheeks, and he turned around, went down the hills with the sparse mesquite bushes until he reached the main road. From there he was able to follow the signs home even in the dark.
He had just reached the T in the road as he came into Pine Valley when he saw Officer Walton's squad car parked by the chapel.
Bron's heart pounded at the sight. He couldn't help think of Kendall's warning about Officer Walton. Bron made sure that he used his turn signal, then took a left and accelerated slowly toward home.
The bubble lights on top of the police car began to flash, and Officer Walton made sure to flip on his siren as he spun out of a driveway and "gave chase."
Bron couldn't believe it. He pulled over at the park, and the squad car came up behind.
Officer Walton turned on his spotlight, so that the car was lit brighter than day. He came out with his long flashlight, the weighted kind that could be used as a club.
Bron hit the switch and rolled down the window, and Officer Walton flashed his light into the cab. There was a gloating expression on his face, tinged with chagrin. He seemed displeased to see Galadriel there, as if having a witness to what was about to happen might suck all of the fun out of his evening.
"Everything all right, ma'am?" he asked.
"I'm fine, officer," she said.
Bron reached for his driver's license, but Officer Walton said cordially, "Bron, could you step out of the car?"
Bron tried to remain calm. He climbed out the door, stood facing Walton. He imagined that he might be asked to walk in a straight line, as if he was drunk, but Walton said, "Will you put your hands on the hood and spread your legs?"
It wasn't until then that Bron saw that Walton had pulled his revolver and had it leveled at Bron's gut.
"What? What's going on?" Bron asked. "Is this about me dating Whitney? I can't believe this!"
He turned and dutifully took the position as Walton patted down his back and waist. "Put your right hand on your neck," Walton ordered.
Bron did as asked, and the officer snapped a handcuff onto his right wrist. Half a second later, Sheriff Walton twisted the arm down while he clasped the cuffs onto Bron's left wrist. By putting a toe into the back of Bron's knee, Walton forced him down onto the ground, where the gravel dug into Bron's skin.
"Galadriel, will you step on out of the car, sweetie?" Officer Walton asked.
Galadriel came out, shaking. "What's going on here?" she begged.
"We got an anonymous tip," Walton explained. "Someone sent a cell phone picture into the police, which identifies Bron here as a suspect in a murder...."
Bron froze. He tried to sound surprised. "Murder?"
"There was an incident down in Saint George, on the on-ramp at Exit 8?"
Bron's heart hammered. This had nothing to do with Whitney at all. Officer Walton went to the passenger side of Bron's car, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a pistol.
Bron blinked in surprise. He didn't recall ever having seen the gun before. He could only imagine that Olivia had put it there. But when?
"Well, well, well?" Walton said. "What have we got here? Maybe I better check into any armed robberies in the area."
Bron wanted to object, to tell Walton that it was Olivia's weapon, but his mind was racing. The only people who knew that he'd been in the car when Olivia threw out the tire traps were the people who were chasing him. They must have been the ones who supplied the police with the "tip."
He hadn't realized that anyone had photographed him.
Which begged the question, "Why?" Why would they want him arrested? He could only think of one answer. They'd been hunting for him, and they'd come up empty. So they'd enlisted the aid of the police.
Saint George was a small city. His arrest would be a media circus, and would land on the front page of the Spectrum. The paper might withhold his name, since he was a juvenile, but the enemy would learn he'd been caught. They'd know where to look.
Neither he nor Olivia would be safe.
Bron worried that if he implicated her at all, Olivia would get arrested, too.
Then what would happen? If the enemy caught him, he wasn't sure. What could a memory merchant do to him? Rip all of the memories from him? Yeah, he thought, they could do that—and probably a whole lot more.
Officer Walton stuck the gun in his belt, reached into the glove compartment, then pulled out a paper bag filled with caltrops. "Looky here," Walton gloated. "T
hese look curiously like the custom-made tire spikes that got thrown out onto the onramp the other day. So what do you do with these, Bron?"
Officer Walton pulled out a spike. The spike was made of iron, and had four prongs. No matter how it fell, one prong would always be left pointing up. Each prong was roughly two inches long, and had a hollow center, so that it would pierce and deflate even the toughest tire.
"Those? I play Jacks with them," Bron said.
"Jacks?" Walton asked, as if he'd never heard of the game.
"You know," Bron replied, "One, two, buckle my shoe?"
"Ohhhh," Walton said. "That little kid's game?"
"Adults can play games, too," Bron suggested.
"According to reports," Walton said. "You were in a white Honda CRV at the time of the incident the other day. There was a woman with you. You mind telling me who it was? Was it Galadriel here?"
"Friday?" Bron said. "I don't remember being with anyone on Friday."
"Olivia?" Walton asked, as if confused. "Was it Olivia, maybe?" Even Walton couldn't imagine Olivia being involved in anything like this, obviously.
"She loaned me her car for a bit, to run some errands," Bron said. "I may have picked up a hitchhiker."
Walton peered at him for a long time, looking down his nose. "You sure that you want to play it this way?"
"I want a lawyer," Bron replied. On television, that always left the cops frustrated and angry, but Walton just smiled coolly, like a lizard in the sun.
"Okay," Walton said. "Bron Jones, you're under arrest for carrying a concealed weapon, vehicular assault, fleeing the scene of an accident, premeditated murder—and a whole lot of other things that I haven't even thought of yet."
Before Bron could say anything more, Walton read him his rights.
Chapter 21
Charges False and Otherwise
"Most criminals believe in their own innocence. They are so used to lying to themselves, telling themselves that they are wonderful people, they never see the truth. My job is to enlighten them—by putting them in a cage."
— Officer Rick Walton
As soon as "Washington County Sheriff' popped up on Olivia's caller ID, she knew it was trouble. She still hoped to get in another two hours on the first night's auditions, but took the call anyway.
"Hello," Olivia whispered. Her voice came shaky, and her stomach clenched. Whitney glanced up in alarm.
The girl on stage continued an interesting rendition of Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy.
"Olivia," Officer Walton said, "could you come down to the Sheriffs Office? We've got a situation. Bron is being detained." His voice was as sweet and oily as honey butter.
Everything inside her warned, "Trap." He plans on arresting me, Olivia thought.
He'd seen her drive her CRV around for years, though she'd never given him reason to run her plates. He knew what kind of car had been involved in the accident last week. By now, he'd put two and two together. She'd hoped that this wouldn't happen. In fact, she realized, some corner of her mind was so afraid that she hadn't completely planned for this possibility.
"All right," Olivia said. She needed to draw out details, to buy time to think. "I don't understand. What is this about?"
"Murder."
Whitney had leaned near, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. Olivia waved her back, got up and headed out the door. The kids would have to handle the rest of the auditions.
She reached the rear of the theater. "Is this about something that happened back in Alpine?"
Walton liked to gloat. Now he couldn't help himself. "No, it's something that happened in Saint George, just last Friday. We got an anonymous tip—a picture of the killer, sent with a text message. It's Bron all right."
"I'm sure that this must be some kind of a prank," Olivia said. She decided that she shouldn't say much more. "If Bron is being accused of something, doesn't he have a right to face his accuser? I'd like to know who sent this picture." She could hear radio chatter in the background, and highway noise. She realized that Walton was calling from a car. "Can I speak to Bron?" she asked loudly.
"Not now," Walton said.
"I'll be right down. I forbid you to interrogate Bron before I get there. He's just a minor." Olivia wasn't sure if Walton would be a stickler for the law. Probably not.
In the background Bron yelled. "Olivia! I want a lawyer!"
Walton hung up.
Whitney sat near the front of the stage, her mind a blur. She'd seen the caller ID on Olivia's phone. She'd heard Sheriff Walton mention Bron's name, ask Olivia to come down to the police station. Walton had said something about "murder."
Whitney felt numb.
In her pack this morning, she'd found a little folded note. It said simply: "You smiled at the wrong boy yesterday."
The note wasn't signed, but it was so like Justin. He was so jealous of other guys, and something about him frightened her. In fact, she felt her skin crawl, as she turned around and searched through the darkened theater.
Justin was there, seven rows back, his face twisted in a superior smirk that said, "I told you so."
Whitney leaned back in her chair, bit her lower lip. Whatever was happening with Bron, she felt certain that Justin was behind it.
It was just like her fling with Nathan Sweet last year. He'd taken her down to Crave for some yogurt, and the next day at school, all of his tires got slashed.
Two days later, Officer Walton had pulled the boy over and found some Oxycontin in his car. Nathan hadn't been into drugs, Whitney felt sure. She suspected that Justin had framed him, and the charges stuck. So he'd transferred out of the school.
That day, she'd found a note in her pack that said, "You may give your body to others, but your heart will always belong to me."
Something about the note had chilled her to the bone. It was as if Justin sought to claim her, regardless of her lack of feelings for him.
He was always watching her at school—standing down the hall, sitting at a nearby table at lunch, following her when she went to the restrooms.
It wasn't stalking, exactly. At least, when she'd told the police what was happening, they said that there was nothing that they could do legally. But it was creepy.
I should have warned Bron, Whitney thought.
Walton glared at Bron as they sped down the highway. "Shut your mouth back there!"
"I want to talk to Olivia!" Bron said. "I heard her ask to talk to me."
Walton considered, then said, "You'll get that chance." He drove while he peered into the cage in the back of the car.
Bron resisted the impulse to shout "Deer!" just to force the sheriff to watch the road, but Walton didn't seem to have a sense of humor.
Bron felt a tingling in his hands. His sizraels had begun to extend. He panicked.
Sweat broke on his brow, and his throat went dry. He tried to steady his breathing.
Nothing bad will happen. Nothing bad will happen, he told himself. He knew that it was a lie. Terrible things were about to happen.
Olivia shoved her cell phone in her pocket, hitting the school doors at a run. It was full dark, and music played in the outdoor theater. The stage lights, reflecting from the rock walls of the canyon, gave the sky a surreal, bloody glow. The air smelled of popcorn. Strings of orange lights outside the theater reminded Olivia of pumpkins and Halloween.
Every muscle in her body tensed. She walked in the dark, wanting to run, but she didn't want to call attention to herself or risk twisting an ankle in the dark. An instant later her phone vibrated. She looked at the caller ID. It was the Mercers. She answered.
Galadriel's voice was hysterical. "Uh, is this Olivia—Mrs. Hernandez, I mean?"
"Hello, Galadriel," Olivia said.
Galadriel began to sob. "Bron's been arrested!" She kept talking, trying to explain, but fell to blubbering. Olivia couldn't understand her.
"I know," Olivia said. "It's all right. I'm sure that it's a misunderstanding."
> "Really?" Galadriel asked, suddenly coherent.
"Yes, really," Olivia said.
"How did you find out so fast?" Galadriel sniffed. "I mean, he was just taken in, not ten minutes ago."
That confirmed Olivia's suspicion. Walton was so eager to smirk, he hadn't even taken the time to get Bron into booking.
"Officer Walton called me," Olivia said.
Olivia was in real trouble she knew. The Draghouls would soon be on her trail. Her whole world could come crashing down. There was only a slim chance to save it.
Galadriel began sobbing again, and Olivia asked, "Galadriel, have you told your mother yet?"
"Yes."
That was a nuisance.
"Can you do me a huge favor? Can you promise me not to talk to anyone else about this? Not anyone. I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding, but if news gets out, it could really hurt Bron's reputation. We wouldn't want to do that to him, would we?"
Galadriel hesitated. Olivia knew what she was thinking. She'd want emotional support. She'd want to gossip with her Mends. Olivia was asking her to resist that impulse.
When Galadriel didn't answer, Olivia took a risk, asked, "Do you love Bron?"
"What?" the question caught Galadriel off-guard.
"Do you love him?" Olivia said simply.
The question was premature, of course. They hardly knew each other. But Olivia understood how powerful a teenage crush could hit a girl. Besides, "love" could mean just about anything. Galadriel could love him as a friend, as a human.
"Yeah, I really do," Galadriel said. She couldn't resist the impulse to be a little dramatic.
"Then do this for him: Don't tell a soul what has happened. I'm sure that this will be cleared up by morning."
"Okay...." Galadriel sniffled.
Olivia sighed in relief and thanked her profusely as she hung up. She reached her pickup, fumbled with the keys, hands shaking.
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