“Well, there’s nothing here now, and no sign that there ever was.” My dad puts his hand to his forehead as Mr. Murphy hovers nearby, frowning. I haven’t forgotten his involvement, or the note he left. Speaking of, I stuffed it in my yukata pocket as I ran. I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to look at it. Chances are, that purple ink ran when it got wet, and I won’t be able to read a thing.
But I don’t need to.
I know who ‘Adam’ is now.
I focus my glare on Mr. Murphy; he notices right away and swallows hard, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“It was probably a prank or something,” Dad continues, and I swear, if he isn’t going to turn purple and blow up, then maybe I will.
“A prank? Do you still think I’m making all of this up?” I ask, taking a step toward him and clutching my hands together in front of my chest. “Because I need to hear you say you believe me.”
“I’ll check with the other staff members and make sure all students are accounted for. Mr. Murphy, if you wouldn’t mind escorting Chuck back to my room.”
“Your room?” I ask, blinking stupidly through the dirty lenses of my glasses. They could use a serious cleaning right about now. “Why your room?”
“Chuck Carson, I do not need to run every parenting decision I make past you. Please follow Mr. Murphy back to the lodge, and don’t argue with me. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
“In trouble for what?” I ask, managing to keep my voice even and low. “In trouble for having sex? Because we both know I’m having it now. I’m seventeen, and in four months, I’ll be eighteen.”
Archie turns and walks away, but I’m not done.
I follow after him, grabbing onto his arm. He pauses to look down at me, and there’s a fury and maybe even a deep-seated fear burning in his eyes that I don’t understand. If he’d only tell me, I’d get it. If he’d only make his point known in words instead of orders.
“Dad, please, talk to me.”
He hesitates for the briefest of moments before tearing his arm from my grip and taking off in the direction of the lodge. A frown settles over my lips as I turn back to Spencer and Mr. Murphy. This could be a mistake, but … I’m going to do it anyway.
“We know it’s you,” I say, and Mr. Murphy blinks big, innocent blue eyes at me. He’s always so fucking nice all the time. Figures there’d be something wrong with him. Maybe he’s a psychopath who can fake his emotions, just like Church said. “You’re Adam.”
“Ex-excuse me?” Mr. Murphy chokes out as Spencer’s brows go up. I didn’t exactly have the opportunity to fill the guys in after Dad caught me naked-ass-to-dick with Church in the hot springs pool.
“You’ve been writing the notes, in purple ink. You’re Adam,” I state confidently, lifting my chin up. “I saw you pin a note to my door, just before the attack happened. The question is: are you one of the murderers, or are you playing a different game?”
“Jesus, Chuck,” Spencer says, casting a wary look around the shadowed woods surrounding us. We’re standing just past the ominous red arch of the torii gate. It’s creepy as hell out here, I won’t lie. There are little cement statues covered in moss, gazing at us from the underbrush, and a whispering breeze that brings chills up on the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry, I don’t—” Mr. Murphy starts, but then I take a menacing step toward him and he pauses, his gaze locked with mine.
“Are you one of the killers, Lionel? Or what? Because I’m seriously tired of being in the dark. This shit has gone too far. We know you’re involved, just not in what capacity.”
“Mr. Carson,” Mr. Murphy begins, his face tightening with anger. “I’m still a staff member, so please consider how you speak to me, or I’ll be forced to have a word with your father.”
“Go ahead. And by the way, when we’re in private like this, you can call me Charlotte. We all know you know my secret.” Mr. Murphy’s face pales as I turn away and head back to the lodge. I’m not about to wait around for ‘Adam’ to be my escort. If he has a problem with me heading back to my room with Church, he can go find Archie and explain the notes he’s been leaving me, too.
“You shouldn’t have confronted him like that,” Spencer says, jogging to catch up to me. “He could still be one of the killers.”
“He’s not,” I say, and I can feel it in my gut that I’m right. Mr. Murphy is too skittish, too nervous. He could hardly hurt a fly. And I mean that, like, literally. One time, there was this huge horsefly buzzing around our English lit classroom, and instead of just swatting it, Mr. Murphy spent fifteen minutes trying to shoo it out an open window. “I don’t know what he’s up to, or what his end-game is, but he’s not a killer.”
Spencer frowns and exhales, tucking his hands into the pockets of his yukata as we head inside the breakfast room and past Mark’s raucous table where all his heartless, annoying football friends howl and squeal, like Eugene was never there, like he was never one of them. I haven’t seen them show any remorse. They didn’t even light a remembrance candle for him on the little shrine near the front desk.
“You’re that certain he’s not a killer, so when are you going to be that certain about me?” Spencer asks, and as soon as we turn the corner away from the breakfast area, he pushes me against the wall with a hand on my shoulder. He leans his elbow on the wall above my head and stares down at me, eyes dark with frustration.
“You were outside wearing a hoodie, Spencer Hargrove,” I say, wanting to cry but refusing to let myself shed tears. I can’t decide if I’m upset because of the dead body, because of the chase … or because of the uncertainty. I’m frustrated with myself for not being able to trust the boys. And I’m frustrated with them for making it so hard to do it in the first place. “Right at the butt cheek of dawn.”
“Butt cheek of dawn?” he asks, looking slightly perplexed. “That’s not a phrase, Chuck.”
“Sure it is. Why is butt crack of dawn a phrase, but not butt cheek? What’s the difference?”
“It’s crack of dawn, Chuck-let,” he argues, but I shake my head and hold up a finger.
“I’ve heard butt crack of dawn used plenty of times.”
“Yeah, by you.” Spencer shakes his head at me, and then sighs, pressing his forehead to mine. My eyes close of their own accord, and my hands lift to fist in the front of his yukata. That spark between us is heating up again, and even with my suspicions, I feel powerless to stop it.
“I was out smoking early because I couldn’t sleep, Chuck. I couldn’t sleep because I knew you were in there with Church, and I …” He exhales hard, and his warm breath feathers against my lips. My eyes crack open, and I find myself staring up at him, at those long, dark lashes lying against his cheeks. “I was jealous,” he admits. Spencer opens his eyes and crooks a wily half-smile. “Doesn’t look too good on me, does it? All this jealousy?”
“I’d be worried about you if you weren’t jealous,” I whisper back, wanting to kiss him so bad my lips hurt. “I mean, if you were dating another girl … let alone multiple girls—identical twins, no less—I’d lose my shit. I couldn’t do it; it’d break me.”
“Break you?” he says, and then chuckles, his cedar and hyssop smell taking over me. “It’d take a lot more than that to break you, Chuck-let.”
I smack him in the chest with the back of one hand, and then grab the edge of his yukata.
“I don’t care that you’re jealous; I get it. I don’t want to share you with anybody else.” The words come out in a low whisper, so low that I’m afraid Spencer hasn’t heard me, and I’ll have to repeat myself. He leans down suddenly and takes my lips in that frustratingly perfect way of his, this sweetly domineering escapade that leaves me breathless and enthralled all at once.
“You don’t have to share me,” he promises, sucking on my lower lip, taking it prisoner before mercifully releasing it. “I’m just having trouble sharing you. That’s what kept me up all night, got me up so early. I was just trying to smoke a few cig
arettes and have a think in the damn woods.” He leans back a bit and picks at the front of his yukata with his fingers. “That isn’t even my hoodie; it’s Micah’s. I borrowed it last night when Ranger and I went to smoke. It gets cold here in …” Spencer looks around for a minute and frowns. “You know, wherever this is, Butt Cheek, Middle of Nowhere, yeah?”
A smile twitches on my lips, and then I groan and sag back against the wall.
“That was Micah’s hoodie?” I ask, pointing over my shoulder to indicate the clothing line where the soggy hoodie in question now hangs. Spencer nods briefly before pausing and gives me a look.
“You don’t think …” he starts as I scrub my hands down my face.
“I don’t want to think he’s a killer any more than I do you,” I sigh, dropping my hands to my sides. Spencer reaches into his pocket and digs around for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, drawing first one out and then the other. He pauses again, frowns, and then flips the lighter over, so we can see what’s on the other side.
What he shows me … gives me serious fucking chills.
There are spatters of red wax all over the damn thing.
“Let me guess,” I start, before Spencer can say anything else. “This is Micah’s lighter, too?”
Spencer might not be one of the killers … but Micah could be.
“It's just a lighter,” Micah starts, blinking big green eyes at me as I drop the offending item into his palm. He studies it for a moment, and then his face pales. Likely, he’s doing the same thing I am, and recalling the red candles and the headless bird, the spatters of red wax left on the coffee table in the girls’ dorm. “Ah, covered in red wax. But I can explain that.”
“Dude, you sound guilty as fuck,” Tobias murmurs, giving his brother a sidelong glance. “Even I don't know why you have a lighter covered in red wax in your hoodie pocket.”
“I brought it to smoke weed with Spencer,” Micah argues, lifting an arm and gesturing at his friend. He reaches up to ruffle his red-orange hair as Church and Ranger watch him, standing to the right of the door.
Somehow, I feel like I'm surrounded by sharks in this room.
Just … are they going to eat me or eat the fuckers who are trying to kill me?
“Listen up, Jaws,” I start, only vaguely realizing that perhaps my Jaws movie reference only makes sense to me. “You better explain yourself and quick. All of you.” My eyes flick over to Church as he exhales and closes his own eyes for a moment. I still have yet to see hide nor hair of Mr. Dave.
“I …” Micah starts, and then clenches his teeth like he knows he’s been caught doing something he's not supposed to. He runs his tongue across his lower lip and glances over at his twin. “I wanted to do something nice for Charlotte. I brought some candles. Just figured we might have a romantic sort of moment together.”
“You did what?” Tobias asks, his voice low and cold. I sense the tension between them pull taut, and my mind drifts to Amber, this mysterious girl I still know nothing about.
“Yeah, well, I …” Micah trails off and turns away, moving across the room and sliding his shoji screen door open, so we can all see the koi pond on the other side. He's shaking, like he knows he's been caught and sees no way out of it. “Even though I like sharing girls with you, sometimes I want to be my own person for five fucking seconds.”
My mouth drops open, and I realize there’s a whole other layer of drama here to sort through that I haven't even touched.
There are the murderers …
And then there are the guys.
It's a whole other shit show I'll have to eventually go through, but now isn't the time.
“Interpersonal drama aside,” I begin, touching Tobias’ arm, so that he doesn't think I'm trying to downplay his feelings at all. I get it: once upon a time, Micah cheated with his girlfriend, and here he is trying to get private moments with me without telling his brother. Not cool. “Why red candles? And how did you get wax all over the lighter?”
Micah glances over his shoulder, and I can’t help but notice how full and pouty his lips are as he frowns, or how much I like the pointed, angular lines of his face. He looks sheepish, but not like he’s been caught in the midst of a murder plot. No, he’s just a boy who screwed up a little.
“You know the Adamson campus used to be home to a church and an abbey, right? There are candles and crosses and all sorts of random shit in the storage rooms. I swiped some the other day when Eddie was smoking a cigarette. Red just seemed sort of romantic to me.” He shrugs one shoulder and leans his back against the doorjamb. “And you try lighting dozens of candles in an enclosed space without knocking any over.” He narrows his eyes briefly, and then flips Mark off when he sees him hitting on a server girl across the way. The football player dickhead actually flips him off right back, and the boys bristle. “That turd sandwich needs an extra helping of ass kicking on the side, don't you think Tobias?”
His twin doesn't answer, pursing his lips and crossing his arms over his chest. For several minutes, the room is quiet. I'm stuck standing near the door with Spencer on my right, Tobias on my left; Ranger is right in front of me, and I can hardly look at Church.
“Where exactly did you set up all the candles?” I ask, and Tobias grimaces like I’ve slapped him. Micah gestures loosely in the direction of the staff cabins and shakes his head, like he’s happy to explain later but not right now.
“I’ve lit them three times, but I hadn’t figured out the best way to ask you over there.”
“You mean ask her over there without me knowing about it?” Tobias quips, and I bite back a grimace of my own.
Ranger, bless his heart, seems to realize that we’re in desperate need of a subject change.
“How did it go with the headmaster?” he asks, breaking the tension briefly as he lifts sapphire eyes to mine. There's something almost desperate in his gaze that makes me squirm, but I just don't feel like I'm in the right mindset to figure it out.
There was a dead kid in those woods.
I was almost a dead kid in those woods.
Church Montague, my pretend fiancé, stabbed our teacher.
“There was no body, no blood, no sign of anything. Pretty sure my dad either thinks I'm crazy or that I'm making it up.” I rub my hands over my face, and then pause when I see him striding across the yard with the owner of the hot springs lodge by his side. He pauses briefly near the lobby entrance to glare at me, and then continues on inside.
So at least he knows I deliberately disobeyed him at this point.
Guess I have to wait to find out what he plans on doing about it.
“Did you try calling the police?” I ask, glancing back at Ranger.
“I did. Your dad already called them, and they said they've got a patrol on the way. But I think you're right, I don't think they believe us.” Ranger tucks his phone back in his sweatpants.
“We have, what, four nights left here?” I ask, trying and failing to run my fingers through my hair. It's too matted and curly to do much with at this point. Spencer helps me untangle myself from my own hair and gives my hand a squeeze. “I can't even imagine.”
“Five. Not that it matters,” Church supplies, and the smooth, easy sound of his voice gives me the chills. “These people, whoever they are, very clearly have an agenda they're willing to carry out, regardless of locale.”
“Where is Mr. Dave, Church?” I ask, and he frowns at me, shaking his head slightly.
“I don't know. I removed the knife and left him there to go after you. You were being chased, Charlotte.” Church pushes off the wall and moves over to me. Despite an initial spark of fear, I hold my ground and look up at him. He gets close, close enough that I can smell that signature lilac and rosemary scent of his, the scent we share because we use the same damn shampoo. Even when I left Adamson to head back to Santa Cruz, I took a bunch with me, just so I could keep smelling it.
I told myself it was because I just like the damn stuff, and it's luxe as hell, s
omething I definitely couldn't afford on my own … but maybe it was because it made me think of him? Gah, I’m such a girly, romance-obsessed weirdo! If I ever get to that point where I’m smelling sweaty t-shirts, so help me …
“I didn't stab the librarian. If I did, you would know. I would tell you that I'd done it, and why I did it.” Church reaches up and pushes a loose curl from my forehead. It might be sexy, if my hair wasn't all gross and tangled from rolling around in my sleep. “I'm not sure where he went, but he very clearly came in to tell me something important. I think he's working with Lionel Murphy.”
“That son of a bitch,” Ranger grumbles under his breath. Before we questioned Micah, I gave a quick rundown of my side of the story. Everyone is now officially filled in on all the goings-on from this morning. The first thing the twins and Spencer suggested was that we ‘kick his ass’, but beating up a teacher is sort of worst case scenario stuff.
“You think Mr. Dave is a good guy?” I ask as Church runs his long fingers down the side of my face, and then gently tucks his fingertips beneath my chin. It's a firm but gentle command to look up at him, and even though my first response is to be ornery and turn away with a scowl, I end up looking into his eyes regardless.
“Neutral, maybe. The only good guys are standing in this room. No matter how the evidence looks, do you believe that?” I start to respond, but Church cuts me off by leaning down and capturing my lips in a torturous kiss that's equal parts reassuring and terrifying.
The sweet, sharp taste of danger lingers on his lips, but I find myself falling for it anyway. A great kiss does not a trustworthy person make, and yet …
“What are we going to do if we get stuck here for five nights?” I ask instead, because even if we’re right, and the dead student is an Adamson boy who just happens to be missing, that doesn't mean my father or the police will believe us. I mean, why should they? It sounds far-fetched, like some weird Japanese anime episode. Murder at the Oishii Onsen Lodge, Part I.
The Forever Crew Page 2
