Slain

by Harper, Livia

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yup.”

  “Did he have any money hidden away somewhere?”

  “Like from the robbery?”

  “Yeah. Or anywhere, I guess.”

  “Not that we ever saw. Money wasn’t exactly plentiful growing up. Why? You think it could have something to do with June?”

  “I was just thinking that if he had something stashed away, maybe he told her, and maybe—“

  “Maybe she got killed because somebody knew?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I doubt he would do that. He’s a selfish prick. Stole my piggy bank for a liquor run once; didn’t even apologize,” she swirls a fry through a plop of ketchup. “Did June seem like she had extra money?”

  “No. Just the opposite. She was always pretending to forget her purse and getting someone else to pay for her.”

  “That sounds about right. If she had it, she’d spend it. I remember this one time she blew all her birthday money on this discount prom dress. She was, like, eight years old maybe. The thing was ripped and didn’t even fit her. But once she saw it she had to have it. She’s always been like that. If she’d had money, you would have known.”

  “But what about if someone else thought she did?”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t want to shit on your ideas here, but I didn’t know where she was. I thought she was still living with my mom, and I’m her sister. How could somebody else find her? And why now? Why not a year ago? Two years ago?”

  It’s a good point. I sit for a minute, thinking.

  “So what about him? Is there some reason why he would want her dead?”

  “Honestly, and it pains me to say this ‘cause I hate that asshole, but I don’t see it. I don’t see him being involved at all. It’s not his style. The only way he’d be behind it is if he had something to get out of it.”

  “But he’s killed people before.”

  “For money. June, though? The disgusting bastard is obsessed with her. He wouldn’t have wanted her dead.”

  “What if he was jealous? She did ask him for his blessing, so he knew—“

  “On the advice of somebody at your church. Who tells a kid she needs to ask a murderer for permission to get married? That’s seriously fucked up.”

  “I know,” I say.

  And I didn’t even tell her that June asked for his forgiveness about their past. What, exactly, did she think she had done wrong? A little part of me cringes. There are some people at church, not a lot, who might believe that any sexual contact between Lee and June would have been at least partially her fault, even as a child. It has to do with a verse in 1 Corinthians about not doing anything to cause your brother to stumble. So, since lust itself is a sin, causing someone to lust is a sin too. It’s the whole reason why women are expected to dress modestly. But applying that concept to what happened to June? That’s an older way of thinking, very dated and very legalistic. It still lurks around, though, the same way most people’s grandparents seem to be just a little bit racist.

  June was so concerned about being good enough for Nicolas. Could someone have told June that to purify herself she needed to ask for forgiveness from Lee? The only people I can think of who think that way are a million years old, and I don’t know any reason why any of them would have had contact with June at all. So who would have put that idea in her head? Was it the mentor Lee mentioned? I didn’t even know anyone was mentoring her at all, although it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to offer to mentor a new Christian. I make a mental note to ask around about it.

  “If Lee was jealous,” May says, “he would have gone after the guy, that Nicolas kid, not her.” She looks me straight in the eye. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think it was someone she knew. Someone who went to that church. The news is full of sick fucks who hang out at places like that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE ALARM GOES OFF at 6:15 the next morning. Apparently, you still have to go to school when you’re a murder suspect. Especially one who wishes to appear innocent.

  Before getting ready, I open an e-mail Jackson sent last night. A picture of the Empire State Building pops onto the screen, lit up golden against a dark-blue night. Then his message beneath it:

  I’m going to kiss you here too.

  My arms feel empty without you in them. When can I see you?

  Love,

  Jackson

  I type a message back:

  Soon. I promise.

  Miss you so much it hurts.

  Love,

  Emma

  After I send it, I shower and do my hair, wishing the school had just decided to stay closed for the rest of the year. They’re calling a special Chapel Day today for June. Usually, Wednesday is Chapel Day at SCHS, but they’re adding one today too. This means I have to wear a dress to school. And not just any dress will do. Like everything else at SCHS, there are specific rules. The depth of the neckline, the length of the sleeves, the tightness around the hips and chest, and especially the length of the hemline.

  Every Wednesday all the girls have to kneel next to their desks first thing in the morning. If your dress doesn’t touch the floor you have two choices. You can either wait in the principal’s office for a parent to bring a replacement and miss your classes, or you can wear one of their skirts, which are pretty awful. They look like something from Little House on the Prairie. It’s super embarrassing, which is probably why they have them.

  But do you know how hard it is to find a dress or skirt that goes all the way below your knee? Hard. You can’t shop at Forever 21, that’s for sure. It’s mostly stuff you’d find in the petite section at Macy’s, dresses that make all of us girls look like mini-executives, like we should be holding briefcases and carpooling and power-walking at lunch. I pick out a dress that won’t get me skirted and head out.

  Mike picks me up. It’s part of the deal. He will drive me to school and home, and in between we will spend most of our time together. I am his disobedient child, and he must watch me to make sure I behave.

  I wish Paige had ridden with him, but she didn’t. She probably wanted to give us some time to ourselves.

  “Morning,” he says, his face bright and sunshiny as though everything between us is fine. I’ve always envied the ability some people have to lie to themselves.

  “Hey.”

  “I brought you some breakfast. Oatmeal and an iced coffee.” Mike is a utilitarian eater, and expects everyone else to be the same. He doesn’t understand likes and dislikes. He understands best and worst. At some point, someone told him that oatmeal is the best way to start a day, and so this is what he chooses for me. I’ve already had breakfast, and I hate oatmeal, but I sip the bitter iced coffee and thank him. Rejection of his gifts will only make it worse.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Okay,” he says, his eyes on the road, barely paying attention to me.

  “Do you know if June had a spiritual mentor?”

  “Why would I know that?” he says. “You led her to Christ, right?”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t really mentoring her, at least I hadn’t been for a long time. Did she ever come to you and ask for advice about anything?”

  “No. Why would she?”

  “I don’t know, I just thought—“

  “She did flash me once, though. She tried to make it seem like an accident, but it wasn’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He huffs, “Not so fun when the shoe’s on the other foot, is it?”

  “What happened?”

  “We were on shift at the food bank together, stocking shelves in the back. Her shirt came unbuttoned, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. You should have seen the way she looked at me. She didn’t cover herself at all. It was like she just expected me to go after her or something.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What do you think I did, Emma? You and I were together. I
turned away and told her to cover herself up and have some freaking self-respect. Which, in case you’re wondering, is what a real gentleman does.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Ran out of the room crying, like a little girl. It wasn’t long after that she and Nicolas got together. I guess if she couldn’t have me she decided to settle for your leftovers.”

  “Okay,” I say, not sure how to process any of this. Could Mike be even more old school than I thought? Could this incident with June be enough to set him off?

  “Honestly? I’m not all that sorry she’s gone. I mean, I didn’t want her to die or anything, but I didn’t like her. She was a bad influence on you. And she was definitely a bad influence on Nicolas. That’s why I told him to break up with her.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, but he wouldn’t listen. She had him so blinded. Did you know he was planning to propose?”

  “Really?”

  So Mike knew.

  “Yeah. He can be kind of an idiot sometimes. I can see why things didn’t last between you two.”

  At school, Mike drops me off at my first class.

  “Okay. See you at lunch.” I take a step away and release his hand, but he doesn’t release mine. Instead, he pulls me back and kisses me. It’s our first kiss in a long time, and it’s not a mistake that it’s in view of everyone.

  “Mr. Kent and Ms. Grant, that’s enough.” It’s Miss Hope, frowning in disapproval. Miss Hope isn’t just involved with the Dance Team and other Youth Ministries with Pastor Pete. She’s also the history teacher at our school. Psychology too. And this semester, for me, homeroom.

  It’s a good thing this isn’t Principal Hendricks. If it was, we’d probably both have detention, and an uncomfortable chat with him and our parents about purity with a capitol P.

  “Get to class. Both of you,” she says.

  Mike squeezes my hand then trots down the hall. I pass Miss Hope to go into homeroom, then think of something and come back out to find her.

  “Um, Miss Hope?”

  “Yes?” she asks.

  “You don’t happen to know if anyone was mentoring June do you? Spiritually?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no,” she says, puzzled.

  “Pastor Pete wasn’t giving her any extra counseling or anything?”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t. He tries not to do too much one-on-one time with the girls because of how it looks. I’m sure you understand how a pastor has to protect his reputation.”

  “I do. Dad worries about that kind of thing too. Usually he asks my mom to be there if a woman needs some help, which is why I thought to ask you.”

  She smiles, “Sounds like my wonderful fiancé has picked up a trick or two from your dad. He’s been asking me to do the same thing. It brings me a lot of joy to be able to help him out. Plus it gives me a chance to talk more with you guys, which I love.”

  “But not with June? She didn’t, um, ask about getting baptized or anything?”

  “No, I’m sorry. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious about some things she said before she died. I was hoping she had someone to confide in, but it sounds like maybe not.”

  “Well, I really wish she had come to me about her troubles. It would have been nice to spend some extra time with her before…” Her voice trails off. “It just would have been nice to spend more time with her.”

  I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “Did you know that Nicolas proposed to her?”

  “Did he really?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Poor thing. He must be devastated,” she says. “It’s really too bad he didn’t come talk to us about that. June was so young, after all. I’m sure Pastor Pete would have advised against it, and maybe saved him a little bit of heartache.”

  I doubt that, but I don’t say so.

  “Emma, while we’re on the topic of relationships, would you mind doing me a favor?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Can you cool it with the kissing in the halls? It really is against school policy. I know your parents have their own rules for you, and I’m sure you’re respecting them, but here it should be different. We just have a higher standard in these halls. It would be nice if you could be an example for everyone.”

  She saw the whole thing. Mike was clearly the one who initiated the kiss. Why is she ragging on me?

  “I’m sorry, it was kind of a surprise for me too,” I say, trying to argue without arguing.

  “Well, sometimes we women need to be the standard-bearers. Temptation is harder on the guys than us.”

  “Of course,” I say, swallowing my anger. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

  “Thank you, sweetie, that will really help a lot.”

  I nod and follow her inside the classroom.

  “Hem check, ladies,” Miss Hope says when the final bell rings for first period.

  All us girls kneel next to our desks. The boys stare at us, trying to see if anyone will fail. And maybe trying to see other things too. Who knows what’s going through their dirty little minds. We all know what girls do for boys when they’re on their knees. The whole thing is just embarrassing.

  In front of me, Hannah Mansone is clearly trying to sit closer to her heels so that Miss Hope won’t notice that her skirt is too short. Like, way too short.

  “Sit up straight, Hannah,” Miss Hope says, then stops right next to her. “Hannah.” Her tone is clearly disappointed.

  “I thought it was okay if you wear pants underneath,” Hannah says. It’s such a lie I almost laugh. She’s been going to SCS since kindergarten, just like me. Around here, leggings aren’t considered pants.

  “You know the rules perfectly well, Miss Mansone. Gather your things.” Miss Hope turns to the rest of us, who are still kneeling. “I know you girls think this is a burden, but you should really be thankful. In other schools, it’s the opposite. You’d feel the pressure to show more and more, and lose yourselves little by little. Here, the boys know to respect you.”

  Yeah, my aching knees feel super respected right now.

  “All right, everybody up. Homework out.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  AFTER HOMEROOM I WALK toward my next class: British literature. Today we’re supposed to be discussing the concept of filial ingratitude in King Lear, which I haven’t finished yet.

  People always think that because you go to a Christian school it means you spend all your time learning about the Bible and are clueless about everything else, which is sort of true, but not completely. We do have a required Bible elective every semester, and chapel once a week, and it’s definitely intelligent design over evolution in science.

  Otherwise our school is very competitive. With about a hundred students in each grade, we test in the eightieth percentile on all the national tests, and 91 percent of our graduates go to college, including some Ivy League schools, every year. We’re also considered one of the top ten athletic schools in Colorado, with twenty-four state championships since the school opened fifteen years ago. Paige will be the hundredth student of ours to get some type of Division I A scholarship. Lots of kids attend who aren’t even religious, because of its reputation and the .

  On my way to class I see the first promposal of the year. Yes, we have a prom. At least it’s called a prom. It’s not much like a prom you’d see at a public school; it’s really more of a banquet. There’s a catered dinner with games and photo booths and performances. There’s a band, but not all night, and there’s dancing, but not with your date. It’s mostly in a circle of your friends and is closely monitored by the chaperones for lewd or suggestive movements.

  This year’s prom theme is “A Night with the King.” It’s going to be a masquerade ball. Last year’s medieval castle theme was “The Kingdom.” Do you see a trend?

  Vicki Martinez’s locker is a few down from mine, and I see it all happen. She opens it after first period, and a bunch of red helium balloons come out with “PROM?” written on them
in black sharpie. They’re from Gus Stead, who’s hiding down the hall with a video camera and a dozen roses.

  Half the drama of prom is the promposal. I’ve heard other schools call it the “prom ask.” The measure of the guy you go with is how he does the promposal. You want to be the girl who gets flash-mob serenaded in the cafeteria. You do not want to be the girl who gets handed a limp carnation in the hallway with a smirking, “Wanna go?”

  It’s mostly about bragging rights, for both the girls and the guys. Treasure hunts are popular. Animal costumes are common. Semi-homoerotic dance routines where your football buddies wear matching sweats and shake their booties, bare chested, to Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” are normal. Last year, Mike rented a hot air balloon for us to ride in while we flew over the football field where he had people lying on the ground spelling out “PROM?” As far as the girls were concerned, he won. It’s hard to beat that. You can’t say he doesn’t try. I’m dreading whatever he has cooked up for this year.

  Gus’s promposal to Vicki gets points for originality, I guess, but loses points for timing. It’s tacky to do it today, even if it’s sort of that time of year. He should have waited. It’s weird to see all this normal happening when everything is so upside-down right now. June didn’t go here, but most of us knew her. It’s too soon. And now that I know she was living in the church, I’m guessing she wasn’t going to school at all.

  It starts in British lit. On my desk, for everyone to see, is a giant red puzzle piece, hand-cut out of cardboard, as big as the desk. I have a moment of hope where I think it’s there by mistake, but then I see an envelope with my name on it. I cringe as I open it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THIS IS WHAT THE handmade card says:

  Emma, Emma, fair and bright,

  A beacon against the dark night.

  Your vision steady, your heart true,

  And now a little puzzle for you.

  Eight pieces to my heart

  This one is just the start.

  They’ll be waiting throughout the day

  Put them together to see what they say.

  Oh god. He just had to pick today, didn’t he?