All The Stars In Heaven

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Carl yanked open the refrigerator door. He stood there, staring at the empty shelves.

  “You did great getting Eddie,” Grant said. “You really came through for us, planting fifteen bags on him, getting him right where he needed to be.” He looked up at the ceiling. “That’s the kind of big we need this time.”

  Carl’s mouth twitched. “I did do good there, didn’t I?” He turned to Grant. “But you had the fun part, watching him die, seeing his expression after he drank—”

  “Don’t.” Grant held up a hand. “I warned you, you’re not ever to talk about that—with anyone.”

  “You brought it up.” Carl returned his attention to the empty refrigerator. “I miss Sarah’s cooking.”

  “Me too,” Grant said. “The sooner you get this done, the sooner things will be back to normal.”

  “Yeah.” Carl took a jar of jelly from the door. He unscrewed the lid and stuck his finger inside. “Alright. I’ll go back. Give it a few days for things to cool off, then I’ll take some more.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Magnificent Mount Trashmore,” Jay announced as they stopped in front of the twelve-foot garbage sculpture on the Science Center lawn. “One of the seven wonders of . . . this twenty-five-foot section of campus.”

  “I can’t believe someone willingly touched all that garbage.” Sarah wrinkled her nose. “I feel like I need to spray myself with Lysol just standing this close.”

  “Go through that latest bottle of sanitizer yet?” Jay asked.

  “Almost,” Sarah said, not catching the teasing in his voice. “Why would anyone build something out of trash?”

  Jay used his foot to point out the sign near the bottom of the sculpture. “They do it every year. It’s all about being green. If no one on campus ever recycled, it would be even taller, but if everyone did their part, the pile would only be six feet.”

  Sarah’s mouth twisted. “Does that make my father and me red? As in, sound the sirens, these people use disposable everything and contribute much more than their share to the landfills?”

  “Nah.” Jay reached for her hand as they started walking again. “It isn’t your fault he’s that way. And now that you’re on your own, I’d bet you do things differently.”

  “Now I’m all about china and silver and at least two forks at every meal. You’d think we were dining with dignitaries every night the way Mrs. Larson sets the table.”

  “She likes you—a lot,” Jay added. “I’m glad you decided to stay with her.” And glad she let me add a deadbolt to the front door.

  “Me too,” Sarah said. “She’s the sweetest lady, and I feel like I’m helping her with the cleaning and things that are difficult for her to do anymore. Last week she even tried teaching me to drive her car, so she won’t have to.”

  “I hope it went better than the bike lesson.”

  Sarah bit her lip. “Not really. But we found a place where I can take classes. They offered an extended payment plan, so I’m starting next week.”

  “That’s great,” Jay said. “Too bad neither of us has a car.”

  “Mrs. Larson said I can use hers as soon as I have my license. I’ll work for her in exchange. If I can learn to drive, it’ll be the perfect arrangement.”

  “I’m sure she feels the same. She told me she’s never seen anyone so fastidious about disinfecting,” Jay teased.

  “Really? That was nice of her.”

  Jay rolled his eyes. “And what about your nice, good-looking, intelligent upstairs neighbor?” He tried once more to pull Sarah from the serious mood he saw underlying her attempts at casual conversation. She’d come so far in the past couple of weeks, but today he could tell something was bothering her.

  “Seems to me we have a lot of noisy neighbors up there.” She glanced at Jay. “That’s another good thing about Mrs. Larson. She appreciates classical music.”

  “There’s classical and then there are the classics,” Jay said. “And I still say you’re lacking formal education in the latter. I’d be happy to show you anytime you want to come up, sit on Tiger, and listen for a while.” He opened the door to the Loker Commons.

  “No thanks.” Sarah gave an exaggerated shudder as she walked ahead of him. “Have you forgotten I found a half-eaten hot dog between the cushions last time I was there?”

  “And Mike was upset that you threw it away instead of reheating it in the microwave.”

  “I draw the line at recycling food.” Sarah frowned. “Guess there is some of my dad in me.”

  “Thinking about him today?” Jay guessed.

  Sarah nodded. “I do every day. It’s still weird, you know. I’m afraid I’ll wake up some morning and this whole thing will have been a dream.”

  Jay squeezed her hand. “No dream. Reality.”

  “Maybe. But I saw Carl on campus yesterday.”

  Jay bristled at the mention of her cousin.

  “He showed up at the lecture hall where I have biology,” Sarah said.

  “We can still get that restraining order.”

  “I know. He didn’t do anything, though—other than whispering throughout the whole lecture. He said my dad is sick and that I need to come home.”

  “He’s lying,” Jay said, wishing he’d pressed charges after the accident. “It’s a trick. That’s all, Sarah. Please don’t buy into it.”

  “I know, and I won’t.” She sighed again. “It was just such a shock to see Carl—and then, well, I do feel sort of bad when I think about my father. It’s been almost a month. And I’m wondering what he’s going to be doing this weekend . . . this Saturday.”

  He stopped as they reached their usual table. “What’s this Saturday?”

  “The nineteenth,” Sarah said.“One of the few days that was sometimes kind of good for me—for us.” She set her backpack on the floor and slid into the chair Jay held out for her.

  Jay took the chair next to hers. “Why?” he asked warily.

  Sarah’s fingers played a slow melody on the table. “Saturday is my dad’s birthday—and mine.”

  * * *

  “Can you believe this?” Trish slapped the latest issue of The Crimson on the cafeteria table. “I mean, come on. I’d like to see the girl who wrote this wear pointe shoes.”

  Jay took a drink of soda to hide his smile. He reached for the paper as Archer put an arm around Trish in a comforting gesture.

  “Well, it’s not an all-bad review,” Jay said, scanning the article. “There are quite a few positive remarks about the second half of the show.” He looked up to see Archer shaking his head.

  “Trish was only in the first half.”

  “Oh,” Jay mouthed. “Sorry, Trish. I’m sure you were great. You know journalists. Isn’t it their job to search out the bad, or, I mean, make things negative? I know Arch revels in it.”

  “Digging yourself deeper,” Charlie warned, looking up from his sandwich.

  “Yeah. Shut up already,” Mike chimed in, though he had no idea what they were discussing, as he’d just returned from the cafeteria line with his tray.

  “Trish was wonderful. All the dancers were,” Sarah said, surprising them with her sudden input. In the three weeks she’d been eating with them, she’d hardly said two words.

  “Thank you,” Trish said. “I didn’t realize you’d come.”

  Sarah nodded. “I wanted to watch—I never get to when I’m playing at rehearsal. And Madame Trenchard gave me free tickets so I could hear the orchestra play my composition.”

  Trish looked at Jay. “Did you go too?”

  “I had to work, but Mrs. Larson had a wonderful time. Didn’t she, Sarah?” Jay turned to her, but she had reverted back to her shell and sat eating a banana, head bent slightly so she didn’t have to make eye contact with anyone.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Look at this,” Charlie said. He pointed to an article on page two. “Over the weekend five syringes valued at one thousand dollars were taken from a secure facility in A
rmensie Building One.”

  “That’s the third time,” Archer said. “I know the guy who wrote that story, and he’s been following it for almost a month. Campus police are completely baffled. Syringes are cheap, so who’d go to the trouble of breaking into a research lab and stealing expensive ones?”

  “Stuff’s always getting stolen,” Mike said. “Like the other day I ordered this thing of nachos. I went to get an extra cup of cheese, and I get back and the whole thing is gone.”

  “Strange,” Jay said. He brought his hand to his mouth so Mike wouldn’t see his smile. Everyone else at the table seemed to be in the same predicament. Even Sarah had her lips pressed together. Poor Mike, Jay thought. He’d probably never realize that Archer took his nachos—all in the name of revenge over his carton of rocky road.

  “Weird.” Archer shrugged. “Who’s in for the road trip this weekend? We’re taking the Olds to the Yale game, so I need gas money.”

  “It’ll cost more,” Trish said. “But it has way more room than Archer’s bug.”

  “Can’t,” Charlie said. “I’ve got a term paper I’ve put off too long.”

  “Me neither,” Mike said. “I’ve got a date with Liz, and she’s cooking me dinner.”

  “You’re going to choose a date over the Yale game? Have you lost your mind?” Archer asked. “Since when do you date, anyway? You’re too cheap.”

  “I met Liz in cooking class,” Mike said. “She’s making me Chinese.” He leaned back in his chair, licking his lips. “Mmm.”

  “Fine,” Archer said, sounding annoyed. “Choose Chinese and homework over the best game of the year. I’ll scalp both your tickets. Give ’em to me, and I’ll put them on eBay.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jay cut in. “Maybe I want them.”

  “Yeah, right. Mr. Serious Law Student at a football game.” Archer rolled his eyes.

  Mike laughed. “You’re funny, Jay.”

  “If you can get a date, I can go to a game.” Jay leaned forward, holding his hand out. “Give me the tickets. Heaven knows how much you guys owe me for groceries.”

  “A double date. It will be so fun,” Trish exclaimed. She scooted her chair closer to Sarah’s. “If you’ll come over before Saturday, I can help you put an outfit together.”

  “This Saturday?” Sarah bit her lip.

  Jay nodded. He caught her eye. “We’ll have fun. You’ll get to go to Connecticut—see another state.” He felt just a little guilt at playing the travel card.

  “Oh, please come,” Trish begged. “It’s more fun when there’s another girl.”

  “All the hot chocolate you can drink,” Jay tempted.

  Sarah’s eyes darted around the table at everyone watching her. She swallowed, looked down at her lap, then finally looked up at Jay.

  “With extra whipped cream?”

  Inwardly Jay let out a huge sigh of relief. “As much as you want.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jay finished changing from his shorts and running shoes to his swim trunks. Shoving his dirty clothes in a plastic bag, he put them in the locker with his backpack and street clothes, then shut the door and spun the lock, making sure it was secure. He hurried from the room toward the pool where Sarah was waiting.

  A few minutes earlier he’d seen her through the glass windows from the cardio room upstairs. She’d been pacing back and forth in front of the pool—a safe distance from the edge—arms folded across her chest, shoulders rigid. He had hoped this would be fun for her, but he could tell she was stressed. Though she’d had a few sessions of swimming lessons when she was a little girl, her father had never taken her to a public pool or the beach where she could swim and keep up her skills.

  “Ready for your brush-up swimming lesson?” He placed two towels on the chair next to hers.

  Sarah’s eyes traveled past him to the Olympic-sized pool. “It’s awfully big. Maybe we ought to start with one of those little plastic things they have outside the grocery stores every summer.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Jay walked around behind her chair, tipping it forward so she had no choice but to stand up. “Remember, today we’re only going in the shallow end where you can always touch the bottom.”

  “What if I don’t want to touch the bottom?” She folded her arms across her middle, keeping her coverup tightly wrapped.

  “Is that what has you worried—germs?”

  She nodded. “How many people would you say swim in there every day?”

  “Sar-ah.” Jay groaned. He smiled at her as he shook his head. “Can’t you smell the chlorine? Believe me—they put enough in there that no bacteria has a fighting chance. You’ll be lucky if your hair doesn’t turn green. Come on.”

  “My hair isn’t getting wet,” Sarah called to him as he took off across the deck.

  “Suit yourself,” Jay said. After the bike incident, he had no intention of forcing her to do anything. He hurried down the steps into the water. Pushing off the bottom, he dove in, gliding for several feet. He surfaced for a breath and swam to the steps, where Sarah waded hesitantly.

  Jay let out a low whistle. “Nice,” he said, trying not to stare at the stunning picture she made in the clingy red and white floral bathing suit.

  “Trish,” Sarah said, as if that supplied all he needed to know.

  It did. He imagined Sarah would have chosen something simpler, and with a little less color, but she looked great in red. Jay took off under the water again. After several long, slow laps, he returned to the steps.

  “Show off.” Sarah flicked water at him with her foot. Jay managed to grab her big toe and held on. She waved her hands in the air, trying to keep her balance. “Jay!”

  He let go. “Come on. Get in up to your knees at least. Besides—” He floated closer, bracing himself with his hands on the bottom stair. He tilted his head back to look at her. “All the guys in here are checking you out. They can’t do that as well if you’re down in the water.”

  Sarah cast an appalled, furtive glance around the pool, then bit her lip and hurried down the last few steps. Her breath caught as the water reached her waist. She raised her arms above the surface. “It’s cold.”

  “Not if you’re moving,” Jay said. “They keep the water right around eighty.”

  She hopped up and down. “I’m moving, and it doesn’t feel eighty.”

  “Over here it does.” Jay took a few strokes then floated on his back to the other edge of the pool.

  “Where?” Keeping her arms above the water, Sarah moved in slow motion toward him.

  “Right here,” Jay coaxed, pointing to the spot beside him.

  She reached the wall. “It doesn’t feel any warmer.”

  Jay took her hand and pulled her closer. He put his arm around her waist in a casual, yet possessive gesture. The other guys at the pool were checking her out. “Any better?”

  “Yes, actually.” She sounded surprised.

  “Good.” Jay moved away.

  “Where are you going?” Sarah rubbed her arms.

  “We both have class in an hour,” Jay said. “And as long as it took you to make it over to this side . . .”

  “But I did make it—almost all the way across the shallow end.” She sounded pleased and started to follow him as he swam across the pool again.

  Jay waited for her to catch up. He reached behind her and lifted her braid. “And Sarah, your hair is wet.”

  * * *

  Swimming today, football tomorrow. Jay mulled over the progress of his and Sarah’s relationship over the past few weeks. Already it was difficult to imagine life before Sarah. His concern over her father and his worries were gradually fading as the days had passed without incident. Jay’s fears on the subway now seemed irrational and unfounded, and it was only Sarah’s cousin who gave him any cause for concern.

  But Sarah didn’t seem overly concerned about Carl anymore, so Jay dismissed that worry as well. He and Sarah spent every possible minute together, and each day it was starting to fee
l more like a relationship that went beyond friends.

  Like today, he remembered—when she’d splashed water on him and joked with him in the pool. You’re killing me, Sarah. He grinned, enjoying the torture.

  Reaching the dressing room, Jay tossed his towel in the laundry chute and walked down the aisle toward his locker, third from the end. He stopped in front of it and reached up to turn the lock. Halfway there, his hand froze in midair. The door was slightly ajar, the handle bent.

  With a sinking feeling, Jay grabbed the door and pulled it open. He stared in shock at the shelves inside.

  Empty.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Here it is.” Trish cleared her throat and read loudly from the paper so Jay and Sarah, sitting in the back seat of her Oldsmobile, could hear. “2:50 p.m. Friday—a graduate student had credit cards, assorted IDs, keys, clothing, and a backpack stolen from a secured locker in the Malkin Athletic Center.” She paused, then leaned over, giving Archer a quick peck on the cheek. “Nice work, Arch.”

  “It was nice work, all right,” Jay muttered. Thanks to whoever it was that had stolen his wallet, he was practically penniless for this trip to the Yale game. His bank and credit card companies were issuing him new account numbers, but the new cards wouldn’t arrive until next week. And without his ID, he couldn’t even withdraw from his local account.

  “I don’t know about ‘assorted’ IDs,” Archer said. “I think I should’ve used ‘various.’”

  “It means the same thing,” Trish pointed out.

  “Various would’ve sounded better, though. And a reporter has so few words to get the whole story in, so it’s important he choose each one carefully.”

  “At least you got the story.” Trish scanned the rest of the brief article, then passed the paper back to Sarah.

  “Yeah.” Archer glanced in the rearview mirror. “Thanks, Jay. For once it was nice to cover something before Morris got to it.”

  “Glad to help.” Happy that getting my locker broken into worked out well for someone. Jay frowned as he looked out the window. He wished he had at least some idea of who might have stolen his things. Is there any possibility . . .