The Foxglove Killings

by Tara Kelly

  “Megan says there’s cops driving around,” I said, figuring it was probably true. “Probably just in case Alex shows up.”

  Mom scanned the diner, sucking on her lower lip. The woman who had been in a corner booth left a couple bucks on the table and headed out, leaving only Paul Cross. “Let me get my keys.”

  Today belonged in the Emerald Cove Visitor’s Guide. No fog or clouds. Just an azure sky that went on forever and large turquoise waves crashing ashore. Beach Street was a wide-open stretch. No traffic. No people darting out in front of our car, holding up their hands in a lame apology, as they waddled, hustled, or ran across the street.

  I’d never seen a beautiful day this empty. Alex would’ve loved it. He’d insist we get massive cups of Adele’s chocolate raspberry ice cream and sit out on the beach until we saw stars.

  There was a news truck from Portland sitting outside Megan and Alex’s neighborhood when we pulled in. Jenika and Matt were standing outside Matt’s house, puffing on cigarettes. They both stopped talking and watched as we passed and turned down Megan and Alex’s lane.

  “Shouldn’t Eric be here soon?” I asked.

  “He hit traffic—said it probably won’t be until two now.” She pulled in behind the El Camino. “Maybe I should come in for a bit—help out.”

  “I think that would make Cindy uncomfortable. You know how she is.”

  “Yep,” she said.

  I thanked her and went to open the door, but she grabbed my wrist.

  “Make sure all the doors and windows are locked,” she said. “Don’t open the door for anyone. And stay put. I’ll be calling to check.”

  “You can try, but Megan said their phone was getting shut off.”

  She huffed. “Great. Do you have the emergency phone?”

  “I gave it back to you.”

  She opened her purse, rummaging through it. “Damn it…”

  “I’ll be okay. It’s only for a couple hours.” I motioned to the dozen tiny homes around us. “There’s plenty of people nearby. And Megan says there’ve been news trucks—you saw the one coming in.”

  She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick hug. “’Kay, I’ll be back around two.”

  “Thanks.” I popped open the door.

  “Promise me again you’ll stay put.”

  “Promise.” I made sure not to break eye contact as I said it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As I walked past the El Camino, something shiny and blue on the ground caught my eye. It was lying next to the rear wheel, half buried by the gravel. I knew that blue because I’d seen it a million times.

  I squatted down and brushed the rocks away, digging it out. That cold, prickly feeling of panic ran under my skin again. It was exactly what I thought it was—Alex’s lucky guitar pick. He’d gotten it when we saw Why Can’t I Be You? live in Portland, one of our favorite bands. Jackson Lathrop, the guitarist, threw his pick right at Alex and signed it for him after the show.

  Alex kept it in only one place—inside a plastic insert in his wallet. It was probably his most treasured possession. If this pick was on the ground, it was because he put it there. Or someone else did.

  Mom’s car door opened. I’d forgotten she was sitting there, waiting for me to go inside. “Nova?” she said, getting out. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to come in for a minute. Make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Mom, Cindy will—”

  “I’m not real worried about being polite right now.” She shut her door, her boots crunching on the gravel. “What was on the ground?”

  “It was just a quarter.” I shoved the pick in my jeans pocket. Telling her would lead to more speculation, more questions. She might insist on staying or taking Megan and me back to the diner. These couple hours were probably all the time I had to get out and do anything. I still had that crappy Taser, and I could take Alex’s El Camino, which was better than nothing.

  Megan answered the door, her eyes buggy and red-rimmed. The TV was blaring inside—the noon news, it sounded like.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Mom said, in the most soothing voice she could probably manage at the moment. “Can I come in with Nova for a quick second? I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Um…” Megan glanced over her shoulder toward the living room. The smell of burned toast and musky candles wafted outside.

  “Come on in,” Cindy called out. I’d expected her to still be locked away in her room.

  Megan stepped back and opened the door wider. Riff ran up to us first thing, making a whimpering sound. He nuzzled his cold, wet nose against my shins, as if I were the first human he’d seen in years. It was hard not to crumble right there.

  Cindy watched us from the couch, her blue eyes sizing Mom up head to toe. “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left,” she said.

  Mom gave her a stiff smile and a wave. “Thanks.” She not too slyly looked at the mess around us before continuing on.

  The ingredients Cindy used to bake Alex’s cake were still all over the counter, and there were at least four bags of trash waiting to be taken out. Dirty dishes, glasses, and mugs covered the coffee table in front of Cindy, along with piles of mail and random things like matches and batteries.

  Mom emerged from the bathroom not thirty seconds later, wiping her hands on her jeans. That was when I noticed Riff’s empty bowls against the wall in the hallway.

  “Megan—where did you put Riff’s food?” I asked, heading over to grab his water bowl. The bag wasn’t where Alex usually kept it, on top of the fridge.

  “Ran out last night,” she said. “We made him eggs this morning…”

  “I’ll pick some up for you,” Mom said. “What kind does he eat?”

  “He’s not choosy,” I told her.

  “We’re fine,” Cindy said, rising off the couch. She had to hold on to the arm to steady herself. “My friend Louise is dropping some by later.”

  I mouthed to mom to get the food anyway. Cindy would say almost anything to avoid a “handout.”

  As I filled up Riff’s bowl with water, Mom explained to her that she’d be picking me up at two—if that was okay.

  “Sure,” Cindy said, making her way into the kitchen. “I know Megan could use the company.”

  “Megan said your phone might get shut off. I’m happy to—” Mom began.

  “It’s fine,” Cindy said as she fished for another glass. “I’ve got it taken care of. Thanks.”

  Mom gave me a questioning look, but I nudged her toward the door, reminding her that I would be okay.

  “Lock the door behind me,” she said on her way out.

  As soon as I turned the dead bolt, because I knew Mom was right outside, waiting to hear the click, Cindy said, “Tell your mom we’re not a charity case. We’ve got things covered.”

  Yeah, looks like it, I wanted to say. Instead I gave her a nod and touched Megan’s arm, motioning toward Alex’s room. Once we were inside with the door shut, I started tearing through his things again, hoping there was something we missed last time. Something maybe even the cops missed.

  “What are you looking for?” Megan asked. She was wearing an oversize gray sweatshirt with cuffs that dangled below her fingers, as if it weren’t about seventy-five degrees in here.

  I pulled Alex’s guitar pick from my pocket. “I found this on the ground outside.”

  Megan lips parted and closed again. “That’s…”

  I untangled his blanket from his sheets and shook the blanket to see if anything fell out. “I feel like it’s a sign, you know? Like maybe he wanted someone to find it.”

  “Okay… But why?”

  “To let us know something was wrong?” A couple CD cases fell onto the floor. I got on my knees and peeked under his bed. Nothing.

  A knock sounded at the window, two quick taps. My first thought was Mom, but she’d at least try the front door first. I tiptoed toward the window and tried to peek around the side of the blinds.

  “It’s Jenika and Mat
t,” Jenika said, as if she could sense my hesitation.

  “Can I let them in?” I asked Megan.

  She shrugged, her expression uneasy. “I had to beg Grandma just to let you over.”

  “We’ll keep quiet, then.” I opened the blinds and cracked the window open, putting a finger to my lips. “Cindy can’t know you’re here,” I whispered.

  “So what else is new?” Jenika mumbled, climbing inside. She made it sound like she’d been in here a lot…

  Alex’s room suddenly felt like a tiny closet with four of us inside, Matt and Jenika by the window, Megan with her back against Alex’s closet, and me, standing on a mound of sheets next to his bed.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked Jenika.

  “We talked to Crazypants across the street,” she said, referring to Paul Cross. “He saw a dark pickup that night, too. Only he saw it around three a.m., right in front of his house. Wouldn’t Alex have been home by then—if that’s where he went?”

  I nodded. That was almost an hour after the fire—when Matt’s neighbor saw a dark pickup circling around. But there were a lot of dark pickups in the world. “Did Paul see anyone inside?”

  “Yeah.” Jenika folded her arms, shaking her head. “A hooded devil.”

  Matt snorted.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. “So he didn’t have any useful descriptions?”

  “He said he heard voices,” Matt said. “Guys and girls.”

  I turned to Megan. “You sure you didn’t hear anything that night?”

  “I had my headphones on because of that stupid party next door. The sirens didn’t even wake me up.”

  “Which side was the party on?” I asked.

  Megan pointed in the direction of the biker couple. “Maybe they were the voices Paul heard.”

  “The pickup could’ve belonged to one of the partygoers,” I said. “We should talk to—”

  “Already did that,” Jenika said. “The party was over by one, and they said they passed out soon after.” She focused her gaze on me. “See? It helps to talk to random people.”

  “You didn’t say neighbors,” I shot back, mostly angry at myself. It was such a blatantly obvious, common-sense thing to do. I should’ve done it the morning after Alex went missing. But I was too focused on the idea of Alex missing.

  “I think he made it back here,” I said, holding up his guitar pick and explaining its significance. “Maybe they were waiting for him to come home?”

  “His car was here,” Jenika said. “How’d they know he wasn’t?”

  Matt glanced around the room and headed for Alex’s computer desk chair, taking a seat.

  I paced back and forth between his bed and the bookshelf. Moving was the only way I could keep my brain going. “Maybe they were waiting for an opportunity to break in, but then they saw him come home and…” No. Forcing Alex into a car would’ve made too loud of a scene. Unless they had a gun—or it was someone Alex trusted. But who would Amber, Christian, and Alex trust?

  “And they what?” Matt asked, throwing up his hands. “Hog-tied him, threw him in the back of the pickup, then busted into his house and stole his gun for kicks?”

  The A-5. I wasn’t even thinking about that.

  “Ever try to get through a dead bolt?” he continued. “It’s loud. And, you know, noticeable after the fact.”

  “His window would’ve been unlocked,” I said. He wouldn’t risk coming through the front door and waking Cindy. “Maybe they were waiting for him in his room.”

  I looked over at Megan, who was still pressed against the closet, her arms folded across her stomach.

  “You really think someone was in the house?” she asked, her voice a bit above a whisper.

  I didn’t know what to tell her. There was nothing I could say to comfort her right now.

  “You sure you looked everywhere for the A-5?” Jenika asked her. “What about Cindy’s room?”

  “I told you,” Megan said. “We tore this place apart. Every room.”

  “Let’s say you’re right,” Matt said. “They crawl through Alex’s window, but Alex isn’t here. So they wait inside, not knowing if the guy’s coming back or whatever. Was the A-5 in his room?”

  “Living room,” I mumbled, knowing where this was going.

  “So, they snoop through the house, in the dark,” he continued. “Find this old shotgun…”

  “Maybe they had a flashlight.” Jenika sneered at him.

  He was right—putting it that way made the entire scenario sound convoluted and silly. But it wasn’t impossible.

  “If I broke into a house, I’d look for weapons,” I said.

  “It sure is a great way to frame him,” Jenika said.

  “Jesus.” Matt tipped his head back, letting out a breath. “Who do you think they took first—Christian or Alex? ’Cause that’s a busy night.”

  “I don’t know!” Jenika shouted.

  “Shh.” Megan moved her hands up and down, her eyes wide.

  “Look, I know the two of you are blinded by”—Matt lowered his voice—“whatever you’re blinded by. But Alex took that gun and ran. Because he’s guilty. Fuckin’ accept it.”

  “I’ll accept it when I have real proof,” I said. “You have any, Matt?”

  The room got quiet enough to hear the weather guy on their TV. High pressure was parked over Oregon. Eighties in the Portland metro area. Seventies on the coast. What a gorgeous day.

  A lot of things happened during the early morning hours of the fifth. Zach breaking into my room, the fire at Jenika’s house, Alex and Christian disappearing. Each event seemed unrelated, but my mind wanted to connect them, as if someone were looking down on us, pulling strings.

  “These killings seem to be about pitting us against the cakes,” I said. “Anyone gonna argue that?”

  Matt gave a one-shoulder shrug.

  “Think about everything else that’s gone on—the rumors, anonymous email threats, Alex’s car”—I motioned to Jenika—“the fire. You think it’s all a coincidence?”

  “I’m still pretty sure Christian started that fire,” Jenika said.

  “And it had you going after him, right before he turned up dead,” I said.

  Matt shook his head, running a hand through his unruly blond hair. “So, they’re trying to frame Alex, now they’re trying to frame Jenika. Which is it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not in their head.”

  “Well,” he continued, “you’ve got them kidnapping two people and starting a fire, all in one night. That’s some superhero shit right there.”

  “Can we just stop?” Megan’s voice cut through. She was sitting on the floor now, her knees pulled against her chest. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

  “It’s true,” I said, gazing outside, at that cloudless blue sky. I was too hung up on trying to convince everyone that Alex was innocent, even myself. “We can argue and come up with scenarios forever, but it’s never going to make sense. There’s too much we’re missing…”

  The room went quiet again, except for Jenika shifting her weight and the floor creaking underneath her. It was almost like the ticking of a clock, reminding me I was running out of time. I wasn’t going to tell her about Brandon until I knew more. She’d go after him full force. But the more I thought about that sketch pad, the more it ate at me. He was the one who told me about Christian being a firebug, too.

  “I went through Brandon’s backpack at the diner today,” I said, keeping my gaze on Jenika.

  “And?” she asked.

  I told them about the drawing and all the dots I’d connected so far. His hatred of the cakes. His obsession with Gabi. He was one of the few people who had my email, and he knew how much I hated Christian.

  What didn’t make sense was why he wanted to frame Alex, or any of us. Then again, psychopaths had reasons most of us could never understand.

  Matt shook his head, his brow furrowed. “The guy’s a string bean. He couldn’t take Christian or
even Alex—not on his own.”

  “Doesn’t matter if he’s got access to a gun,” I said, turning to Megan. “Has Gabi said anything about him?”

  “That he’s needy, like a puppy. Used to call her constantly.”

  “So, why does she come into the diner all the time?” I asked.

  She picked at her thumbnail, waiting a few seconds before answering. “I don’t know. I mean, the last time we went it was my idea.”

  “Do you think you could get her on the phone?” I asked.

  “Screw the phone,” Jenika said. “Let’s go to her house.”

  “Why?” I had a feeling she was more interested in intimidation than talking.

  “It’s harder to lie face-to-face. And there’s a decent chance she knows if Christian torched my house.”

  “This needs to be a casual thing,” I said. “If she thinks we’re there to interrogate her—”

  “She’s not going be okay with all of you showing up at her house,” Megan said before standing and motioning to Jenika. “You freak her out.”

  “Good,” she retorted. “Don’t tell her I’m coming.”

  It would be better to talk to Gabi in person. Body language gave most people away. “Fine,” I said. “We’ll go to her house. But it’ll just be me and Megan.”

  “I’m going over there, whether it’s with you or not.” Jenika’s voice rose.

  “At least let me do the talking,” I said.

  “I’ll behave, okay?” she said. “We don’t want her calling the cops.”

  “Where’s the phone?” I asked Megan.

  “I don’t think…” she began.

  “Megan, please.” I moved toward her. “You know we have to do this.”

  She let out a breath, her eyes filled with worry. “I’ll go get it,” she mumbled, pushing away from the closet.

  We waited in silence until she returned, which seemed to take forever. I sat on the bed and gently rocked back and forth to try to calm myself.

  “Phone’s dead,” Megan said when she came back.

  I gave her a questioning look, thinking it was awfully convenient they’d decided to shut the phone off right now.

  “It is,” she repeated.

  Jenika dug her phone out and gave it to Megan.