Gary didn’t see them either. “I’m sure they’re…”
“Over there,” said a voice behind him. Gary turned to see his “friend,” the professor ghost from the 1950s, pointing to the bushes near the administration building. Sure enough, Gary saw Sean with his arms around Annabeth, both of them cowering in the corner.
“Thanks,” Gary said.
Caryn was shivering, so Gary put his arm around her, pulled her in closer and hustled her over to where Annabeth and Sean crouched in fear.
Annabeth was white as a sheet, and Sean was in no condition to run for his life. He slowly stood up, wobbled, and then puked into the bushes. Gary’s eyes darted all around but he didn’t know which direction to go because the sniper could still be nearby, police were everywhere, and a helicopter with search lights was now circling low over the campus.
“Hold it right there,” a voice behind them said. All four of them froze as they found themselves on the business end of an assault rifle.
Chapter 8
At least they didn’t put us in a jail cell.
The four of us—me, Annabeth, Gary and Sean—were sitting in the police station lobby, all wearing our wet and bedraggled Halloween costumes.
The Belford SWAT team hauled in dozens of students after the snowball fight, but most of them were released within the hour, sent home to dry off and rethink their impulsive behavior. But I made the big mistake of opening my mouth based on a psychic hit I got, which was why we were cooling our heels in the waiting area.
Having a police officer point a high-powered rifle at you is unnerving, to say the least. “What are your names?” he’d asked us, a light shining right at us and his gun at eye level.
Of course we told him.
“Did you see the shooter on the roof? Can you describe him?” the officer had asked.
Gary, Sean, and Annabeth all said no, but that was when I’d stuck my foot in my mouth. “Tricia Palmer claims to have seen someone on the upstairs balcony, but she was just caught up in the moment. Trying to be dramatic.”
The officer moved in a little closer to me. “And you know this how?”
I gulped but couldn’t squeak out another syllable. That, and Annabeth shot me a warning look, probably from years of hearing her attorney father tell clients to clam up.
A police station would have been an intimidating place under the best of circumstances, but at three o’clock in the morning it was positively creepy. Old-fashioned wooden chairs were lined up against a plaster wall that was painted institutional gray. The desk that the sergeant on duty sat behind was more of a barrier than a reception area, and he only looked up from his laptop when he had to answer the phone. A mug of coffee sat next to his elbow on top of an old newspaper. At least I thought it was old. Otherwise why would it be so crumpled? I would assume that there were other people around, those who worked the overnight hours, but if so, we didn’t see them.
I whispered a few words of supplication to the Universe, to Uncle Omar, to anyone Up There who might be listening. Nothing. And I was seriously scared. Facing down the barrel of a rifle will do that to you.
Seemed like Sean was sobering up, but the number of Jell-O shots he’d consumed kept forcing him to sprint for the men’s room down the hall, his cowboy spurs jangling. Little Red Riding Hood aka Annabeth dutifully went with him every time, standing outside with her ear pressed to the door.
I was over it. The stupid frat house Halloween party, the drunken make-out sessions, the impetuous snowball fight, all of it. It was a fiasco and all I wanted to do was go back to my dorm for a warm shower and bed. I was exhausted and cold, since I’d refused to take Gary’s advice and go back for my coat in the fraternity house. And I was facing a long, cold walk back to campus. Sean was in no condition to drive, Gary didn’t drive at all, and Annabeth’s car was parked on campus. I leaned my head back against the hard, cold plaster wall to rest, and that was when I realized the borrowed cloche hat was gone, lost who knows where. I groaned in frustration.
“Excuse me,” I called to the desk sergeant. “Are we under arrest?”
“No,” he replied without even looking up from his computer. “But we can’t let you go till your attorney gets here.”
“Why do we need a lawyer if we haven’t been arrested?”
The officer looked square at me. “You are a person of interest.” Gulp. You’d think I would learn when to keep my psychic impressions to myself. Just then his phone rang. He picked it up, mostly listened since he was only able to get out an occasional “Yes, dear.” He shook his head and hung up.
“So that was your wife reaming you out for holding innocent college kids in the police station all night. Right?”
The sergeant’s head snapped up, that oh-so-familiar look of surprise on his face. “Uh…”
I smirked at him. Score one for the psychic. It didn’t get us out of here, but it made me feel better.
“I’m never doing Jell-O again,” Sean moaned as he returned from his latest trip down the hall. He collapsed into the chair next to me and leaned his head on Annabeth’s shoulder.
“Good.” I got up and moved to the chair on the other side of Gary to distance myself from Sean. The guy reeked of alcohol and vomit. I almost felt like gagging myself.
Gary turned to Annabeth. “Why isn’t your dad here yet?”
“My father’s out of town,” she told him, causing me to groan inwardly, “but he said he’s sending another attorney from his law firm to straighten out this mess.” Annabeth threw her red cape over one shoulder, dug her phone out of a pocket and checked for a text. She shook her head in answer to everyone’s unspoken question and was about to fire off another one, when the front door opened with a cold blast of air.
Eyes forward, Sean’s father stormed up to the desk sergeant. “Where’s my son?”
“Over here, Dad.”
Dr. Paxton furrowed his brow as he turned to see the four of us sitting against the wall. “Sean, thank God.”
“What took you so long?” Sean asked, wobbling to his feet.
Dr. Paxton hugged his son, then held him at arm’s length with a scowl on his face. “I guess you aren’t hurt since your sense of entitlement is intact, but we’re going to have a long talk tomorrow about underage drinking.” The doctor took a closer look at the broken blood vessels around Sean’s eyes.
Sean blinked a few times and nodded.
Dr. Paxton walked over to the desk sergeant. “Is there any reason these kids are still here?”
Before the sergeant could answer, the front door opened yet again to admit a man with an air of authority about him. And I recognized him. Worse yet, he recognized me. He froze in mid-stride with that deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, and his body language pleaded with me to keep quiet. He was a client, so of course I’d respect his privacy.
Gary had been slumped in the chair next to me, but he glanced at the newcomer and stood up, jaw tight, fists clenched.
They’re the same height, I thought to myself. My client had been dressed casually the day we met last summer when I did that reading for him, and tonight was no different. Or should I say this morning? He still looked fairly put together in starched jeans and a corduroy blazer, considering the ungodly hour. And then it hit me. Hard. I glanced at Ned, then at Gary, and then back. That was the son he was so concerned about, the one he was estranged from. Gary looked like a younger version of his dad, slender build, light blond hair, the same blue eyes. Maybe part of Ned’s discomfort was not because he saw me, but because he saw his son. And judging from Gary’s expression, he wasn’t happy about seeing dear old dad, either.
Ned strolled to the sergeant’s desk. “I’d like you to release my clients.”
“And you are…?” the officer inquired.
“Their attorney. Ned Harrington.”
Now Gary looked like he was the one who was gonna puke.
****
What the hell is he doing here? Of all the law partners Mr. Walton could have sent, why Ned
Harrington? Gary was still in shock from having gone to an innocent Halloween party, gotten caught in a sniper’s crosshairs, and then landed at the police station. And his father shows up to represent them? He pulled his Ghost Number Three robe over his head and tossed it on a chair in disgust.
The sergeant picked up his phone, spoke into it, and then calmly went back to his laptop. Gary figured it must be one fascinating game of solitaire. You’d think the guy would want to get in on all the excitement, considering the most serious crimes in small-town Belford, Indiana, were car break-ins and petty theft. Now Belford and Hamilton Liberal Arts College had a bona fide sniper, one who hadn’t been caught yet. Gary still couldn’t wrap his head around that one. And he and his friends had been sitting here for hours because of it. Wait. Is Caryn my friend? He didn’t have time to think that through because a hall door opened and out walked Tricia Palmer in a now-soiled and rumpled empire dress, hand-in-hand with the Asian guy she’d shown interest in at the party. Tricia blew everyone a kiss with a sly smile and waved as she and the guy waltzed out of the police station.
Great. She sets off all the furor and then gets off scot free.
Another officer, dressed in a uniform and sporting a bullet-proof vest, appeared around a corner, spoke to the desk sergeant, and crooked his finger at them.
One by one they fell into line as he led them down the hall to an empty office. The officer stood aside to let everyone pass, then came into the room and shut the door. “I’m Captain Albers,” he said, motioning for everyone to have a seat around the desk. “I was called to campus this evening to investigate the report of a sniper.”
Ned remained standing. “Captain Albers, I can assure you that none of these young people are snipers. You have no reason to detain them.”
Captain Albers eased himself onto the edge of his desk, one leg dangling off the side. “Your clients were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mr. Harrington.”
“So were lots of other people, if the news reports are correct,” Ned said.
“But we detained them because this young lady,” the detective tilted his head toward Caryn, “was a witness.”
“Mind if I record this?” Caryn asked, pulling out her phone and flashing her press badge. “I’m a reporter for the Hamilton Campus Herald.”
Gary wondered why she wasn’t more upset about being hauled in as an eyewitness to a sniper attack.
The Captain shrugged, so Caryn set the phone to record. “Your clients, Mr. Harrington,” the Captain continued, “were brought here after Miss Alderson intimated that she had information pertaining to the shooter.”
“And did she?” Ned demanded.
Gary figured Caryn had gotten some kind of psychic insight about that snowball fight, but he decided not to mention it. He was way too uncomfortable being in such tight quarters with his bio dad to want to stick around the police station one minute longer than necessary.
Caryn spoke into her phone and then held it out toward Captain Albers. “What have you discovered about the, uh, ‘shooter’?”
The officer shook his head, a grim expression on his face. “I’m afraid what we had was a case of false reporting. Too much partying, an out-of-control snowball fight, and then mass hysteria with kids imagining things in the dark.”
Ned crossed his arms, his feet firmly planted as if he were interrogating someone on the witness stand. “Who made this alleged false report?”
Captain Albers flipped open a notepad with handwritten notes and read from it. “A student by the name of Tricia Palmer. She claims to have screamed out that she’d spotted a shooter on the roof of the dorm, causing hysteria among the students and a number of 911 calls. Turns out she was referring to a snowball shooter by the name of Jake Chung. He’d gone to the balcony to take better aim at his classmates.”
“Then I assume my clients are free to go,” Ned said, relaxing his stance.
“Mr. Harrington’s right, Captain. It’s late,” Dr. Paxton said, “and I need to get my boy home.”
Captain Albers stood with arms crossed, frowning at Caryn. “Miss Alderson, you gave a statement to the officers that Miss Palmer was…” he flipped a few more pages in the notebook, “…being dramatic. How did you know that?”
Caryn held up her hands in mock surrender. “A girl recognizes a drama queen when she sees one. It was just my opinion.”
“Be careful from now on when you voice your opinions,” the detective warned.
Caryn nodded and put her phone away. Annabeth turned to her as they stood to leave the room. “Where’s your coat, girlfriend?”
“Long story,” she replied.
Annabeth lifted an eyebrow. “Then it’s a good thing I called a cab.” The two of them left for the lobby.
Dr. Paxton put a steadying arm around Sean’s shoulder and led him out. Gary was beyond ready to go, but he waited till Ned was at a safe distance ahead before venturing down the hall. He wanted to get out of the police station, yes, but he also wanted to avoid any further contact with his erstwhile dad.
“I’ve got my coat,” Annabeth told Caryn, “so I’ll go wait by the curb. You keep a watch for the taxi.”
Caryn nodded and planted herself by the glass entryway. Ned walked up to her and quietly said, “Thanks for your discretion.”
Discretion about what, Gary wondered, and how could they possibly know each other? He’d have to ask her another time, because right now he was fried.
Caryn shrugged but kept her eyes on the street. “Just don’t forget you’ve got problems from another relationship to deal with, too.”
Gary was stunned. “Hey, Caryn,” he called out, “can we talk—”
Her cab must have arrived, because without another word, she was out the door. That left Gary and Ned standing in the lobby of the police station, staring at one another. Gary was tempted to just leave without a word, but his mother had taught him to be polite. He figured that included the father who had abandoned him. “Thanks for your help.” Gary picked up his Halloween costume and turned to walk out the door.
“Wait, Gary,” Ned said.
Gary stopped and turned around. “What?”
Ned now seemed very uncomfortable, completely different from the self-confident lawyer Gary had just seen. “I just thought…” Ned’s voice trailed off.
“Thought what?” Gary looked his father in the eye, easy enough since they were nearly the same height.
“Could we go somewhere and talk?” Ned cast a sideways glance at the desk sergeant. “Privately?”
Gary was exhausted. It had been a very long night and this chance meeting was the last straw. Did Ned think he could just waltz in, save the day, and then expect all kinds of gratitude? Gary was angry at all the years he and Brenda had just scraped by while his father lived in the lap of luxury. Angry at all the time he could have spent getting to know his dad if only Ned had shown any interest. And now, according to what he’d overheard Caryn say, Gary was even angrier that Ned had another girlfriend somewhere and was more interested in her than in what should have been his family. Well, as far as Gary was concerned, it was too late. “No thanks,” he growled, and started again for the door.
“Wait. Do you need a ride, son?”
Son? That tore it. “As far as I’m concerned, Ned, you’re just a sperm donor.” Gary could feel his face turning red and the veins in his neck about to pop. With a steely glare, he shoved open the glass door and walked out into the early morning air.
Chapter 9
Even on Saturdays, Gary didn’t usually sleep in, preferring to use his free time to catch up on his studies. But after last night he’d made an exception. He yawned, stretched, and looked out his dorm room window. Miracle of miracles, the sun was shining and the snow was quickly melting. He glanced at the bedside clock. He didn’t have much time before he had to get to Pride and Prejudice rehearsal and then to work at the bookstore. He needed a shower, strong coffee and some food before he could face any of it.
Gary had e
xpected the dorm cafeteria to be nearly empty by this late on a Saturday morning, especially after last night, but instead it was freakishly crowded. Students were huddled in groups reading the campus newspaper, sipping coffee and whispering as they read. Gary went to the food line and poured himself a large cup of coffee and put in a to-go order for bacon, eggs and fruit. The bin that housed free copies of the newspaper was empty, so he had to look around to find a discarded one, on top of a sticky table as it turned out. Gary sat down, took a sip of his coffee and read the headline: SNOWBRAWL HOAX!
So that’s what had captured the attention of so many students. And sure enough, there was Caryn’s name just under the headline. Everything they’d been told at the police station last night—or rather a few hours ago—was detailed in her article. How she’d gotten the story written and into the paper so fast, he had no idea. It continued on the next page, complete with professional-looking photos by Annabeth Walton and a few that Caryn had snapped on her cell phone during the chaos.
“Not too shabby if I do say so myself.”
Gary turned around to see a bleary-eyed Annabeth peering over his shoulder. “Think it’s going to go viral?” he asked her.
“Already has.”
Gary nodded and took another sip of his hot coffee. “Bad news travels fast in the social media age.”
Annabeth plopped into a chair. She started to lay her head on the table but recoiled at the sticky filth. “Yeah, and it’s generated a lot of chatter from kids who were actually there. The media even picked it up and were all over the college sniper story, but they dropped it fast once they got ahold of Caryn’s story about it all being a hoax.”
Gary offered up a toast with his coffee mug. “Seems like Caryn scooped them all. How very Lois Lane of her.” He rolled his eyes at his own joke.
“I’ll tell her what you said.” Annabeth gave him the thumbs up sign. “But hey, don’t forget we’ve still got that ghost hunt coming up. It might be an even bigger story.”
Gary grimaced. “I was hoping that was postponed indefinitely.”
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