What If

by Shirley Anne Edwards

  Mrs. Preiss sobbed, jumped up from the couch, and ran up the stairs. Her husband stood there slack-jawed. The other man pulled him out of the room. The police officer, who’d been in the kitchen, came out then exited the house.

  “Mom, I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  She sat back and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Detective Donnelly folded his hands together and tapped his mouth with his finger. “Okay, Wendy, what next?”

  “We stayed there for a while, got dressed, and Pete drove us home. He went into his house to shower and get ready for bed. I went into my house, talked to my dad, and got ready for bed. Pete crawled into my bedroom, and really, all we were going to do was sleep. But he suddenly remembered he’d left his backpack at the boathouse. Did you find it?”

  “Yes, Wendy. Please continue.”

  I wanted to know if the backpack was found safe and nothing had been taken from it but didn’t press. The detective was too focused on what I’d told him leading up to the last few minutes I saw Pete alive.

  “I told him we could go get his bag the next morning, but he wouldn’t listen. He’d even locked up the place, so no one could have stolen it, not that I thought there was anything valuable in it. I wanted to go with him, but he didn’t want me to. He argued that it wouldn’t take him long and nothing would happen to him because we live in such a safe town. So, I did what he asked. I watched him climb out my window and walk away. I heard him start the car and drive away. I sat on my bed, trying to stay awake, but I was so tired…lately, I’ve been so tired. The last thing I remember was checking my clock. It was a few minutes after midnight. I never saw him again.”

  The detective opened his mouth, but I grabbed his arms. “He can’t be dead. He just can’t! I killed him, didn’t I? We shouldn’t have gone to the lake and had sex. He would still be alive if we hadn’t!”

  I couldn’t hold back my tears and gasped for air. I couldn’t breathe. Someone pulled me up from the chair and placed me on my dad’s lap. He rocked me as I hid my face and cried out for Pete. I closed my eyes, and he continued rocking, humming in my ear. I couldn’t stop crying.

  When my father pulled me off his lap, I threw up on the rug that needed to be vacuumed. I sobbed and hit the floor with my fists, calling for Pete.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next day, I didn’t go to school but instead lay in my parents’ bed hidden under the blankets and pillows, never wanting to leave this room or the house again. My eyes had become swollen from all the crying in the past few hours.

  After baring my soul and breaking down, Dad took me home and put me into bed. My confession probably placed me on a short list of possible suspects. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found myself in handcuffs and hauled off to jail in the next few hours. I hoped my parents would find a good lawyer to represent me. But would they? Why would they want to give their slut of a daughter a lawyer after she’d lied to them all these years?

  I peeked over my shoulder. Mom stood in the doorway. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

  “Hey there.”

  “Hi.” I sat up, my lips trembling.

  She sat on the bed and pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay, princess. Don’t worry.”

  “Am I really your princess?” I dug my nose into her shoulder. I left a damp stain behind from either my tears or snot.

  “Why wouldn’t you be?” She wiped my cheeks with the sheet.

  “Because of what I did and all the lies I told. How Pete would stay here without you knowing.”

  “Wendy, I’m disappointed, but right now none of that matters. What’s most important is that a boy who’s a dear friend is dead, and a killer is on the loose. I think we have more to worry about than you sleeping with a boy in your bed.”

  I kept silent about the sleeping part. I wasn’t ready to have a heart-to-heart with her about what happened between me and him at the lake.

  “Detective Donnelly called. He wants you to come down to the station as soon as you can. Your father and I took off from work. We’ll drive you there. Dad is asking your uncle for legal advice.”

  My Uncle Bob was a real estate lawyer. We would need someone more knowledgeable about murder in my case.

  “Do you think they’re going to arrest me? I didn’t kill Pete.”

  She tugged on a piece of my hair. “Wendy, I know that. If they thought you were guilty last night, they would’ve taken you to the police station.”

  “Mom, I can’t remember how I got home. All I remember is freaking out and then puking all over the Preiss’ rug.”

  “Your father calmed you down. We brought you home and put you into your bed, but you wouldn’t stop crying, so we put you in our bed. I slept beside you the whole night, while Dad slept in yours.” She went to the window. “A police car has been parked out front since last night.”

  I rubbed my arms for warmth, but couldn’t stop shivering. “I guess I have to answer more questions?”

  “I would say so. Pam’s mother called. She sounded very upset over the phone. Pam was pulled into questioning along with Toby and a few others. I didn’t tell her everything, but she had a lot of questions. She’s clueless as to what went on Saturday night and how Pam is involved.”

  “The shit’s hit the fan,” I said without thinking.

  She snorted. “You could say that. Why don’t you take a shower and then have some breakfast? Then we’ll go down to the station.”

  I nodded. “Mom, I love you.”

  She turned before she descended the stairs. “I love you, too.”

  I fell back on the bed and placed an arm across my face. My eyes were gritty and my body damp with sweat. I left the bed and peered out the window at the parked police car. Pete’s house was dark with no sign of life inside. His car was still missing.

  His killer was roaming free. I would do whatever I could to find the person responsible and make him pay.

  ***

  The police station was busy with people on phones or in groups talking. I found this strange on a Monday before noon and in a small town like Brookeside that the police would have so much crime to deal with. It made me uncomfortable. I was mainly going on experience after watching all those crime shows on television. The fear of being placed in a small. dark room with a mirror behind me and arrested for Pete’s murder made me sick to my stomach.

  Dad approached the information desk and chatted with the woman sitting there. As she picked up the phone, he sat down next to Mom and me.

  “They’re calling Detective Donnelly.”

  Less than ten minutes later, Detective Donnelly came out to greet us. He smiled and held out his hand for us to shake. He didn’t appear exhausted, unlike me. I found that annoying. I assumed he would be working late into the night, trying to solve Pete’s murder.

  “Nice to see you again, Wendy, Marie, and Greg. Please come with me. I have a room available where we can sit and talk.”

  He took us to where there was even more commotion and people talking on phones. “Want anything to eat or drink?”

  “No. We had something before we came.” Mom kept her arm around my shoulders.

  He led us to a room that wasn’t one I usually saw on television. It had glass all around it and was carpeted with a long table, chairs, and a bulletin board on the wall.

  “Come on in.” He held the door open.

  “Is it okay if my parents stay? Should we have brought a lawyer with us?” I asked.

  “Wendy.” Dad tried to quiet me.

  Donnelly let out a booming laugh. “You do watch too much TV.”

  “I’m a teenager.” I sat and crossed my arms.

  The detective raised an eyebrow as if amused by my sudden snotty outburst. He stuck his head out the door and motioned for someone. They brought a cardboard box. Sticking out of it was a familiar backpack.

  When the detective closed the door and sat down across from me, I straightened. He placed the box on the table and pulled out a folder that was also in the
box. He set the box on the floor next to him then grabbed the backpack. It was Pete’s. It had a key chain dangling with his name and address on it.

  “That’s Pete’s.” I wouldn’t sit there pretending it wasn’t.

  Donnelly didn’t seem surprised. He tugged at his brown tie that had seen better days.

  I shared a look with my parents, but they remained quiet. I reached for the backpack but stopped, remembering it was evidence. “I’m surprised it’s not in some plastic bag thingy. Don’t you guys usually do that so it’s not contaminated?”

  “We checked it for fingerprints already, and only Pete’s were found. It wasn’t used as a weapon. No blood splatter was found on it. It was on a shelf in the boathouse.”

  “I remember him putting it up there. He would never go anywhere without it. Well, he didn’t bring it into the dance.…”

  “Wendy, it’s perfectly okay to be nervous. I want you to relax. We wouldn’t want you to have another attack like you had last night.”

  I nodded, tracing the scarred tabletop with a finger. Mom placed her hand on mine that lay on my knee.

  “Detective Donnelly, I have to ask, is our daughter a suspect?” Dad got right to the point.

  Donnelly tapped his fingers on the file in front of him. “Wendy is what we call, ‘a person of interest’.”

  I covered my face and swallowed down the bile threatening to explode from my mouth. “Oh God,” I whispered.

  “Why my daughter? She came to you last night and told you everything she knows.”

  Donnelly held up his hand. “Mrs. Wyman, Wendy is on a list that is quite long. We’re even investigating the deceased’s parents.”

  “The deceased has a name,” I growled.

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so callous, but this is the first murder in Brookeside in almost twenty years, and a crime of passion or anger.”

  “How do you know that?” I really didn’t want to know but needed to.

  “The photos taken at the crime scene should be in my hands within the hour, but unless you want to see them, I won’t show you. Unlike those television cop shows you enjoy watching, I’m not one for shocking. I don’t think this murder was planned at all. What I think happened is the deceased—Peter made it to the boathouse and found his backpack. But he didn’t leave right away, which if he had left sooner, it might have possibly saved his life—”

  “What makes you think he didn’t leave right away?”

  “I’ll get to that shortly, Wendy. Peter was there for a good ten minutes. During that time, someone came upon him. We do know he didn’t call anyone on his cell. The only incoming number was yours and those were from the next morning. An argument ensued or something occurred where it became physical. Peter was hit in the face with one of the kayak paddles. That blow didn’t kill him, but the one where he fell to the ground did.”

  “The blow on the ground killed him? Where did he hit his head?” Dad looked so confused. I was, also, but hid it better.

  Donnelly sighed and wiped his mouth. “The autopsy is still on-going but what we do know is there is a huge gaping hole in the back of his head. We found a loose board on the other side of the canoe, which transported his body to the lake. That board had a few nails sticking up, and when Peter fell, the nails impaled him through the back of his skull, which killed him on impact.”

  I covered my mouth and began to hyperventilate. Mom pushed my head down between my knees.

  “Breath, Wendy,” she whispered into my ear.

  Chairs squeaked, reminding me of the sound nails make on a chalkboard.

  “Do you want me to get a doctor?” Donnelly said, and Dad responded, mumbling a reply I couldn’t quite make out.

  “No.” Gasping, I lifted my head, laid my arms on the table, and set my forehead against the palms of my hands. This couldn’t get any worse than it already was. “I’m okay. I just need a minute. Please.”

  The door opened and something cold touched my arm—a can of soda.

  “Drink it. Or do you want water?” Donnelly asked.

  “This is fine. I’m okay.” I opened the can and took a gulp. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted. Why would someone hurt Pete like that?” I asked no one in particular and placed the cold can against my forehead. It didn’t help.

  “That’s where you come in, Wendy. Maybe you can help me. Your other friends are keeping quiet.”

  “Who are the others?”

  “Yesterday, a few other detectives and I chatted with your friends who were at the parking lot. They all have alibis. Toby Herald stayed overnight with his cousin Dylan Mayone. We also have Mr. Mayone to back this up. Anthony Varela and Pamela Collins are each others’ alibis—”

  “Wait.” I held up my hand. “What do you mean Pam and Anthony are each other alibis? They aren’t really friends.” My head spun again.

  “You don’t know?” he asked.

  “If I knew, would I ask?” I slammed the can on the table, and Mom put her arm around me. “No, Mom, stop.” Rising from the table, I walked over to the wall and leaned against it.

  Donnelly turned to me. “Peter wasn’t the only one sleeping in a girl’s room. Pamela acted shocked when we talked to her, but she was very vocal about things, much like you are. I guess she wanted to finally get everything off her chest. She and Anthony Varela have been engaging in a sexual relationship for months. Last night, he stayed over at her house. Her parents had no clue, much like your parents. But we were able to talk to Anthony, who corroborated her story.”

  I slid down to the floor and held up both hands. Mom and Dad stood up from their seats in concern. They probably thought I was going to freak out again or pass out. I blinked away the black spots forming in front of my eyes. “You’re saying the mysterious man Pam has been fooling around with is Anthony?”

  Leaning forward, Donnelly placed his hands on his knees. He was the only one who didn’t seem too concerned with me sitting on the dusty orange carpet.

  “Yes. You didn’t know she’s three months pregnant?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I didn’t explode or jump to my feet and yell and scream over Donnelly’s bomb. My parents did that for me. I just sat there stunned.

  If Donnelly had said the father of Pam’s child was Pete, I would’ve run out of the building and straight into traffic. While Donnelly tried to calm my parents, I got up and went to the table to finish drinking my soda.

  They all grew silent as I gulped down the sweet caffeine and covered a burp. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and glanced around for a garbage can.

  “Do you have a recycling bin I can throw this into?”

  Donnelly waved behind him. “Yes. Near the elevators.”

  “I’m going to throw this away and use the bathroom. I need some air.”

  He nodded. “Go ahead. The bathrooms are down the hall and to the left.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be back in a few to continue the conversation.” Without another word, I opened the door and exited.

  It felt like a million eyes were on me while I approached the elevators and the recycling bin. I crushed the can hard in my hand and a jagged piece cut the inside of my thumb. It started bleeding.

  After I threw the can away, I went down the hall and found the women’s bathroom pretty easily, which reminded me of the ones at school. A leaky faucet dripped and one of the mirrors had a crack down the middle. I turned on the cold water, splashing my face, then leaned over the sink, taking deep breaths. Closing my eyes, I fought to hold off the tears.

  “Pete.” Visions of his murder rushed through my head. I could only imagine the fear he experienced while he tried to fight the person who wanted to harm him and ended up pounding his head in with one of those paddles. When he fell, his life had left him, a nail stabbing the back of his head hard enough to hit his brain and end his life.

  My legs trembled. I almost fell to the floor. God, I wanted to roll up under the sink and rock and cry. But I owed it to Pete to be strong, to f
ind out who took his life and why.

  Standing there, I swore I felt him with me in that cramped, stuffy-smelling bathroom. His lips pressed against my forehead, a light touch. My heart slowed, and straightening, I took a deep breath. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, at the face that was my own but told a different story of what I was so used to seeing.

  I’d grown up the past few days. Love and death combined. Now I had to find a way to live, for myself and everything Pete had wanted for me.

  I exited the bathroom with my head held high. When I opened the door to the room with the glass windows, both my parents and the detective stared at me—probably surprised I had returned so soon.

  “I want to continue our discussion.” I closed the door and sat in my seat.

  “Wendy, your hand is bleeding,” Mom whispered, looking worse than I did. Blood had congealed in the center of my palm.

  “Cut myself. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, Detective, who do you think is guilty and has the most to achieve by getting Pete out of the way? I can give you a few reasons why it’s not me.”

  Donnelly crossed his arms. “Really? I would be very interested in your thoughts. But you do have one strike against you the others don’t.”

  “Detective, I assumed this isn’t an interrogation. Perhaps my daughter is correct in needing a lawyer?” Dad folded his hands on the table.

  The detective tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. “Not yet. Maybe soon, but keep in mind, I’ve been telling everyone else I’ve talked to the same thing about lawyers. Wendy’s not the exception.”

  “Dad, it’s okay. What’s the one strike against me?”

  “Your alibi. You say you were in your bedroom at midnight and fell asleep until….”

  “I woke Wendy around eleven,” Mom said.

  Donnelly nodded his head. “Did you check on Wendy during the night to make sure she was in bed?”

  “No. There was no need.” She seemed uneasy. I was the one this time to hold her hand.

  “Detective, you said Pete’s murder is a crime of anger or passion. I wouldn’t follow him to the boathouse and bash his brains in. We just shared a wonderful time together. Heck, if you don’t believe me, you can always check his journal. I bet you already have. He’s probably written everything down about anyone he knows in the past few years, including me. He always wrote in that book of his. You can probably figure out who his enemies are. I bet that’s why he returned to the boathouse, to get his journal.”