Her eyes are wide with terror, her face dirty and bruised. That’s when that feeling in my gut rushes in. I recognize her.
It’s Chrissy, the girl from Mike’s selfie.
chapter 92
I take a quick screenshot before the image disappears.
I bring up Charlie’s “Hot Diggity” and text him.
It’s go time.
What?
Message from comedymuse. It’s bad.
I’m almost out of the school when I realize I need information. I text Mike.
Meet me in the commons.
dude. in class.
now
He doesn’t respond.
I text again.
NOW
Minutes later, I see him heading down the hallway toward me.
“What’s going on?”
I’m not sure how to approach it, so I barrel in because there is no easy way around this. “That girl you met at the party—?”
“Chrissy?”
“Yeah. Where does she go to school?”
“Man, what are you getting at? You trying to get something on the side?”
“Mike, I need to know.”
“What is with you?”
“Mike!”
He stops and stares at me. “You know, ever since Sheri, I’ve been trying to help get your mind off things—but you’re not you. You’re never around, you’re skipping practice. It’s like you’ve just given up.”
He’s talking but I can’t comprehend what he’s saying through the chaos in my head. Frankly, I couldn’t really care less, and if I did, I’d likely punch him in the face. I hold it all in, trying to calm down and focus on what’s going on.
“Mike, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I think something’s happened to Chrissy.”
“What are you talking about?”
I don’t want to explain myself and I sure as hell am not going to show him the picture.
“Just tell me what school Chrissy goes to.”
He eyes me, squinting like it’s going to help him see the reason for my craziness.
“Mike, I think what happened to Sheri is happening to Chrissy.” I hope that’s enough to get him to cooperate.
“Why would you—? What makes you…?”
I let him wind down.
“Guthrie,” he finally says.
Sheri’s school.
“And what’s her last name?”
“McIntyre.”
“Thanks, Mike. Don’t worry. I’m going to do my best to keep her safe.”
chapter 93
I realize what I said and that it may have sounded arrogant, but I don’t care. I meant it.
I leave him and the school behind, texting as I go.
Girls from your school.
It doesn’t take long for Charlie to reply.
Wat?
I start typing but Charlie interrupts:
How do u know?
I erase my message and type:
Long story. Gekas?
The typing indicator bubbles, then:
Yes.
I’m pretty sure he went back and forth on that. Charlie texts again:
I’m there in five.
I didn’t know he had a car. Or worse yet, he doesn’t but he’ll find himself one. Either way, he’s not at school because no one gets across town to the east side that fast.
I bring up Gekas’s number from my recents—it’s been used far too many times as of late.
She answers on the second ring. “Anthony?”
“He’s got another one.”
Silence but I don’t have the patience to wait. “Detective Gekas, can I send you the picture he sent me?”
“He contacted you?”
“Yes.” I need her focused and on track. “I’m sending it now.”
I put her on speaker, click “attachment,” and go to my photos. It’s the first one and I can’t even look at the thumbnail. The idea that I have something like this on my phone bothers me.
“Sending it now.”
“I need that phone, Anthony. Maybe we can trace it.”
“He sent it through one of those self-destructing photo apps. There’d be no trace.”
“Maybe a bit of code, something to find him?”
“Sure, Detective.” I doubt it though, and I think she does too. “You get it yet?”
“It’s still downloading…”
“She’s from Sheri’s school.”
More silence. “How do you know? Did he tell you?”
“No. A friend of mine met her.” I think about my home address on the basement wall. “Detective Gekas, do you think he went after her because of me?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “No, Anthony. It isn’t your fault.”
“But—” I’m ready to tell her what I didn’t tell her before—about the pictures and the run-in we had with the killer.
“Don’t think that way. It’s just bad luck.”
I’m sure she’ll investigate it anyway.
She’s quiet now and I assume she’s got the picture.
“Her name is Chrissy McIntyre.”
“Thank you, Anthony. Anything else?”
“The last person I know who saw her was my buddy, Mike.”
“I’m going to have to question him.”
“Okay.” At this point, I have to do whatever it takes. “He met her at a farm party on Friday.”
“Is this the one where you hurt your eye?”
Crap. “Yes.”
“You really have lousy luck, Anthony.”
“I know, Detective Gekas. I know.”
chapter 94
Charlie is outside my school three minutes later. He’s got two coffees in his hand and what I can only guess is a bag of doughnuts.
I look around. “Where’s your car?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Then how’d you get here?”
“I was at the coffee shop down the street.”
Why do I ever assume Charlie lives a normal life? I wonder if he even goes to school. I hand him my phone and show him the text.
“You say he sent it to you? Text?”
“No, a Snapchat.” I don’t mention that it seems like he and Gekas are joined at the brain.
He stares at it, not moving, taking it in.
“It’s pretty bad, huh?”
He looks at me, shaking his head. “No. I know who the killer is.”
chapter 95
Charlie hustles me to my car before he says another word.
“Drive.”
“Where?”
“My school.” He stares out the window, chewing on his first doughnut, mumbling to himself.
“What?”
“I said, ‘It’s a stupid day to have missed school.’ ”
“Why? What’s going on? Who is it?”
He grabs my phone and shows me the picture. I can barely look at it.
“What do you see?”
“Chrissy—?”
“No, the car. Blue Civic with a busted driver’s side taillight.”
“So?”
“It’s Robbie.”
“Who?”
He looks at me like I should know these things.
“Robbie. The dude I was with the first day you came and asked for my help.”
Now I remember. The kid in the hoodie with the baggie and the glass pipe. And the lost car.
“Robbie?”
“I know. It doesn’t make sense. The kid can barely tie his own shoelace without falling over. But…?”
I think about the beatdown we got in the house, trying to match up my earlier impression of Robbie with the figure in the mask. It still doesn’t work.
“You really think he could’ve pushed you down the stairs, taken me out, then got away?”
“No. That’s why we’ve got to find him before Gekas does.”
chapter 96
“Is he at school?”
“He has a worse track record for showing up than me.”
“Don’t you have someone you can text?”
Charlie looks at me. “Unfortunately, most of my connections are superficial. It’s easier that way.”
I can’t help but feel a little hurt, so I stick it right back at him. “That’s why it pays to have friends.” I hand Charlie my phone as I drive. “Here.”
He takes it from my hand. “Who do you want?”
“Look up Jessica’s name.”
He doesn’t even pause as he types in my password and scrolls through my numbers.
“Text her and ask if Robbie’s been at school.”
“Would she even know?” I can hear the edge in his voice.
“Despite what you may think, she pays attention.”
He sends the message off and we wait for a response.
“It really doesn’t make sense that Robbie could be a killer,” he says.
I look over at him; he’s staring out the window, sipping on his coffee, but I don’t think he’s taking in the scenery.
My phone buzzes. He looks at it.
“She says, ‘No.’ Do you think she’d know where he might be?” he asks.
“Doubt it. You have any ideas?”
He pulls out his own phone. “He lives just off Prince of Wales Drive. Let’s start there.”
chapter 97
We pull to the side of the street a few yards from Robbie’s driveway. No other cars are there and the place looks empty.
It’s a big house, probably built in the late ’80s, with the garage on the front. A few small saplings on the lawn have only begun to dream of being real trees. The grass is green and manicured, even in this dry fall. Not a trace of fallen leaves on the property.
We step out of the car. This wide-open street doesn’t offer much in the way of a subtle approach. Also, if this turns into a thing, which I expect it will with Charlie around, there’s no real place for us to avoid being seen by nosey neighbours.
We stay close to the edge of the attached garage, walking along the wall. I hope it blocks us from view, at least a little, but I know that’s just wishful thinking. Charlie puts his face to the window of the side door of the garage, cupping his face to block the bright daylight. I follow his lead and now I feel like the nosey neighbour.
My eyes adjust to the dim interior. The car’s inside.
“We need to get in there.” Charlie rattles the knob of the garage door, but doesn’t take his eyes off the car. It’s locked.
“Now what?”
He looks around, and I hope to God he’s not looking for a rock to throw through the window.
Charlie heads up the front steps. I follow and he pounds on the door. So much for subtle, but at least it wasn’t a rock through the window.
No answer. No Robbie, no parents.
Charlie hops down off the step and heads into the tight, narrow gap between houses. At the end is a seven-foot fence that splits in a T between the two properties. He grabs hold and jumps, wedging a foot between the stucco of the house and the corner fencepost. He pulls up from the cross brace and drags himself the rest of the way over the top.
“You coming?” he asks from the other side.
I weigh my options. Either I have Charlie let me in the front door and be seen by someone across the street, or I risk the b&e and follow him through the back.
“Hold on!” I yell as I drag myself not so gracefully over to the other side. I still hurt from Saturday but suck up the pain.
Charlie hasn’t once complained about his battered body and I take that as a sign of how seriously he’s taking this.
“I’m going to assume it’s because you’re being a pussy that you made that look as awkward as you possibly could.”
Apparently nothing’s so serious that you can’t give your buddies a hard time. “Shut it,” I say.
“I mean, I thought you guys could jump—”
“Shut. Up.” I don’t know if he’s trying to offend me but it’s sort of good to see he wants to mess with me, even now.
We move cautiously around the outside of the deck, but Charlie breaks off and makes for the patio door.
“You aren’t seriously going through that way?”
“The lock sucks and there’s too many eyes around for me to toss a brick through the window.” He catches my look. “I know you’re thinking I’d do something like that.”
“You wouldn’t actually, though, would you?”
He smiles but doesn’t answer. He goes right up to the back door, then hesitates.
“Charlie?”
His hand slips in his pocket and comes out again, empty. “I don’t know. Just… give me a chance to talk to him, okay?”
I nod.
He bangs on the door. “Robbie?”
Silence.
He knocks again, waiting. After all the times Charlie has walked right in uninvited, now he wants to watch his manners?
He’s about to knock a third time when I stop him.
Charlie stares at me. “What?”
“Really?”
He chews his lip, glaring at me. I know he’s pissed but I’m sure it has little to do with me. Still, if he decides to take his anger out on me, I’m ready.
Finally, he sighs and smiles and pulls out his ring of bump keys, dumping them in my hand. “You want in? Have at it.”
Unfortunately, I barely have any idea how to use them, except for the time I watched him. I find a key that seems to match and slide it in the lock. Charlie hands me a rock from the landscaped yard and I rap the back end, turning the key.
Nothing.
I try it again and again but still nothing happens. I’m ready to kick the door in.
Charlie sighs and, without a word, shows me the trick. He slides the key in and then, while twisting it, pulls the key back gently so that it’s no longer flush to the lock. He pushes it back in and lets me try.
I push it in, twist it, and pull it back gently. I feel a slight click through my fingers and hit the key with the screwdriver. The doorknob turns and I’ve now officially committed my first break and enter.
I motion to the door with an exaggerated “you first” bow.
Charlie swings his long, curly bangs out of the way and raises an eyebrow at me before taking me up on the offer.
I follow silently, closing the door gently behind us with a small, quiet click.
chapter 98
We’re in a back entryway, but it’s devoid of any pairs of shoes or clutter of jackets hanging from hooks. A small set of stairs leads us to the kitchen. It’s open concept, filled with black surfaces and stainless steel.
Charlie stares at a large glass bowl full of fruit on the centre island. He picks up an apple and squeezes it. “Fake.”
“Sure looks real.”
“Bet they paid extra for real-looking fake fruit.”
He opens the fridge and assesses its contents.
“What are you doing? Don’t you have doughnuts in the car?”
“What’s in a fridge says a lot about someone.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Too many condiments. Not enough real food.”
He shuts the door
I stare at the bare fridge door. A magnet for a pizza joint holds a couple of receipts under it. “What’s on a fridge also says a lot about a family.”
“Hey, they only moved here a little while ago.”
It feels like he’s apologizing for them.
A cat comes around a corner and meows, rubbing itself against Charlie�
��s pant leg. He doesn’t kick it away but doesn’t pay it any special attention either.
We walk into the dining room where a large picture, if that’s what you’d call it, hangs. It’s a field of colour—orange—that takes up nearly half the wall. I barely give it any notice, but Charlie stares at it.
“Does it speak to you?” I ask.
He ignores me and moves on into the living room. It’s as beautiful as it is hollow, with absolutely no personality. The sofas match the chairs and the white walls are only an extension of the white rugs and white curtains. The paintings in here are more ugly décor store designer art, something Mom has strongly voiced a dislike for. There are no photos anywhere to indicate who lives here.
“Charlie, this family has no soul.”
He sighs and nods as he goes up the stairs toward the bedrooms. The cat follows.
I pause. “Wait, why aren’t we breaking into the garage?”
“Don’t you learn anything I teach you, Shepherd?”
I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be learning.
“Let’s case the joint quickly, gather whatever we can, then move on.”
“But—”
“What?”
“What about the girl?”
He looks at me, his face empty of expression. “What about her?”
“She could be in the trunk of the car!”
“So?”
His answer leaves me cold. When he’s on the trail of something, he doesn’t let anything stand in his way, but he’s ignoring a person’s life.
Then I realize what his priorities are. “You’re not here for her. You’re here for Robbie.”
He sighs, like he has no time to deal with me. “He isn’t our guy.”
“But what if he is?”
I can see he doesn’t even want to consider it, but he takes a step toward me. “So, what then? Think you’ll get to the trunk and she won’t look any different than that dog?”
The image of that poor animal flashes in my mind and I’m not sure I want to face it. Yet, I push ahead, ready to argue.
He cuts me off. “Look, you be the hero and go save the damsel. I’m going to do what needs to be done.” He turns and heads up the stairs.
I stand at the bottom while he disappears down the second floor hallway. I turn and spy another dark hallway, certain that it leads out to the attached garage, but I can’t get myself to move. My brain swirls with thoughts. If Robbie is our guy, I’m certain I could take him. But whoever went after us on Saturday almost took us both out—this scares me. And that pisses me off, but until I can get ahold of myself, I’ll follow Charlie’s lead.
Along Comes a Wolfe Page 21
