“That’s just wonderful.” I threw my hands up.
“It gets better. He said he’d be on the football field. At midnight tonight. And you should come alone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Am I living in an episode of CSI: Silicon Valley?”
Chase grinned. “Cute.”
Despite my foul mood, I think I blushed. “I was going for exasperated, not cute.”
“Try harder next time,” he said, still grinning. A dimple dented his left cheek, totally at odds with the Danger: Bad Boy Ahead image he was cultivating.
“Anyway,” I said, “this feels like a total prank. Midnight? Come alone?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
I blew out a puff of air, ruffling my hair. “I am so sick of this. I swear if I get out there and no one shows up . . .”
“Whoa. Wait—you’re not actually thinking of meeting him, are you?”
I turned to him. “Of course. I mean, it’s probably a prank, but I need to be sure, right?”
“No!” he shouted.
“Shhh!” I said, turning the tables on him.
He failed to see the irony, completely ignoring me as he continued. “No, I definitely do not think you should meet him.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t we just go over this? Alone? In the middle of the night? In a deserted location?”
I put my hands on my hips. “The HHH football field is hardly the middle of nowhere. I think I’ll be okay, Mom.”
But he shook his head again. “No. No way can I let you go.”
“I’m sorry, ‘let me’? Since when did you become my keeper?”
“Hartley, we’re dealing with a killer here. This is not some game.”
“Oh, gee, I’m sorry. Here I thought we were playing Parcheesi.”
Again, my excellent sarcastic wit was wasted on him.
“I’ll go,” he said.
“And that’s safer because?”
“I’m a guy.”
“Right, and having a pair of dingle balls makes you invincible how?”
“Okay, now you’re just being unreasonable.”
I threw my hands up. “In the past two days I’ve been cheated on, lied to, stalked by both a cop and a grief counselor, and now, thanks to an overzealous reporter, the entire student body thinks I’m some sort of wannabe Nancy Drew, and I’ve got a date with a secret informant on a damp field in the middle of the night. I think I’ve earned the right to be a little unreasonable!”
“You are not meeting this guy.”
“I’m so meeting him.”
“I don’t like this, Hartley.”
“I don’t care what you like!”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Hey, what’s with the attitude? I’m not the one you should be pissed at here.”
He was right. I was totally projecting. I was pissed at Josh, but Chase was a closer target. And the whole macho thing was not winning him any points today.
“I’m just looking out for your well-being,” Chase said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why does everyone say that when what they really mean is that they don’t want to feel guilty?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Whatever.”
Chase shook his head. “Why are you even doing this?”
“Arguing with you? Good question. You’re really not worth the time.”
“No. Trying to help Josh. The guy who cheated on you.”
I felt my face flush, my cheeks burning. “I know he cheated. Don’t you think I know that?”
“Then why do you still care?”
“I don’t!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
Chase threw his hands up. “You know what? Fine. Go meet this psycho killer on the football field at midnight. Knock yourself out!”
“Fine. I will!”
“Good!”
“Great!”
By this point our conversation had escalated into a bona fide shouting match. Every head within eyeshot was turned our way. Chris Fret stood at his locker, his hands frozen over a cross-country jersey, his mouth open. Jessica Hanson was filming us on her phone. The Color Guard girls were openly staring, Caitlyn narrowing her eyes at us, while Kaylee chewed on a fingernail, looking concerned.
I slammed my locker shut and ducked my head, turning my back on Chase as I stalked off.
God, I hated guys.
I hid out in the girls’ bathroom for the rest of lunch period, then kept my nose glued to my books through chem and trig. As soon as the last bell sounded I sprinted for the doors, managing to sneak away with only a few illconcealed glances from the curious. Needless to say, by that time every person at HHH with a cell phone knew about my fight with Chase. In fact, one text had even been mistakenly sent to me:
hart’s totally lost it.
I texted back that Cody ought to check his contacts more carefully before sending mass messages.
oops. Srry.
I ignored the apology—I’d had enough of those to last me a lifetime—and made my way home.
Of course Raley was once again parked in front of my house. I was beginning to think of him as a permanent fixture. Kinda like a big, annoying garden gnome.
“Caught any bad guys today?” I asked as I walked past.
He just shook his head and retaliated with, “Nope. Seen Josh today?”
“Nope.”
Neither of us believed that, but I didn’t give him a chance to question me any further, quickly heading up the walkway.
I stuck my key in the lock and opened the door to find a note from Mom taped to the entry credenza:
Went to Spin class. Cake in the fridge. Love you.
Cake. Some days I loved my mom. I went straight to the fridge and pulled out a chocolate thing dripping with icing. Okay, so it was made with chickpea flour and carob frosting. But, really, there wasn’t much you could do to ruin chocolate cake. I cut myself a huge slice, then dug into the freezer for my secret stash. There was half a pint of Chunky Monkey left. I scooped it on top of the cake, then sat at the counter and savored every decadent bite.
After I had completely gorged myself, I trudged up to my bedroom, turned on MTV, and pulled out my trig book. How was it fair that I had to conduct a murder investigation and do trig? All Raley did was sit outside my house in his sedan, no doubt downing donuts.
Several deliciously dramatic reality shows later, I heard Mom’s minivan pull into the driveway, followed closely by a knock at my door.
“Hart? You there?” Mom asked as she peeked her head into my room.
I did a little wave from my cross-legged position on my bed. “Hey.”
“Homework done?”
“Yep.”
“You get something to eat?”
“Yep.”
“You doing okay?”
“Yep.”
“Got everything you need?”
“Yep.”
“Okay . . .” Mom lingered in the doorway even though she’d clearly run out of questions to ask.
“Well . . . have a good night, then,” she finally said.
“Thanks.” I paused, then added, “you, too,” feeling just the teensiest bit guilty about lying to her after she made me a cake.
Okay, I guess technically I wasn’t lying. But I certainly hadn’t felt compelled to tell her that I was planning to slip out to meet an anonymous witness at midnight in the deserted football field.
Then again, considering such information was likely to give her a heart attack, I was actually being a pretty good daughter by lying.
I looked up at the clock. 11:30 p.m. It was now or never.
TWELVE
I PULLED ON A PAIR OF BLACK STRETCH PANTS, A BLACK hoodie, and my sneakers, just in case there was anything lurking out there to run away from. I looked out the front window. Raley was still parked at the curb, his fender just visible from my vantage point. No doubt his beady littl
e eyes were trained on my front door as if Josh might magically appear at any second.
Unfortunately, I didn’t think he’d miss me slipping out of said door, either.
I turned around and looked to my back window. If Josh could climb in, surely I could climb out, right?
I crossed the room, lifted the window open, and looked down.
That ground looked awfully hard and awfully far away.
I hesitated a brief moment, wondering if it was too late to call Chase and take him up on his offer to meet Deep Blogger. But that meant swallowing my pride and admitting I was a chicken. I’d had my ego bruised one too many times already in the past week. I wasn’t sure it could recover from another hit.
So, despite my better judgment, I took a deep breath, stepped over the sill, and leaned toward the oak tree that Josh had used to climb in my room. I experienced just the slightest tinge of vertigo as my foot hung suspended in air over the two-story drop.
Be cool, Hart. Be cool.
I took another deep breath and leaned to the right, stretching my foot as far as I could. The tip of my Nikes touched the largest branch. I let go of the sill with one hand, again stretching toward the tree, channeling Mom’s yoga obsessions. I got one foot on, but it was hardly a stable foothold. I was gonna have to jump for it.
I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and held my breath. I could do this. I was monkey girl. I would not fall.
I pulled my leg back onto the sill, kneeling in the opening. Then I swung my arms and jumped.
For one terrifying moment, I was suspended in air above our crabgrassy lawn. Then my hands connected with the tree branch, and I clamped on like my life depended on it (which, at this point, it did). I gave myself a two count to collect my strength again, then shimmied down the branch, feetfirst, toward the center of the tree where the limbs converged.
The second my feet hit the trunk, I let out a sigh of relief so loud, I was sure Raley heard me out front. I crouched down in the dark, listening with my entire body to the sounds of the suburban night: a TV in my neighbor’s bedroom spouting canned laughter, a cat yowling down the street, a dishwasher humming contentedly from the house behind mine.
But no nosy detectives.
So far, so good.
I wrapped my arms around the trunk, slowly easing myself downward, then dropped the last few feet to the ground. I slunk around the tree, keeping to the shadows and out of range of the motion-detecting lights on our back patio, until I reached the side yard. Careful to avoid the garbage cans, I undid the latch on the back gate and peeked out.
Raley was still parked in the same spot out front, eyes glued to the front door.
In the immortal words of Mr. Burns . . . eeeeeeexcellent.
I quickly slipped out the gate, latching it behind me, then ducked my head and took off toward school.
It was only about a ten-minute walk to the football field, but I felt like a fugitive the entire way, ducking the big bad law stationed on my street.
I was shivering from the cold by the time I hit the school. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands, wishing I’d brought my down coat. But it was white. Not exactly stealth colored.
Blowing out visible puffs of air, I skirted around the front of the school. It was originally built at the beginning of the last century, all tall columns, tons of white concrete, and large imposing steps up to the front doors. Lit from below with strategically placed lights, it looked like a giant mausoleum in the night.
Not that my imagination was running away with me or anything.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying not to play any particular horror movie scenes in my head as I speed walked the length of the building, crossed the back parking lot, and hit the quiet, dewy football field.
Deep Blogger had said specifically in the email Chase forwarded to me that he would meet me beneath the back bleachers. I blinked in the darkness, trying to get my bearings as I entered the first row of seats.
I took three steps, then thought I heard a sound to my left and quickly swung around. I squinted through the nothingness.
“Hello?” I called out.
No response.
I swallowed a gulp of cowardice, quickening my pace toward the last row.
Where I was sure I heard a sound this time.
“Hello?” I called again. “Deep Blogger?” I felt kinda ridiculous calling out his pseudonym, but “Hey, mysterious informant!” felt just as silly.
There was a pause. Then a raspy voice answered back. “Are you alone?”
I was surprised to hear it was female, though I could tell she was taking pains to disguise it by adding a fake rasp. Because I would recognize it? I took a step forward, trying to make out the owner, but all I could see was the faint outline of a person. It looked like she was dressed all in black, a hoodie pulled up over her head. She could have been Heidi Klum or the Unabomber for all I could tell.
“Yes,” I answered. “I’m alone.”
“Are you armed?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. Why would I be armed?”
“Turn around so I can see you.”
I held my arms out and did an exaggerated spin for my dramatic informant’s viewing pleasure.
“Satisfied?” I asked.
I saw the form nod.
Good. Time to get down to business.
“You saw who killed Courtney Cline?” I asked.
“I did.”
I paused, waiting for her to go on. When she didn’t, I prompted, “Well? Who was it?”
“First I need some assurance that I’ll be safe.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll protect my identity.”
“Well, considering I have no idea who you are, that shouldn’t be a problem. How do you know who killed Courtney?”
“I saw the killer.”
“How?” I asked.
“I was outside Josh’s house when Courtney was killed. I saw the killer go inside.”
I bit my lip. “Okay, I’ll bite—who did you see?”
“I’ll tell you.” The shadow took a step closer, coming toward me. “It was . . .”
The voice faltered. I heard a sound like feet tripping over each other on the grass. There was a sharp intake of air and a second later a high-pitched yelp.
Then I watched in horror as my best lead yet turned and began to run in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” I shouted, turning after her. “Don’t go!”
But Deep Blogger didn’t pay any attention, taking off at a full sprint toward the parking lot.
I ducked my head and ran after her.
Only I didn’t get far.
As I passed the spot where she’d been standing in the shadows, I felt myself trip over something on the ground, my left foot catching as I slipped forward.
I threw my hands out in front of me to break my fall, my palms sliding on the wet grass.
I craned my head back to see what I’d stumbled on.
And that’s when I heard a new sound. A long, loud scream, echoing eerily off the abandoned metal bleachers.
It took me a minute to realize it was coming from me, as my entire being was focused on the object on the ground that, incidentally, my left foot was still caught under.
Kaylee Clark lay on the grass, her legs twisted under her body, her vacant eyes staring blankly into the starry sky, a dark pool of blood under her head.
THIRTEEN
I QUICKLY PULLED MY FOOT OUT FROM UNDER KAYLEE AND scrambled to my feet. Or tried to. I tripped, falling on the ground again, wet mud squishing between my fingers. It felt like it took an eternity for me to find my feet a second time and actually make them move in the opposite direction of the body. When I finally did, I took off running, my body moving without any input from my brain. Which was a good thing, because at present the only thing my brain could do was chant, “ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod” over and over again. I ran blindly through the dark, making it to midfield before I ran into a solid wall.
“Whoa.” Hands went around my upper arms, holding me still.
“Rape!” I screamed instinctively, swatting at my attacker. It was far from the truth, but as a girl it was what I’d been programmed to yell when attacked. I smacked in the general direction of his face.
“Hartley!” His head jerked back, but his hold stayed strong.
I paused. I recognized that voice.
“Jesus, calm down.”
Let me tell you, I had never been so glad to see that overweight, redheaded cop in my life.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod! Kaylee. Over there. Ohmigod!”
“Calm down,” Detective Raley said again. “Take a breath.”
I did, dragging in cold air that burned my lungs. “Kaylee Clark. She’s”—I took another breath—“dead.”
In the shadows, I could see Raley’s eyebrows hunkering down, making his forehead a mass of wrinkles.
“Show me.”
While the last thing I wanted to do was go back to where I knew Kaylee was bleeding beneath the bleachers, the tone of Raley’s voice broached no argument. So, I did.
My feet refused to move any farther as soon as the bleachers came into view again, so I pointed a straight arm (okay, a slightly trembling arm) toward the last row.
“There.”
Raley nodded. “Stay here.”
Yeah, like I was going anywhere.
I watched Raley approach the inert object under the bleachers. I saw him crouch down, examining Kaylee closer, then straighten back up and pull out his cell. I was too far away to hear more than a muffled conversation, but I could well imagine what he was saying. I’m pretty sure the word “coroner” was involved.
I hugged my arms around myself, the chill biting despite the sweat I’d broken into at the first sight of Kaylee. I looked down at my feet. A big, red smear covered the toe of my white Nikes. I told myself it wasn’t blood. Probably just ketchup I’d dropped during lunch. Maybe nail polish I’d spilled at some point. Definitely not blood, and definitely not from a dead girl. I forced my eyes up, making myself promise never to look at my feet again.
Raley walked back over to me, a grim expression on his face.
Deadly Cool Page 10
