Night Sky

by Suzanne Brockmann

  In truth, I knew she’d eat only half a slice at best—with a knife and fork, no less. But whatever. If her guilt over having a secret boyfriend meant I got extra cheese, I’d take it.

  I took a tomato off the windowsill, washed it, and got out another cutting board—all without Mom having to ask. She made a little happy clucking sound, and I rolled my eyes. I could feel her glancing over at me, but I kept my focus on the tomato as if my life depended on cutting it into equal pieces.

  “So!” she said, and I braced myself, because here it came. “How’s school going?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Cool. Classes all right?”

  I hated when my mom used words like cool or sweet. She was just embarrassing us both. “Yeah,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

  I thought about band and how Mr. Jenkins insisted I play percussion, even though I could play the clarinet better than anyone in the entire school. I thought about the way that Mr. J didn’t seem to know much about music. I remembered telling Mom that I couldn’t figure out why the school had hired such an idiot.

  I tried to remember how she’d reacted, but all I knew was that, at the time, she hadn’t leaped to her feet and shouted, “That’s my boyfriend you’re disparaging! How dare you!”

  Boyfriend was a weird word to use to describe a man who was at least forty.

  Mom hummed a little bit, as if the silence I’d fallen into was too much for her.

  “So,” she said. “What about everything else? Things going smoothly?”

  I thought about the last few days. Smooth wasn’t the word I would have chosen to use.

  “Everything’s all right.” I dumped the tomato pieces into the salad bowl. “Hey,” I said, “I wanted to let you know something.”

  “Sure!” Mom’s eyes lit up.

  “Well, I just wanted to give you a heads-up that I’m going to be joining track. I went for a run today, and it made me feel really good.”

  Mom coughed a little, then of course washed her hands in the sink.

  “It shouldn’t be an issue,” I continued, “’cause there’s a bus that runs about an hour and a half later, after practice is out.” I, of course, would get Calvin to give me a ride home, but Mom didn’t need to know that.

  “Actually,” Mom replied as she dried her hands, “I was just thinking about after-school stuff too, and I found out that Maggie Jennings is offering a cooking class. She lives just two blocks down from us.”

  I laughed. “That’s funny, Ma.”

  My mom didn’t smile.

  “You’re serious?”

  “It should be a lot of fun,” Mom replied. “Look at how well you just cut up that tomato.”

  Seriously? “Okay,” I said. “I’d rather stick needles into my eyes.”

  “Oh, Skylar, don’t say such terrible things,” Mom said, aghast.

  “Well, it’s true. I hate cooking. Plus I suck at it. I was just trying to be nice with the tomato—”

  “All the more reason to take a class—so that you can improve.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter. “But I don’t have a reason to improve. I’m fine with frozen dinners. Or sandwiches. Cooking’s not my thing. I’m gonna do track.”

  Mom shook her head. “Skylar, track is… Well, it’s dangerous.”

  “Dangerous.” I laughed. “Running is healthy. It’s not dangerous.”

  “Well, haven’t you heard the stories of long-distance runners dropping dead during a race?” she asked.

  She was serious. “Mom,” I countered, “I don’t think we’ll run marathons at school. I mean, they’re twenty-six miles—”

  “Even sprinters have died of heart failure,” Mom said.

  “But what are the statistics of that?” I asked. “Is it one in a million or one in a billion? I mean, people die of heart failure sitting on the john!”

  She wasn’t listening. “And then there’s the damage to your ankles and knees. All those former track stars getting knee replacements at age twenty-five—”

  “Mom.”

  “And the…the…athlete’s foot from spending time in the locker room,” she said, picking up the salad bowl and taking it over to the table.

  “You don’t want me to run track because I might get athlete’s foot or drop dead.” I followed her, trying to make her see how ridiculous she sounded.

  But she just shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sky. I can’t let you.”

  “Yes, you can!” I insisted. I couldn’t believe we were actually having this conversation. It was like she was trying to make everything difficult. The person who should most enjoy seeing me succeed was keeping me from living my life. “Just let your neuroses go for a second and listen to how crazy you sound!”

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said quietly. “My answer is no.” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.”

  I knew she was going in there to cry. Well, it served her right. I hoped she felt as miserable as I did.

  I sank into a chair and set my forehead down on the tabletop. I didn’t feel like having pizza. I just wanted to go over to Calvin’s and watch a movie and forget about everything for a while. My mom’s BS was getting old.

  —

  Mom was still in the bathroom when the doorbell rang.

  “That must be the pizza,” she shouted through the door. “Sky! Would you use your debit card to get that?”

  With a sigh, I pushed myself to my feet and trudged to the front door, debit card in hand.

  The first thing I noticed was her tattoos.

  The girl had full sleeves tatted across both her arms underneath the tacky red Pizza Extravaganza shirt. And although her cap was tucked low over her face, she looked up at me as she shoved the pizza box in my direction. “Take it,” she demanded in a gruff voice.

  We locked eyes. And my stomach did a somersault.

  “Hey,” I started. “You’re…”

  “Keep your voice down,” the motorcycle girl from the Sav’A’Buck growled, “and take your effing pizza.”

  I took the cardboard box distractedly with one hand, holding the debit card out to the icicle-eyed girl with my other.

  “Put your money away and listen carefully.” The girl’s voice was low and intense. “Tonight. Ten p.m. Coconut Grove Mall. We meet at the old twenty-plex.” Motorcycle Girl cleared her throat and glanced over my shoulder before adjusting her cap so that it once again shadowed her eyes. “And come alone.”

  Just like that, the girl turned on her heel to leave. She was wearing the same steel-toed boots she’d had on last night when we’d almost gotten killed in the Harrisburg grocery store.

  “Wait!” I hissed a little too loudly.

  Motorcycle Girl turned around and placed an exaggerated finger over her lips, shushing me.

  “I don’t even know your name.” I took a step outside, my own whisper as stern as I could make it. “You really think that I’m just gonna go to an abandoned mall to meet some random person whose name I don’t even know…?”

  “It’s Dana,” the girl interrupted me. “My name is Dana. Now be quiet and go inside. And get there tonight. Ten p.m. sharp. Don’t be late. I don’t like late. Late doesn’t work for me.”

  I scowled and opened my mouth to respond. But before I could utter another word, Dana took another step toward me. “Bubble Gum, you’re gonna want to be there. It’s about Sasha.”

  Then, she turned and walked away.

  “Ooh, that smells so good!” Mom said, startling me as she came to the door.

  Motorcycle Girl—Dana—was already heading for the street, her boots clacking on the front walk.

  “Did she deliver our pizza on a motorcycle?” Mom asked, as Dana started her bike with a roar.

  “It’s probably really energy efficient,” I said as I h
anded Mom the pizza and shut and locked the door. She was still just standing there, so I took it back from her and nearly ran with it to the kitchen table, wanting to get this over with.

  “Wow, you’re hungry!” Mom exclaimed, her voice so cheerful again that I knew she was faking it.

  “Yup,” I said unenthusiastically.

  Dinner was weirder than usual as I wolfed down the pizza. Mom sat beside me, dipping lettuce into her dressing and smiling sadly at nothing.

  I made the mistake of glancing up at her, and she took that eye contact as an invitation to speak. “I can skip my mah-jongg game tonight, if you want.”

  What? No! “Why would you do that?” I asked.

  “You usually babysit,” she said, “and…”

  And the little girl I babysat for was missing. “I was actually thinking Calvin and I could spend the evening searching for Sasha if you’d—” Let me ride in Cal’s car with him, I was going to say, but I didn’t get that far.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, putting her fork down. “I thought you’d heard.”

  “Heard what?” I asked.

  “They announced it this morning,” Mom told me, tears filling her eyes. “They’ve called off the search. The blood they found in the back of Mr. Rodriguez’s truck was… Oh, honey, I didn’t want to tell you like this. Let’s not talk about this now.”

  “Why, because we’re having so much fun?” I carefully wiped my mouth with my napkin and put it down next to my plate. My heart was pounding. “Just tell me. What about the blood in the truck?”

  “The DNA tests were positive,” she said, and she must’ve known that I didn’t understand, because she added, “It was Sasha’s blood. And there was way too much of it. She couldn’t have survived…whatever atrocities were done to her.”

  Obviously, she could see that I still didn’t understand, that I couldn’t understand, and she put it into even plainer language. “Sky, the police have upgraded the case from a kidnapping to a murder investigation. There’s no way Sasha could have lost that much blood and still be alive. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  Sasha was dead?

  I saw a flash of Sasha’s empty eyes from my nightmare, and the slices of pizza I’d just wolfed down formed a sudden solid lump in my stomach.

  I thought about Dana’s brief message—Ten p.m. Coconut Grove 20-Plex. It’s about Sasha—and I looked up at my mother, who still had those tears brimming in her eyes.

  I pushed myself to my feet. “I’m really sorry, Mom, but I think I’m going to throw up.”

  Chapter Eight

  In truth, I was fine.

  Or at least as fine as I could be, having just received the awful news that the police believed that Sasha was dead. I refused to believe it. There must’ve been a mistake.

  “Maybe I should call Dr. Susan,” Mom said to me through the bathroom door. Her college roommate had become a doctor, and the rare few times I’d gotten sick, she’d made a virtual house call via our computer’s intermittently working video-chat service. Come to think of it, the only time I’d ever seen a doctor besides Dr. Susan was last year’s visit to the emergency room, after the accident.

  “I don’t need to talk to Dr. Susan,” I groaned. “I think it’s just food poisoning. Plus, I’ve got my period too, so… Ohhh, uhhh,” I wailed.

  Someone who heard me might’ve wondered if I was milking it just a little too much, but they didn’t know my mom. I had to sell it, hard, so that when she checked on me tonight and I was just a lump in my bed, she’d believe I was finally sleeping and leave without checking further.

  I didn’t know how long it was going to take—my meeting with Dana, aka Motorcycle Girl, at the old cineplex over at the long-deserted Coconut Grove Mall. But I did know this: I was going to be there. If someone really had killed Sasha, then it had been someone who wasn’t her father. I was determined to find out who and somehow make them pay.

  I must’ve made another moaning noise, because Mom spoke again through the door. “My poor baby. I’ll cancel my mah-jongg game.”

  “No!” I said, quickly opening the door, and Mom frowned. “I mean, please, please don’t cancel anything. I’m going to take some of that pink tummy medicine and go to bed. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom asked. “I hate to leave you by yourself when you’re like this.”

  I wanted her to think I was ill, but not sick enough to make her stay home tonight. I was working on a very slippery slope here.

  “It would make me feel even worse if you had to stay home,” I told her, adding a trembling lower lip and puppy-dog eyes.

  “Oh, honey.” Mom reached to hug me, but I scrambled back into the bathroom.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m gonna…” I said, slamming the door closed.

  “That’s okay, sweetie,” she called after me. “Call me if you need me.”

  Speaking of calling… I took my cell phone out of my back pocket. Thankfully, we had service, so I quickly dialed Calvin’s number.

  “What’s up?”

  “Cal!” I whispered, turning on the water in the sink, in case Mom was still lurking outside the door. “I need you to pick me up at nine thirty.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The motorcycle girl delivered our pizza tonight!”

  “What?” Cal said.

  “Yup.”

  “Damn it, I knew I should have stayed!” Cal said, disappointed. But then he perked up. “What’s happening at nine thirty?”

  “That girl—her name’s Dana—she told me to meet her at the Coconut Grove Twenty at ten o’clock. I think she knows something about Sasha’s disappearance. Her…” I closed my eyes and said it. “Murder.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line, for just a moment.

  “Are you still there?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Cal said finally. “Yeah, I’m here. I didn’t know if you’d heard about…But you have so… I’m just really sorry.”

  “Skylar?” Mom called, and rapped gently on the bathroom door.

  Crap! “I’m okay, Mom,” I said, coughing a couple times for effect.

  “Sky?” Cal said through the phone.

  “Hang on,” I hissed back.

  “Do you want me to get you anything?” Mom asked.

  I took my toothbrush out of the mug shaped like a fish wearing lipstick—the shower curtain and toilet seat matched—and quickly filled it with water, shutting off the faucet, now wanting Mom to hear me through the door.

  I dumped a little of the water out into the toilet as I made awful retching noises. It actually sounded like I was hurling. I was impressed with myself. “Oh, no, no, Mom. I just need to get this stuff out of my system.”

  “Dude, that’s nasty,” Cal said through the phone.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said.

  “I’ll be out soon,” I insisted. “I’m already feeling much better. I’m just so tired now…”

  “Okay, honey. I’m downstairs if you need me.”

  I coughed again and made my voice waver. “Thanks, Mommy.”

  I waited a couple seconds, and then turned the water back on and whispered into the phone. “Sorry about that.”

  “Man,” Cal said, “why didn’t you just puke and then call me back?”

  “I wasn’t really puking,” I replied. “I’m faking sick. Otherwise, there’s no way in hell I’m getting out of the house tonight.”

  “Well done,” Calvin said. He must’ve been wearing his hands-free headset, because I could hear him applauding my performance. “Bravo. And the Oscar goes to—”

  “Just pick me up,” I ordered him. “Nine thirty. Don’t be late!”

  —

  “If I end up getting hacked into a million little pieces tonight,” Calvin told me, “I just want you to know that I will definitely blame you.” />
  “All one million pieces of you?” I asked.

  We’d driven all the way out to the unlit, hulking remains of the Coconut Grove Mall, where the twenty-theater cineplex had once been—and I quote—“the jewel in the mall’s crown.” This mega mall was still technically in Coconut Key, but it was close enough to the town’s border with Harrisburg to have failed miserably when the economy quadruple-dipped.

  In fact, it had closed for good when Mom and I moved down here last spring. And in the relatively short time since then, the greenery that had once decorated the formerly upscale parking lot had grown like mad, with weird fingers of out-of-control tropical plants reaching crazily for the sky.

  It was spooky. And dark.

  The town had put a huge chain-link fence around the entire abandoned property, just inside the road that encircled the mall complex. Cal and I had already driven the perimeter, and we’d found two separate gates in the fence, but both were securely locked with bolts and thick, heavy chains.

  We were making a second pass around the place, Cal driving even slower now, because I’d thought I’d seen… “There!” I said, pointing.

  Cal braked to a stop, angling slightly so that his headlights shone on the fence. Or rather, on the hole in the fence. Someone had cut the chain links to provide an upside-down V-shape that would allow access to a crouching person. Or one in a wheelchair.

  It was conveniently close to the mall’s main theater entrance, and I suspected it wasn’t in that location by accident.

  Cal looked at me. “Seriously?”

  I was scared too, but I was also anxious to hear what this girl, Dana, had to say. What exactly did she know about Sasha? And what could she tell me about G-T’s or Greater-Thans?

  “Think about it this way,” I told him. “If this girl wanted to hurt us, she wouldn’t have saved our lives in the Sav’A’Buck.”

  “Good point,” Cal said, but he didn’t look convinced.

  Still, he parked his car at the edge of the mall road. We got out, and he clicked the remote lock once, twice, three times before following me to that hole in the fence.