I double-check the security system and go upstairs, powering on my computer. After a few moments of waiting, I open Google and type in “Lell Daley Peachtree City.” Several listings appear. Since the body’s discovery, there’s been a fair amount of news coverage and it’s all pretty much saying the same stuff: local girl, tragic end, who could have done such a thing?
I click through the articles, finding nothing useful—no background revelation, no big clue. Unsurprising really. It’s not like any of the local papers are going to make some amazing, case-breaking reveal. I finish one article, scroll to the top . . . and see Lell’s picture grinning out at me.
I’ve seen this one before, but where?
Oh, yeah, Carson used it at his press conference and it’s easy to see why. Lell’s smile is stretched wide as it can go. She’s leaning into Kyle, who’s squinting into the sun. They look so happy.
I spend so much time staring at her smile that I almost miss the other arm linked through Lell’s. Kyle is on her left. Someone else is on her right. I click on the picture, enlarging it. It’s a man’s arm. You can tell from the size of the forearm and the size of the watch. Judging by how he’s holding on to Lell, they must be pretty tight.
So who is he?
I skim the article once more, looking for any information on the picture and there’s nothing . . . except for a line about how Lell’s mom took the photo a few weeks before the girl disappeared.
I wiggle my mouse, thinking. If Mrs. Daley took the picture and gave it to the press to use, she would probably remember who the other guy was, right?
Only one way to find out.
I open a new tab and start searching for Reichelle Daley’s address.
Reichelle was an easy find. Even after Lell left, she never moved from our old neighborhood, and as I study her trailer through my windshield, I wonder if it was because she was waiting for her daughter to come back. The single-wide is at the end of a shallow cul-de-sac, its plastic shutters faded from yellow to tan, the edges of the metal siding peeling away from the frame.
When I knock on the door, the whole side porch shakes underneath me and, briefly, I think I’m about to cave through the boards.
I sigh. This better be good. I bet Mrs. Ellery is phoning Bren even as we speak. “Mrs. Daley?”
The plastic door opens and a woman in a stained sweatshirt and leggings stares at me through the screen. “Yeah. Who’re you?”
“Wicket Tate. I used to live on Sycamore.”
“And?”
“And I wanted to talk to you about your daughter.”
A pause. She studies me. “You look like Lell.”
I give Reichelle a tight smile, the skin along the back of my neck tingling. There is definitely something here. I just have to find it.
“I’m really sorry for your loss, Mrs. Daley.” I hesitate, chew my lower lip for a beat. “Do you think I could ask you a few questions about her?”
“Why?”
I blank. Because I’m doing a report for school? No. Because I work for the school newspaper? Not likely.
“Because I knew Kyle and I think he killed her.” Nowhere near the truth, but her eyes focus at the words and I know I’ve said what she wants to hear.
“I think he did too.” Reichelle pulls open the screen door, motions for me to come inside. “I’d rather talk to someone from the neighborhood than those damn cops anyway.”
I follow her into a cramped living room that smells like the inside of an old lady’s purse. It’s musty and stale, and when I breathe through my mouth, I can feel the dust hit my teeth.
“How did you know Kyle?” she asks, disappearing into the kitchen for a long moment.
“School. He was older. There was this outreach program and . . .” And I don’t need to go any further because Reichelle’s not listening. She shuffles into the living room and drops onto a worn corduroy couch, regarding me with flat eyes.
“You hungry? I got casseroles if you are.”
“No, thank you.”
“That’s what I should have said. Everyone’s treating me like I’m some sort of invalid. They keep bringing me food because they think I’m too busy crying to eat. No one understands that I already did my crying, cried all I cared to when Lell ran off with that boy.”
“I had heard you were happy.”
“I was.” Reichelle nods hard, her gray hair fanning around her face. “I was. For a little while. Because that was the last I saw of her. Thought she had ditched me for her amazing new life with that rich boy. I cried then. Did for months actually. Haven’t cried now. Don’t know why that is.”
Because grief is a funny thing. It ambushes you when you least expect it, and even though I should probably say something comforting here because I have an idea what she’s enduring, I say nothing.
I clear my throat, but my voice still sounds like Minnie Mouse. “I wanted to ask you about a newspaper picture I saw—the one you took, where Kyle and Lell are smiling at the camera.”
“Yeah.” She lifts one shoulder. “What about it?”
“You can see another person’s arm in the picture. Do you happen to remember who else was there?”
“Of course I do. It was Jason Baines.”
They were all friends. Jason and Lell grew up together—just minutes away from me—and when Lell caught Kyle’s attention sophomore year, they all started hanging out. Lell was Kyle’s first love. Jason was Kyle’s first dealer.
“Did you tell the police that?”
Reichelle stares at me like I’m an idiot. “No. Why would I tell them? What good would it do?”
“What if Jason was involved?”
Reichelle stiffens. “You know how much that boy cried when Lell left?”
I shake my head slowly and Reichelle relaxes a little, slumping into the couch cushions. “He still keeps an eye on me, makes sure the grass is mowed and stuff. I don’t care what people say about him. If you’re one of Jason’s people, he takes care of you. He takes care of me. He makes sure his people take care of me.”
I nod like I understand. All I can think of is Joe though and how I took care of him. Does that make me one of Jason’s people?
My phone vibrates. Another text coming in. Bren? I check the screen. Carson.
Dental records identify body as Kyle Bay
I read it once, twice. That can’t be right. That would mean . . .
“I think Jason loved her,” Reichelle adds, and I have to force myself to meet her eyes even though all I can think about is, if Kyle’s dead, who beat up Ian?
“I wish Lell’d loved him the same way,” she continues. “You never want who you’re supposed to though, do you?”
No, you don’t. I’m shaking now. It takes everything I have to push to my feet. “Thanks for your time.”
A shadow falls across us.
“Absolutely, I want to thank you, Mrs. Daley.” Jason stands in the doorway, grinning, and fear licks up my spine. He looks at Lell’s mom like she’s done something amazing.
She looks away. “You’re welcome.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Jason steps into the room.
My legs turn to lead. “Appreciate what?”
“This.” Jason holds up a Taser, fires it at me.
And my whole body goes up in flames.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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I wake to pain. The skin on my chest feels scorched, and when I shift, bile surges into my mouth, gagging me.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”
Jason.
I jerk to my knees, swinging—and puking. The force of each heave brings my nose inches from the Oriental carpet under me. Four more retches and I manage to sit upright, push a shaking hand across my damp mouth.
And want to scream.
I’m in Bay’s living room again and Jason’s standing over me. “Told
you not to move,” he says, his eyes inching across my face. “Probably my fault. I Tasered you longer than I should have. It just felt so damn good.”
I glare at him, coming aware in a horrible rush that we’re not alone. Someone heavy is lying next to me. It stirs, moans. I look down and swallow hard. Judge Bay.
Jason kicks him. “Had a change of heart yet, old man?”
“Go to hell.”
“Please, Dad.”
I sit straighter, the edges of my vision sparkling, but my brain is starting to clear. A few feet away, Ian kneels on the floor, his battered face turned toward his father.
“Just do what he wants,” Ian whispers.
“Exactly.” Jason steps in front of Bay. “Listen to your son. Transfer the funds and I’ll go away forever.”
Money. If it’s about money then why am I here? My stomach hits bottom again. This is already bad, but it feels . . . worse. Or like worse is coming.
Slowly, I shift my knees under me, studying the room from the corners of my eyes. The furniture has been pushed close to the walls, leaving the four of us on the expansive, pale carpet. Ian is whimpering, Bay is swearing, and Jason looks like he would enjoy taking each of us apart.
I watch his hands. The dealer’s knuckles are so white I’m wondering how he can even feel the Taser—and that’s when I see something move outside the window. A shadow separates from the dark. I blink, blink again.
Not a shadow. A person.
It moves to the right. Not any person. Milo.
Relief turns my bones mushy.
Until Jason punches Ian. Once. Twice. Three times. The poor kid’s scream bubbles in his mouth, drowning on blood.
“Please, Dad.” Ian’s voice climbs higher, cracks. I cringe, eyes still on the window, praying for Milo to reappear. “Please!”
Next to me, Bay stiffens. “Stop sniveling!”
It makes Jason pause, fist raised. He looks at the judge with a smile meant for murder. “I remember that. I remember you saying that to her—”
“Who?” Bay’s scooting backward now, pressing into me.
“My mother,” Jason says. “You remember Tabitha, don’t you, Bay? You screwed her enough. You screwed her enough to get me.”
Underneath Jason, Ian makes a gagging noise of disbelief and horror. “Dad?”
“There’s no proof. She was unstable and whored around and there was never any proof—”
“I’m the proof!” Jason screams. “Remember me? The son you ignored? I’m the proof! You assholes just use people like us and throw us away. You did it with my mom. Your son did it with Lell.”
“He loved her,” Bay whispers. It’s so quiet none of us should have heard it. “Kyle shouldn’t have, but he did.”
“It wouldn’t have lasted.” Jason steps closer, leaning down so his face is only inches from Bay’s. “It never does for your kind. Did you enjoy being blackmailed? Did you enjoy being scared? Because I enjoyed doing it to you. I really did.”
Bay’s face goes purple. “You’ll never get a dime from me.”
Behind him, Ian pushes to his feet and sways. My heart leaps. If he’s going to fight, I’ll have to help. I’ll jump on Jason’s back or—
“Fuck this.” Ian wipes the blood from his face and pulls a Taser from the small of his back. “I’ve had enough of your hysterics. Let’s just kill him here and make it look like robbery. I’ll inherit everything and you’ll get half, Baines.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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“You’re working with him?” The judge’s question slides into a howl.
“Surprise,” Ian breathes, and cocks his head like he heard something, feels something.
We all do.
First comes the pressure. It’s so dense I feel it in my head, my chest, my bones . . . then comes the sound—glass shattering, drywall cracking—and the explosion shoves me forward. I hit the floor, face-first, my skull full of white light.
So that’s where Milo went. Almost makes me smile.
Dimly, I’m aware of another explosion, a smaller one. Wait. Was it smaller? Or does it just feel smaller? My ears won’t stop ringing. It’s hard to breathe through the sudden smoke, but I haul ass anyway, grabbing for Bay.
He’s already gone.
Jason kicks off the floor, running after him. I spin the other way and someone grabs my ankle, taking me to my knees. Ian. I lash out with my foot, connect with something soft. I ram my heel into it again. And again.
My ankle breaks free. I run for it, sneakers crunching on bits of glass. If I can get into the back garden, I can loop around to the road. I can do this.
“Wicket!” Ian screams.
I run harder, shouldering open what’s left of the French doors and spilling onto the outside patio. My lungs burn. My eyes burn. I hit a wooden chaise lounge with both shins and crash to the ground.
Then I hear a siren wail. Cops.
It’s to my right. Toward the main road.
Fastest way to get to them is across the front lawn and down the driveway. I stab one hand under me and push myself upright, racing down the stairs, cutting across the side garden . . .
Stopping dead.
Ahead of me, two figures grapple on the front lawn. There’s a pop of light and a scream. Bay? Jason? I can’t tell. Someone goes down, thrashing. Shit. I’d have to get past them to get to the road. I won’t make it. That leaves . . .
The woods.
I could cut through the woods like I did before. If I run straight through, I could catch the cops on the other side. Between the underbrush and the darkness, I’d have coverage.
Of course, so would anyone else who’s out there.
Fuck it. I sprint for the trees.
I’m almost there when I hear a snarl behind me.
“Got you now, bitch.”
Ian.
I push myself, breaking through the trees with both arms outstretched. My feet hit the dead leaves and I have to force myself to count how many seconds pass before he joins me.
Three . . . four . . . five . . .
He’s in.
I dive to my left and hit the dirt, tucking myself behind some brush like an animal. It might be appropriate actually. I feel like I’ve been run to ground.
“I know you’re close, Wick.” Ian walks a few feet ahead of me. “I can hear your breathing.”
No shit. I’m struggling not to hyperventilate. I mash my shirt against my mouth, trying to smother the sound, and my elbow rams into something hard.
A broken-off branch.
I run my fingers over it, feeling the sharpened edge. Not a Taser, but it’ll have to do.
Ian shuffles closer, kicking the smell of dead leaves into the air. “Come on out, Wick. You did this before with Jason, remember? He told me all about it.”
The close-pressed branches and the ringing in my ears play hell with Ian’s voice. I can’t tell where he is. To my left? I think? I ease myself into a sitting position, look around. Not good. I went too far. I’m pinned by brush on one side and Ian on the other. I need to stand. I can’t get a good swing if I’m lying down. But if I stand, he’ll see me.
If I stay, he’ll find me.
I push to my feet, staying close to a tree trunk, and pan the shadows, holding my breath until it’s a pinch in my chest.
“Come on, Wick.”
There. There he is. Ian’s a few feet away, bent in half as he looks for me under a log.
“I know what you are in the dark, Wick. That’s what’s made it so good. I saw you standing over Baines in the study. I saw your expression. You enjoy power. You’re like me.”
“Bullshit.”
Ian straightens, hunting for the direction of my voice. “Liar.”
I press to my right, deeper into the woods, but I need a better position, one where I won’t get slowed down by brush when I run.
“I saw you through
the window,” Ian continues. He moves faster than I do, not worrying about the noise. He’s getting closer.
“We both play weak because it suits us,” he says. “It’s not because we are. Predators keep excellent cover. Too bad we recognize each other.”
“I’m not like you, Ian.”
“Shitty attitude coming from a girl who stinks of fear.” He inhales a long, deep breath. “You bitches all smell like it in the end.”
I push through the last bit of undergrowth. Ian’s maybe fifteen feet away. There’s no way I’ll outrun him.
“Don’t feel like talking anymore, Wick?”
I lift the branch to my shoulder. “Why’d you kill Lell?”
Ian’s head lifts, twisting back and forth as he hunts for me. “Lell was like me too—like us. She denied it until the end of course. I knew she wanted my brother for money. Baines knew Kyle wanted Lell for the moment. We were all friends and I . . . used that. I whispered to Baines all about how he should do something. And then he did—he killed both of them.”
Ian pauses, taking a deep breath of night air. “I’m good at that, getting people to do what I want. Chelsea was like that too. She wanted money, power, to get away from here, and once she found those pictures, she saw her ticket—at my expense. She was my first and, God, how I enjoyed the cutting. Almost as much as I enjoyed burying Kyle. You want to know the best part?”
No. I almost say yes though because he’s drawing closer and, one way or another, this is going to end.
“The best part was that our father believed it was Kyle. By that time, he hated him so much it was easy getting him to believe his son killed Lell and took off.”
I shift behind another tree and a branch pops under my foot. Ian tenses.
And comes closer.
“I talked him through it,” he continues. “Just like with Baines, I explained how it had to be, and do you know what my father did? Nothing. Instead of searching for his son, he helped cover it up. It all made too much sense after all of Kyle’s blackout rages and the doctor’s warnings. People see what they expect to see—of all people, you should get that.”
Remember Me Page 23
