by Jen Nadol
“I’m not lying.”
“Even I can tell you are,” I told him. “You think the police aren’t going to figure it out? This is what they do.”
He looked down, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I saw him yesterday, though. Last night.” He looked at me hopelessly. “What if they think . . .”
“Moose,” I looked at him carefully, not even sure I wanted to ask the next question. “Did you do it?” I whispered.
“God, no!”
“Do you have anything . . . any drugs on you?”
He shook his head.
“Then be honest,” I said. “What do you have to lose?”
“You don’t get it, Riley,” he said, shaking his head angrily. “I’m already on probation. For last year?”
I frowned, but then it came back to me. The girl who’d OD’d. Moose had been involved in that somehow. He’d been out of work a bunch of days after it had happened. It’d been right after first snow, and I’d gotten stuck picking up dead mice almost every time I’d come to work, since he hadn’t been around to take turns.
“I could go to jail if they nail me for anything,” he said. “Basically, I’m fucked.”
I thought it sounded like he kind of was. “Well, Jesus, Moose, why’d you go up there?”
He looked at me hard, then shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
George pushed through the swinging doors, and stopped when he saw us. “Riley,” he said. “The police want to talk to you.”
I felt a flutter of nerves at how that sounded. And I hadn’t done anything wrong. I couldn’t imagine what Moose was feeling.
“I know this must be hard for you, Riley,” Bob started gently once he’d closed the office door behind us. “You bein’ friends with Natalie Cleary and all.”
“I didn’t really know her dad,” I said.
“No?”
“No.”
“You never met him?”
“Not really.”
Lincoln, who’d been writing notes, looked up. “Either you did or you didn’t. Which is it?”
“Well, I saw him at the mountain yesterday,” I hedged. “Just like everyone else.”
Bob nodded, like he’d expected that. “How did Natalie seem to you before that?”
“I didn’t see her before,” I said. “She was already with the ski team when I got there.”
“What about in the days before?” Bob asked.
“She seemed fine.”
“Really?” he pressed. “Not worried about anything? Acting strange? Upset?”
I thought about the bruise on her face. “She was upset on Monday morning at school, but she was fine later on that day. Fine all week.”
But Lincoln leaned in. “Upset about what?”
“I—” I paused. “I don’t know, actually.”
Lincoln frowned. “Well, how do you know she was upset? Tell me exactly what happened.”
He was watching me closely, and my brain was churning through how she’d looked, hair hiding her face. Her reaction when I mentioned the night at the cave. “She was just really quiet in homeroom,” I said. “When I tried to talk to her, she wouldn’t look at me, and then I saw she had a cut on her face. And a bruise.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows lifted. “Did she say where she got it?”
“She said she tripped and banged into a wall.”
He studied me for a minute. “You didn’t believe her.”
I shrugged uncomfortably.
He exchanged a look with Bob. “Did she often get hurt like that?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
“More than you might expect?” he pressed. “More than other people?”
I shrugged again, unsure of the right answer.
Lincoln exhaled, hard. “Could you help us out a little, Riley?” he said, clearly frustrated. “We’re trying to get a sense of the Clearys’ home life, and I feel like you’re not being very cooperative.” He ran a hand through thinning hair. “Is there more?”
“I’m sure there is,” I said, frustrated myself. “I’d imagine her home life was pretty shitty. Yeah, Nat had cuts or bruises or scrapes more than you’d expect. She said it was from skiing or just her being clumsy.” I took a breath. “If you’re asking if her dad hit her, I have no idea. I don’t know if she was upset at him last week or if something else was going on or if she had, you know, girl problems or what. She’s private. I try to respect that.”
“Even though it meant she might have been abused right under your nose?”
I glared at Lincoln, feeling my ears burn. “If she was abused,” I said evenly, “it was under all of our noses. Don’t tell me you didn’t know her dad was a user and a dealer.”
His face darkened, and I knew I’d crossed a line I probably shouldn’t have. “You saw drugs at her house?”
“No,” I said flatly. I knew they were there that night Moose dragged me up to the trailer, but I didn’t actually see any. “I’ve never been inside Nat’s house.”
“Never?”
I shook my head. “We’d go up to get her sometimes—me and my friends—but we always waited in the car for her to come out.”
“So you’d never met her dad? Never talked to him?”
I hesitated, knowing I should lie. “Just at the door of her house.”
“When you were there to pick her up?”
“No,” I said. “A year or so ago.”
“What were you doing there?”
My hands felt damp. This wasn’t going the way I wanted. “I was with a friend.”
“And you went there because . . .” Lincoln drew it out, waiting like a cat who’s spotted a mouse. He knew exactly where this was heading.
“My ride needed to stop by.”
“For what?”
“What does it matter?” I said. “It has nothing to do with what happened last night.”
“How do you know?” Lincoln said, leaning close enough that I could smell the sourness of his morning coffee. “I don’t know what happened, and I’m investigating the case. So how could you?” He took a deep breath and, his voice calm but dead serious, asked, “What were you there for, Riley?”
“Look,” I said, “I don’t really know. I never went in, didn’t hear what they talked about or see what they did. All I know is we drove up there, I waited, we left.”
Lincoln looked ready to tear into me, but Bob interjected, “You said you met her dad.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It was late. I had to get home, so I knocked on the door. Nat’s dad answered.”
“And?” Bob asked. “What was your impression?”
“I don’t know. Same as it was yesterday, I guess. That he was . . .” I paused. “Kind of a mess.”
Lincoln snorted.
Bob ignored him, asking, “Did you see Natalie there?”
“No. We weren’t really friends back then,” I said.
“Did you ever tell her about that night? Stopping up there with your ‘friend’? Meeting her dad?”
I shook my head.
“Why?”
“She’d be embarrassed,” I said. “Natalie doesn’t talk about her dad or anything. I didn’t want to make her feel bad.”
No one said anything for a few beats, but I could feel the air in the room soften. Until Lincoln jumped in with the next question, “Did she know he kept a gun in the house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does she know how to shoot?”
I saw where this was leading. “You think she did it?”
Bob shot a look at Lincoln, who asked, “Do you, Riley?”
“No!” I said. “No way.” I felt guilty. Like they’d somehow overheard our conversation in the car and gotten the idea our friend could shoot her father point-blank in th
e head.
“Why?”
“Why?” I echoed, thinking of Nat who always remembered birthdays and never let kids sit alone in the cafeteria. “It . . . it’s just . . . not something Natalie would do.”
“Why?” Lincoln pursued.
“She’s not like that. Not violent,” I said. “I’ve never even seen her argue with someone, much less, you know, try to hurt them.”
“Sometimes people just snap,” Lincoln said.
“Maybe. But Nat’s so protective of her dad. She’s never said a bad word about him. And won’t let anyone else, either,” I said. “She doesn’t have other family that I know of.”
“What happened to her mom?” Lincoln asked.
“She never talks about that, either.”
“But you have some idea.”
“No. I really don’t. I mean, I guess she just left. A bunch of years ago.” The rumor that she’d up and split was pretty common knowledge. “But I don’t really know.”
Bob was nodding, but Lincoln was looking back at his notebook. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
“Nat’s mom? I have no idea.”
Lincoln frowned, like I should have been able to read into his poorly phrased question. “No. Natalie.”
“Oh,” I said. “No.” Though John Peters seemed to be auditioning for the role last night. I wonder what he was thinking this morning. Would he believe Nat could kill her dad?
“Anyone on the ski team she’s especially close with?”
“Not that I know of.”
“How about at school?”
“Nat’s friends with lots of people. Pretty much everyone likes her.”
Lincoln scribbled some things down while Bob took over the questions, switching angles.
“Who do you think might have done something like this, Riley?”
“Me? Who do I think?”
He nodded.
“I have no idea.”
“Can you think of anyone who hated Nat’s dad?”
“Well, sure.” I frowned at them. “Bill Winston, for one. Not that I think he did it or anything,” I hurried to add as Lincoln kept scribbling.
“Do you think he’s a more likely suspect, or Natalie?” Lincoln asked, glancing up.
“So this is a multiple-choice test?”
Lincoln scowled. “We’re just trying to get some clarity here.”
“I think I’d have to go with ‘neither.’”
“Uh-huh,” Bob said. “Who else?”
“Who else what?”
“Who else might want Randall Cleary dead?”
I was not comfortable with this. At all. “I don’t really know,” I said, deciding to plead the Fifth on the rest of this conversation before I got my ass kicked by someone.
Lincoln took a few more notes and flipped another page or two. Bob smiled at me, and I felt everything inside me unclench. We were done.
Then Lincoln asked, “Who took you there that night, Riley?”
“What night?”
“The night you met Randall Cleary. Natalie’s father.”
I didn’t answer, my face burning, sweat starting on my brow.
“I know you don’t want to tell on anyone,” Bob said gently. “But it’s important. This is a murder investigation, Riley.”
“Listen, kid.” Lincoln stepped forward, forcing me to look at him. “You don’t want an obstruction of justice charge or anything else that’d mess up your record. You’re a senior, right?”
I nodded.
“Smart, too, from what I hear. Colleges don’t look too favorably on a criminal record.” Clearly he was the bad cop.
“It was Moose,” I said softly. God, I hoped he’d understand. And that he had nothing to hide.
“Moose?” Lincoln said impatiently.
“Eugene Martin,” Bob told him. “That other kid out there.”
I looked up in time to see them exchange a meaningful glance. My stomach rolled. “Are we done?” I asked, starting to stand. I’d just thrown Moose under the bus.
“One more thing,” Bob said, holding up a finger. “Where were you last night?”
“Me? I was at the Dash party. At the Peterses’.”
Bob nodded. “Until when?”
“Uh . . .” Holy shit, were they checking my alibi? It was amazing how even the idea of it short-circuited my brain. I couldn’t remember at all what time we left. “Till maybe twelve? One?” I shook my head. “I’m not sure.”
Lincoln wrote something down. “And what happened after you left?”
“Trip drove me home.”
“Just you?”
“No, all of us. Me and Sarah, Natalie . . .” I trailed off, staring at Lincoln, who was scribbling furiously in his notebook.
“So you were at the Clearys’ house last night.” Bob met my eyes, and I could feel that my ears were bright red.
“For a minute. To drop off Nat.”
“But you don’t remember what time?”
“I . . . I’m not sure.”
“And then you were back there. First thing this morning,” Bob said. “When we spoke.”
I nodded.
“How did you know her dad had been killed?”
“Tannis called me.”
“Tannis Janssen?”
I nodded.
“How’d she know?”
“Trip heard it. On the police scanner.”
Bob nodded. Lincoln looked up from his notes to ask, “So where were you between midnight and two a.m.?”
“At home,” I said. “I mean, I think I got there before midnight. And then I went to bed.”
“Can anyone verify that? Your mom?”
I shook my head. “No. She was at work.”
Lincoln wrote something down, then looked up at me, his eyes sharp. “Is there anything else you think we should know?”
Immediately that night at the cave jumped to mind. How could it not, after Nat had predicted this very thing? I could feel my neck hot, cheeks flushed. There was no way I was going to tell them. I shook my head. “No.”
Lincoln raised his eyebrows, slowly. “Nothing?” he asked.
It occurred to me in that instant that they’d be talking to the rest of them—Trip, Sarah, Tannis. Maybe already had. And maybe one of them had talked about the binoculars. But I couldn’t backtrack now. “No,” I said. “Not that I can think of.”
Lincoln eyed me for an extra second, then slowly closed his notebook. “If you change your mind, Riley, you give us a call, ’kay?” He stood, eyes on me the whole time.
“Thanks for cooperating, Riley,” Bob said. “We’ll be in touch.”
I nodded, stifling the urge to wipe my forehead or throw up, and left the office.
CHAPTER 9
WALKING INTO SCHOOL MONDAY, YOU could see it in everyone’s eyes, even before you heard the whispers.
“The gun belonged to her father,” the principal’s secretary was saying when I went in for my late pass. “It was still at the scene, and—” She saw me listening and dropped her voice.
“. . . questioning her all night,” Caitlin Trahn told a friend at her locker, flipping her dark hair before adding, “I mean, my dad said she was in the house . . .”
The best information came from Matty Gretowniak. His mom worked for Children’s Services. “Yeah, she was inside,” he answered when I caught up with him in the hall before physics. “Said she was in her room sleeping. Didn’t hear or see a thing.”
“Really?”
“Seems pretty far-fetched,” he observed. “I know you’re friends with her, but c’mon, a gun goes off in your house—your trailer—and you don’t notice?”
I could see it on other people’s faces too. I wasn’t the only one wondering if Nat might have done it. But I didn’t want to h
ash that out with Matty. “Soooo,” I said, looking at him pointedly. “You and Tannis?”
His response was immediate. “What’d she tell you?”
“Plenty.”
“Really?” He had such a weird, nervous look that I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear any more about whatever had happened. I was already getting some awful mental pictures of the two of them. “No, man. I’m just messing with you.”
“Oh,” he said, relieved. “Okay.”
Matt and I headed for our seats in physics, and I peeked over at Sarah, who was already watching me, her eyes serious. Trip had told me the police had been to see her on Sunday too. And him. And Tannis.
Mr. Ruskovich shut the door, facing us somberly. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about Natalie Cleary’s father?” Everyone nodded. “Tragic,” he said, shaking his head. “In light of it I think it appropriate to suspend our study of forensics.” He scanned the room and, maybe seeing some disappointment, added, “At least for today. These things take time to sink in, and I don’t want to move ahead with this project if it hits too close to home for anyone.” He paused, and then added, “We’ll decide sometime next week, but in the interim, please feel free to talk to me about it—in class or privately—if you like. Okay?”
We nodded.
“What I’d like to cover today instead is—”
“Please, not particle theory,” Matty muttered.
“I’ll spare you,” Mr. Ruskovich said. “But only because I think we’re all processing enough right now. Let’s discuss kinematics.”
***
The four of us huddled up at lunch: me, Trip, Sarah, and Tannis. The eyes of all of Buford High followed us, blazing into our backs as we sat at a table near the center aisle. I was afraid to talk or look around. We lasted less than five minutes before Sarah suggested, “Want to go to the quad?”
Even though it was forty degrees outside, we all did. The eyes followed us to the doorway, eager for scraps about our conspicuously absent friend. I still felt them as the four of us split down the halls toward our respective lockers for coats and hats and gloves.
Tannis was already at the picnic table when I went out. She was bundled into a blue down jacket and scarf, picking at her fingernails, her head bowed.
I climbed onto the bench across from her.
