Follow Me Down Page 14

  I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything since the day before. A headache was blooming, and my hangover had moved from the nauseated-I-can’t-eat-anything stage to the I-am-ravished-and-need-grease-and-salt stage.

  I ordered a stack of waffles with extra whipped cream and strawberries, runny eggs, and a side of bacon, extra crispy, off a hostile waitress I pretended not to recognize. Laney Goudge was a popular girl from my class, who had literally fallen from grace in an abandoned grain silo while high on ecstasy. The town council had made a big stink about razing any deserted silo that could be used to hold those friggin’ rave parties. Laney spent the second half of her senior year in a plastic neck brace avoiding the boys who tried to shoot pennies into the slot-sized opening under her chin. Nothing happened. The silo was still there; I’d driven by it on the way in.

  The food came quickly. Laney half dropped the plate on the table, and the food slid all to one side. When she turned around, she did so stiffly.

  I slathered on syrup, even dousing the eggs. I managed only a couple of bites before that sickly miserable feeling kicked in. Green around the gills, longing to call Lucas, just dial and get all the answers.

  I took out my pad of paper and looked at the scratches I’d made at Dylan’s trailer. Incoherent scribbles to make it look like I was writing something down. So Dylan had an alibi. He was hiding something, just not the murder of Joanna.

  A list. The act of making a list would make me feel better. Places Lucas could be. In Chicago, there was that woman he was seeing who owned that restaurant—Alyssa, Alicia? Didn’t one of his dorm-mates live in Des Moines? What was his name again? Because he’d hole up someplace, with someone who couldn’t be easily connected to his life, right? Only if he was guilty, which he wasn’t.

  Instead, I wrote the name Dylan, followed by several check marks.

  My phone chirped. The call was blocked. Vanessa had already left an angry voice mail—“Thanks a lot for burning my lead; I’m trying to help you”—so I didn’t think she’d call again.

  “Hello?” I sounded like I’d hiccupped, my mouth went so dry. Please-be-Lucas, please-be-Lucas, be-Lucas.

  “This is Tom.” I blinked, eyes stinging with near lethal disappointment. It took me a couple of beats to remember who Tom was.

  “Right. Hi, Tom, this is Mia Haas. I’m Lucas Haas’s sister.” I half whispered because I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself, to who I was. “I’m calling because I found your name and number in my brother’s apartment—”

  “I know why you’re calling.” Tom’s voice was a lispy drawl. I thought he would continue, but nothing, just dead air.

  “OK … well, I’m hoping you could fill me in a little about how you know Lucas, if you’ve heard from him at all?”

  “No, I haven’t. I would like to, though. He owes me some money.”

  So Lucas was gambling again. “How much?”

  “Well, that’s changing every day, when you factor in the interest.”

  “How much?” I asked again.

  “Thirty-six hundred dollars today. Tomorrow it’ll be thirty-seven hundred.”

  “You’re charging him a hundred dollars a day interest?” Who borrows money from someone charging that kind of interest? Who charges that sort of interest and expects to get their money back?

  “That was the deal.”

  “Well, whatever your deal was, I’m sure he’ll take care of this when he gets back into town. As you likely know, things are a little hectic for Lucas just now.”

  “Oh, I know all about that”—a hard chuckle—“and I’m not worried. Everyone knows I get paid no matter what. Lucas took out the family and friends plan.” He ended the call with a cryptic “We’ll be in touch.”

  I put my phone down, watched it go dark. Its glassy surface reflected the Tiffany-style light hanging from the ceiling; two bulbs out of three were burned out. Again I was desperate to call Lucas up and ream him out—What the hell are you thinking, getting into debt like this, at a hundred dollars a day interest on a teacher’s salary? This somehow was the worst part, this constant reaching for my phone. A muscle memory move that could not catch up to the knowledge that he was unreachable. I gave in and called anyway. I pictured his phone ringing in some Ziploc bag marked EVIDENCE. It went to his voice mail, and there was his warm, happy voice, right there, pressed up against my ear.

  * * *

  “Now, that’s breakfast.” It was Garrett, standing over me. Lean and fit in his navy-blue uniform, he looked like he could be on his way to perform at a bachelorette party. “Mind if I join you for a second?” He dropped down, taking up the entire booth. He smelled like a hearty mix of aftershave and the outdoors. I pushed the plate away. “How are you feeling today?”

  I hated when people referred to the night before like this. I’d rather the more honest approach: Gawd, you were so wasted last night. How are you even moving right now?

  “Fine. Good.”

  “Good.” He flashed a white smile. “I was worried.”

  “No need. Really.”

  “Well, I was. How’s your mother anyway? I realize I didn’t ask the other night, and I felt like a jerk.” I pictured for a second, what it would’ve been like to bring Garrett home to meet Mimi. Would Lucas and I have come up with some game, like a jelly bean guessing contest, for how many times Mimi would find a way to brush against him, touch his solid chest?

  “It is what it is.” My voice drifted. I didn’t want to talk about Mimi. Garrett gave me an understanding look with those baby-blue eyes that made something inside me snap like a tendon and then I did want to talk about Mimi. A rash, second-long flicker of wanting to confess, take the blame. Short-lived as a single heartbeat. He just had that thing about him, that made you feel you could tell him anything. He was in the right line of work.

  “Well, I was just heading over to your place when I saw your car in the lot.” Here I thought this was just a chance encounter. That was the thing about Wayoata. You could go looking for someone and find them within an hour.

  “Why? Is it Lucas? Did you find my brother?” The hopeful edge to my voice made me feel foolish, even childish. If he had, he wouldn’t be casually sitting across from me.

  “No, sorry.” Of course. “That’s not why I’m here. You in a better frame of mind today to talk?”

  Great. We were back to yesterday’s drunk dial. I ignored his question. “Dylan Yates’s alibi was bullshit. FYI.”

  “I just heard. If you ever want a job as a cop, I’ll get you an application. A very nervous Serena Yates called me to tell me that she was certain an undercover cop posing as a reporter just left her trailer, so they wanted to get out in front of that. Dylan confessed he lied and informed us that he was really at his underage girlfriend’s house.”

  “So? If he lied about working at his dad’s shop, then he could easily be lying again.”

  “Listen, I get why you felt the need to talk to Dylan, but you have to understand that there are factors other than the alibi he gave us that ruled him out.”

  “Like what?”

  Garrett nodded back at the conspicuous eavesdroppers in the booth behind him who had stopped talking the minute he sat down, he plucked up my pitcher of syrup, moved it to the end of the table, and leaned forward. His voice a low whisper. “Well, whether he was at his dad’s shop or his girlfriend’s place is secondary to the fact that he was logged into an online video game that overlapped with Joanna’s disappearance, and his phone did not ping on the tower near Dickson.”

  “And my brother’s phone did?”

  “I can’t discuss that with you, Mia. Sorry.”

  “Please just tell me. As a friend.” The sugary sweetness of all that syrup and butter was coming at me in vile waves.

  He eyed me, assessing if it was worth keeping up the facade of this “friendship.” “No, OK? Lucas’s phone didn’t ping there either. But that said, it’s also likely he left his phone behind for that very reason or else he was using a
burner phone.”

  “God. Seriously? Damned either way, huh? Lucas can’t win with you guys, can he?” I let out a tense breath.

  “Mia.” He said it consolingly, but his teeth were clenched.

  “Maybe Dylan left his phone at home too? Maybe it’s as simple as he forgot to log out.”

  Garrett was already shaking his head. “No. We just talked to Skylar Cuthbert’s parents. They were able to confirm he was there. Their house was broken into last summer, and so they’d set up an intense alarm system—outdoor cameras, the whole shebang. Skylar snuck Dylan inside just after dinner, before the nightly lockdown. Dylan went in and didn’t come back out until long after the Cuthberts left for work the next morning. I’ll go over there later and look over their footage and so on, but I think it’s on the up-and-up. So now Dylan really does have an airtight alibi. We know what we’re doing, Mia,” he added, a hair too defensively.

  I nodded dumbly. Tried not to look defeated. It was not at all what I wanted to hear. “Does Wayoata have bookies?”

  “Why, you need a loan?” He gave me a bemused look.

  “No, I just got a call from someone named Tom, who said Lucas owes him money.”

  “Tom Geller?”

  I shrugged. “He didn’t tell me his last name.”

  “What did he say?”

  I told him.

  “It makes sense. Your brother frequented a lot of gambling Web sites, Mia. Call me right away if Tom Geller contacts you again. He’s not a good guy.”

  “But what if Tom Geller has Lucas? Maybe that’s where he is?”

  “No. That’s highly unlikely. Tom is only interested in money, so if he was detaining Lucas somewhere, there’d be some action on Lucas’s ATM card by now. He’d clear out Lucas’s account and let him go. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check in with him. Anyway, last night on the phone—” Laney was back, friendlier now that Wayoata’s finest was sitting with me. She brought Garrett a cup of coffee he didn’t need to order and asked if he wanted his usual. “No thanks. Not today.” Gave her a wink, and Laney’s cheeks went girly pink. Clearly, Garrett was used to being a hot commodity around town. The bachelor all the women wanted to land. His face dropped when he turned back toward me. “You need to tell me how you found out Joanna was pregnant. Did Lucas tell you?” His voice was a near-inaudible whisper.

  My skin went cold and clammy. “If Joanna Wilkes was pregnant, and you think Lucas was the father, couldn’t you just test the embryo?” This was what I really wanted to know. Was a fetus floating in a test tube in an overworked lab somewhere, getting closer every day to the front of the line?

  “Test samples were taken and sent.” He cocked his head proudly. “But unlike TV, DNA testing is not so instantaneous. There’s not a lab next to the station’s lunchroom. We have to wait weeks to get the results. So I’m wondering, how is it only the police, the medical examiner, and Mia Haas know that Joanna Wilkes was pregnant? No one else knew. None of her friends or family came forward with this information. So how do you know?”

  “Sorry, I don’t remember saying anything like that. I hardly remember calling you.” My shoulders had gone tight and were creeping up to my ears. “I mean, like you pointed out, I was pretty wasted last night.”

  “I didn’t say you were wasted.”

  “Well, I was. I told you I’d been drinking.”

  He let his head fall forward in defeat. Leaned back into the chair, not noticing the beads of syrup stuck to his sleeve. “I was hoping you wouldn’t play that card.”

  “I can’t help you build a case against my brother, who is innocent. You have to understand that.”

  “You keep saying your brother is innocent. If you came by this information honestly, why wouldn’t you use it as leverage to get us to stop looking at your brother?” I didn’t have an answer for that. Garrett scowled. Shook his head like he was very disappointed in me. “You not telling me how you found out, that’s obstruction of justice, Mia. That’s an accessory to a crime after the fact. Do you know how much time you can get for that?” He looked at me. Waiting.

  I dabbed a finger in the syrup on his sleeve and licked it off. Garrett stared at my lips. “So then arrest me.”

  Laney was back, trying to refill our mugs. We both covered our mugs at the same time, both paper in a game of rock, paper, scissors. A truce for now. Garrett stood up, tossed some cash on the table. Too much for his one coffee. “We’ll talk again soon. Hopefully you’ll come to your senses. And, by the way, you’re lucky there’s no law against impersonating reporters, but I wouldn’t do that again.” He gave me the same wink he’d given the waitress and left.

  10

  “Mia?” A hand waved at me from a poolside lounger. I’d decided to go back to Lucas’s apartment; I needed to change. I needed a drink. Something stronger than a drink. “It’s Mia, right?” A girl, wrapped in a towel, looking very small, walked toward me. She blocked the sun with her phone. Its screen glinted. It took a second to register, and when it did, my eyes popped. Madison Wilkes. “I just want to say sorry for my mom yesterday. She’s upset—well, like obviously, my sister’s dead.” She shivered, her shoulder popped out of the towel, delicate and sharp looking. She wasn’t as pretty as Joanna. Her face was a bit too long, not quite horse-faced but almost. She hid it well, behind a long mane of blond hair and carefully applied makeup. Her friends likely always voted her prettiest girl in the class.

  “I understand. It’s OK. Do you hang out here a lot?” I realized she was the white bikini girl I’d seen the other day. Why was this girl here? Of all places to swim, why at the apartment building of the man who supposedly murdered her sister? The heat of the sun was behind me, and sweat beaded on my back. You’d never think a town that gets so dark and so cold could ever get this hot. Weatherwise, it was the most bipolar place on earth.

  “The public pool is gross. Swimming helps me mourn.” Her voice went up at the end, like a question. She tucked her hair behind an ear. Her fingernails were long and purple, a diamond-looking sticky in the middle of each. Women love their nail appliqués in Wayoata. Madison saw me noticing. Stole a quick disapproving glance at my own unpolished nails. “I got them done purple in honor of my sister. It’s her favorite color.”

  I nodded. “Nice. Well, thank you for the apology. I appreciate it.” Turned to walk away. Feeling strange and foggy like I’d just been spooked by something I couldn’t be sure was real or not.

  Her voice, small and sweet, called at me again. “I just want to tell you that I don’t think Mr. Haas killed my sister.”

  I stopped, swiveled back around. “You don’t?” My voice caught, went too high. I hadn’t expected that.

  “No, no way. First, he’d never be interested in her. Oh, that sounds bad. I don’t mean it to. I just mean Joanna wasn’t the kind of person who would get involved with a teacher.” She was looking down now, at her nails.

  “Who do you think hurt your sister, then?” I prodded. I shouldn’t have been prodding a fourteen-year-old girl about her sister’s murder—I felt like I was doing something wrong. Exploitive. Screw it, she might tell me something that could exonerate my twin.

  “I don’t know. Don’t you think if I knew I would tell the police?” She eyed me, chin out. I felt like I was being accused of something. Her phone trilled. A text. I could see the restraint it took for her not to look to see who it was. (Same as when I abstain from another pill.)

  “Of course you would. I was just wondering what makes you so certain that it wasn’t my brother.” I wanted something I could take back to Garrett.

  “Well, people at school are saying the lunch lady did it. I could see it. She’s a total bitch to everyone, but especially to the girls. She kicks out the girls way before she does the boys. It’s, like, so she could look prettier to them or something by being the only woman there.” She puckered her lips, her tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek so it looked like she was sucking on a jawbreaker.

  “But what r
eason would she have to hurt your sister?” I was almost wincing, waiting for this girl to disintegrate because I was pressing her too hard. Nothing to see here, just another Haas acting inappropriately with an underage person. Some pesky kid, I couldn’t see where he was, was playing with a remote-controlled car that kept circling near my feet and bumping into the chain-link fence, reversing, then bumping into it again where Madison stood. She looked agitated each time it hit the fence.

  “I don’t know. Who knows what goes on in the minds of people like that? It’s like you want it to be your brother or something?” Madison kicked at the car, the fence shook.

  “No. Not at all.” I kept my voice soft and coaxing. I didn’t want this girl to turn. “I appreciate what you’re saying about my brother, about Mr. Haas. It really means a lot.”

  She nodded. Looked up at me with very large, watery blue eyes. “I think it could be Dylan Yates too. He was stalking my sister, y’know. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Skylar Cuthbert helped him do it. My sister’s dead, and they’re running around like a happy couple.” She shook her head with a wariness she was far too young for.

  I nodded. Noticed that, besides Dylan, her two other suspects were women, or a girl and a woman. I thought about Joanna’s hair. How cutting it off had a distinctive feminine violence to it, the whole wreckage of a woman’s crowning glory or whatever. “I think it might be helpful if you talked to the police about some of your suspicions.” I realized this was self-serving. The police would just explain to Madison about her list of suspects’ alibis, but it would make Lucas look better if Joanna’s sister doubted he was guilty.

  “I tried to, but they were just interested in hearing if I ever saw Joanna with Mr. Haas, talking to Mr. Haas, texting Mr. Haas, meeting Mr. Haas. I was like, um, no.” She glanced down at her phone.