Blood on My Hands Page 8

  Standing at the kitchen counter, Katherine was smiling, her eyes shining with delight.

  Meanwhile, Mia twisted back and forth between the pool and the kitchen as if she couldn’t decide what to do. Her body movements and the expression on her face were frantic.

  “Pretend nothing’s wrong,” Katherine hissed, and looked down at a magazine on the kitchen counter. Across the kitchen Dakota turned away from the window.

  Mia burst through the kitchen door and cried, “Something’s wrong! I think maybe Zelda’s drowned! Call 911!”

  Katherine calmly lifted her face from the magazine and scowled. “What makes you think that?”

  “She’s floating facedown in the pool!” Mia cried. “Call 911. Oh my God, we have to do something!”

  “It’s a trick,” I said, no longer able to restrain myself. I pointed at the pool, where Zelda raised her head as if to see what was happening. Mia’s mouth fell open.

  Katherine shot me an icy look. Then, with a grin, she turned to Mia and laughed. “Fooled you!”

  Mia’s red face at first reflected her confusion, and then, blinking hard, she forced a smile onto her lips. “A joke? It was a joke?”

  She managed one frail laugh … then disintegrated into tears and ran out of the kitchen.

  There was silence. Once again Katherine’s expression turned cold as she glared at me. “You ruined it.”

  Chapter 20

  Sunday 8:46 P.M.

  AS THE POLICE officer with the flashlight approaches the woods, the beam burns circles in my eyes. The tree I’m crouched behind isn’t big enough to hide me. I have to make a decision: run or hide? Running means making noise and being easy to spot. Hiding means I’m a sitting duck if he finds me. Now I curse myself for not running sooner. Why did I stay and watch?

  My inclination is to run. It’s what I’ve always done. But something inside tells me not to. If I run now, it’ll be in the dark, through woods, while I’m chased by a man with a flashlight and with a radio to call in backup.

  Instead, I peer around in the dark, searching for a better hiding place.

  Meanwhile, the flashlight beam is getting brighter.

  There’s a cluster of bushes to my right. But if I were searching for someone, wouldn’t that be where I’d look?

  To my left is a big tree with a wide trunk. Maybe there? The flashlight beam sweeps toward me and I duck down. But as soon as it passes, I scamper toward the big tree.

  Now I can’t see the officer, but I can watch the flashlight beam sweep back and forth, brightening tree trunks, which cast long narrow shadows.

  And I can hear the officer’s footsteps crunch over dry leaves and twigs.

  I press myself against the rough bark of the big tree’s trunk, my heart beating so fast it’s ready to explode, and hold my breath.

  The flashlight beam reaches deep into the woods around me. The urge to run makes the muscles in my legs twitch, but I can’t help thinking that running may be exactly what they’re hoping I’ll do. They’re like hunters beating the brush to flush out game. So I stay in the shadow of the tree, my heart drumming, my breaths shallow and quick.

  Suddenly a radio crackles on so close to me that I jump. A staticky voice asks, “See anything?”

  “Negative.” The answering voice is strong and close. Oh my God! He must be on the other side of the tree. My heart rate and breathing speed up and I feel myself inhaling and exhaling through my lips. It’s so loud that I’m certain he’ll be able to hear me.

  “Hold it,” he says. “I thought I heard something.”

  In the evening of the day Katherine tricked Mia into thinking Zelda had drowned, I went online and chatted with Mia.

  Cal: U ok?

  Mia: What do U care?

  Cal: Im sorry. And I did tell U.

  Mia: True. Dont U just want 2 kill her sometimes?

  Cal: Lol! But seriously? If U feel that way, why bother with her?

  Mia: Why do U?

  Cal: Sometimes I wonder. But sometimes its fun. When shes not being mean. But at least shes mean 2 everyone.

  Mia: I just wish she liked me.

  Cal: Other people like U.

  Mia: Some people only want what they cant have.

  Cal: Like U and K?

  Mia: Duh.

  The officer’s flashlight beam sweeps. Any second now he’ll come around the tree. I pull my breath in and duck as far down as possible. I feel the ground with my hand, and my fingers close around a stick. I throw it as hard as I can from that awkward position.

  Thirty feet away the stick rustles through some branches and thumps to the ground. The flashlight beam instantly swings toward the sound and I hear the officer’s footsteps go in that direction.

  “See her?” the staticky voice asks through the radio.

  “Naw, it must have been an animal.”

  “What do you want to do?” asks the voice.

  “Let’s go back to the cars, check in with headquarters. She could be anywhere by now.”

  The flashlight beam swings back toward the parking lot. I feel dizzy with relief as the officers get into their cars and drive away. Sitting behind the tree, I take deep breaths, amazed that my trick worked. But now what? Where am I going to spend the night? I have no place to go, and besides, the police are still actively searching for me. I’m probably best off staying here in the woods, where they’ve already looked.

  And now I realize I have another problem. How did the police know I was in the old EMS building? The alert came over the scanner almost as soon as I called Slade. I know they can trace calls, but can they trace them that fast?

  Or did Slade tip them off? What if the police have found out he helped me? What if they’re forcing him to assist them, to let them know the instant I call?

  “When it comes to guys, I hear you have the Tampon Attitude.”

  “Oh, really? What’s that?”

  “Use ’em once and throw ’em away.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Is it true?”

  “I bet you’d love to find out, wouldn’t you?”

  Chapter 21

  Monday 4:16 P.M.

  MY HEART THUDS heavily. Griffen Clemment has just gotten off a bus, lugging a heavy-looking backpack. I recognize him from the Facebook photo, but he’s taller than I imagined and has a tall boy’s gawkiness. I’m standing behind a hedge beside a driveway two houses down from his. Half a dozen newspapers in blue and yellow bags are scattered around the driveway, so I have a feeling whoever lives here is away.

  While I hide behind the hedge, waiting, I pull the latest edition of the Fairchester Press out of its yellow plastic bag.

  POLICE RULE OUT SEX ATTACK IN MURDER

  Local Teen Still Wanted For Questioning

  Soundview—Chief of Police Samuel Jenkins told reporters today that there was no evidence of sexual assault in the murder of Katherine Remington-Day late Saturday night. The seventeen-year-old Soundview High student was stabbed to death while attending a beer party in the woods behind a town baseball field.

  “At this point we are still investigating the motive,” the police chief stated. When asked if there were any suspects in the case, Chief Jenkins would say only that his department was eager to speak to Callie Carson, seventeen, a friend of Ms. Remington-Day’s who was photographed next to the body with a blood-spattered knife in her hand.

  Ms. Carson was last seen running away from the scene of the murder. The police are urging anyone with information to call the anonymous tip hotline.

  Griffen is coming down the sidewalk, wearing khaki slacks, a white shirt, a school tie, and a blue blazer. Thank God he’s alone, and yet I’m still terrified. I’m a complete stranger to him. If I were in his shoes, I’d probably call the police the instant I figured out who I was.

  My feet feel like they’re buried in cement, as if somehow they know that this is a huge mistake, even if the rest of me doesn’t. But I don’t know what else to do. If I don’t speak to him, who will I spe
ak to? I feel miserable, sick with anxiety and lack of sleep, tired and cold and dirty and gross after spending the night trying to sleep on the ground in the woods. Maybe part of me wants him to turn me in just so I can take a shower and sleep on something soft tonight. Maybe I want him to do what I can’t bring myself to do.

  He’s going to pass the driveway in a second. It’s now or never. Still not sure what to say, I step out from behind the hedge and clear my throat. He turns his head, glances at me, takes another step, then stops and looks again.

  For a second we just stare at each other. Suddenly I’m aware of something strange that didn’t come through in the Facebook photo: Griffen looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before. But he and Slade have similar features. I mean, it would be easy to tell them apart—by height, for one thing—but at the same time they could be mistaken for brothers. Both have straight blond hair and strong chins. It strikes me as a peculiar coincidence. Do I feel like I’ve seen him before because he reminds me a little of Slade? Or because I really have seen him before? But I can’t dwell on that now. Meanwhile, my heart is banging so hard I can feel my temporal artery throbbing.

  I manage to issue a raspy “Please.”

  He scowls, says nothing, and stares.

  “Do you know who I am?” I ask, trembling.

  His eyes narrow.

  “I’m … the girl everyone’s looking for. I … I need to talk to you.”

  He doesn’t react. This is completely unnerving. Shouldn’t he be just a tad bit freaked? Everyone thinks I’m a killer. No doubt I’m the first in that category he’s ever encountered.

  “I didn’t kill Katherine.” I feel like I’m wound tight, close to snapping and unwinding into a frayed mess. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s true.”

  He blinks and takes a step backward.

  “Don’t go!” I beg. “Please! I just want to talk. I swear. I just want to ask you some questions.”

  But he’s backing up, turning as if he’s about to sprint away. Only that heavy, book-filled pack on his back shifts from one side to the other, and the next thing I know, Griffen Clemment trips on his own feet, topples over, and lands hard on his side in the street.

  “Unnnhhhh.” A long slow groan slips out through his lips and he lies on the asphalt as if stunned.

  “Oh my God!” I kneel beside him. “Are you okay?”

  “I … I don’t know.” His voice is higher than you’d expect, and he seems really out of it.

  “Come on.” I help him slide his arms out of the pack. “You can’t just lie here in the middle of the street.” I get him to his feet and walk him to the curb. Then I go back and get the backpack. A moment later we’re sitting side by side on the curb and I’m brushing the sand and dirt off his blazer. One of his pant knees is torn and the scraped skin under it oozes dozens of little beads of blood. I pull a napkin from my jeans and dab the red away. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “See if you can straighten it.”

  He does what I tell him. His leg goes straight and then he bends it back up without complaining or grimacing.

  “Listen, Griffen, I can’t sit here out in the open like this. Everyone can see us.” I jerk my head back toward the hedge. “Can we go back in there? I don’t think they’re home.”

  He gives me a searching look. “You’re not planning on doing anything bad to me, are you?”

  It seems like a strange question from a guy who’s nearly a foot taller than me, but I’ve begun to perceive a softness and a frailty in him. It’s hard to imagine how he could have been mixed up with the likes of Dakota and Katherine. “No. I was just hoping to find out some things.”

  He tilts his head curiously. I get up quickly, but he takes longer, groaning and rising slowly and stiffly. We each take a strap of the backpack and lug it behind the hedge. Griffen sits down on it and dabs his knee with the napkin. I sit cross-legged on the grass and look up at him. Again I have that feeling I’ve seen him someplace before. I just can’t figure out where.

  “Last spring something happened between Katherine and Dakota and I heard you were involved,” I tell him.

  Big frown. “Look, no offense, but you’re wanted by the police. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be talking to you.” He presses his hands against the backpack as if to rise.

  Desperate, I grab the sleeve of his blazer. “Have you ever been blamed for something you didn’t do?” I ask, holding on. “Try magnifying that feeling about a hundred thousand times. Then add a life sentence to it.”

  He stares at me.

  “I swear I’ll never tell anyone we met,” I say.

  He thinks it over. I let go of his sleeve.

  “So you want to know what happened with me and Dakota and Katherine?” he says. “I met Dakota at a cotillion and she seemed really interested. I mean, it was kind of weird. Like, I’m not the type who has a steady stream of girls trying to knock down the door, you know? But she was just really, like, insistent. So we started to hang out. And then somewhere along the way, she introduced me to Katherine.” Griffen pauses and winces slightly. “And I mean, she … I mean, Katherine …” He shakes his head and seems to shiver. “She told me all kinds of things about Dakota that … sounded really bad.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that she was a total slut and had even been treated for an STD and that if I went out with her, I might catch something.” He pauses to bend his knee and winces again.

  “So what happened next?” I ask, trying to keep him on track.

  “Then Katherine made this big play for me. And like I said, I’m not exactly used to that kind of attention. And she swore she’d never tell Dakota. And”—he shrugs—“I fell for it. And the next thing I knew, Dakota knew all about it, and she just went totally bonkers.”

  “So you think Katherine told Dakota?”

  “Or she told someone else, who told Dakota. Doesn’t really matter.” Is that a trace of remorse in his voice? He can’t enjoy admitting that he was duped. Still, it’s incredibly helpful news, because if Katherine stole him, it gives Dakota a motive for wanting revenge. And I’m wondering about something else. “I guess the thing I don’t understand is how Katherine could do that to Dakota and then two weeks later they were acting like best friends again.”

  “That’s what happened?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  He shakes his head. “I haven’t talked to either of them. To tell you the truth, I’m totally fine with that. I mean, at first I felt pretty bad about Dakota. It was probably stupid of me to believe all that stuff about her being a slut and having STDs and all. But …” His voice trails off.

  “But?”

  He seems reluctant to say more.

  “Please, if there’s something I should know …,” I say, urging him. “Something that would help prove that I didn’t kill Katherine.”

  “Well … I don’t know what this’ll prove, but when that whole thing happened, when Dakota found out about me and Katherine … I started getting some really freaky texts. The callback number was blocked, so I could never completely be sure who they were from, but I’m almost positive they were from Dakota.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Really bizarre threatening stuff. But the thing is, like I just said, I can’t swear they came from her. I mean, it makes sense that she’s the one who sent them, and it wasn’t like anyone else had a reason to send me things like that, but the police said—”

  “The police? How did the police know?”

  Griffen looks surprised. “We told them. I mean, the texts were totally threatening. As soon as I got them, I told my parents and they went to the police. But the cops said there was nothing they could do. They couldn’t track the texts and that was that.”

  “That’s all they said?”

  “Well, they said I shouldn’t tell anyone or spread any rumors, because there was no way to prove who really sent them and, you know, like, Dakota’s
mother is a congresswoman and people might get the wrong idea.”

  “Would you tell me what they said?”

  He grimaces, as if reluctant to disobey police orders. I give him a pleading look, trying to remind him of what’s at stake.

  He nods. “Whoever sent the texts said they wanted to kill me. One even threatened to kill me and Katherine.”

  The news goes through me like an electric current. Maybe there’s no way to prove that the texts came from Dakota. But like Griffen said, who else would have sent them?

  “I don’t understand why the police didn’t do more to follow up on them,” I tell him.

  Griffen raises his eyebrows and gives me a look as if the answer is obvious. Then it hits me: Dakota’s uncle, Samuel Jenkins, is the chief of police. She’s his niece. Of course he wouldn’t want rumors spread about her.

  “Do you still have them?” I ask.

  “The text messages?” Griffen shakes his head. “I mean, the police probably have the copies I printed out. But I erased them from my phone.”

  That’s disappointing, but still, I’m pretty sure that if his parents went to the police, there’s a record of a complaint. And the copies Griffen gave them of the threats. It all has to be there somewhere.

  Griffen turns his head toward his house and straightens his leg again. “I better get going.”

  “Okay.” I get up.

  Griffen rises stiffly. I help him get the straps over his shoulder. For a moment we’re practically face-to-face. Again, I feel certain his is familiar.

  “Have we ever seen each other before?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and then walks off. But it’s still bothering me.

  As much as Mr. Lamont wanted Slade to work in his drywall business after high school, some kind of military service came first. It was a family tradition, a duty, going back to the First World War.

  After the initial two months of National Guard training, when we weren’t allowed to call each other, Slade and I would video chat a few times a week. He always tried to smile and be brave, but he wasn’t a good enough actor to get away with it. His sadness, homesickness, and fear of being sent overseas always came through.