Todd Strasser - Kill You Last

The peck and the words clearly caught him by surprise. He looked up and gave me a sheepish grin. “All right…Thanks.”

Back at school I didn’t see Roman until study hall in the library last period.

“What happened?” she asked.

Even though she was my best friend, I didn’t feel comfortable telling her everything I’d learned. It was too personal. So I gave her an edited version-about how Dad had to charge more for his head shots because of the travel expenses involved, but how his agency offered the girls much more in terms of helping them get into the modeling business, and how it wasn’t his job to decide who could be a model or not.

“Hmmm.” It was a relief to hear her hum and know that she had something else on her mind. “I’ve been reading about serial killers.”

I rolled my eyes. “Those girls are probably still alive somewhere. And they live hundreds of miles away from each other.”

“Exactly,” Roman said, as if that was an argument for and not against her idea. “That’s the way serial killers work. In a broad geographical area so that the police in all those different towns won’t connect the dots.”

“You are whacked.”

“I am serious.”

Sometimes she could really be exasperating. “Seriously, Romy? My guess is that if you study every serial killer who’s ever lived, you’re bound to find one who operated in whatever way fits your latest theory. I mean, there’s probably a serial killer who wore a chicken suit. And one who only killed on Thursdays. And what about the famous vegan killer who only killed people who ate meat?”

Roman harrumphed. “Forget it, Shelby. Just remember, when it turns out that I’m right, I’ll be glad to accept your apology.”

I couldn’t deal with this right now. Not after the day I’d had. “Can we please talk about something else?”

She doodled on the cover of one of her notebooks. “You know, there’s a party at Courtney Rajwar’s on Saturday.”

“Not interested.”

“What are you going to do all weekend?”

“How about hide?”

Roman rolled her eyes disapprovingly. The bell rang. School was over, and she started to pack up her books. When I stayed seated, she said. “You’re not going home?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Everyone else to leave. Just wait ten minutes?”

“Oh, I can’t,” she said. “When you left school before? I didn’t know if you were coming back, so I asked David Curlin for a ride.”

She left, and I read InStyle until I thought most of the kids had gone. Then I went out to the parking lot. There were still plenty of cars around, mostly belonging to kids on the various sports teams. Because I’d left school at lunch and then returned, I’d had to park my car in a far corner of the lot, in a spot where some low-hanging pine trees cast deep shadows. It was a place that was hard to see from the school building and, as a result, flattened cigarette butts were scattered around the asphalt.

I was lost in thought about Dad and how, even though he’d admitted that those “fishing trips” were at least partly a scam, it was important to remember that for many of the girls who had gotten their head shots from him, it was completely legitimate.

There had to be some girls who’d gotten modeling jobs, right?

I wished I’d asked Dad about that.

That’s what I was thinking when I got to my car…and felt a presence behind me.

I spun around.

It was Whit. He stopped when he saw me jump.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

My heart fluttered, but unlike the fluttering it did for Gabriel, this was caused by fright. I hadn’t realized how jumpy I was.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. Nonstudents weren’t allowed on school property.

“Trying not to partake in pack journalism.” He saw the scowl on my face and explained: “It’s when they all bunch up and go after a story together. Like those crowds that hang out in front of your house and your father’s studio every day.”

That reminded me of something. “Thanks for writing that article about not rushing to judgment about my dad. As far as I know, you’re the only one who’s said anything in defense of him.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And…I’m sorry I threatened to call the police.”

He grinned. “I probably would have done the same thing.”

“Only now that you know what was on the news this morning, I bet you regret what you wrote.”

“No way,” he said. “I wrote about the rush to blame him for the missing girls. I still stand by that.”

There was something honest and disarming about him that made me want to talk. “Can we go off the record?”

Whit’s lips parted into a wry smile. “All right. What’s up?”

“What do you know about serial killers?”

A few lines between his eyebrows bunched. “Not much.”

“You know why I’m asking, right?”

“Sure. And if it turns out that one’s involved in this case? I won’t be totally surprised.”

“You won’t?” I replied, caught off guard by his answer. “But no one knows what’s up with those girls. They could still be alive.”

Whit studied me. “You really believe that?”

He was right. “It’s seriously wishful thinking, isn’t it?” I admitted.

Whit nodded. “Off the record. I’ll tell you something…if you swear not to share it with anyone.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve spoken to either the family or friends of all three girls. Everyone’s willing to talk because they hope that the more news there is and the more times those girls’ photos are shown, the more likely it is that someone will recognize one of them or know something helpful. The common thread that comes out is that none of them was having problems at home or was in any kind of situation that would make you think they’d want to run away. I mean, not that life was perfect or anything, but two of them have serious boyfriends who they never said a word to about going anywhere. And the other one was totally focused on taking her GED test. She’d dropped out of high school the year before, and everyone I spoke to agreed that all she wanted in life was to get that high school diploma.”

Whit paused as if he knew I needed a moment to digest what he’d said. Then he added, “That’s going to be my next story.”

“But won’t that imply that my dad’s somehow involved?” I asked.

His eyebrows dipped as if he didn’t see the connection. “I don’t even plan to mention him in the article. All I’m going to say is that, based on the interviews I’ve done, it appears unlikely that the girls ran away.”

I felt myself getting upset. “Everyone already thinks my father’s the number one suspect, and now you’re going to write a story that says they weren’t the kind of girls who’d run away. So that implies that something bad must have happened to them. It’s just going to make it worse for my dad.” I almost added, Especially after this morning’s news from that girl claiming Dad was running a scam, but I decided against it.

“I honestly don’t think people will see it that way,” Whit said.

“Oh, come off it,” I snapped angrily. “You and I both know that’s exactly the way they’ll see it!”

Whit didn’t reply. He just stood there like a big dumb galoot. I got into my car, slammed the door, and peeled out of the parking lot.

Mom wasn’t home when I got there, so I went online to check the latest developments. There was nothing new in the local news, and I was secretly glad to see that the papers in Scranton and Trenton had beaten Whit to the story about the girls not being the type to want to run away. Good, maybe he’d give up on becoming a journalist and go away.