Todd Strasser - Kill You Last

So who knew that I was looking into Dad’s case? Whit and Roman…and the person who’d hit Whit on the head tonight.

I felt frightened, but also, strangely, encouraged. I must have been getting closer to the answer. But now what? The thought of telling my parents came and quickly passed. Telling Dad about the e-mail would make him freak out, and telling Mom would only confirm what she’d just finished saying in the living room-that if I continued to snoop around, I was in danger of becoming a target myself. It would become a great big “I told you so” moment for her and would probably result in my being completely grounded.

So forget that.

Besides, there had to be ways to proceed carefully. From now on when I went out at night, I would make sure to be with someone. And if I needed to investigate something, I would ask Whit along.

Whit…It was interesting how useful he’d become, both in my “investigation” and as an alibi. Why did I feel I could trust him when it felt so hard to trust anyone else? Didn’t he have the most to gain from ingratiating himself to me? How did I know for sure that he wasn’t using me? Pretending to be my friend and searching for the truth until he got the really big story? The one that would guarantee him the job in journalism that he so dearly wanted? Since when had I become such a great judge of character that I knew everyone’s motives?

And, if he was using me to get that story, wasn’t it possible that he’d sent that threatening e-mail? What better way to ensure that I’d keep him involved in the investigation than to make me feel like I needed him for protection?

But if I couldn’t trust him, then who could I trust?

Or, had I reached the point…where I couldn’t trust anyone?

I made sure the windows in my room were locked. Then I locked my door and wedged a chair under the doorknob. And still lay awake in the dark for a long time.

They reported on TV the next morning that the body found in the cave near Scranton had been positively identified as Rebecca Parlin. The report said that it would still be some time before the police would be able to pinpoint the cause of death.

I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was still a blow. Yet another step closer to a horrible ending.

And now there was school, which I wasn’t looking forward to attending. Not only because all those kids would once again be staring, as if they thought Dad was the murderer, but because I’d have to face Roman, knowing that we’d argued and that I’d implied that I was no longer sure I could trust her.

I decided to get to lunch early. That way when Roman got to the cafeteria, I’d already be at our regular table and it would be up to her to decide whether to sit with me. As soon as the bell rang, I was out of my seat and racing toward the cafeteria. Usually the only ones who hurried to lunch were hungry guys, and luckily I found myself behind Dave Curlin, a football player who charged through the crowded hallway as if trying to score a touchdown.

In the cafeteria, I was relieved to see that Roman’s and my table was empty. But as I headed toward it, I became aware that someone else was also getting closer. It was Roman, hurrying in from the other side of the cafeteria. We reached the table at the same time and stood across from each other, each knowing exactly why the other had been in a rush.

Then we both sat.

Roman was the first to speak: “See the news this morning?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No surprise, I guess.”

“Uh-huh.” I made no effort to hide my reluctance to talk.

Roman studied me. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I still don’t understand how you could have known where I was last night.”

“I told you, it was just a lucky guess,” she insisted.

It was obvious that no matter how many times I asked, she was going to give the same answer.

“So…when did you and Whit get together?” she asked.

I felt myself relax a little. We were back in familiar territory-talking about guys. Of course, I couldn’t tell her the news about Janet/Jane’s identity theft and criminal record, but I could be vague. “I guess we’re both interested in the same thing.”

“So you’ve gotten him to help you try to figure out what’s going on?” Roman shot me a knowing smile. “Or is that just the excuse you’re using to spend time with him?”

“He’s not my type.”

“What’s wrong with big and blond?”

“Did you see his nose?”

Roman shook her head. “It was dark. Why? Something wrong with it?”

“It’s crooked. Like that actor’s? I can’t remember if he said how he broke it.”

“I thought things like that give you character,” she said.

Whit had character, but I wasn’t sure it had anything to do with his nose. Personality-wise, he seemed like a solid, dependable, serious guy. But physically, he was big, ponderous, and, though gentle, also clumsy. Sexy, he wasn’t.

“He reminds me of Lennie in Of Mice and Men,” I said. “I mean, not the dumb part; he’s actually really smart. But there’s something about him that just doesn’t work for me.”

As we started to eat, Tara Kraus and her posse entered the cafeteria. And there was Ashley. In all the drama of the night before-Whit being hit on the head, Roman showing up at the studio, the life-threatening e-mail from vengeance-I’d forgotten what I’d discovered in the cabinet in Dad’s studio.

“Be right back.” As I started across the lunchroom, Tara and a few others turned to look, but Ashley didn’t. Still, I could tell that she’d seen me out of the corner of her eye because her stride stiffened and she stared straight ahead.

In the middle of the cafeteria, surrounded by tables filled with chattering kids, Tara stopped to face me. If she’d been a porcupine, her bristles would have been in full bloom. The girls around her glowered, but Ashley seemed to shrink down behind them.

“Ashley,” I said.

“What do you want?” Tara’s nostrils flared. I wondered if she’d start snorting and pawing the floor next.

I ignored her and looked directly at Ashley. “Can we talk?”

An anxious scowl crossed my old friend’s face. “Why?”

“I have to ask you something…in private.”

“You don’t have to talk to her,” Tara said.

Ashley’s eyes darted at Tara, then back at me. She tilted her head at the windows, as if we should go over there.

“Want me to come?” Tara asked.

Ashley shook her head.

We walked toward the windows. Outside, orange and white koi glided gracefully through the dark water of the small pond the PTO had built in the center of the courtyard. Ashley bit the corner of her lip.

“I didn’t know you’d signed up with my dad’s agency,” I said.

She nodded and let her breath out in a way that made me think that wasn’t what she’d expected me to say.

“I guess I was surprised because we used to be friends and we still see each other almost every day at school,” I said.

She gave me a quick glance. “So I was supposed to tell you?”

In a way, she was right. It wasn’t mandatory for me to know.

There wasn’t a rule. It just felt strange. “Did anything ever happen?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Did he get you any modeling jobs?”

Her brow dipped with consternation. “If I’d gotten modeling jobs, you think I’d still be working at Playland?”

She was right. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. But did he at least send you to some tryouts?”

“A few, but nothing ever came out of them.”

Her answer was enough to make me feel relieved. So at least as far as Ashley was concerned, it hadn’t been a scam. Dad had tried to get her some work.