Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

“Nope,” she said, her ravaged face still turned away from him. “All they know is someone broke into my gym locker and rigged my cell phone. They think it might have been another student, pulling a prank that went too far. They’re not really sure.”

Chris hadn’t heard that about the locker. So on two separate occasions, someone had broken into both Courtney’s and his lockers.

She finally turned toward him again. “I heard about your father. I’m really sorry.”

“It was a lot like what happened with your dad,” Chris said. “They found him in a hotel room — with drugs and porn. Some woman set him up to overdose.”

“Only difference is your dad’s dead, and mine’s out on bail, living in a Best Western in Lynnwood.” Courtney sighed. “I’m not sure which one is better off.”

“Remember the morning you had your accident, when you were driving me to school?” Chris asked. “You said that you told Mr. Corson about your dad. You said we all spilled our guts to him. And you were right. He knew my dad had screwed around on my mom.”

“Yeah, Corson was wise to all our family secrets,” she said.

“Did he know about Madison’s mom and her drinking problem?”

“Sure,” Courtney said, with a weak nod.

“It’s kind of like he came back to haunt us,” Chris heard himself say. “Every secret we told Mr. Corson has been exposed. Our parents are getting killed or thrown in jail. It’s like his ghost has come back to get even with every one of us on Willow Tree Court who did him wrong.”

Courtney sighed. “I guess you blame me more than anyone else for getting him fired.”

Chris didn’t say anything. But he was thinking, Yes, you and your iPhone.

And that was what had exploded in her face.

He stepped up to her bed. “Mr. Corson used to scribble down notes when I was talking to him in his office for those formal sessions. Did he do the same thing with you?”

“Yeah, sure, he used to take a lot of notes,” Courtney said. “He probably collected some juicy stuff there, too. Who do you think has those notes now? The school?”

Chris remembered, and he slowly shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Not anymore.”

“Hi, Molly, it’s Rachel calling at around three-thirty. . ”

Molly stood in her kitchen with the big UPS box on the counter. She hovered near the answering machine, listening to the voice mail.

“I got your message earlier,” Rachel went on. “I’m fine. Don’t panic when you see my car isn’t in the driveway. You asked me to make sure if Natalie comes back that she doesn’t leave again. And I’ve done that. But I really need to go to the store. I know you’ll be home soon, because Erin’s bus drops her off at a quarter to four. I’ll be back before then, okay? I really don’t think you’re going to see Natalie again. But you’ll see me — very soon. Okay? Bye.”

Rachel knew her very well by now. When Molly had driven up the cul-de-sac and noticed there wasn’t a car in her driveway, she’d thought for certain something was wrong. But now that she’d listened to Rachel’s message, Molly felt better. It was 3:35, so she must have just missed her. Natalie couldn’t have come back, packed up, and left again in that short a time.

Molly still had some Styrofoam peanuts stuck to the sleeve of her pea jacket when she took it off. More peanuts fell out of the UPS box and onto the kitchen counter as she dug out the smaller parcel again. She took out the jade elephant and carried it up to her attic studio. She was going to clear a space on her shelf for it. But thanks to Erin, there were some recent vacancies.

Setting down Jeff’s elephant, Molly stopped and stared at her cola ad painting with all the characters through the ages — and the big, yellow X slashed across it. She hadn’t really assessed the damage yet. Nor had she cleaned up the mess Erin had made. She figured it might take a day or two, but she could fix the painting. As for the yellow paint on several of her elephants, a little turpentine could get that out.

Molly carefully put the cap back on the tube of Naples Yellow Light and returned it to the drawer with the other paints. She set the brush in some paint thinner. Then she bent over and picked up the putty knife Erin used to break three of the more fragile elephants. Molly put the knife back in the jar, where she kept it with a couple of old brushes and a sponge brush — on the second to top shelf of her supplies cabinet.

Before closing the cabinet door, Molly hesitated, and then glanced around.

She stored a stepladder in the other corner of the room, and it was there now. The stool was near the easel, where she usually kept it. And there was a chair against the wall in another corner of the room, where it always was. None of those things had been moved close to the cabinet.

Frowning, Molly glanced up at the putty knife in that jar — on a shelf that was almost six feet high.

Erin was only about three and a half feet tall.

Despite the November chill, she kept the window of her Honda Accord rolled down. It smelled like gasoline in the car. Two full five-quart canisters sat on the floor of the backseat. She had a grocery bag back there, too — with juice for Erin. She also had a blanket on the seat, in case Erin got cold.

Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she watched the children file out the main doors of the two-story elementary school. One set of windows in the front had pictures of turkeys, pumpkins, and Pilgrims for Thanksgiving.

Along with several other mothers, Jenna was parked in the line of cars behind three buses in the school’s loading zone. As the mob of kids moved closer to the bus, Jenna stepped out of the car and started looking for Erin.

“Aunt Rachel?” she heard someone say.

She’d persuaded Erin to start calling her that a few days ago. And she was pleased to hear it now.

Lugging her book bag, Erin broke away from the crowd of youngsters and ran to her.

Jenna squatted down, kissed Erin on the cheek, and then zipped up her open jacket. “I’ve come here to pick you up,” she whispered. “Molly wants me to take care of you this afternoon. She — well, she just doesn’t want to see you. I don’t understand her sometimes, I really don’t.”

Her big eyes staring, Erin gave her a sort of puzzled, wounded look.

Jenna shrugged. “Let’s not think about Molly. She’s so awful. It’s like I was telling you the other day, the only reason I’m Molly’s friend is to make sure she doesn’t try to hurt you. I’m never going to let that happen, honey.” She took the book bag from her.

“Erin?”

Jenna glanced up and saw a stocky, pale woman of about forty waddling toward them. She had short hair, studded earrings, and wore a trench coat. Jenna smiled at the woman. “Hi, I’m Rachel Cross,” she said, holding out her hand.

The woman eyed her warily, but shook her hand anyway. “I’m Shauna Farrell, vice principal.”

“Molly said she’d call the school,” Jenna whispered. “Something tells me she didn’t. The poor thing, she’s going through a lot right now. She wanted me to take Erin for the afternoon.” She put a hand on Erin’s shoulder. “Honey, could you introduce me to Ms. Farrell?”

Erin spoke past a finger crooked on her lower lip. “This is Aunt Rachel from next door,” she announced. Then she reached over and tugged at Jenna’s sleeve.

“If you’d like, I can call Molly,” Jenna offered. “Only I think she’s resting.”

The vice principal’s expression softened. She smiled and shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Please give Mrs. Dennehy my condolences.”

“I’ll do that,” Jenna said. “Thank you.” She took Erin’s hand and walked her to the car.