Max Collins - Girl Most Likely

“Where is the rehab facility?”

“It’s in Delray Beach. Addiction Solutions. South Florida.”

While her father was interviewing Josh, Krista sat opposite Jessy, her oldest and best friend in the world, who seemed to consider all this attention, re: the Astrid Lund killing, a kind of betrayal.

“What is the idea?” Jessy demanded. “Josh told me you had him come over and explain his whereabouts in August! I told you we were with my sister and her husband.”

“You didn’t tell me you were in Florida,” Krista said, not bothering to correct the impression Jessy’s husband had apparently given her about who initiated last night’s visit.

Jessy folded her arms. “I didn’t say we weren’t in Florida.”

“No, but you led me to believe you were at their cabin on Timber Lake.”

Now Jessy’s hands flew in the air. “I can’t help it if you got the wrong idea! Talk to Judy and Gary — they’ll be able to run down everything we did with them. We cram a lot into those vacations.”

“Somebody crammed a murder in, in Clearwater .”

Jessy bolted to her feet. “I’m not putting up with another second of this crap! You want to talk to me, you go through my brother, the lawyer.”

“Please...”

Jessy leaned in, her upper teeth showing and it wasn’t a smile. “Please explain why you’re all over me and Josh and everybody else here... but where is Ken Stock and his little Mary, whose best quality is looking the other way!”

Krista frowned at the mention of the school newspaper advisor. “What are you talking about?”

Jessy came around and leaned right in Krista’s face. “Everybody back then knew about Ken and Astrid, or anyway suspected those two were... you know!”

“I didn’t know...”

“Well ask around! Ken Stock is a notorious hound! He’s always taking a girl student under his wing, ‘mentoring’ her. I don’t know how he even had the nerve to come to the reunion!”

With everyone back in their chairs at their tables, and no one looking terribly happy about it, Keith and Krista conferred at the opposite end of the banquet hall.

Hearing about Ken Stock, Keith said to his daughter, “We need to interview that son of a bitch in depth. Now.”

She gestured with open hands. “He was at that conference in Atlanta with Chris Hope and Tyler. Why would they lie to help him?”

He mulled that for a moment. “Would they have to lie to back him up? Clearwater is, what? Seven hours by car from Atlanta? That’s doable. It was a big, well-attended conference. Chris Hope was taking lectures and classes in different disciplines than Stock.”

She was already nodding. “I’ll call him. We’ll go right over there.”

Keith raised a forefinger. “First call Chris. Ask him exactly how much he recalls seeing Stock at that conference. In the meantime, I’ll chat with our guests — and see if anybody besides your excitable friend Jessy ever heard the rumor that your favorite English teacher had a hobby.”

She was shaking her head. “Pop, he was a mentor to me, as well. Encouraged my writing. He never did a thing that was even vaguely out of line.”

Pop gave her a barely perceivable half smile that Krista had come to think was exclusive to cops. “Why, are you insulted he didn’t? Think about who your father was.”

“Good point.”

“He’s looking like our man. Go make your calls. I’m going to interview Landry again — him being in Florida in August puts him up the suspect list, too.”

She nodded and went out into the hall.

Krista got Chris Hope at home.

He said, “Well, Tyler and I didn’t even get to the hotel where the conference was held till late Thursday — all we missed was early registration and a welcoming ceremony. We saw Ken there on Friday, the first real day. Had lunch with him.”

“Tell me — how did he seem?”

“His usual self. Articulate. I’ve always found him decent enough company. He did seem... well, he looked kind of... ragged.”

“How so?”

“Oh, just tired. Jet-lagged, maybe. No. Wait... you know, he didn’t fly there. He drove, like we did. Had his own car down there.”

And he would have spent a lot of time behind the wheel, driving from Illinois to Clearwater and from Clearwater to Atlanta, especially since he would have to be seen at the conference on Friday to shore up his alibi.

That was another detail they’d missed.

Irritated with herself, she called Stock.

He’d obviously seen her caller ID, because he answered, “Krista, hello. I have to admit to feeling a little insulted.”

That threw her. “Why is that?”

“Bill Bragg told me at school that you’re having a reunion of reunion goers this evening. And I wasn’t invited.”

“That’s only because you aren’t a suspect,” she lied. “But I do need to talk to you. Would now be all right?”

“Don’t see why not. Did you want to talk to Mary, as well? She’s here with me... You kids quiet down!... Sorry. When can I expect you?”

“Soon. We’ve wrapped up our ‘reunion’ at the lodge.”

“Fine. See you soon. You know the address?”

“Yes, I have it.”

She clicked off. If Stock was their man, he was one cool customer.

Krista stepped inside the banquet room. Her father was over sitting at his table with a beaten-down-looking David Landry. She curled a finger at him and Pop joined her. They stepped into the hall.

She said, “Ken Stock’s at home with his wife and kids.”

“Good. Mary Stock’s an important cog in this, too — she may be covering for him.”

“If he’s our man.”

Her father thought about it. “I have to finish up with our friend David, then I want to ask the group whether anyone else has heard these rumors about everybody’s favorite English teacher and his female mentees.”

“I’ll go on ahead,” she said, nodding. “You can follow me in the Impala, when you’re free here. Give me your phone and I’ll put Ken Stock’s address in. I’ve got his cell and a landline, too.”

He handed it over and she entered the info.

Pop said, “Are you sure you don’t want to wait, for us to go out there together?”

“I’ll be fine. Get what you need here and join me. Interviewing Stock and his wife will take a while, unless he lawyers up. And then we’ll really know.”

Her father wasn’t thrilled with this plan, but he finally nodded, and she left him to wrap up here.

Outside the night and a windy cold February were waiting. The overcast sky could not quench the nearly full moon, which persistently peeked around the edges of clouds. In the parking lot, zipping up her thermal jacket, she stood for just a moment beside the Toyota, her breath fuming, and looked toward the trees that guarded Lake View Lodge, naked pillars of wood bursting out of patchy snow, their spindly arms seeming insufficient to their mission. As the moon and the clouds fought, ivory would sweep over the bare trees, giving them a glow only to be swallowed by darkness again.

She got behind the wheel and started out. The seven miles to the highway were windy and demanded respect, particularly on a night like this. Fairways and forest fought their own battle and they too would glow, then disappear, as the moon and clouds clashed.

Krista recalled a poem Pop had read to her as a child: