I hiked back up the gravel road and stood at the edge of the trees, listening for cars approaching on the highway. The last thing I wanted was for some trucker to see me. When the road was empty, I jetted across the street and quickly disappeared into the underbrush on the other side.
As I hiked toward the cabin, I reviewed the events of the last few days in my head. On Saturday I went camping and Preston went to Vegas. On Sunday night, he didn’t come home. The FBI was talking to me by Monday morning, and then again on Tuesday. Preston was eighteen and had a history of reckless and impulsive behavior. Senator’s kid or not, the first idea should have been that Pres ran off on his own. Yet from the moment his disappearance was reported, the FBI was treating it as a crime. They knew stuff I didn’t. That was the only explanation.
Thunder shook the sky. The dense foliage blocked out most of the daylight, making it seem later than it was. I ducked under a low-hanging branch, a carpet of pine needles crunching beneath my feet.
Preston might have come back to the overlook parking lot when I was already down on the beach. Let’s say he was missing his phone. Maybe my car was unlocked (it usually was), so he popped the trunk without making his way down the steep trail to come find me. He found his phone at the bottom of the camping gear and then someone hit him on the head. That would explain the phone and the blood. Or maybe someone followed him from the beach overlook, jumped him when he stopped for gas or something, and then planted his bloody phone in my trunk afterward.
But why would anyone do that?
Unless . . .
Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe I was just a convenient fall guy. If someone wanted to kidnap the school’s MVP, why not pin it on the kid who gets paid to fake alibis? There was a certain poetic justice to it all.
I climbed up a small slope and escaped from the trees onto a winding dirt road, and there it was—the Colonel’s cabin. Parvati had made me a spare key during the summer, back when we used to hang out there on a regular basis. I glanced around nervously, hoping no one was watching. I knew this whole area was full of similar cabins, most of which were probably deserted this late in the year.
I opened the metal storm door quickly and unlocked the inner door. It creaked as it swung inward, and the smell of rancid meat overwhelmed me. Covering my nose with my shirt, I flipped a switch on the wall, and the only bulb still working in the light fixture above my head crackled to life. The cabin looked pretty much the same as I remembered it: sparse but functional. The slick vinyl sofa sat against the back wall of the living room, and the wooden coffee table was bare except for a half-empty box of ammunition.
I ducked into the small kitchen, just to make sure I was alone. The fridge and stove were both smudged with dirty glove prints, and the steel countertop didn’t look like it had been properly wiped down after the last person had cleaned his game. No wonder the whole place smelled funky. I dropped my gear in one of the two small bedrooms. They were just boxes with rollaway beds, a tiny bathroom between them. It was livable, but it wasn’t anywhere I wanted to live for too long. Good thing I’d be out of there in the morning. I would have to keep moving if I didn’t want McGhee and Gonzalez to catch me. That was another thing I had learned on the streets. Being homeless was like being a shark—survival was a matter of always moving forward.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything until Parvati showed up later. Desperate for a distraction, I plunked down on the sofa and flipped through the handful of TV channels. All I got were varying degrees of static. What were the feds doing? Gonzo had probably skipped right past the search warrant to the arrest warrant, and I couldn’t even blame him. Maybe they were already looking for me. Or interviewing people at school about me instead of Preston. Someone would tell them about Liars, Inc. Someone would tell them Parvati and I still seemed like a couple. That would be enough for them to contact her, if they hadn’t already. She was Preston’s other best friend, after all. She’d definitely get questioned sooner or later.
I knew she’d lie to protect me, but I also knew her mother would insist on being present for any questioning. Would her mom see through Parvati’s stories? Would she consider the possibility her own daughter might be aiding and abetting a fugitive?
Was I a fugitive?
I swore under my breath. Hiding out here had made perfect sense when I was talking to Parvati, but now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe this was a really bad idea. Was it too late for me to go back? I could have her turn in the phone, explain why I ran. Innocent people ran from the cops on TV all the time. McGhee and Gonzalez might understand.
Or they might just let the pieces fall neatly into place . . . and crucify me.
I fiddled with a rip in the sofa, my fingers aimlessly pulling out bits of cream-colored stuffing. Three mounted bass looked down at me from the wall behind the television. Their mouths gaped low, like they were drowning. The more I looked at them, the more I felt like they were trying to tell me something.
Air. Fresh air would be good. I decided to go for a walk in the woods behind the cabin. I headed through the kitchen and out the back door, stopping for a second to pull a questionably squishy bag from the trash can. Maybe the rancid smell wasn’t coming from the dirty countertop. I knotted the top of the bag without looking inside and dropped it outside the door. The forest stretched out around me.
The trail from the back of the cabin led through the trees to the edge of a cliff that overlooked a river. It was only slightly overgrown since the last time Parvati and I came here. We used to hide in the foliage and stalk deer. Parvati didn’t want to hurt them. She just wanted to see if she could get close enough to touch one.
My eyes quickly adjusted to the waning light as I headed down the path. I could hear the water before I could see it. At the edge of the cliff I looked down. Fifty feet below, the river writhed and twisted, black water roaring through the turns.
I sat on the edge of the cliff, dangling my feet over the side. Parvati and I used to swim in the river. I still remembered the first time she dared me to jump from this spot. I wasn’t going to do it, but then she did, so I had to. It was terrifying, the brief instant of free fall before crashing into the icy water. But it was exciting too. One day we must have jumped at least twenty times. We’d had so much fun during the summer. It sucked that I had to be here without her.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since I choked down a few bites of sandwich much earlier. I wandered back to the cabin and into the kitchen. Unfortunately, the cupboards were empty.