A Matter of Trust

Chapter 48





For the last two days Gabe’s school had been buzzing. On Tuesday Zach had been spotted being escorted down the hall by the school’s “resource officer”—a.k.a. cop—with his hands cuffed behind his back. In five minutes the news had spread all over school via whispers and texts. That same day four other football players had been pulled out of class and not come back—including Eldon and Rufus. Gabe had spent the remainder of the school day feeling sick, wondering when someone was going to point and call him a snitch, but no one did. Coach Harper had canceled Tuesday’s practice and announced that on Wednesday they would have a meeting to discuss the team’s code of ethics.

Because Gabe had come forward, and because he hadn’t taken anything, Tracy Lowe, the lady from the Juvenile Unit where his mom worked, the one with long red-painted nails that looked like daggers, had decided not to charge him. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or guilty. Tracy had told his mom that most of the others would likely be sentenced to community service. All of them would probably also have to pay a fine.

Except for Zach, the rest of the football team was back in school on Wednesday. After school, the team gathered in the locker room and waited without speaking. Most of the guys—most of the school—knew by now what had happened at the Sunshine Mart on Saturday. Gabe and Eldon and Rufus and the other two guys who had been there looked at each other, but didn’t speak. When Coach Harper came in, everyone straightened up.

“You have probably heard,” he began, “about the incident that happened Saturday. A flash mob that included some members of our team robbed a convenience store. When I heard about it”—he paused while they all waited, not even breathing—“I won’t lie to you, I felt low. Very low. You all signed a code of conduct. But our ethics are more than words on paper. Our ethics are about much more than being a football team. They’re about what makes us men.” He looked from face to face, lingering on those who had been involved. “And real men acknowledge when they have made mistakes and ask for forgiveness. I think those who participated owe the team that.”

Gabe was the first on his feet. He felt all those eyes fasten on him, but he just focused on Coach’s face. “Coach Harper, I’d like to apologize to you, the other players, and to my friends and family for what I did.”

“Thank you, Gabe. I appreciate that.”

One by one the others followed. A few minutes later Coach Harper dismissed them, shaking hands with each of the boys as they filed out. When it was Gabe’s turn, he gave him a nod and tightened his grip. Gabe looked him straight in the eye and didn’t flinch. He left feeling oddly light. The worst was over.

Forty-five minutes after leaving the meeting, Gabe was in his kitchen, sliding a grilled cheese sandwich out of the frying pan and onto the cutting board. His mouth watering at the aroma of toasted bread and melted cheddar, he took one of the knives from the wooden block. A chef’s knife, he thought his mom called it. She didn’t like Gabe to use her “good knives,” but he had planned to wipe it on the kitchen towel and slip it back into the block with no one the wiser.

He was cutting the sandwich in half to share with Brooke, who was upstairs playing in her room, when he heard someone walk onto the porch.

Who could it be? The mail had already come. He waited but didn’t hear a knock. Gabe’s heart started to pound. He tried to remember what his mom had said to do about strangers who might come to the door. Was he supposed to ignore them? But what if they knew someone was home? Was he supposed to talk to them through the door without opening it? Open it but keep his hand firmly on the knob? He thought of Colleen, shot through a window. It was all on his shoulders to decide what to do. He was the one in charge. Had he turned the dead bolt as his mom was always nagging him to?

The knife in his hand was big, maybe ten inches long. Gabe carried it with him as he tiptoed down the hall. Finally he risked a peek through the small paned windows at the top of the door.

His breath let out in a whoosh. It wasn’t a stranger. It was that lady from his mom’s office. The one with the frizzy blond hair. The one they had sat by at the funeral for Colleen. Katrina. That was her name. She was holding some ski equipment. When she saw him, she gave him a wide smile, and his racing pulse began to slow.

He set the knife down on the entryway table, turned the dead bolt—he had thrown it—and then the doorknob.

“It’s Gabe, right?”

He nodded.

“Sorry if I scared you. Your mom said I could bring my stuff for her garage sale.”

“Sure. Let me help you.”

He took the skis from her, but then, not knowing what to do, he laid them flat in the hall, against the wall. Katrina put the ski poles next to them. She stopped short when she saw the knife on the table.

“Oh, Gabe, did I scare you? Did you bring that knife out to defend yourself?” She threw a smile over her shoulder, a smile that said the knife was sort of pathetic.

From inside her purse, her phone began to play music that sounded like the beginning of a symphony. Horns, the clash of cymbals, some kind of stringed instrument.

A ring tone. Gabe had heard that snatch of sound once before. But when?

And then it clicked into place. He knew exactly when he had heard it. That ring tone had been the last sound he had heard on the phone right after Colleen’s bubbling breath stopped. He had heard the same series of sounds repeated twice. Right before he dropped the phone and ran in to see why Brooke was screaming.

He had thought Colleen had been listening to music, music he could finally hear because she had stopped struggling to pull air into her lungs.

But no. He had actually heard the ring tone of someone who had been there when she died.

The snatch of music played again.

The ring tone that belonged to Colleen’s killer.

Katrina. The woman standing in front of him.

The murderer his mother had been hunting? It was someone who worked beside her.

Gabe kept his face blank.

Katrina reached into her purse and pressed a button to silence the phone. And when she did, he saw something else in there, glinting darkly. Gabe couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was a gun.

What was she really here to do? And how could he stop her? The knife was on the hall table, which was right next to Katrina. One phone was in the kitchen, another in the family room, a third upstairs.

All too far away to help him.

Katrina was looking at him curiously now. And then her gaze sharpened. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. And looking at her bony face, her flat blue eyes, Gabe knew that whatever she was thinking was bad. Very bad.

“Is something wrong, Gabe?” Katrina’s voice was precise and ice cold.

For an answer, he leaned down and grabbed his skateboard from underneath the entryway table. Then in one motion he stepped back while hoisting it over his shoulder.

And with every ounce of strength he had, Gabe swung the skateboard at her head.