The room was dead silent. From down the hall, they heard a phone ring. Mac’s hands twitched in her lap. She considered confessing about helping to put Oxy in that drink. It was a simple prank, after all—nothing more than that. They weren’t killers.
Julie spoke up. “We only came here because you promised we wouldn’t get in any trouble if we had information about the murder. We know it was Mr. Granger. He had the weapon—the drugs—and the motive. All you have to do is prove it.”
Detective Peters smiled again. This time it wasn’t the affable, easygoing grin but a cold, hard smile. “I assure you we’ll look into Mr. Granger sexually assaulting students, ladies, and we’ll talk to him about that. But I want to talk to you about Nolan. Nolan didn’t die from the OxyContin. Nolan was murdered with cyanide poisoning.”
“Cyanide poisoning?” Mac blurted, though she hadn’t meant to. Ava kicked her ever-so-softly under the table.
“That’s right.” Peters closed his manila folder again, his gaze moving slowly and intently over each of them. “Now if you come up with any more theories, be sure to come see me right away. Or maybe I’ll be paying you a visit before you have the chance.”
He looked at them like he knew everything. For a few seconds, nobody moved. Mac’s brain cycled around the same word again and again and again. Cyanide. Cyanide.
Then Caitlin stood up violently from the table, shoving her chair back. She walked heavily toward the door. Mackenzie jumped up and scrambled after her, and then the others followed.
Outside, they crowded next to Mackenzie’s Ford Escape. Caitlin wiped angry tears from the corners of her eyes, then turned and kicked the curb.
“What the hell are we going to do?” Mackenzie’s eyes were wide. “Should we confess the prank? We didn’t lace that drink with cyanide. I don’t even know what cyanide looks like, let alone how to get it.”
“No,” Julie insisted. “You saw him in there. He won’t believe us.”
“Guys, what are the odds that someone killed Nolan just like we planned?” Caitlin said. Her face was red and her breath was coming rapidly like she was on the brink of hyperventilating. “There’s no way that’s a coincidence. None.”
“Definitely not. Granger must have overheard us,” Ava broke in. “It has to be him. Now we just need proof.” Her eyes darted back and forth. “And I think I know where.”
It was easy to get into Beacon Heights High, even late at night—so many overachievers came in for meetings and rehearsals that the security guards kept the doors open until after ten most nights. When Mac and Ava swept through the lobby, no one was even sitting at the front booth to sign them in. The halls were quiet and dark, their footsteps echoing down the empty hallways. The girls had decided it was best that only two of them went, and Mackenzie and Ava promised to call the others when they were done.
“Do you think we’ll be able to find something?” Mackenzie asked as they came to a stop in front of Granger’s door. They’d talked about breaking into his house but decided they’d start with the school. It seemed less extreme somehow.
“Only one way to find out.” But before she tried it, she looked curiously at Mac. “Those pictures on Nolan’s phone the cops were talking about. He was blackmailing you, right?”
Mac lowered her eyes. “Not exactly. It was a dumb bet with his friends. And I was an idiot for falling for it.”
“We were all idiots when it came to him,” Ava said, gripping her hand and squeezing hard. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed. He did that to everyone. I heard he had the same sort of pictures of your friend Claire.”
“Claire?” Mac blinked. Claire had never told her that. “When?”
Ava shrugged. “It was when Nolan and I were dating. But who knows? He could have been lying. He said he had pictures of tons of girls.”
Mac turned and tried the knob. Locked. But she had a plan for that, too. Once, during a recital trip, a bassoon player from Oregon had taught her how to pick a lock with a reed. She glanced up and down the hall, then pulled the stiff wooden reed from her patchwork purse. She leaned down over the doorknob and fiddled with it. A moment later, Mackenzie heard a soft click. They were in.
“How do you know how to do that?” Ava breathed, astonished.
Mac smirked. “I’m full of surprises.” She slid the reed back in her pocket, and they closed the door carefully behind them.
The ghostly outlines of not-completely-erased words lingered on the chalkboard. Ava strode to Granger’s office, which was locked, too. But Mac was able to pick that lock as well, and they pried the door open and went inside.
It was darker in here, and the office was dustier than the classroom. The air smelled faintly of the cucumber Aveda hand soap Granger used, and the shelves were piled with books and old photography equipment.
Mac jerked open the top drawer. It was full of paperwork—stacks of homework, a bundle of permission slips for their upcoming field trip to the Majestic Theater in Beacon, pens, and paper clips. In one compartment, they found a pack of cigarettes and an overripe apple.