“How did you know Kyle?” she asks, disappearing into the kitchen for a long moment.
“School. He was older. There was this outreach program and . . .” And I don’t need to go any further because Reichelle’s not listening. She shuffles into the living room and drops onto a worn corduroy couch, regarding me with flat eyes.
“You hungry? I got casseroles if you are.”
“No, thank you.”
“That’s what I should have said. Everyone’s treating me like I’m some sort of invalid. They keep bringing me food because they think I’m too busy crying to eat. No one understands that I already did my crying, cried all I cared to when Lell ran off with that boy.”
“I had heard you were happy.”
“I was.” Reichelle nods hard, her gray hair fanning around her face. “I was. For a little while. Because that was the last I saw of her. Thought she had ditched me for her amazing new life with that rich boy. I cried then. Did for months actually. Haven’t cried now. Don’t know why that is.”
Because grief is a funny thing. It ambushes you when you least expect it, and even though I should probably say something comforting here because I have an idea what she’s enduring, I say nothing.
I clear my throat, but my voice still sounds like Minnie Mouse. “I wanted to ask you about a newspaper picture I saw—the one you took, where Kyle and Lell are smiling at the camera.”
“Yeah.” She lifts one shoulder. “What about it?”
“You can see another person’s arm in the picture. Do you happen to remember who else was there?”
“Of course I do. It was Jason Baines.”
They were all friends. Jason and Lell grew up together—just minutes away from me—and when Lell caught Kyle’s attention sophomore year, they all started hanging out. Lell was Kyle’s first love. Jason was Kyle’s first dealer.
“Did you tell the police that?”
Reichelle stares at me like I’m an idiot. “No. Why would I tell them? What good would it do?”
“What if Jason was involved?”
Reichelle stiffens. “You know how much that boy cried when Lell left?”
I shake my head slowly and Reichelle relaxes a little, slumping into the couch cushions. “He still keeps an eye on me, makes sure the grass is mowed and stuff. I don’t care what people say about him. If you’re one of Jason’s people, he takes care of you. He takes care of me. He makes sure his people take care of me.”
I nod like I understand. All I can think of is Joe though and how I took care of him. Does that make me one of Jason’s people?
My phone vibrates. Another text coming in. Bren? I check the screen. Carson.
Dental records identify body as Kyle Bay
I read it once, twice. That can’t be right. That would mean . . .
“I think Jason loved her,” Reichelle adds, and I have to force myself to meet her eyes even though all I can think about is, if Kyle’s dead, who beat up Ian?
“I wish Lell’d loved him the same way,” she continues. “You never want who you’re supposed to though, do you?”
No, you don’t. I’m shaking now. It takes everything I have to push to my feet. “Thanks for your time.”
A shadow falls across us.
“Absolutely, I want to thank you, Mrs. Daley.” Jason stands in the doorway, grinning, and fear licks up my spine. He looks at Lell’s mom like she’s done something amazing.
She looks away. “You’re welcome.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Jason steps into the room.
My legs turn to lead. “Appreciate what?”
“This.” Jason holds up a Taser, fires it at me.
And my whole body goes up in flames.
46
I wake to pain. The skin on my chest feels scorched, and when I shift, bile surges into my mouth, gagging me.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”
Jason.
I jerk to my knees, swinging—and puking. The force of each heave brings my nose inches from the Oriental carpet under me. Four more retches and I manage to sit upright, push a shaking hand across my damp mouth.
And want to scream.
I’m in Bay’s living room again and Jason’s standing over me. “Told you not to move,” he says, his eyes inching across my face. “Probably my fault. I Tasered you longer than I should have. It just felt so damn good.”
I glare at him, coming aware in a horrible rush that we’re not alone. Someone heavy is lying next to me. It stirs, moans. I look down and swallow hard. Judge Bay.
Jason kicks him. “Had a change of heart yet, old man?”
“Go to hell.”
“Please, Dad.”
I sit straighter, the edges of my vision sparkling, but my brain is starting to clear. A few feet away, Ian kneels on the floor, his battered face turned toward his father.
“Just do what he wants,” Ian whispers.
“Exactly.” Jason steps in front of Bay. “Listen to your son. Transfer the funds and I’ll go away forever.”