All playful humor left me. “What does it say about Amber?” I asked, my voice moving down to a whisper. “I mean, I thought it was Ben Spencer’s murder file.”
“It is. But the two deaths were definitely connected. The police just didn’t know how. The lead detective on my uncle’s case was a guy named Nick Paparella. He concludes in his final report that Amber Greeley killed my uncle in a jealous rage and then committed suicide four days later.”
I winced as if what Cole had just said physically hurt me. “That’s not what happened,” I said. “I don’t know how I know that, Cole, but I do. Amber didn’t kill Spence.”
Cole nodded as if he’d already concluded the same thing. “I don’t know that anybody but Nick Paparella thought Amber killed Spence, Lily.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
Cole pointed to the file. “I’ve been through this thing a dozen times. It’s a compilation of crime scene photos and witness testimonies and a timeline of the prom. No one, and I mean no one ever remembers any trouble between Amber and Spence. Witness statement after witness statement says that they were crazy about each other. And there’s even a photo of them in here dancing together during a slow song. You should see them, Lily. There’s no way either of them was unhappy with the other. It’s obvious from the picture that they’re crazy about each other.”
I tapped the file. “Can I?” I said. “See the file?”
Cole took a deep breath. “The reason I’m not sure about showing it to you is because there’re also photos of Amber’s body in here.”
“There are?” I said, pulling my hand back.
“Yeah. Paparella put them in to show that Amber had felt so guilty about killing Spence that she committed suicide, but he also included the coroner’s report, which ruled her death suspicious but undetermined.”
“Undetermined?” I said. “What does that mean?”
“He couldn’t rule suicide either totally in or totally out,” Cole said. “The medical examiner stated that stabbing oneself to death was a highly unusual form of suicide, especially for a girl. He did say, though, that Amber could have made the angle of the wound if she was motivated enough. Paparella included a close-up photo of the knife sticking out of Amber’s chest and another photo of her hand with the bloody imprint of the knife handle in her palm to make his case for suicide.”
I glanced nervously at the file under Cole’s palm. I wasn’t so curious to see what was in it anymore. “Can you tell me why you wanted to show the file to me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Ever since I was a little kid, my mom has told me how much I act like my uncle. She’d point out stuff that I’d do or say, and tell me that her brother used to do it the exact same way. Then, when I was seven, my mom got me a pet guinea pig. I told her he was my new best friend and I named him Jamie.”
I blinked. The name struck a chord with me, but I couldn’t quite figure out why.
“My mom said that her brother’s best friend had been named Jamie.”
“Whoa,” I said.
“Right? And then, when Jamie the guinea pig died, I asked my mom for a dog. I think I pestered her for nearly a year before she gave in and said okay, and then I wouldn’t let up about what kind of dog I had to get.”
My eyes dropped to the floor where Bailey was lying quietly at Cole’s feet. “A golden?” I asked.
He nodded. “We went to the breeder and I got to pick her out. The second I held her I told my mom that I was going to call her Bailey.”
Cole reached into the folder, withdrew a photo, and put it on the counter. The photo was of a large blond dog—a golden retriever—lying next to a bed with a yellow comforter, with a trail of blood leaking down it. The angle didn’t allow me to see what was on the bed, but it was obvious to me that it’d been taken inside Amber’s bedroom.
“This is the dog that Spence gave Amber for her eighteenth birthday. She named her Bailey.”
“Whoa,” I said, reaching for the print.
I felt such a familiarity with the beautiful dog. It was like an instant connection, and I longed to wrap my arms around her. But of course she’d be long dead by now.
And then I also realized that Cole was speaking of things that were similar to the odd coincidences in my own life. I lifted my gaze to meet his. Could he be trying to say what I thought he was? My eyes settled on the amber bead at his throat. For a moment I was mesmerized by it. My breathing and heart rate ticked up, too.
“My mom is super-cool,” Cole said. “I mean, she and my dad split when I was three, and he moved to Toronto where he’s from, so she’s been both a mom and a dad to me. She’s always been there, but she also gives me a lot of freedom to do what I want, within reason, and we get along really good, but she’s not like other moms. She’s a little bit out there.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, still focused on the bead at Cole’s throat.
“Well, she’s really into metaphysical stuff. I mean, she believes in ghosts and crystals and past lives and psychics and all that.”