He shakes his head. “It was Kip. He’s been following her around like a lost puppy since the funeral.”
“So have you.” If this is his argument, I’m unimpressed. “But let me guess, you guys fought, you’re upset she’s here with him, so let’s call him a murderer.”
His jaw is hard. “Actually, she asked me to keep an eye on him. Kirsten believes I’m not guilty. She offered to do what she could if I agreed to watch her back, since she felt targeted too. But that’s the only reason we were meeting.”
He’s looking straight at me, posture tense, like he needs me to believe with his entire body. My chest fills with a murky hope, wishing for him to be telling the truth. Just this once. “Nice of her to be so generous about it. That still doesn’t make Kip the killer.”
“No, but I got into his locker the other day and guess what I found?”
I look at the Jason mask and touch the infinity bracelet on my wrist.
“Two Hidden Falls postcards and a red Sharpie,” he says. “Not only that, he had pictures of you.”
“What?”
He nods. “Not the ones from the party—new ones. At the diner, in the halls. They’re actually pretty good. Were you aware you’ve been doing some modeling?”
I cover my mouth, a slithering sensation creeping through my stomach.
“It makes sense when you think about it, Sonia. The guy was obsessed with Gretchen. She must’ve rejected him a hundred different ways, but he never got the message. Maybe after she left the party so upset, he thought he’d try again, maybe it didn’t go the way he thought, or—” He chews his thumbnail. “She might have had something on him we don’t even know about.”
“No.” My voice comes out unsteady. “Kip was like gum on her shoe. She wouldn’t have given him that much thought.”
“Maybe she should’ve. Whatever happened, I think he’s worried you saw something.”
I cross my arms in front of me, trying to imagine Kip as a killer. But when I think of the postcards in his locker, of him taking my picture, I shudder. “He . . . he asked me to prom.”
Marcus’s lips tighten. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I look away.
“Sonia, I’m aware you think you know the guy—”
“But why send a postcard to Kirsten? And why wouldn’t she show it to the sheriff?”
“It took you forever to show him your photo. She has her reasons. She’s scared.” He clenches his hands into fists. “It was all I could do to get her to show me the postcard she had.”
I try to ignore his defensive tone, focusing on what he said about them not being a couple. “If she’s so afraid, why would she come here with him?”
A low beat issues from the nearby speakers, echoing across the gym as the music starts up.
“I warned her it was a bad idea. She said she wanted to get as close as she could to him, but I’m afraid he’s starting to think of her the way he did about Gretchen.”
I stare into the dark space beneath the bleachers, trying to line everything up in my head. “It just doesn’t make sense. . . .”
A stack of equipment cases clatter to the floor behind me and someone stumbles toward us behind the stage.
“Hey, there you are, Sonia . . . I’ve been trying to find you.” Kip slurs my name as he approaches. “What are you doing over—”
He stops short when he notices Marcus.
“Where’s Kirsten?” Marcus growls.
Kip steps toward me, but his legs look unsteady. “What are you doing with him?”
“Don’t come near her,” Marcus says, stepping between us.
“Is he bothering you?” Kip asks. “Maybe I should go find Bova.”
“Suits me. One whiff of your breath and she’ll have you out on your ass with me.”
Kip sneers.
“Marcus.” I touch his shoulder. “I don’t think—”
“So, what’s it like dating the Replacement Gretchen?” Marcus asks, paying no attention to me. “Maybe if she dyed her hair red again, she’d look like the real thing.”
“Fuck you, Perez.”
Marcus steps forward until he’s breathing in his face. “Did you scare her into coming tonight? Maybe tell her what you did to her sister?”
Kip raises his fists. “What the f—”
“Enough!” I push Kip away from Marcus. He almost falls over, he’s so tipsy. “This isn’t going to solve anything.”
“You’re right,” Marcus says through his teeth. “Maybe we should ask the sheriff to take his fingerprints.”
I shake my head, turning my back on Marcus so I can focus. I look into Kip’s sloppy, bloodshot eyes. He does resemble a lost puppy, but I think of the threats in my locker and avoid his gaze. “I need you to answer a question, Kip—for me. Can you do that?”
Kip scowls over my shoulder, but he nods.
I take a deep breath. “Did you put a scratched-up photograph of me and Gretchen, and a postcard, inside my locker?”
Marcus scoffs behind me. “Do you seriously think he’s going to—”
“Yeah.” Kip hangs his head. “I did.”