I need to lead into this delicately. “The kind of information that says we have to investigate Miss Peters’s murder.”
Spam opens her bag and pulls out an orange. She digs her fingernails deep into the skin, releasing the citrusy scent. It immediately brings up a flood of memories. I picture Miss P in lecture mode—which she liked to call inspire mode—telling us how in science, like everything else, we have to dig deep to get to the truth.
“Nope. Disagree,” Spam says. “I’m not in favor. Cheater Checks is one thing. Murder is a whole new level. I vote we leave it to the police.” Spam proceeds to peel her orange.
I realize that I didn’t bring any lunch and it looks like Journey didn’t either. Spam notices and sets a few segments of orange in front of each of us.
He looks at Spam. “Hi. I don’t know your name. Let me just say that I don’t trust the police.” He pops a piece of orange in his mouth. I’m content to hold my piece and inhale the fragrance.
“The problem is the police don’t know what we know,” I say.
“Then maybe you should tell them,” Spam says. “Miss P obviously didn’t do that and look what happened to her.”
“Okay. We don’t know what Miss P knew,” I say. “But I am worried that what happened to her could happen to us. Or, me at least.” I go around the table making eye contact with each one of them. “I’m not going to lie. This is serious.”
“Have you received a threat?” Lysa asks.
“Not directly. But indirectly, yeah, I think I have.” I look to Journey. “These two are the best people to help us figure this out.” I gesture across from me. “Spam’s a tech rat: computers, cell phones, servers, flash drives, spy cams, anything electronic. She can hack it, and if she can’t, she knows who can.”
Spam shoots me a bug-eyed “WTF” look.
“No worries,” I say, attempting to soothe her. “He’s cool.”
She and Lysa exchange some wary side-eye.
“Lysa’s father is a lawyer and her mother’s a psychologist. So she’s great for legal stuff or anything having to do with human nature.”
Lysa holds her hands up like balancing a scale. “I try to be the voice of reason, but these two almost never listen to me.”
Journey smiles politely.
“Evidence is my thing: fingerprints, hair, ink, lipstick. Anything forensic. We’re like the Three Musketeers.”
“Yeah. We’re exactly like them,” Spam says, tossing her hair and sounding chipper. “Except, oh right, when you decide to go off on your own.”
I give her a harsh glare. “Not now.”
“Look, I get it. You guys are all organized and into this.” Journey rakes his fingers through his hair and clasps his hands around his neck. “So, no offense. But none of your tricks or techniques can compare to investigating a murder.”
His words are like a giant thud in the middle of the table. “What?”
“I’m not trying to be demeaning or anything,” he says, reacting to my crushed expression. “But you can’t compare nailing a cheating boyfriend with catching a killer.”
Lysa narrows her eyes at him. “Maybe you’re afraid of what we’ll find. Hmmm?”
I put my hand up. “Easy, Prosecutor. He’s innocent.”
“So, who called this meeting?” Spam asks, her face devoid of all emotion.
“I did.” Journey and I say it at the same time and then look at each other like Did you really just say that?
“Dude, I thought we were on the same page,” I say.
Lysa and Spam exchange a look.
“I thought so, too,” he says. “But you’re ignoring that I’ve been doing my own investigations for five years now trying to clear my dad. I don’t do forensics…” He sweeps his hand toward me. “Or computer stuff…” He gestures toward Spam. He looks Lysa straight in the eye for a long moment.
“What?” she asks.
“Truthfully, lawyers creep me out.” Journey looks around the table at us. “I don’t care how good you are, there’s only so much we can do.”
After a long silence, Spam looks from me to Journey and back to me again. Her eyes are cold, dark embers.
“Erin, you’re my best friend,” she says. “I’d give you a kidney if you needed it. I’d give you both kidneys. But I think he’s right, you should leave this one for the police.”
“Tried. Giant fail! I practically handed this evidence over to Sydney and she shut me down.”
“You didn’t practically hand it to her,” Journey says, correcting me. “You hypothetically asked, if you had evidence, would she want to see it.”
“Right. And she said no.”
“I’m dying to know. What is this earthshaking evidence?” Spam crosses her arms over her chest.
I glance over my shoulders, right then left. “I don’t want to get into the details here. But trust me, it changes everything.”
“Is it from the box?” Lysa asks.
I don’t need to answer. My pinched expression says it all.
“I just want to slap you and call you Pandora.” She squeezes the sides of her face and moans. “We never should have helped you steal that thing.”