The three of them are still sitting there, silent and sad.
I curl onto the floor and slide up close to Journey. We’re not touching, but I can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Just being near him makes me feel better. He gets me. He even said so. I flip through the pages of Rachel’s phone book. The usual veil of hair slides across my forehead and into my eyes. Journey rescues it and tucks it behind my ear. The warmth of his fingers as they linger on my neck summons a minor blush. I’m hoping Spam won’t notice, but a quick glance up at her face finds a silly smirk plastered there. I’m so busted.
“Okay. I’m looking up Sydney in Rachel’s book. Her direct line is 555-8442.”
Spam checks the list. “That’s not it.”
“Who else?” I flip to C, looking for Chief Culson’s name. I find the name Charles and a notation for a private line. “What about this one: 555-8446?”
Spam sits forward. “That’s it. Whose is it?”
I gnaw on my lip, not sure how these things hook up. “According to Rachel’s book, it’s Chief Culson’s private line.”
“That could explain why I couldn’t track it down,” Spam says. “Private lines are different from direct lines. They’re supposed to be—well, private. Off the books.”
“Makes sense for the chief of police, I guess. Right?” I say.
“Maybe Miss Peters called him because she was being threatened,” Journey offers.
“But why would she call his private line and not the main line?” Spam wonders.
“Besides, the chief doesn’t investigate problems, he’s responsible for overseeing the entire unit,” Lysa says. “If Miss Peters had a complaint she would talk to an officer or a detective, like Sydney.”
“Plus, if she was afraid of someone, the police would have a record of that and they wouldn’t be looking at us,” Journey says.
Spam shakes her head. “I doubt that they’re seriously looking at you.”
Lysa picks at a ragged cuticle. “Actually, I heard my parents talking. First it was just Journey they were looking at. But now that the two of you are hanging out, well, people are starting to wonder.”
I glance over at Journey, but he just stares straight ahead. “Screw what they think. The only way for Erin and I to stay safe and out of trouble is for us to stick together,” he says.
I inch my fingers across the floor until just the tips of mine meet just the tips of his. He slides his hand forward.
“He’s right,” I agree.
We’re not holding hands exactly, but it is a touch of support. Maybe even solidarity.
“Fine. Just don’t get so caught up in your lovefest that you miss something.” Spam gets to her feet. “Anyway, I need to go. I’m helping my dad tomorrow and it’s going to be a long day.”
The rest of us stand up, too. “I can’t get to the fingerprints until Monday after school, but I will get to the chroma test over the weekend. I’ll also research the box from the lab freezer. You need to go through Miss Peters’s computer files.”
Spam gives me a quick hug. “I’ll get to the files over the weekend, too. But the minute we find something concrete, we’re taking it to Sydney. Agreed?” Spam says.
“Agreed.”
“I want you safe,” she says.
Journey slides his arm around my waist. “Don’t worry. I’ve got her back.” He squeezes my waist, sending a flush of goose bumps across my body in all directions. I’m kind of speechless. Spam’s eyebrows rise and Lysa’s mouth falls open.
“Roger that,” Spam murmurs, as she shoots a serious side-eye toward Lysa.
There’s an awkward silence.
They can’t really expect me to talk when my brain is exploding from the whole Journey-just-put-his-arm-around-me thing. Then I realize that this is the first time one of us has brought a sort-of boyfriend into our group and how much it might look to Spam and Lysa like Journey and I are squaring off against them.
“No matter what, we’re still a team, right?” I say.
Journey drops his hand from my waist and quietly studies his shoes.
“Yeah!” Lysa finally says. “A killer team.” She gives a weak arm pump. “Oh. Bad choice of words.”
I was trying to bring them together, but my team comment fell flat. There’s definitely a feeling of my side with Journey and their side with Spam and Lysa.
Journey clears his throat. “Do I need to slip out through the balcony like I came in?”
Spam and Lysa go all heavy eyebrows to each other again. I know what they’re thinking. That he’s been hanging out in my bedroom. But they’re wrong.
“It’s only nine-thirty; Rachel won’t be home for a couple of hours yet, and I’m pretty sure Victor’s still out.” We troop together out of the attic, down the stairs, and out the back through the kitchen. Spam and Lysa wave good-bye and continue on down the driveway. Journey hangs back. He takes my hand, massaging it with both of his.