I snort. What I’ve been through? I’m susceptible? The person she’s describing is herself. I knew this wouldn’t go over well with her, so I just slink a little farther down into my chair and keep quiet.
“There’s no need to be cruel, Rachel,” Victor says. “But now I’m going to ask you a question. Can you think of any reason why Chuck Culson might be threatened by a forensic lab in Iron Rain?”
Rachel’s reaction is way off from what I had expected.
She laughs, but it’s an angry, bitter laugh.
She’s now angrier with Victor than she is with me. She leaps from her seat, shaking a finger in his face. “I see how it is. You saw us out at dinner together and cooked up this childish joke. You’re a forty-five-year-old man, Victor. When does it stop? I asked you to come back here and help me keep her out of trouble … not ruin my life.”
Victor and I exchange puzzled looks. It’s a dumb move, I know. But I raise my hand and wait for Rachel to call on me. She glares in my direction.
“Um, Rachel. We haven’t left the house all night.”
Victor takes a different path. “You were out with Chuck?”
“Yes, I was out with Charles, and trust me. He’s not the slightest bit threatened by you,” Rachel shouts. “He’s the chief of police, for God’s sake. I know the FBI looks down on the lowly local police, but that’s not how you were raised.”
Victor stands up and shouts back. “This is not about how I was raised, it’s about where Chuck Culson was the night Erin’s teacher was killed. I doubt you can testify to that, now, can you?”
At first I think Rachel is going to slap him, but she just glares—first at him and then at me. She speaks, low and deliberate. “Not that I owe either of you an explanation, but I can testify to that, because he was with me.” She points toward her bedroom. “Right in there. In fact, he’s there with me whenever we can wedge in a few hours before he has to tiptoe out so he’s not here when she wakes up or I have to come home and be a single parent.” She spins angrily in my direction. “That intruder you saw on my patio the other night was Charles Culson! Happy now?”
“You’re dating him?” This seems incomprehensible to Victor.
“Yes. I am. Don’t even think about bringing up that silly old rivalry you two had. I don’t give a damn about that. It’s not like you were here for me when my best friend was slaughtered like an animal, her blood spilled out all over the floor, and I was too late. Too late to help her. Too late to change any of it. Too late to do anything but pick up the pieces and soldier on … which is what I did. Where were you then, huh?”
Victor and Rachel are going at each other and all I can think is how it never occurred to me that Rachel would want or need anyone else in her life but me. What’s wrong with me? I’m terrible to her. I lie, and I refuse to call her Mom even though she’s been here for me every second of every day. Why couldn’t I see that she needed someone, too?
How stupid am I?
I clearly ruined her whole life. I bolt from the table and race up the stairs and into my room. It takes four binders to span the entire bottom of my bedroom door. I shove them in place one after the other, leaving no space between them. Then I head up to my attic and plug into some music.
31
In order to charge a suspect you must be able to establish three things: means, motive, and opportunity. Without all three your case will likely never make it to court.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
I wake up in my attic about 3:00 a.m., shivering from the cold.
My emotions—like the battery in my phone—are completely drained. I slip down the ladder into my bedroom and listen for a second. The house is silent. I put my phone on the charger, slip off my jeans, and fall into bed. Then there’s nothing until my alarm wakes me at seven.
After three snooze cycles, I’m dressed and downstairs. Both Rachel and Victor are gone. There’s a folded piece of paper in front of my spot at the table. ERIN is scrawled on the outside in Rachel’s handwriting. I open it.
I didn’t mean any of that the way it sounded. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
? Rachel.
Somewhere inside I do know.
I grab a couple of PowerBars from Rachel’s stash and head out the door. I make it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before I remember.… Damn it.
No scooter.
Really? How effed up is this? I can completely forget that my scooter is a mess of tangled metal, but every time I close my eyes I still see Miss P the way she looked that night. There’s no way I will make it to school on time.
I hit the driveway moving fast. Maybe I can launch myself into a wormhole, and then through some miracle of time and space, magically arrive on campus just before the tardy bell. As that absurd thought pops into my mind, a familiar van rumbles across the end of my driveway and stops.
Journey opens the passenger door and his brilliant, crooked smile beckons. My feet barely touch the ground as I rush to the van, toss my bag between the seats, and climb in. “You are my knight in rusty steel.”