Aftermath (28 page)

Ben's Story

It was made official Monday morning.

The front page of Westport Gazette featured a photo of George Kensington in the lower right corner. The caption said his daughter reported him missing Sunday afternoon when she found his house vacant, doors unlocked, and a partially eaten sandwich on the table.

According to the article, the police department asked citizens in the area to be on the lookout for the five-foot-eleven inch, eighty-two-year-old man. He had a slender build and thinning, gray hair. “He left his vehicle behind, so he couldn’t have ventured far on foot. He walks with a slight limp,” Detective Neal Crandon was quoted. “Anyone with information is asked to come forward.”

I knew Kensington was in good health, except for arthritis in his joints, but that wasn’t life threatening. His daughter concurred no signs of dementia was ever present and likelihood of him wandering off on his own, on foot, was slim. The police conveniently omitted those facts in hopes of diminishing public fear. I read Detective Crandon’s thoughts when I stopped at the station with the excuse of paying a parking ticket, the day before. I disguised myself as an elderly man and struck up a conversation with the desk sergeant on duty. He divulged more than he probably should have about the case, and I didn’t even have to compel him.

Detective Crandon’s thoughts gave me enough information to know the police suspected foul play, even though he never joined in the conversation.

I spent the better part of Monday sitting in class, but listening to Bianca’s briefings as she dove into the records of all residents in or near Summit Road, where George Kensington lived and where hybrids congregated in the past. Bianca proved to be a good investigator, rather tenacious in probing files and minds of those involved. It was a task I never enjoyed, the tedious footwork of research.

Molly shot me an occasional comment about being bored playing human and kept away from the action of the case, but when I returned images of TJ, Emma, and other friends we’d made, she agreed her protective surveillance services were required at the school.

By the time I reached the cafeteria, Emma was seated at her usual lunch table with Claire and a bunch of girls. Lucas watched her intently, though he never left his dominant post with the rest of his football buddies. Surprisingly, Emma’s thoughts didn’t focus on him. Instead, her mind bounced from classes to friends, to her aunt, dress shopping, and, occasionally, to me.

I overheard her telling Hannah and Claire about my earlier apology after they recapped the original Friday night party scene. A memory I wanted everyone to forget. If they didn’t get past it by the end of the day, I’d have to compel them.

Emma was physically embarrassed, as Hannah asked about Lucas. Her face reddened. She looked around the cafeteria and glanced at me for an instant. Her thoughts traveled back to her locker that morning, though she had no remorse for getting high with Lucas and didn’t tell her friends about her fight with Matt.

I was so busy eavesdropping on teenage drama that I almost missed Bianca’s update on the large farm across from Kensington’s.

The title lists the owner as Henry Nichols,
Bianca said.
Benjamin? Are you listening?

Yes. Go ahead. Nichols.

But the taxes have been paid by a corporation.

What corporation?

CJ Morse and Company. They’re a farm equipment distributor out of Chicago.

Did you say Nichols? Henry Nichols?
I asked as I returned my tray to the cafeteria kitchen window, my lunch uneaten.

Yes.

Can you get a list of everyone on CJ Morse’s payroll?

I can have Jorgenson do it.

Head back to headquarters. You’ll get more accomplished in the office and in less time,
I said to Bianca as the bell rang.
I’ll meet up with you tonight. I’ve got a soccer game after school, so say nine o’clock?

Bianca agreed.

Looks like you’re making headway.
Molly piped in her comments.

Yeah, I think we may have a lead,
I answered, following the crowd of students through a set of double doors. My mind circled with memories of eighty years of cases that would take time to sort through.

Well, good luck with what’s next,
Molly said.

Whadda ya mean?
I turned down a corridor and bumped into Stephanie Carlson.

“Oh! Hey, Ben. I’ve been looking for you,” Stephanie said with a bright smile.

Her arm touched mine, and I sent Molly a nasty remark. By the time Stephanie verbalized her thoughts, I knew she would ask me to the homecoming dance.

“Unless, of course, you have a date already,” she said and then chewed on her lower lip.

Benjamin, say yes. She needs someone right now, and you can’t go without a date,
Molly interrupted.

“I thought you and Lucas…” I said to stall and to make Molly nervous.

Really, Benjamin?
Molly continued.
Don’t be a muppet. That poor girl put herself out there. The least you can do is respond politely.
Molly’s British accent surfaced as her frustration level increased.

“No, um… he, ah… well, we broke up,” Stephanie’s cheeks flushed when she spoke. Her thoughts flittered with jealousy toward Emma. “We can go as friends,” Stephanie added before I could reply.

Stop it, Benjamin. Just say yes to that poor girl.

I smiled. “Okay. Sure. Sounds like fun.”

“Great.” Stephanie beamed, and then casually touched my arm. “Sorry for running into you,” she added. “Well… gotta go.”

I nodded. She turned and hustled back to Molly, who conveniently lingered with a few other girls down the hall. Squeals of laughter echoed.

Great. Stephanie Carlson asked me to the dance. Claire chuckled in my thoughts, Molly thanked me, and Jorgenson made snide comments from headquarters.

What did I get myself into?

Emma's Story

Ben smiled when I walked in.

He was already in the library, in the same chair at the same table in the reserved room as the week before.

I took a seat across from him and smiled back. If only he asked me to the dance instead of Lucas. I pulled out the Hemingway book,
A Farewell to Arms,
for my report.

“Still reading that?” Ben asked, raising his eyebrows.

I nodded, uncertain if he thought I wasn’t a good reader, or if he was just trying to make conversation. “It’s kind of slow moving. You know what I mean?”

He chuckled.

“What?”

He shook his head and smirked. “Nothin’.”

“What?” I asked again and reached toward his arm, my fingers barely touching his skin when I realized what I was doing. For some reason, I felt completely comfortable with him.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” My cheeks felt warm.

“It’s just… Well, I thought you’d love it. That’s all,” he said with a grin. “Sorry. I guessed wrong.”

I shot him a look. I didn’t understand if what he said was a good thing or not.

“It’s a good thing.” He placed his hand on my forearm. “Really.”

I jumped when I heard the squeak of the door as it opened behind me. Ben removed his hand from arm, and his smile turned flat when he greeted Lucas.

“Hey, Ben,” Lucas answered. “Em, I’ve been looking for you.”

I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t do anything wrong. Did I?

Lucas took a seat beside me and dropped his backpack on the floor.

“So, I’ve got early practice and my dad’s working late. Wanna grab a burger? Or something? Later?” Lucas asked in a low tone. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but I could tell he wasn’t trying to broadcast it in front of Ben, either. I wondered if he saw Ben’s hand on my arm when he walked in. I still felt the tingle where Ben touched me.

“Umm… maybe,” I answered, glancing away. Ben went back to reading his book for lit class, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“If you can’t, that’s fine,” he said with sad eyes. “I can always go back to Char’s. I’m sure she’ll find something for me. I mean, you know… she’s got that special bakery she goes to.” His full-blown smile made me laugh.

“Okay, okay. Let me check if Barb minds, though. She usually makes dinner… or has something ordered for us.”

He leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. “Or you can invite me over for dinner.”

My cheeks burned. I was confident they were flaming red. Ben didn’t look up from his book. Thank God. “I’ll see what she says,” I answered.

Lucas winked at me, and then pulled out a textbook and notebook. He ruffled through his backpack, digging deep in its pockets until he found a pencil. He didn’t strike me as a studious football player, but then again, I really didn’t know him.

“You finish the homework in Spanish?” Ben asked Lucas.

“Yeah. You?”

Ben nodded.

“Are you in the same class?” I asked.

“Yeah, next hour,” Lucas answered.

“Spanish Six?” I questioned.

“AP.” Ben leaned back in his chair.

“You in six?”

I nodded. They were both in a more advanced class than I was? I never thought they were stupid, but I excelled at Spanish.

“It’s okay. If you need any help, I can be your tutor.” The smirk on Lucas’ face kicked my competitive drive in high gear. It was too late to change Spanish classes, not to mention that would be a bad idea. The only thing I could do was get better grades than either of them in the classes we had together.

The rest of the week sped by.

Ben was absent for several days with the stomach flu according to Claire. Lucas walked me from history to art class each day and sat with me in the library during study hall, though I picked a different table than the one I shared with Ben.

At one point, Lucas put his arm around the back of my chair and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. I laughed when he told a joke. When I realized the librarian was staring at us, I shushed Lucas. Instead of stopping him, he started making fun of her outdated glasses. I tried not to chuckle, but his mimicked expressions gave me the giggles and fueled his laughter.

“Mr. Crandon, you either need to settle down or move to a non-quiet zone,” the librarian said. I glanced up at her briefly. “You too, young lady.”

It wasn’t like me to be disrespectful and while I suddenly felt slapped in the face, it was clear Lucas didn’t care. He nodded at her, mumbled something I couldn’t hear, and packed up his books.

“Come on.” He grabbed my backpack from the floor and led me past Stephanie Carlson. She glared at me when she saw me with Lucas. It wasn’t the first time she looked at me that way. She and her friends stared at me during lunch after it circulated that Lucas asked me to the dance. It was obvious they were just like the Aimee Wilkinson clique I left behind in Highland Park. Every school probably had a group like them. I just didn’t like being their enemy. Of course, being their enemy meant they forgot I was
that
girl—the one whose parents died.

Lucas wasn’t my first choice for a date to homecoming, but with his popularity, I was sure to fit in. Not to mention, it gave my aunt something to talk to her friends about. She seemed more excited about the dance than I was.

Thursday night she took me shopping when I told her I didn’t have homework. A boutique in Westport had a selection of dresses in the window. Even though I was skeptical, I went along with her idea and tried them on. I should have known she wouldn’t steer me wrong. She ended up buying me a strapless cocktail dress. At least, that was how she described it when she called Hannah’s mom.

Before history class started on Friday, Lucas leaned forward and whispered, “What color is your dress?” It was obvious Aunt Barb told his dad, too.

I turned in my seat to face him.

“It’s black on top and a fuchsia floral print on the bottom.” I didn’t realize I spoke with my hands until he smiled.

“Sounds like a lot of dress.”

“No,” I said and hit his arm gently. “It’s strapless and…”

His smirk made me stop talking. My cheeks burned.

“So I need to match to black and fuchsia? That’s a pink, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Bright pink.”

“Okay.”

“Oh. My aunt said we could have pictures at our house on the lake. Or, at the Inn, I guess. Unless you—”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to Drew and TJ,” he said and looked away as people began to take their seats in the row beside us.

“Who’s Drew going with?” I couldn’t see myself hanging out with Molly all night.

“He’s asking Claire.”

“He’s what? When?”

“Shhh…” He stared at me as the bell rang. “Today, I think. Got cold feet the other day,” he whispered. “Don’t tell her.”

He’d better do it quick. I couldn’t keep that secret for long.