Death and the Girl Next Door (11 page)

“And when he finds you in my car…”

Brooklyn snorted. “Looks like macho boy’s cool just melted like a Slush Puppie in August.”

Glitch rolled his eyes as he drove his ancient Subaru through the canyon. “Don’t try to pull your peer-pressure Jedi mind tricks on me. Are you sure it was this far?”

“Yes. It’s just up here,” I said, pointing ahead redundantly.

“How are your ribs?” Brooklyn asked.

I tested them with my fingertips. “Better, I think. Just a little sore.” I touched a tender spot and winced. “Or a lot sore.”

“They’re really bruised. I still think you should have them checked out by a doctor, or at least the school nurse,” Glitch said.

“How can I have them checked by the nurse without my grandparents finding out? She’d call them. She would have to.”

Brooklyn shrugged. “You know, Lor, they’re a lot stronger than you think.”

“I know they are, but they can’t find out. Ever. My parents disappeared off the face of the earth. Just vanished. How do you think they would feel if they knew I almost did the same? In a roundabout way.”

“I know. I’m just saying—”

“Here! Right here!” I pointed with more enthusiasm than I’d intended. “See the skid marks?”

Glitch pulled to the side of the road and turned toward us. “Okay. What now?”

The hill that Jared had disappeared behind was only about a quarter mile back. I opened my door, grabbed my water, and said, “Now, we search.”

*   *   *

Four hours later, I sat in the Java Loft with two slightly annoyed friends eyeing me.

We’d skipped school for nothing. After looking all day, we didn’t find even a trace of Jared. My feet hurt. I’d almost sprained my ankle seventeen thousand times trying to traverse the uneven ground of the canyon. And worry gnawed at me, twisting my insides into knots. Where could he have gone? He was hurt and alone and probably cold and hungry.

And why on planet Earth did the white news van for the Tourist Channel keep circling the block?

“Have you given any thought to their strength?” Glitch asked, jarring me out of my musings. “Because I have. I’m thinking maybe this Jared’s an alien. The Roswell crash site is just around the corner. Or maybe he’s a supernatural entity. You know, like a demon or something.”

“A supernatural background would definitely fit with the vision I had, no matter how crazy it sounds, but what about Cameron?” I asked. “I mean, Cameron Lusk? Come on. We’ve known him since kindergarten.” I nursed a mocha cappuccino, my imagination running amok.

“This bites,” Brooklyn said. “Cameron’s hot.”

Glitch and I glanced up in surprise, though Glitch did seem a little more annoyed than surprised.

“He is,” she said defensively. “He was hot when I moved here in the third grade, and he’s still hot now.”

“Well, I can’t argue that,” I said with a shrug. While he definitely had the tortured, brooding teen down pat, there was a reason girls fawned over him. Sadly, they usually ended up disappointed. He took the loner bit to a whole new level. “He’s just so antisocial.”

“Man, but that smile of his.” Brooklyn seemed to slip into a dream, her stare looking but not seeing.

“His smile?” Glitch asked, irritated. “Cameron Lusk hasn’t smiled in years.”

“I wonder what his home life is like,” Brooklyn said, ignoring him. “It can’t be good. I mean, look at the way he dresses.”

Normally, the look of utter disbelief plastered on Glitch’s face would’ve lifted my spirits. But his expression held something more, something desperate. Something close to agony lined his eyes. He relaxed his facial muscles almost immediately, wiping away any evidence that Brooke’s impression of Cameron had hurt him. “Isn’t this the same guy who tried to murder another human being yesterday?”

Brooklyn snapped out of it and cast him an angry look. “You just said Jared is probably an alien. There are no laws against killing aliens.” She tilted her head in thought. “Least none that I know of.”

“Great,” he said, his jaw flexing. “That just makes everything peachy.”

I understood Glitch’s point, but this was not the time for personal biases. Whatever happened between him and Cameron during that camping trip, if anything, it couldn’t hinder us now. But I found it impossible to tell if Glitch’s gut reaction to Brooke’s sentiments had anything to do with that or if he’d been hurt for different reasons.

Either way, I couldn’t worry about it now. I needed Glitch on the bandwagon 100 percent. I wanted more than anything to find Jared. Needed to find him.

“Look,” I said with determination, “Cameron said he was following Jared, not me. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but I do know he is our best bet in finding him. I say we look for Cameron and hopefully find Jared along the way.”

Glitch shook his head. “I don’t want you anywhere near Cameron Lusk.”

“Well, I think it sounds like a plan,” Brooklyn said. “Got any idea where to start?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. “We are not going in search of a certified psychopath who takes better care of his guns than he does his truck.”

I leveled a hard stare on him, my face tightened, my expression unyielding.

Moments later, he caved. “Fine.” He tossed a napkin onto the table. “But I can’t miss football practice.”

“You’re the manager. You can’t miss one practice?” I asked.

“Do you even know Coach Chavez? You two’ll just have to lie low until practice is over. Then we can
all
go in search of the mighty Cameron together.”

“We’re big girls, Glitch,” I said, more than a little perturbed.

He choked on his cappuccino, coughed for like twenty minutes, then turned back to us. “Big?” he asked. “You’re barely five feet tall.”

“I meant age-wise.”

“You’re five-zero.”

“Glitch.”

“Five-nada.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Five-nil, zip, zilch … aught.”

I sighed long and loud, letting my aggravation ooze into the atmosphere. “What time is practice over?”

*   *   *

“This is so cool,” Brooklyn said as we eased up a path cleared of brush to Cameron’s front door. “We’re like the Three Musketeers, searching for truth and justice and the American way.”

Glitch snorted. “More like the Three Blind Mice, stumbling around trying to find a hunk of cheese in the dark. This is crazy. Cameron’s a tad psychotic, in case you haven’t noticed. And besides, the Three Musketeers were French. They would not have been searching for the American way.”

Even though Glitch knew where Cameron lived, it took us a while to find the small mobile home tucked into a forest grove on the valley floor. Its olive green exterior, camouflaged against the backdrop of evergreens, sat perched on cracked tires, deflated for years by the looks of them. Junk metal formed an intricate pile of rusting artifacts at one end of the house, glistening in the setting sun.

“I guess this answers my question about his home life,” Brooklyn said, her nose scrunching in distaste.

“Maybe.” But it didn’t really look like the stereotypical poverty-stricken household to me. Except for the junk metal, the yard was pristine, well kept. There was no trash, no overgrown brush, no empty beer cans or broken lawn chairs in the front yard as I would have expected. True, Cameron dressed like he lived in a perpetual state of poverty, but I felt his wardrobe was more a choice than a product of his upbringing. He liked grunge.

I raised my hand and knocked on the vinyl-covered door.

When it didn’t open immediately, Glitch asked, “Can we leave now?”

He really didn’t want to be there. Just as I was about to answer, a stocky dark-haired man opened the door. He wore a dirty gray T-shirt and held an unopened bottle of beer in one hand. He eyed us suspiciously at first, then allowed a small upturn of his lips to soften his mouth.

If this guy was Cameron’s father, he looked absolutely nothing like his son. Where Cameron was ridiculously tall, blond-haired, and blue-eyed, this guy was average height with black hair and brown eyes. His skin had dried to the consistency of leather—clearly having worked in the New Mexico sun all his life—and his thick arms and neck were nothing like Cameron’s lanky frame.

“Um, Mr. Lusk?” I asked in a whispery, uncertain voice.

“That would be me,” he said easily. “But I don’t have any cash if you’re looking to sell something. Don’t keep much around the house.”

“Oh, no,” Brooklyn said from behind me. “We were just wondering if Cameron was home.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “You came to see the kid?” He looked directly at me then, calm, knowing. “I didn’t figure he’d have let you out of his sight for anything.”

I stilled in bewilderment. “You know about that?” I asked. “About how he’s been following me?”

“Why don’t you kids come in.” His smile was gentle and reassuring, not unlike a serial killer’s, from what I’d read. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as we stepped across the threshold.

The interior was actually very nice. Light beiges, ashen wood accents. It was all very warm and inviting. And a soft fire crackled in a wood-burning stove on the far wall.

“I’ll take a beer,” Glitch said, his tone completely serious.

The man laughed. “And I’ll take a one to five in the state pen. I don’t think so. There’s soda in the fridge. Help yourself.”

As Glitch shuffled to the kitchen, I checked out Cameron’s house in fascination.

“I know,” the man said with a smile. “You expected olive green carpet and gold filigree wallpaper. I get that a lot.”

Despite all efforts to the contrary, I felt myself blush. Clearly my surprise could’ve been taken as an insult.

“Please, sit down,” he said.

Glitch had grabbed an orange soda, our absolute favorite, for us to share, then sat beside Brooklyn on a small sofa. I sank down into a comfortably overstuffed chair, the kind you could sleep in for days.

“Sorry about my attire,” he said. “I was working on the house. Didn’t know I would have such auspicious guests.”

We should have called first. I knew it. Grandma said it was rude to just show up on someone’s doorstep uninvited, but I didn’t want to give Cameron a heads-up, so we went with a surprise attack. Not that it had done any good.

“You were working on this house?” Brooklyn asked.

“Oh, no.” He grinned as if the thought amused him. “I was working on Cameron’s house. We’ve been building a house for him since he was about, oh, eleven I guess. Good thing we started early, eh?” he added with a wink.

The man’s behavior floored me. Based on Cameron’s personality, which was mostly angry with a side of angry, I’d expected an ogre. Possibly an abuser. Instead I found a charming, sincere, hardworking gentleman.

I cleared my throat. “So, can I ask what you meant?”

“I figured you might.” He put his unopened beer on a side table, apparently unwilling to drink in front of us. “He’s been on this mission for several days now. He does that from time to time. Told me he was watching you.”

“Yes,” I said, “he was. But do you know why?”

“Kind of. But I don’t see the things he sees. And I’m all the happier for it.”

The things he sees? My chest tightened with hope. Finally, I might get some answers.

“I don’t have any answers, though, if that’s why you’ve come.”

Just as quickly, my hopes plummeted.

He seemed to pick up on my distress. Leaning forward, he looked at me like he understood how I felt. “I’m sorry I don’t know more,” he said quietly. “I’d help you if I could. Heck, I’d help the kid if I could. He doesn’t let me in much. Never has.”

“Why?” Brooklyn asked as though desperate for answers herself. “Why is he so … well, he’s just so—”

“Bullheaded?” he asked.

“Yes!”

He shook his head, unfazed by Brooklyn’s zeal. “Been like that since his mom passed away. Stubborn as the day is long.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, regret softening my voice, “about your wife.”

“And I’m sorry about your mom and dad,” he said. “I knew them both.”

I gasped softly in surprise. “You knew my parents?”

“Sure did. I used to work at the railroad with your dad. Hard man to please, that one. But fair. Your mom kept his britches pulled up tight. She was a firecracker.” He beamed at me. “Just like you, from what I hear.”

I couldn’t help the proud smile that spread across my face. Or the lump that suddenly formed in my throat. I swallowed hard. “I only remember them a little.”

“Naturally. You were a young one when all that happened.”

“How old was Cameron when your wife passed away?”

A sadness clouded his eyes, and I regretted the question the instant I asked it, wished I could take it back. But he didn’t seem to notice.

“He was two, almost three. He saw it even then. Saw it come for her, take her.”

I froze and something squeezed tight around my chest. “What did he see?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

He looked up. “Are you sure you don’t know?”

Glitch passed me the soda, then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest as though refusing to listen. I took a quick swig, the acidic fizz of orange soda making my eyes water. After a moment—and a light cough—I answered, “Mr. Lusk, I don’t know anything right now, other than the fact that I don’t know anything.”

An understanding smile spread across his face. “Please, call me David. And that would put us in the same boat. I only know bits and pieces, the parts the kid yells out in his sleep. I learned a long time ago not to ask questions.”

“He yells in his sleep?” Brooklyn asked, her face a picture of concern, and I suddenly realized how much she cared for him. I couldn’t believe I didn’t pick up on it before. I couldn’t believe she didn’t tell me. And I couldn’t believe the tension that had Glitch grinding his teeth together. Was he jealous of Cameron or just worried about Brooke? We’d been friends for so long, it had never occurred to me that he could have genuine feelings for her.

“Sometimes,” Mr. Lusk said, “yes, he does.”

Brooklyn sank back against the cushions.

“Mr. Lusk,” I said, then corrected when he gave me a teasing glare, “I’m sorry, David, whatever you know, I promise it’s more than we know. Anything you can tell us would help. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening,” I added when I could see he was going to protest.