Death and the Girl Next Door (13 page)

“He looks just like him,” Glitch said, hovering over us from behind.

I tapped the page with my fingertips. “And this is the page Mr. Davis was looking at. I remember. He’d circled a face with a—”

“Lorelei,” Brooklyn interrupted in a hushed whisper. Her finger slid up to one of the photos bordering the main picture. In it, a crowd of students stood around the flagpole of the old high school. They were laughing, as though in disbelief, and I realized it was a shot of Mr. Davis’s brother. In what must have been some kind of a prank, he and some friends had chained themselves to the pole and were holding a sign I couldn’t quite make out.

But they were laughing, too. Every student in the photo was laughing, except one. A boy. He was standing closer to the camera yet apart from the rest, his stance guarded, his expression void, and then I saw the unmistakable face of our newest student.

Jared Kovach.

I felt the world tip beneath me, my head spin as I stared unblinking.

“It can’t be him,” she said.

But there was no mistaking the wide shoulders, the solid build, the dark glint in Jared’s eyes.

“It can’t be him,” she repeated.

He had the same mussed hair, the same T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the same arms, long and sculpted like a swimmer’s. The only difference I could see in this picture was the tattoo. Two, actually. Wide bands of what looked like a row of ancient symbols encircled each of his biceps.

“It just can’t be, right, Lorelei?”

He was just as breathtaking, just as surreal. And somehow, it made perfect sense. I swallowed hard and asked, “What if it
is
him?”

“Lor,” Glitch said, shaking his head, “that’s impossible.”

“Maybe it’s his father, or even his grandfather.” Brooklyn glanced up. “Lots of kids look like their grandparents.”

“Think about it,” I said. “Think about all the things he can do.” I studied the photo again. The caption below it read,
Taken the day we lost our beloved brother and friend.

“What if it is him and he was there the day Mr. Davis’s brother died.” I thought back to what Cameron’s father had said. “Cameron calls him the reaper. Maybe he really is.”

“Is what?” Brooklyn asked, pulling away from me.

In hesitation, I pursed my lips. Then I said it, what we were all thinking. “What if he really is the grim reaper?”

“Then wouldn’t you be dead?” Glitch asked, suddenly angry. He’d set his jaw, and I could tell he’d slipped into a state of denial. Heck, I’d considered moving to that state myself, but the facts were hard to dismiss.

First the vision, then the accident, the fight, the gunshot wounds that didn’t faze him, didn’t leave a scratch, and the way he’d rolled out of the bed of Cameron’s truck and landed solidly on his feet when he escaped. And just the way he walked, the way he moved. So ethereal. So dangerous.

“Nothing about Jared is normal,” I said. I looked up at Glitch. “Or Cameron, for that matter. He’s different. You said so yourself. Always has been.”

Glitch offered me a sardonic smile. “Okay, so if Kovach is the freaking grim reaper, then what the heck is Cameron?”

I certainly didn’t have the answer to that. “I just think we should at least consider this a possibility.”

“Yeah, a crazy one.” He raked his fingers through his spiked hair.

“You weren’t there, Glitch. You didn’t see what I saw. What kind of entity can stop time?”

Glitch’s face softened. “Lor, you said it yourself. You had been hit by a truck.”

“And I don’t have a single bruise to prove it.” Despite my best efforts, I was getting frustrated.

“Have you looked at your ribs?”

“Do you honestly believe a delivery truck would only bruise my ribs? I told you how that happened. I was being torn through a tiny sliding glass window.” After a moment, a shocking realization burrowed into my thick head. I eyed him, dismayed. “You don’t believe me.”

Guilt lined his face as he tried to convince me otherwise. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” I stood and strode out the door with the yearbook, searching my pockets for change for the copier. As Glitch approached, I turned to him.

“Of course I believe you,” he said softly. “It’s just—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Though the revelation hurt, I could hardly blame him. It
was
an incredible story. Seriously. Stopping time? Jared shot at point-blank range without a single bullet wound to show for it, then rolling from a truck going sixty only to land on his feet and sprint up a mountain? Yeah, incredible.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Glitch said, regret lacing his voice. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”

His sincerity squeezed around my heart. So did his lost-puppy expression. He was such a cheater.

“And besides,” Brooklyn said as she walked up, “when you’re mad at him, he totally ignores my insults. Those insults serve a social function. They reinforce the hierarchy of our little threesome here.” She opened her hands, indicating our merry band of misfits.

“I’m not mad in the least,” I said, offering Glitch a half smile. “But when I prove I’m right?”

He grinned. “Then I’ll be your love slave forever.”

Brooklyn chortled, “You’re grounded forever. And a couple of days beyond that. How can you be anybody’s love slave?”

“And just think,” I added as I turned to make a copy of the memorial page, “when your parents find out you skipped again today, they’re going to be even more upset. You may have to do yard work. Or worse,” I said with a soft gasp, “the dishes.”

“That’s not funny.” Glitch’s grin evaporated. “If you’re gonna crack jokes, they should really be funny.”

“I thought it was funny,” Brooklyn said with a shrug.

“You think the
Teletubbies
are funny,” he said.

I raised my brows. “He is right, you know. For once.”

“I know,” she said, her tone flat. “I hate when that happens.”

I wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, kid,” I said, brushing a fist across her chin in jest. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Of course,” she said, brightening. “I feel so much better.”

“Here.” Glitch grabbed the yearbook, feigning annoyance at the jokes made at his expense. “I have some change.”

He didn’t fool me. He loved every minute of it.

As he turned to make a copy, Brooklyn asked, “So what’s next?”

That was a good question. I could only come up with one answer, the only trail we had to follow. “Don’t they keep all the old newspaper articles on eight-track tapes or something? We could try to look up the report on Elliot Davis’s death. Find out what happened.”

“Good idea. We can see if there was anything suspicious about it. Not that we’d actually know if it were suspicious, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

I nodded my head in agreement, then lowered it, almost afraid to ask my best friend’s thoughts on the matter. But I had to know. “So, what about you, Brooke? Do you believe me?”

Brooklyn’s face split into a brilliant smile and she leaned into me. “With every bone in my body.”

Relief washed over me. I needed Brooke to believe me. It surprised me how much I needed it. “And where do I stand?”

“Stand?” Her huge brown eyes looked at me, confused.

“Yeah, you know, in your social hierarchy.”

“Ah,” she said, propping an arm on my shoulder, “the way I see it, we’re co-presidents, and Glitch there is on the bottom rung of the political ladder. He’s pretty much pond scum.”

“Perfect,” I said as Glitch growled over his shoulder. “Nothing like a society with two heads of state and one poverty-stricken, uneducated, mentally ill constituent to back us.”

“Exactly,” she said, polishing her nails on her blouse, quite proud of her governing hierarchy.

THREE LAWS AND A SUBARU

It took a while, but we managed to find a newspaper article on an ancient cell of microfiche that described the sudden death of Riley High’s star quarterback. He’d apparently died of an aneurysm while sitting in his car after school, waiting for his brother, Alan.

Elliot Davis, the oldest child of James and Anne Davis, died moments after his brother found him. A later article explained that he spoke to his brother right before he died, but that Alan Davis was in shock and couldn’t tell his parents what their son had said. How awful his father must have felt. How awful Principal Davis must have felt as well, his older brother dying in front of him, so suddenly, so tragically.

The mental image of the scene played over and over in my mind as we walked home, wondering how Jared fit into the picture. It made no sense. Elliot Davis died of an aneurysm. What did that have to do with anything?

Brooke and I decided to do a little more investigating by way of my grandparents until Glitch got out of football practice. I couldn’t imagine what a team manager did, but the guy rarely missed a practice and never missed a game. His job must have been really important, whatever it entailed.

“Hey, Gram,” I said, strolling into the kitchen with Brooke in tow. Grandma was a couple inches taller than either of us, but that wasn’t saying much. She was thin with light gray hair and soft baby blues that Grandpa said made all the boys’ hearts go pitter-pat. He would wriggle his brows and assure me she’d been the prime catch of the season. It cracked me up.

“Hey, kids. I’m trying a new recipe for the gang.”

The gang she referred to was her bingo group. She and Grandpa played bingo at least once a week at the church Grandpa pastored, so that made it almost a religious experience in their eyes.

“It smells wonderful,” I said, plopping my books onto the kitchen table. The store and our kitchen were separated by a pocket door, so Grandma could work in the house when we didn’t have customers. I often did the same on my shifts, concocting all manner of salsas in the kitchen until the bell rang, announcing a potential sale. My peppered red
chile
was the best.

Brooklyn tiptoed to look into the pot. “You need any taste-testers? We’re available all afternoon and have excellent taste buds.”

Grandma chuckled and handed us a bowl of chips as she stirred. We dipped freely of the
chile con queso
and sank our teeth into a spicy, crunchy kind of heaven.

“Oh, my gosh,” Brooke said, her mouth half full. “This is incredible.”

“Mm-hmm,” I agreed, going in for another test.

“I made plenty, so I’ll leave you a bowl.”

“Thanks, Grandma,” I said.

“You girls aren’t double-dipping, are you?”

I turned as Grandpa walked in through the back.

“Hey, Pastor,” Brooke said, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Hey, Grandpa.”

He placed his cap on its usual hook and walked over for a hug, squeezing both of us at the same time. “Well, now that you two have tested the fare, I guess I can have a go without the threat of imminent death hanging over my head.” When Brooklyn looked up at him in surprise, he said, “Oh, yeah, this woman has been trying to kill me for years.” He shook an accusing chip at Grandma. “Didn’t pix tell you?”

She turned toward me, her brows raised in question.

“He’s right,” I said between bites. “She tried liquid Drano once, but he could taste it in the food, so she had to get more creative.”

“Now, now,” Grandma said. “That Drano thing was just a big misunderstanding.” She winked at Brooklyn, and we both laughed at my grandparents’ teasing. They were so fun.

While Grandpa was a pastor, he made preaching look more like stand-up comedy than a lesson on the teachings of the Bible, so we had a pretty big congregation. He had a thick head of white hair, soft gray eyes, and a wide, solid frame. He wasn’t particularly tall either, but at least my grandparents could see over the seats in the movie theater. They were my mom’s parents. I’d never met my other set of grandparents. They died before I was born. But I had this set, and I was perfectly happy with them. When they weren’t lecturing me.

“Can I ask you guys a question?”

Grandma spared me a quick glance as she poured us our own bowl of
queso.
“Absolutely.”

“You know down in the Abo Pass where it turns three times really sharp and then levels off?”

“Right,” Grandpa said, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “The turns past the Missions?”

“That’s it,” Brooke said, heading to the fridge for a soda.

“Sure do. That’s pretty far,” he said, wondering what we were up to.

“We’re not going out there or anything,” I assured him. “We were just wondering what’s there.” I couldn’t help but think Jared might have found some kind of shelter nearby, if there was any to be had, maybe in someone’s barn or shed.

He rubbed his chin in thought, but Grandma beat him to the punch line. “The old Davis mansion is out there,” she said. “And the Aragon homestead.”

Brooklyn’s head popped up from behind the fridge door. “The Davis mansion? I’d forgotten about that.”

So had I. And it was in the same area Jared had last been seen.

“Far as I know, nobody’s lived there for years,” Grandpa said. “Probably nothing but ruins now.”

“Do you know how to get out there?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“There’s a turnoff right past that last curve. Have to be careful, though. Foreigners are always taking that curve too fast.” Grandpa called anyone not from New Mexico foreigners. He cracked me up. New Mexicans took those curves just as fast as anyone else, but hard as we tried, we never convinced Grandpa of that. “What’s all this about?” he asked, munching on another cheese-covered chip.

“Oh, it’s for our science fair project,” I said before biting the bullet and trying my hand at a big black lie instead of the little white ones I was so fond of. “Speaking of which, I know we’re grounded and all, but we were wondering if we could go back to school and help Ms. Mullins set up for the science fair this afternoon.”

“My mom said it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you,” Brooklyn added. Man we were getting good with the lying.

“Science fair, huh?” Grandma said as she hurried to clean the kitchen before they set out for a wild night of legalized gambling. Bingo players were hilarious. “I guess if it’s for science. Just be home before dark.”