Nearly Gone (23 page)

The bell jangled and Bao looked up from the coffee station. “D-Day, huh?” he said over his shoulder as he dumped out
the cold grounds, consolidated the half-empty pots, and set them back on the warmers with a mindless rhythm. My Twinkies sat beside the register, on top of today’s paper.
D-Day. More than any other Friday, today felt like an ambush. The last Friday of the school year. I’d either won the scholarship or I hadn’t. There was either an ad in that paper, or there wasn’t. It was only the certain knowledge of either that awaited me. And the twisty feeling in my gut told me that I probably didn’t want to know the answer to either one.
“You just missed Anh,” he grumbled. “Her country club boyfriend just picked her up. She wanted to get to school early and see who won the scholarship. I’ll be surprised if she pulled it off with all the time she’s spending with that guy. I told her a million times, she needs to focus if she wants to win. Eliminate distractions.” He shook his head, wiping loose grounds from the counter. “I’ve given up too much to make sure she has a good future. If she’s not careful, she’ll 
end up squeezing out rich babies and dressing them in twin sets, and serving tea and crumpets to his buddies on the ninth green. She belongs in medical school.”

“Med school? She’s afraid of blood.”
“She needs to get over it.”
Bao swiped hard circles over the counter with his rag, then

slung it over his shoulder. It had never occured to me that Bao may want something different for Anh than she wanted for herself. “Hey, you going to prom tonight? Maybe we can double with my sister. Then I can keep an eye on Fowler. I don’t like the way he looks at her.”

“They haven’t canceled prom yet? I thought the school canceled all the after-school activities because of the . . . you know . . .” I gesticulated with my hands, unable to say the
M
word. “. . . funerals and weird stuff going on.”

“No, they just moved it. It’s going to be in the gymnasium at school instead of some fancy hotel in Old Town. Twice as many chaperones, a few of the city’s finest, and no after-party. No way they’d cancel prom. West River not having prom would be like you not eating Twinkies.”

Without a word, I swapped out the Twinkies for a box of donut holes. Bao laughed and shook his head. I counted out a few small bills and left them on the counter, told Bao to keep the change, and turned to go.

“Hey, Boswell,” he called as I held open the door. “I’d wish you luck, but you and I both know luck has nothing to do with it.” I looked over my shoulder. Bao studied me over the handle of his mop. He wasn’t smiling.

I stepped away from the heavy silence deeply uneasy, and the bells jarred my nerves when the door pulled itself closed behind me.

It all boils down to motive.
Of everyone I knew, Anh probably had more motive than anyone. She wanted this scholarship as badly as I did, and needed it almost as much. It had been a close race to the end of the semester. Close enough to put a strain on our friendship. But not close enough to change the fact that she couldn’t stand the sight of blood and would never inflict violence on another living thing. But Bao . . . I wasn’t so sure.
He was fiercely protective of her. And every bit as smart. Smart enough to manipulate me with these kinds of clues. He knew I read the personals. He had motive and opportunity. And he’d said himself, luck had nothing to do with it.
But the person behind all this had a darker motive. Murdering four people just to frame me? Taking his time and taking pleasure in it, like it was all a big game? No, it couldn’t be Bao.
I walked to the end of the strip mall and with a cautious glance over my shoulder, turned into the alley. Flipping open the paper, I thumbed through the sections and tossed everything but the
Missed Connections
in the Dumpster. Squatting behind it, I spread the pages on the asphalt.
I read the first line of each ad until I found the one I was looking for. It oozed a cold confidence and read like a chilling invitation. A horrifying secret waiting to be revealed.

Some cats don’t dance.
Respite in a box, a toxic paradox.
Dead or alive when you find him?

• • •
Congratulations, Anh Bui
topped the bulletin board in big red letters.
Nearly Boswell
and
Thomas J. Wiles
had been printed in small black font, tight on her heels at second and third place. Almost, but not quite good enough.

Anh’s face glowed with a wide grin she tried to smooth when I walked in the room. But it was like trying to hold down the roller shades in my bedroom. The harder you pulled, the more they wanted to curl right back up. Her eyes squinted wet and shiny, her future bright with possibilities.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her apology bouncing off me. I told myself it didn’t matter as students lined up to congratulate her. I didn’t need a scholarship anymore. The envelope from my father was a reassuring weight inside my backpack. I smiled at Anh and tried to make myself happy for her.

I didn’t bother to look for Jeremy after class. The air in the hall was thick, at odds with the pink prom posters that covered the walls. I waded through with my head down. Conversations quieted as I walked by. They should have been talking about the colors of their dresses and how they’d wear their hair. Instead they were talking about me.

I lifted my head just in time to see Emily Reinnert standing in front of her open locker. A surge of hope propelled me toward her, but her face didn’t mirror any recognition. She shut her locker and started to walk away.

“Emily, wait!” I called, not caring who stared. She stopped to let me catch up, but wouldn’t look at me.
“You’re back.” I felt foolish for stating the obvious, but I didn’t know what else to say. She was here, and alive, the only person who might remember something. I wanted to ask her all the same questions Posie couldn’t answer. I glanced at her forearm, curious about the blue number I’d only heard about. The fading remains of a dark mark lingered, visible under her unbuttoned long sleeve. It looked like a bruise. The kind that I’d seen under Jeremy’s sleeves. Carefully placed. Easy to conceal. She hugged her arms around herself and took a step back.
“I came back for finals,” she said quietly with quick anxious looks around, a changed Emily from the confident cheerleader I’d tutored.
Vince and Emily have been fighting a lot.
Ever since Jeremy showed TJ that picture of Emily and Vince together. Vince was at the game. Vince was at the amusement park. Vince was on the list.
“Emily, what happened to your arm? Who did this to you?” Her face paled. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.” “Says who?”
“The police.” She walked briskly out the front doors, where a flashing blue light caught my attention.
Outside the window, two police cars pulled up. The officers got out and shut their doors. They carried papers. Probably a warrant. I was out of time.
I ran, following the emergency exit signs to a rear door, looked to make sure no one was watching, and then pulled the fire alarm on the wall, using my sleeve to cover my fingers.
Fire alarms blared, and a rush of students poured into the halls, flooding the exits. The chaos would buy me some time. I’d be impossible to find in a swarm of three thousand people.
I pulled my hood over my head and made my way quickly into the trees behind the ball fields, the same path I’d used to escape unseen after I’d found Marcia’s body in the pool. It would take administration at least fifteen minutes to locate the source of the false alarm, clear the halls, and get everyone back to class. By then, I’d be long gone.
• • •
I walked under the high dome ceiling of Union Station, clutching my train ticket. I’d listen to Reece and get as far away as possible. The killer wouldn’t know I was gone, and if he did follow through on this morning’s clue in the
Missed Connections
, then I’d have an alibi, in another state on the other side of the country. It was the only winning move. I’d stay away long enough for the police to figure out who the real killer was and I’d come back for Reece after the dust settled. Problem solved.
Instinct told me to stay near the perimeter, away from all the people, their exposed arms and hands and faces. But I jammed my hands in my pockets and slipped between the crowds, edging my way to the front of the line. I would be first. I wouldn’t lose my seat. I wouldn’t change my mind this time.
A phone rang behind me, and continued to ring. A man tapped my sleeve. “Miss, I think that’s your phone.”
“Not mine,” I said. “I don’t have a phone.” I turned back toward the departure gate. The conductor was readying to board and I hefted my pack higher on my shoulder. The phone rang again. Closer this time.
Something shivered through the material, an insistent vibration inside my backpack. I lowered it to the floor, slowly unzipped it, and reached inside. The phone I’d locked in Reece’s apartment five days ago buzzed in my hand.
One new text message flashed across the screen.
Found a stray cat.
Think he belongs to you.
Tonight @9. The answer’s in the box.
I shut the phone slowly, watched the blue screen fade to black. Someone had access to Reece’s apartment and had taken the phone. They’d been close to me. Close enough to put it in my backpack. Close enough that I hadn’t even noticed it happening.
It lit up again, alive in my hand.
Gena’s name flashed. Shaking, I opened the phone and put it to my ear. Passengers converged toward the gate.
“Hello?” My eyes skimmed the swarm as it pressed in around me.
“Leigh.” Her voice was muffled and cut out in brief silences. “Leigh, it’s Gena . . .”
Someone knocked into my shoulder.
“. . . called to thank you. . . .”
“Thank me? For what?” I turned slowly, searching the overpasses and stairwells. I jammed my finger in my ear and listened hard.
“.  .  .  for springing Reece  .  .  . went to see him  .  .  . duty officer said . . . bailed him out last night. . . .”
“Bailed him out?” A woman in front of me turned to stare.
“. . . trying to call him . . . all night . . . no answer . . . maybe he was with you.  .  .  .” Boarding instructions echoed from the overhead speakers. Someone stepped into the back of my foot.
“. . . any idea where he is? . . .” Gena asked before our connection dropped.
“Gena? Gena?” The line was dead.
The crowd pressed in behind me, muttering as I stood there with the phone to my ear. I replayed the broken bits and pieces of conversation. Reece was out of jail. Someone bailed him out using my name. And now he was missing.
Found a stray cat. Think he belongs to you.
Reece. It had to be. He was the only student I had left.
My feet stuck to the floor when I remembered the ad in today’s paper.
Some cats don’t dance. Dead or alive when you find him?
“Ticket, please.”
I looked up at the attendant, holding my ticket close to my body.
“Your ticket, miss?” he insisted with a hard smile.
I looked at the black-and-white ticket. It should have all been so clear. My freedom was on the other side of that door. But the only answer that made any sense—the only thing I really wanted—wasn’t.
I turned headlong into the crowd and bulldozed my way through. I had to solve the ad before nine o’clock.
A uniformed police officer shifted his weight, fingers resting on his sidearm as I emerged. A sweating mess of panic and frustration, I lowered my eyes and walked steadily through the terminal, pausing only to buy a Metro ticket home.
I fingered Lonny’s card in my pocket.
It all comes down to motive . . .
Reece’s voice buzzed in my ears.
Who has a reason to kill people you care about? To put you behind bars? Who would want to ruin your life, Leigh?

I’d never hurt anyone. Had never taken anything that belonged to anyone else. But my father had.
He couldn’t see the lives he was destroying.
Was it possible all this could have something to do with him? I clutched my bag tight, remembering what my mother had told me about my father. What he’d done. How he’d been caught. My father had lied and stolen and left his partner to take the fall. It was a crazy thought, but could I be paying for his crimes because he wasn’t here to suffer for them himself ?
And suddenly it all began to make a terrible kind of sense.
I knew whose life my father destroyed.
• • •
Dead or alive when you find him?
It was as if we’d come full circle. Back to the beginning. It had all started with Schrödinger, the morning I’d found the first ad, and Rankin’s voice droning on about the damn cat. The cat was dead. It had to be. He’d said it himself. The cat couldn’t be both dead and alive at the same time. Dead, like the cat on my porch. Dead, like Kylie and the others. He was going to kill Reece.
I got off the city bus at West River and took the side streets at a sprint. Crouching in the bushes next to the high school, I watched as deejays carried amps and speakers, and student council members toted the last of the decorations and balloons to the gym.
Some cats don’t dance.
No, the killer wasn’t luring me to the prom. He was taking me back to the beginning. Back to the chemistry lab where we first learned about Schrödinger’s cat. Where he’d left the first message,
Dead or Alive,
on my desk.
An unmarked police car idled near the main entrance, so I slipped inside through a back door, sticking to the quiet, dark passages and emerging at the empty chem lab.
The lights were off and the room reeked of disinfectant. Muddy chalk swirls were drying on the blackboard. I rotated slowly, taking in every detail of the room. Late-evening sun streamed between the plastic slats and stretched over the neat rows. I grabbed my stool off the table and set it quietly on the floor. My desk was clean. Nothing. No clues, no notes.
The answer’s in the box.
I ran to the storage closet and flipped on the light, illuminating floor-to-ceiling gunmetal shelves stuffed with cardboard boxes, all of them sorted and labeled by my own hand. I moved to the far end of the closet where I’d organized the fourth semester lab materials. We’d covered Schrödinger six weeks ago. If there was a clue, it was . . .
Here.
A chill raced through me. The box was labeled
Schrödinger’s Cat
in indelible blue ink, fresh fumes still clinging to the air around it. It was long and wide, big enough to fill the space below the lowest shelf. Big enough for a body.