Small Town Spin (10 page)

10.

Mismatched

The last of the daylight faded as I reached the turn to the freeway, the budding trees disappearing into the night. My Blackberry buzzed as I flicked my turn signal on, and I stopped in the turn lane to fish it out of my bag. Parker.

“Hey, are you still in Tidewater?” he asked.

“Just now heading home,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I’m at Tony’s, and Ashton asked me to call you. She wants to talk to you. Can you turn around and come by here?”

Hot damn. Maybe I’d built up good karma, working while I was sick.

“On my way,” I said, swinging the car back onto the main road.

I hurried across the bridge, my chat with Bobbi Jo coloring the island in a new light. Five grand a month in tax revenue. And all those guys going into the club every night. It seemed like the perfect save for a place that could use some recession-proof income. Shame it didn’t work.

Stopping outside the crowded gate to the Okerson house, I cringed when three mics appeared in my face as soon as I rolled my window down. The press corps fired questions so fast and loud no one in the house could hear me on the intercom. I knew the look on the reporters’ faces too well: they had been stonewalled by both families all weekend and were getting desperate. From the questions I got, they thought I was Sydney’s mother. Did I look old enough to have a teenage daughter? I decided to brush that off with the darkness as an excuse.

I grabbed my Blackberry out of the cup holder and called Parker back.

“I’m trapped at the gate, and the wolves out here are hungry,” I said.

“On it,” he said. “Try not to let anyone in with you.”

As the gate inched open, I glanced around the media throng. “A person would need titanium cojones to sneak onto Tony Okerson’s property. Especially today. But I’ve seen stranger,” I said. When the gap was wide enough to slide my car through, I gunned the engine, watching the rearview mirror as the gate closed behind me. “I don’t think anyone hitchhiked.”

“Good,” Parker said.

I stopped in front of the house and clicked off the call. Parker stepped out the front door.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Are you kidding? Thanks for calling. What’s going on now?”

He swiped a hand down over his face, his fingers muffling the first part of his reply. “Ashton is...not well. She...well, I’ll let her tell you. They loved your first write-up. They trust you, and not just because I said so. You earned it.” He stepped aside and waved me toward the door. “Go on in. She’s in the living room.”

“You’re not staying?”

“I have to go pick Mel up for dinner. If I leave right now I’ll only be really late, not unforgivably late.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Parker. Y’all have fun.”

I turned for the door, but his voice stopped me. “Hey, Clarke? I’m not sure how you can help them, but they could sure use it if there’s a way.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He waved and walked toward his BMW motorcycle, strapping his red helmet in place and disappearing down the drive. I opened the storm door, using a knee to keep the dog inside and grabbing his collar as I stepped around him. He pawed my shin and licked my free hand.

“Hey, boy.” I ruffled the fur behind his ears. He whined and craned his neck to look out the door.

“He misses TJ.” The comment choked off at the end, and I spun to find Tony coming out of the study. He shut the door behind him, but I caught a glimpse of the far wall, dotted with trophy shelves and framed news stories.

“I’m sure he’s not alone,” I said.

“He is not.” Tony cleared his throat and blinked a few times. “I owe you my gratitude for the story you did. A couple of the skeezier TV outfits have tried to make something out of nothing here, but everyone else seems to be following your lead, and I appreciate your help making this easier for my family to handle. Grant was right. Spin is everything.”

I smiled, glad he thought I had helped.

“You spent your entire career building a practically untarnishable image, Tony. I’m...” I sighed. “I’m just so damned sorry. And I hate that the press is camped outside your driveway while you grieve.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Goes with the territory. The NFL was awfully good to my family.”

“Parker said Ashton wanted to talk to me?”

He waved toward the back of the house. “She’s in there. Thanks for coming out.”

“Anytime.”

He opened the front door, pulling a leash off the hook next to it and clipping it onto the dog’s collar. “We’re going to get out of here for a while.”

I paused to glance over the photos in the hallway: the girls, in matching dresses on first bikes, ponies, and the Dumbo ride at Disney World. TJ in various football uniforms, posing with the ball up like so many photos I’d seen of his father. His smile was always just a twitch away from a laugh, his eyes happy. I fished a notebook and pen from my bag and jotted that down. 

I found Ashton on the sofa. At least, I was pretty sure it was Ashton. In the space of two days, she seemed to have dropped fifteen pounds, and she didn’t have them to lose in the first place. She looked haunted.

The woman next to her had long, dark hair and hollows under her eyes that almost matched Ashton’s. This had to be Sydney Cobb’s mother.

The sliding doors on both ends of the living room’s glass wall stood open, letting the sound and smell of the ocean inside. It was downright tranquil, save for the heavy sadness in the room.

I took a deep breath. “Mrs. Okerson?”

Ashton turned. “Nichelle!” She bounced off the couch with energy that so mismatched her haggard look it was creepy. Crossing the room in five long strides, she pulled me into a hug. “Thank you so much for the stories you did about my boy,” she said, her words muffled by my shoulder and her sobs. “They’re beautiful.”

I patted her back and murmured thanks for talking to me, my eyes on the tears spilling down the other woman’s cheeks.

Ashton let go of me and turned to her companion. “Nichelle, this is Tiffany.”

“Sydney’s mother,” I said, stepping toward the couch and offering a hand.

“I was. I am,” Tiffany’s face crumpled. “Am I?”

I swallowed against a lump in my throat. The anguish on her face would haunt my dreams for weeks, I was certain.

“Sit down,” Ashton said. “Can I get you anything?”

Sinking into the cushions opposite them, I smiled and shook my head. “I’m still full from dinner, but thank you.”

A piece of driftwood on the end table caught my eye. “Heaven is a little closer in a house by the sea,” it read, the letters burned across it in script.

I closed my eyes for a long blink, clicking out my pen. “Parker said y’all wanted to talk to me about something?”

The exchanged a look that radiated subtext. Uh-oh.

“You can’t be mad at Grant,” Ashton began.

“Mad?”

“He explained that you have a theory.”

He what?

“Oh? Why should that make me mad?” I was impressed with my ability to keep my voice even. Grant Parker was a dead man. He did not come tell the parents I thought these kids hadn’t killed themselves. I didn’t have any more proof of that than the sheriff had that they did. What the hell did he think that would do, except cause pain?

“Now, we told him our theory first.” Ashton put up both hands.

“Your theory?” Hang on. My inner Lois bounced. “Does it not match the sheriff’s theory?”

“That’s why we asked you to come. Our babies did not do this.”

I hauled in a deep breath.

“What makes you say that?” I poised my pen.

“TJ was a happy kid,” Ashton said.

Well, yeah. That’s what I thought, but Sheriff Zeke didn’t agree.

“Sydney was left-handed,” Tiffany muttered, almost too quiet for me to hear.

My eyes snapped to her.

“Come again, ma’am?”

“She was left-handed. The note wasn’t her handwriting. It was a good copy of it. Almost too good. But it wasn’t her.”

Hot damn. I scribbled down the new information. That was something I could work with.

“Did you tell Sheriff Waters that, Mrs. Cobb?”

“Of course I did. He smiled and said he’d take it under advisement.” She looked up, her dark eyes windows to the gaping wound on her heart. “Look, Miss, we don’t mean any disrespect. Zeke Waters is a good man, and he’s a good sheriff. Fair. Sensible. But he thinks we’re crazy. Maybe we are. But my Sydney did not write that note. And Ashton’s baseball player friend said you didn’t think the sheriff was right, either.”

I sighed, keeping my eyes on my notes.

Parker hadn’t told them anything that wasn’t true. I knew he shared my suspicion about TJ, and now the girl’s mother was sitting here saying her daughter hadn’t written the suicide note the sheriff was using as his proof that her death was open and shut.

But what could I do about it? Either there was a bonafide serial killer in bitty little Mathews, and more lives were at risk, or someone had a vendetta against TJ and Sydney, and they were going to get away with murder.

I raised my eyes to meet Ashton’s.

“Grant told me you’ve done investigative work on stories before,” she said.

Seriously. He was at least looking at a swift kick in the ass. I did not want this woman thinking I could save the day when Zeke didn’t want to talk about this and I wasn’t at all sure I could get to the bottom of it.

“I have, but...” I searched for the right words. “Mrs. Okerson, this is a small town. It’s an entirely different world than what I’m used to covering. I don’t know anyone here.”

“I understand that. I don’t, either, really. Tony and I keep to ourselves. TJ was the one who had all the friends.” Her voice broke and she curled her arms around her shoulders, like she could physically hold herself together. “Why would someone do this to my baby?”

Ashton buried her head in her knees and sobbed, and I pinched my lips together, studying them. I couldn’t say no. These women were grieving the loss of their children, and had no one else to take their suspicions to. Monster exclusive notwithstanding, I had a personal reason for wanting to help, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. Having the parents involved and on the record would help me get it right. 

“I will do everything I can.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I’m going to need you to be completely honest with me.”

They both nodded.

“I mean it,” I said. “This won’t be an easy conversation. You can’t fudge facts to make the kids look good. Nobody’s perfect, and if we’re really trying to find a killer, you’re going to have to start by telling me who had a reason to hate your children.”

They exchanged a glance. Tiffany spoke first.

“There were probably lots of little girls who were jealous of Syd,” she said. “She was a good girl, and a sweet kid, but everyone has their bitchy side, I guess. She wasn’t best friends with everyone, you know?”

I jotted that down, catching Tiffany’s gaze.

“Who was the girl they picked on?” I asked.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“There’s one in every high school class in America,” I said. “The pretty girls always have a girl they make fun of. Someone who wants to be part of their group, but doesn’t fit in.”

Tiffany appeared to consider that for a long minute.

“Evelyn,” Ashton finally said. “Evelyn Sue Miney.”

I wrote the name down. “Tell me about her. Typical outcast?”

Tiffany shook her head. “Evelyn was Sydney’s friend.”

Ashton poked her gently in the ribs. “Tiff, she said we had to be honest. Evelyn and Syd hadn’t been friends in a long while. And she had such a crush on TJ.”

I kept my eyes on Tiffany as I put a star by the girl’s name. A crush on the boy, a rivalry with the girl. Sounded promising.

“Evelyn and Syd were best friends when they were little girls,” Tiffany said, dropping her head into her hands and sighing. “They did everything together. Evelyn spent as much time at my house as she did at her own. She couldn’t have done this.”

“Why weren’t they friends anymore?”

“They just grew apart,” Tiffany said.

The look Ashton shot her told me there was no “just” to it.

“When?”

“Last year. The summer before. I didn’t notice at first, Syd was always so busy with cheerleading and her friends. But I started to notice I hadn’t seen Evelyn in a long time.”

“She’s not a cheerleader?” I asked.

“No, she is. It’s not that the girls are mean to her because she’s not pretty. She’s always been one of Syd’s group.”

“Until she started coming onto TJ,” Ashton said.

Ah ha. I scribbled faster, underlining as I went. This sounded better the longer they talked.

“But TJ wasn’t interested in her?”

“TJ was never interested in anyone but Syd,” Ashton said.

I studied Tiffany, her face half-hidden behind unwashed hair.

“And Sydney didn’t like her friend being interested in her boyfriend.” It wasn’t a question, because the answer was obvious.

“Who would?” Tiffany said. “She came home from a party last fall, and I’d never seen her like that before. She was sobbing and screaming at the same time. Evelyn kissed TJ. It crushed Sydney.”

I turned to Ashton. “TJ didn’t kiss her back?”

“He told us he pushed her down. He felt bad because he made her cry. He said they were talking while Syd went to get drinks and then Evelyn kissed him.”

“So what happened to Evelyn?” Having been to high school, I had a good guess, but I needed them to say it.

“They froze her out of their group.”

I nodded.

Popular girl to social pariah overnight. It was worse, in some ways, than having never been popular at all.

“She emailed and texted TJ for months,” Ashton said, and Tiffany and I both looked at her.

“Why?”

“It varied. Sometimes she was professing her love for him and telling him Syd would never be good enough for him.” Ashton shot an apologetic look at Tiffany. “Other times, she said she was sorry and she didn’t mean to kiss him and would he just talk to Sydney and help her explain? TJ finally came to me with it because he didn’t know what else to do. He kept telling her he loved Sydney, that there was nothing he could do, and if she wanted to talk to Syd they needed to work it out.”

“You said the other day that you studied psychology.” I let the words hang in the air.

Ashton shook her head. “It’s so hard to tell without talking to the person. But some of the messages I saw? She could be imbalanced.”

Imbalanced enough to kill them?  I didn’t say it, but the looks on their faces said they were thinking it. The boy I’d talked to in the gym flashed through my thoughts. “What about Luke?” I asked.

“Luke?” Ashton furrowed her brow.

“There’s a boy on the baseball team, another pitcher. I’m pretty sure the coach called him Luke,” I said. “I talked to him when I went by the school the other day, and it was a weird conversation. Seemed like he didn’t like TJ too much.”

“Oh, the Bosley boy?” Ashton shrugged. “I don’t really know him, and TJ never talked too much about him.”

“He was the kid Sydney told me was mouthing off about TJ getting hurt last fall. How he would finally get his shot at baseball,” Tiffany said.

I nodded. “The coach told me his dad was a baseball player in high school and does some major vicarious living through the kid. Puts a lot of pressure on him.” I paused, a puzzle piece dancing on the edge of my brain. “Ashton, how did TJ hurt his knee?”

She tossed her hands up helplessly. “He fell. It happens. The grass was wet. He said his cleat slid right out from under him and he twisted his knee. Tore it all to hell.”

“Do cleats slip?” It was an honest question. That was one kind of shoe I’d never had occasion to wear. “I thought the whole point of cleats was to give you traction.”

“Tony said TJ’s were too worn,” she said. “That we should have bought him new ones. I didn’t know.”

I jotted that down. “Anyone or anything else that’s stood out to you?” I asked.

“Not really. They were so happy. Sydney’s been gone all semester. She should have stayed in Paris.” Tiffany’s face crumpled again, sobs shaking her shoulders.

“I think this gives me something to go on,” I said, standing as Ashton moved to comfort her friend. “If only I could figure out how to get these kids to talk to me.”

“Come to the street dance,” Ashton said.

“The what?”

“Next Friday night, right in the middle of town. It’s the welcome for the growing season. One of the biggest things the town does every year. Everyone talks to everyone. Dress in western wear and you’ll fit right in. It’s dark.”

I smiled and patted her shoulder. “Perfect. Thank you.”

She reached up and squeezed my hand. “No, thank you.”

I let myself out quietly and inched back through the gang of reporters at the gate without literally steamrolling any of the competition. My thoughts raced for where I could find some help with the promise I’d just made.