Untraceable (31 page)

Wyn calls out. “Well, you better wrap it up because Bea’s on her way back.”

“Already?”

“It’s not like this town is huge or anything.”

My heart thumps as I print off the picture of a bullet. “Just a few more seconds. You gotta stall her.”

“G, come on!”

At the bottom, I spot a link to some articles and references. “Just do it!”

Wyn faces me. “Fine. But only if you go to dinner with me.”

I stop typing and check to see if he’s serious before shaking my head. “Come on, Wyn, you know I can’t do that.”

He gives me a mischievous smile. “Well, you better or you’re going to get busted.”

I frown at him. “Are you serious? You’re blackmailing me? Now?”

He crosses his arms and stands tall. “No better time than the present. You had better decide because she’s just passing Larry’s Hardware. What’s it going to be, food or felony?”

I keep my eyes on the screen. “Fine, but I hate you.”

Wyn shrugs. “Noted.” Then he bolts out the door. I watch as he points towards the station then back at the diner. She nods, and they walk off together, obviously getting me food too.

I launch the article and read the title.
Tennessee ranger killed in hunting accident.

This is about the ranger that died last year. I read the article until I see a name, William Cameron. Why does that name sound familiar? Instantly, it comes to me. Will Cameron. From the news articles I read last week. The game warden who busted Al in Tennessee. I cross reference the name in the database, and a photo pops up. The man seems familiar. I stare at his features for a few seconds before something clicks.

I reach into my bag and pull out the tin with Dad’s photo. The one of him winning the excellence award. The one I snatched from Carl’s file.

William “Will” Cameron is one of the men standing behind Dad in the picture.

My heart races. Is it possible the two cases are connected? Carl said they weren’t but maybe he’s wrong. I get up and peek through the blinds to check Wyn’s status. He’s across the street talking with Bernice and Postman Louie. He can surely kill time with them.

Man killed by a hunter, bullets unidentifiable, no hunter comes forward, death ruled an accident by the coroner. Survived by son, Morris, and daughter, Fiona.

A caption under a picture of a body covered in a white sheet reads:
Son finds dad’s body and tries to revive him until paramedics show up
. My stomach clenches at the thought of watching a family member die and being completely helpless. Another photo caption reads:
The Cameron family in happier times.
I click on the photo link and wait as it launches in a new window.

The pixels slowly fill the screen and become crystal clear.

I freeze as an invisible stake pierces my heart. My stomach churns. Life stops for a split second as my brain processes what I’m seeing. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping the picture will be different. I open one eye. No such luck.

Outside, Wyn sounds off a sharp whistle warning me that Bernice is on her way.

I punch Print and exit the application. As she walks through the door, I snatch a stack of papers off the printer and stuff them into my bag. Wyn trails close behind, eyes wide, like he’s seen a naked female ghost.

Bernice holds up a brown paper sack. “Wyn says you want lunch?”

“Uh, yeah, that was sweet. I wish I could eat with you guys, but is it okay if I take it with me? Tommy wants me now.”

She hands me the bag. “Sure, sweetie.”

I bolt out the door before she or Wyn can ask me any questions. Around the corner, I pull the photo out of the bag and stare at Will Cameron’s son.

It’s definitely Mo.

Tommy stands behind the counter conversing with a customer. He waves as I walk in the door.

As if nothing’s wrong, I pin on my nametag and begin straightening the new display of touristy crap. Hats, tomahawks, and moccasins. Since when did Tommy start selling this stuff? He must need money bad.

When Tommy heads to the back, I take out my notepad and scribble a few notes about everything I’ve learned in the last hour.

Mo’s dad was killed, and his dad knew
my
dad. His dad busted Al for hunting, then he was killed.

Why wouldn’t Mo tell me about his dad, and how much of this does he really know? After everything I’ve confided in him, he just kept it from me? I try not to be angry because he didn’t really lie or anything. Guess I can relate to keeping secrets. Some things are too painful to say aloud.

Makes them real.

Confusion surfaces and, suddenly, I’ve accumulated more questions than I’ve answered. I jot them down, still trying to process all the facts jumbled in my brain.

1)
Where is Sidehill, and who is the anonymous tipper?

2)
Why are Al and Billy using homemade bullets?

3
) Is Mo’s dad’s case related to mine? Is that why Mo is here?

The nagging questions rattle me. I bite on the end of my pen and stare at the pictures around the store.

Someone taps me on the shoulder.

I flinch.

Tommy smiles. “Little jumpy?”

“Guess I’m in my own world.” I shove my notebook into my pocket so he can’t see what I’m writing.

“What’s up?”

I frown. “Nothing. Why does something always have to be
up
?” I try to act normal, but I can feel myself unraveling after the morning’s events. I tidy a clothing rack, dropping a few fishing vests onto the floor. As I bend over to pick them up, my butt knocks over the display behind me, sending it crashing to the ground. I drop to my knees and gather the scattered items.

Tommy squats down to help. “You sure you’re okay? You seem on edge.”

I grab a fishing tin from him and place it on the rack. “Everything’s fine. I always knock stuff over.”

“Your mom called here last night.”

I restraighten the same rack. “She definitely likes to reach out and touch
everyone
. Called the whole dang town. So what? Am I going to get the Spanish Inquisition from you too?” I shuffle between the displays, adding some distance between us.

Tommy follows me into the fishing tackle section. “Who’s doing that? What’s wrong with you?” He can usually sense when something’s off. He calls it his Indian intuition; I call it guessing.

“Your vibes must be getting a little rusty. I’m fine.”

“Come on, Elu. You can talk to me.”

Without thinking, I blurt out, as if the lid’s been blown off a boiling pot, “They found Dad’s shirt. It had blood on it.”

Tommy appears horrified and opens his arms to hug me. “Gaest-ost yuh-wa da-nv-ta.”

With my hands up, I back away from him. “Don’t be sorry. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He looks confused and answers me slowly. “Okaaaay.”

I toss out some more breaking news. “Wyn kissed me last night.”

Tommy smiles. “I was wondering when you two would start up again.”

One more shebang. “But I’m seeing someone else.”

He stops walking. A slew of emotions slog over his face. Confusion. Disbelief. Annoyance. “Wait, what? Who?”

“His name’s Mo.”

Tommy squints. “Where’s he from?”

I wave him off. “You don’t know him. He’s a freshman at Appalachian State. Studies rocks.”

“College boy? Isn’t that too old for you?”

I realize I’m still backing up when my butt bumps the counter. “He’s only 17.”

“Then how can he already be in college? That’s usually 18, isn’t it?”

His questions knock me off balance, and my world seems to tilt as I stammer for a response. “He moved here from overseas, so he’s ahead in school.”

“How’d you meet him?”

After every answer, I get more and moreout of breath like I’m running from something. “He’s been living in the Appalachians, collecting rock samples for a school study.”

Tommy frowns. “You met him in the woods?”

I snap back. “Noooo, not in the
woods
. On the river. Fishing.”

His face remains furrowed. “So he flyfishes?”

“Well, not exactly. He’s a bait fisherman. But he’s learning.”

Tommy shakes his head as if too much information has jammed inside. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You met a strange foreign boy in the woods who says he’s in college, and he doesn’t flyfish?” He catches my eyes with his. “You hate bait fisherman.”

“I don’t
hate
bait fisherman.”

Tommy touches his palm against my forehead, checking for a fever. “You must be sick.”

I smack his hand away. “I think I’m old enough to look past his fishing preferences. Besides, he’s the one who saved me from those men.”

He scratches his head. “You’ve been seeing him since then? This whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I reverse down the aisle as anger pumps through my veins. My armor is cracking. I have to get out of here before I crumble into a heap of pieces. “Geez! What’s up with the thousand and seven questions from everyone? Why can’t anyone be happy for me? I tell you I’m dating someone and am happy for the first time. In a long time. And you grill me?”

His eyes are wide, and he appears shell shocked. “I’m not grilling—”

I snap back before he can finish. “Just because he’s not from this crappy town, doesn’t make him a bad guy, okay? Just because he doesn’t flyfish, doesn’t mean he’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Who said anything about—”

I beeline for the door. My only escape hatch to avoid being trapped into a lengthy interrogation. “Besides, I don’t know if I
like
Wyn. So why’s everyone pushing him on me?” My voice grows louder with every word.

“Who’s pushing?”

I stop retreating and steady my voice. “Look, do you need me here today? ’Cause it looks pretty slow.”

He checks out the empty store. “Well, no, I guess not but—”

“Good. I gotta go.” I race out of the store before he can stop me. But not before tripping twice and knocking over a display of sunglasses.

Tommy calls after me. “Elu? Wait!”

I duck down the alley and slip into a dark doorway, allowing my pity and anxiety to consume me. It’s official. I’m alone. I’ve messed up every relationship important to me. They’re all disintegrating before my eyes. And there’s not a dang thing I can do about it. Mom, Wyn, Tommy. Evidently, even Mo doesn’t trust me.

I bury my face in my hands. But before I can break down, muffled voices float through the alleyway. Easing out of the shadow, I slither my way between all the parked cars. Last thing I need is for someone to catch me cowering behind the trash like a scared rat.

Up ahead, a truck is partially concealed behind a couple stinky dumpsters. Two men appear to be arguing, but I can’t hear them over the idling engine. Waddling like a duck behind the car bumpers, I inch as close as I can without being seen. When I peek around a bumper, my heart cartwheels in my chest.

Al and Billy are out of jail.