Wicked Little Secrets: A Prep School Confidential Novel (32 page)

I hurry past the bathroom and shower stalls, one hand in my bag. When I get to the rows of lockers, I peer around the corner. Tretter is holding Casey up against a locker, his feet dangling an inch from the ground. Half of Casey’s face is covered in blood. I cry out without meaning to.

Tretter’s head swivels toward me. Panic fills his eyes as he glances at the back door of the locker room. I can tell at that moment Larry Tretter is not the type of man who would ever hit a girl.

“Stop,” I command. Tretter has Casey by the throat, and his skin is turning as blue as the locker behind him.

Tretter freezes. He’s going to kill Casey. I pull the taser from my purse and aim the laser at Tretter, like Dennis showed me. Before Tretter can react, the two prongs shoot out and attach to his chest. A horrible, sickening clicking sound meets my ears as Tretter falls to the floor, smacking his head on the bench on the way down. I smell burning flesh and urine. Casey doubles over, gasping for air.

I take a step toward him. “What did he mean by ‘Where is it?’”

Casey holds his hands up. “Get away from me, psychobitch.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll leave you facedown in your own drool and piss like him.” I nod to Tretter. My hand shakes around the handle of the taser.

Casey lunges for me but trips over the bench separating us. He’s still gasping for air, disoriented.

“Let’s try this again,” I say. “What was Tretter looking for?”

“Fuck yourself,” Casey says.

I point the taser at him. I don’t even think I can shoot it again after using the last cartridge on Tretter, but Casey doesn’t need to know that. He backs against the locker.

“Start from the beginning,” I tell him.

“I knew it was you who followed us to the quarry after I saw you with Walton.” Casey’s eyes are on the taser.

“How’d you get the picture of Isabella?” I demand.

“Isabella? What are you talking about?”

“The picture of her with her throat slit,” I hiss. “The little message you left me to back off.”

“I didn’t leave you any message. I just wanted to know why you were up the crew team’s ass. I told my dad you seemed pretty interested in us. Then I heard him yelling at Coach. Something about Matt Weaver and how someone was ‘onto them.’ He told Coach to take care of you. When he said no, my dad said he had something in his safe to make him change his mind.”

Casey looks at Tretter, lying on the tile floor, unconscious. Casey clutches his chest, and I’m afraid I’ve given the guy a heart attack.

“I wanted to know what my dad had on Coach, so I checked his safe at the Cape house. There was a tape in there, of Coach admitting to hiring a guy to kill Steve Westbrook.”

“The senator?” I ask.

Casey nods. “Coach said the guy was supposed to screw with the brakes. Steve had a meeting in the morning, but his wife took the car before he did.”

I’m so shocked that I don’t realize Casey has stopped hyperventilating. He leaps across the bench and reaches for my throat. I wind up and elbow him right in the nose. He collapses in pain as I examine the sleeve of my sweater, which is now covered in his blood.

Ugh. I look down at Casey, who is cradling his face in his hands. “I’m sending you the dry-cleaning bill,” I say. “Asshole.”

I almost forget something before I leave the locker room. I stand over Casey, pointing the taser at him. He cringes. “What’s the code to the safe?” I demand.

“Four-three-two-one,” he spits.

I kick him in the balls. “The real one. Come on, Casey. You’re all done for, anyway. I know where your dad buried Matt Weaver,” I lie.

“Oh-nine-one-five,” he cries out, rolling onto his stomach. “Crazy
bitch.
”

Casey flinches as I reach into his back pocket.

“Relax.” I pat around until I find his iPhone.

“You know, Dowling, you could have bought me dinner first,” Casey snarls. With one hand, I keep the taser pointed at him. With the other, I swipe a finger across the screen of his iPhone.

“Oh-nine-one-five. That your birthday?”

Casey nods, sweat breaking out on his brow and mixing with the bloody bruise Tretter gave him. I type the numbers into the phone. It doesn’t work.

“Try again,” I snap. He gives me the finger. I aim the taser at his chest.

“One-oh-two-eight,” he cries. “Get that fucking thing away from me.”

The 1-0-2-8 code unlocks Casey’s phone. “Is this also the code for the safe?”

He nods as I leave him writhing on the floor next to Tretter. When I’m outside the athletic building, I call campus security from his phone and ditch it.

CHAPTER

FORTY-FOUR

Anthony didn’t question it when I called him and told him we needed to get to Shepherd’s Cape house ASAP. He picks me up in his mom’s sedan. I slide into the passenger seat and refill the cartridge on my taser. Anthony watches me, but he doesn’t say anything.

The next thing I do is call Alexis Westbrook. I get her voice mail.

“Alexis…, it’s Anne. I really need to talk to you.” I glance out the window, watching the Wheatley School disappear in the side mirror. “You and your dad might be in danger. It’s Travis Shepherd. He killed Matt Weaver, and I think he killed your mom and your brother. I’m going to the Shepherds’ Cape house. I think he’s hiding evidence there. Please…, warn your dad.”

Anthony is quiet for about five minutes after I hang up, before asking, “Who’d you use the taser on?”

“Larry Tretter. He’s the one who hired Grabiec. Casey says there’s evidence in his dad’s safe.”

“Do you think this is a trap?”

“Casey’s not that smart.” I pull my sweater over my head, not caring that I’m only wearing a camisole underneath. “That’s his blood, in case you were wondering.”

“Why would Tretter put a hit out on Westbrook if Shepherd is the one who killed Sonia and Matt Weaver, though?” Anthony asks.

“Shepherd blackmailed him,” I say. “Maybe Tretter is the one who helped Shepherd get rid of the bodies. He felt like Matt was replacing him, so he could have agreed to do Shepherd’s dirty work in order to get on his good side again.”

Anthony taps out a nervous beat on the steering wheel as he gets onto the freeway.

“The house doesn’t have an alarm system,” I say. “At least, I didn’t see one when I was there.”

“It’s because they don’t need one.” Anthony runs his hand across the stubble on his chin. “It’s
Cape Cod
. The neighborhood watch will be on us in seconds. This isn’t gonna work.”

“It has to,” is all I can say. We’re quiet for a few minutes. “Drop me off at the house, then drive to the end of the road. Call me the second you see any cars turning onto the road.”

“Are you nuts?” Anthony looks over at me. “You think I’m going to leave you alone there?”

“I have this.” I gesture to the taser in my lap. “And I know my way around the house already.”

“I’ll take the Taser and go inside.” Anthony’s voice says there’s no room for negotiation. “You keep watch at the end of the street.”

“
I
have the safe combination,” I remind him. “Plus, I don’t know how to drive.”

Anthony lets out a sound of frustration. I call Brent and reach his voice mail for the millionth time.

“It’s me,” I say. “Look, I
wasn’t
right about everything. Not about your dad. And I’m sorry. For everything. I just thought you should know.”

I glance over at Anthony, but he’s looking out his window. A sign tells us Cape Cod is in thirty miles.

*   *   *

The Shepherds’ street is mostly dark when Anthony and I arrive an hour later. He turns his headlights off and creeps along until I spot the familiar two-story colonial.

“I’m pretty sure it’s that one.” I point to a house on the right. “Drop me off by the driveway so I can make sure no one’s home.”

Anthony grabs my wrist as I open the door. “Remember, if I call, it means get the hell out of there.”

I nod. As an afterthought, I kiss him on the cheek.

The automatic lights on the porch flicker, but I peer into the garage. The Range Rover is gone. I give Anthony a thumbs-up and I run around the back of the house, holding a crowbar from Anthony’s trunk.

The windows of the Shepherds’ sunroom are as flimsy as I remember. I wedge the crowbar into the windowsill. I push down until I hear a crack. I pause, waiting for an alarm to go off inside. Silence. I swallow and push the window up.

I put one leg through at a time and stumble into the dark sunroom. I know better than to turn a light on. I hold my phone out in front of me so I can see as I pick my way around furniture. When I get to the hall, I grip my other hand around my taser.

The floor creaks beneath my feet. I don’t remember the house being this old. I tiptoe up the stairs, looking out the two-story window onto the street. No headlights. So far, so good.

I inch down the hall, trying to remember which door leads to Travis Shepherd’s office. I don’t remember seeing a safe inside it, but I figure I’ll start there. A draft ripples the curtains on the window across the hall. I turn my head, thinking it’s weird someone left it open.

Something isn’t right. If Shepherd is hiding evidence of multiple murders in this house, why not invest in better security? I swallow down the feeling of foreboding as I rest my hand on the office doorknob.

I open the door and flip on the light. I cry out when I see Travis Shepherd sitting in his office chair, pointing a rifle at me.

“Have a seat, sweetheart,” he says, unsmiling. “I’ve been expecting you.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-FIVE

I stand in the doorway, frozen.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Shepherd says. “Sit.”

I obey, thinking it’s the best chance I have of getting out of here alive.

He gestures for me to hand over my taser. I do.

“Now, I think we can have a civil conversation.” Shepherd smiles. My eyes fall to the rifle in his lap.

“An 1887 Snider-Enfield,” he explains. “Had my eye on it for a while. I won it at an auction.”

“Oh.” My voice cracks on the single syllable. Shepherd leans back in his leather chair, as if this situation couldn’t please him more.

“I have to hand it to you,” he says. “I’m impressed you found Matthew’s clues. I’ve been searching for years, and all you had to do was sweet-talk his parents. I guess I’m not as charming as you.

“You see, Anne,” he says, “I don’t like when things get away from me. You got away from me, very quickly. I’m going to tell you the story of someone else who got away from me. His name was Matty.”

Shepherd leans over his desk, and I flinch. It makes him smile.

“I met Matty at the end of my first year at Wheatley,” Shepherd says. “I suggested he try out for rowing. The kid was a bit of a social chameleon. Would have done anything to fit in. Unlike the other guys, who saw a piece of trash trying to be one of us, I saw an opportunity.”

Shepherd folds his hands in front of him. “I took Matty under my wing. He worshipped me. I could do no wrong, in his eyes. I’m sure you know what that feels like, Miss Dowling. You and I are alike in that way, I think. I’ve heard a lot about you. And I think that for all your bravado, you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re as wicked as I am.”

My heart thumps wildly.
He’s wrong. So wrong.

“Matty’s ego grew along with his popularity,” Shepherd continues. “He needed to be knocked down a few pegs. Almost no one would talk to him after they heard what he’d done to Vanessa. I almost felt responsible, since I’m the one who told him how
badly
she wanted to get him alone.” Shepherd’s eyes gleam wickedly.

Acid creeps up my throat. I can’t stop myself from asking: “Why involve Conroy? He wasn’t really there, was he?”

Shepherd smiles. “Sometimes rumors get out of control. Like a fire that spreads too fast to be put out. Innocent people get burned.”

All of the blood drains from my head. It finally hits me: Shepherd was manipulating his friends from the get-go. Larry, Pierce, Matt. If he didn’t have something on each of them, they were worthless to him.

I watch Shepherd, waiting for him to look away long enough for me to dial Anthony and hang up. He never breaks my gaze, though.
He’s going to kill me. He’s finally telling me the truth because it won’t matter once I’m dead.

“I would have done anything for Matt,” Shepherd says, almost sounding mournful. “And how did the shithead repay me? He tried to take what was mine. I don’t like when people try to take things that belong to me.”

I follow his gaze to the empty space in the photo frame.

“Cynthia Westbrook,” I choke out.

“Durham,” Shepherd snaps. “Yes. Matty thought it would be cute to use my slipup to win Cynthia over.”

“So Sonia Russo was a slipup? Her mother thinks you would have married her.”

“
Impressive.
You tracked the cokehead down.” Shepherd’s voice is mocking. “Matty never got the chance to tell Cynthia about Sonia. He saw firsthand what would happen.”

“Is that why you killed her?” I ask. “She was going to tell Cynthia?”

“She was as arrogant as Matty was. But I never meant to hurt her.” He says it in a way that almost makes me believe him. “Sonia liked to run her mouth when she was tweaked. Must have gotten the itch from that cokehead mother of hers. When she showed up at the lake house, threatening to tell Cynthia everything, I grabbed her. She slipped and hit her head. Matty saw the whole thing and panicked, thinking Pierce would think
he’d
killed Sonia. A compelling enough reason to help me bury her body.”

Compelling.
It’s so obviously code for
I threatened to make Pierce Conroy think Matt killed Sonia and get rid of him for good.

“At the end of the day, I didn’t think Matty’d tell anyone,” Shepherd continues. “He cared too much about being a ‘Wheatley Boy.’ About being the first person in his family to go to college. To be able to afford the things his parents couldn’t. Then I realized he’d taken Sonia’s necklace. The bastard actually
dug it up.
Leverage, I suppose. He was biding his time until he wasn’t afraid of me anymore.