And When I Die, page 15
“It’s just so awful,” Mrs. Perkins said as she poured caramel creamer into her coffee and took a sip, leaving behind a bright pink lipstick print on the white mug. “I wonder if it was someone she knew.”
“Why do you think that?” Mr. Staub asked, the shine of his bald head matching the high sheen of his brown Oxfords, which were propped up on one of the hard plastic orange chairs, like he was hanging out at home, not at work.
“I just have a hard time believing someone is going around knocking off teenage girls in Lake Forest.” Mrs. Perkins scoffed as she played with one of her gold hoop earrings. “An earthquake would sooner happen here than that.”
“Anything can happen,” Ms. Probst said, a tall gangly chemistry teacher with a huge gap between her yellow smoker’s teeth. “Even here.”
“Maybe it was a boyfriend. Lover’s quarrel,” Mrs. Perkins said.
“Could have been a friend.” Ms. Probst paused. “Could have been another student.”
A gasp went up around the lounge, the possibility of a fellow student murdering another student too terrible to contemplate. Everyone fell silent, the only sounds in the room the occasional slurp of coffee, rustle of papers, the awkward clearing of throats.
“I wonder how long it will be before we’re all questioned,” Mr. Staub said, breaking the silence.
Ron’s heart jumped at the query. It probably was a matter of time before all of Whitney’s teachers were rounded up by police. Of course they would be. He’d been stupid to think they wouldn’t. First the questions would come, then the poking into their personal lives. He bit his bottom lip. Everything would come out.
Everything.
“They’ll probably only interview any of us who had her in class.” Mrs. Perkins looked around. “So? Who did?”
Ron smoothed down his tie, his stomach in knots, as some of the teachers raised their hands. He cleared his throat and added his to the group. Mrs. Perkins gave a careless wave and scoffed again.
“Well, we know none of us did it,” she said, laughing uncomfortably. “Like I said, it was probably a boyfriend, someone none of us knows.”
Ron knocked the mug of coffee over, causing the three people sitting at his table to jump back. Heat inched up his neck, burning his cheeks.
“Sorry, sorry about that.” He ran over to the sink to grab a roll of paper towels to sop up the mess.
“Well, all I know is that I’ll sleep much better at night once whoever did this is behind bars,” Mr. Staub said. “I don’t care if this is Lake Forest or Lake Titicaca. This is some scary shit.”
The conversation floated to the all-school assembly planned for third period as Ron continued wiping up his mess, the prospect of the police banging down his door making his bowels churn, his same dilemma from Saturday night continuing to plague him.
He needed an alibi.
Ron glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes before the bell would sound, signaling the official start of his day. His hand closed around his phone in his pocket as he edged toward the door of the teacher’s lounge to slip out into the hallway, only to collide with the school secretary.
“Hola,” she said, smiling as she shifted the stack of papers in her hands to wave at him expectantly.
Normally, he would have flashed what he’d been told was a killer smile, chatted her up in Spanish for a few minutes, and told her for the tenth time that yes, he’d love to get her tamale recipe.
But he didn’t have time for genial chitchat right now.
He hopped from one foot to the other. “Baño,” he whispered, smiling sheepishly.
She nodded knowingly and sent him off with a giggle and another wave as she entered the teachers’ lounge. He raced toward one of the exits, sequestering himself around the side of the building before tapping the ICE name in his contact list.
“Hey,” his brother, Brandon, said from Michigan. “I’m at work so I really can’t talk long—”
“I need a favor.”
An audible, exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone. “What?”
“If anyone asks, you and I were on the phone Saturday night. From seven thirty to about nine. And I was at home when you called me.”
Brandon paused. “Excuse me?”
Ron peered over his shoulder. “B … I need you to do this. Please.”
“What the hell is going on?”
A trickle of sweat dripped down the side of his face. “Okay, don’t be mad, but I saw her Saturday night, and—”
“You what?” Brandon exploded. “Are you kidding me?”
“I know, I—listen, nobody can know I was with her and I just need you to back me up—”
“Jesus, for someone so smart, you sure do have shit for brains sometimes.”
“Please, Brandon. Please. I’m begging you.”
Ron could hear his brother’s hostile exhale from Michigan as he waited. Birds chirped happily in the trees and the muted sounds of cars from nearby Green Bay Road floated over his head. Ron looked up at the cloudless blue sky, his terrified breath rattling in his chest.
“Fine,” Brandon finally said. “I’ll tell whoever asks that you and I were on the phone Saturday night.”
Relief gushed through Ron. “Brandon, man, you have no idea how much this means to me—”
“Save it, all right?”
“I just wanted to say thank you.” Ron pursed his lips. “For everything. Again. Always.”
“I have to get back to work.” The line went dead.
Ron palmed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, his distress easing slightly at knowing his big brother would have his back once again, a remnant of childhood that might not ever dissipate. He checked his watch as he rushed back into the school building and raced down the hall toward his classroom, his mind slipping into teacher mode, wondering how to comfort his students today in the wake of Whitney Dean’s murder.
35
ERICA
Concentrating on her workout and to-do list distracted Erica from thinking about Whitney, how they’d been laughing at Jay’s frat boy stories, toasting to a good night and a good life, while that girl was being murdered. Shock had rippled through her when her phone dinged early Sunday morning with the news and had continued to reverberate when she read the story in the paper, the stark black headline, ‘LAKE FOREST GIRL STABBED TO DEATH,’ jumping off the page and running over her like a freight train.
There had been times when Whitney felt like her own, given how close she and Jordan had been since their days at LoMastro. They’d both been stars and it wasn’t long before they became best friends, sisters, inseparable, thick as thieves, joined at the hip—all the insufferable, maudlin clichés used to describe exceptionally close friendships. Pom-pom squad, skating and swimming parties, sleepovers, breathless messaging, texting, and social media posting kept Whitney and Jordan willingly tethered to each other for years.
She quickly finished her cool-down before heading to the locker room, her focus on taking sips from her water bottle, not seeing the solid wall of woman she collided with.
“Excuse me—” she smiled. “Oh, Regina. Hello.”
Erica involuntarily wrinkled her nose at being forced into proximity with Regina Knowles, mother to Jordan’s former pom teammate, Peyton. Loud, obnoxious, militant helicopter mom Regina. At least Jay’s megaphone mouth was entertaining. Charming, even. Regina was just loud and boring. The woman ran around town in long, shapeless, oversized t-shirts draped over the mountainous domes of her breasts, biker shorts hugging her muscular, tree trunk thighs, a visor plunked atop her straggly brown mop of hair, and of course—of course!—a fanny pack. Peyton was so pretty and graceful that it had crossed Erica’s mind more than once that the girl must be adopted. At one time, Regina had been a big shot at a financial services firm, enabling her to retire at forty, leaving every minute of her day free to be perpetually outraged about any and everything: street signs tilted at the wrong angle, grocery stores not stocking her favorite brand of keto bread, Coffee City spelling her name wrong on her cup. Erica wondered how the woman made it through the day without having a heart attack.
“How are you, E?” Regina said as she slapped Erica on the shoulder, her voice blasting across the already noisy room, causing more than one person to cast glances their way.
Erica stiffened, her shoulders hitching upward in aggravation, both at the bombast of Regina’s tone and the casual greeting. How many times had she told Regina to call her by her name? She’d let it slide today.
“Well. Trying to get over the shock,” she said instead as she took another swig of water.
Regina nodded soberly as she fanned the red splotches of her doughy face with her hand. “I still can’t believe it.”
“That something like that would happen here,” Erica said. “So hard to fathom.”
“And to Whitney Dean of all people. Whitney Dean! What the hell is this world coming to?”
“It’s beyond nerve-wracking. I hope the police make an arrest soon.”
Regina snorted. “Don’t count on it.”
“How’s Peyton?”
“Crying nonstop. This whole thing just infuriates me. It’s horrible. Absolutely horrible.”
“I know,” Erica said. “Horrendous.”
“Douglas and I were talking about it last night and I’m telling you, I think it’s someone from the high school.”
“Oh, no, you don’t really think that.”
“I would bet every dollar I have it was someone who was jealous of Whitney. A classmate. I mean, she was the most popular girl at East Lake Forest.” Regina clicked her tongue knowingly. “That’s what my gut is telling me and my gut is never wrong.”
“God. I don’t know what’s worse. The thought that it could be someone Whitney knew or a complete stranger,” Erica said, shaking her head. “Inconceivable—appalling—any way you think about it.”
“They better tighten up at that school, because nobody better be coming after my kid, I’ll tell you that right now. I will yank her out so fast.”
“Oh, well, since it didn’t happen on school grounds, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Erica said.
“Well, we’ll see about that.” Regina glanced over both shoulders before leaning down conspiratorially, lowering her voice, the unsettling scent of grape jelly emanating from her pores, causing Erica to clench. “You know I talked to Lauren that night.”
“Saturday?”
“She called me around nine-forty-five or so, and she was going nuts. Got Peyton on the phone to grill her about whether she knew where Whitney was.”
“Well, Jay and I actually had them over for dinner that night.”
“Lauren and Steve?” Regina gasped. “Oh, man.”
“When I think about how we were laughing and joking, having a lovely time, while that poor girl—I feel just terrible about it.”
“Have you talked to Lauren since Saturday?” Regina asked.
“I texted her, but haven’t heard back,” Erica said. “Understandable, though. I thought I might bring her a casserole.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I’ll do that, too, bring her a casserole.” Regina clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Dougie is just crushed. You know he and Whitney dated last year.”
“I don’t think I knew that.”
“It wasn’t any great romance or anything like that. A month if that. You can guess how much Peyton loved her brother dating one of her best friends.” Regina looked at her Fitbit. “I have to run. My class is starting soon.”
Erica hoped her relief at being released didn’t show as the women said their goodbyes, sharing another semi-awkward dual kiss, Erica trying not to breathe in the woman’s weird jelly scent.
As she grabbed her bag from the locker room and headed out to her car, her phone trilled and she smiled when she saw Jay’s goofy grin staring up at her. “Hello, darling,” she said, switching to Bluetooth as she signaled left out of the gym’s parking lot. “What would you like for dinner tonight?”
“Whatever. I’m not feeling picky.”
“Well, then I’ll surprise you. Speaking of surprises, I bought a new car today,” Erica said.
“You—what?”
“Bought a new car. Black Range Rover.”
“Oh. What brought that on? It’s not like you to go car shopping on a whim like that. You usually plan these things out like a year in advance.”
“I guess for once I wanted to do something spontaneous.”
“How is it?”
“Absolutely love it. Drives like a dream.”
“Well, I can’t wait to see it.”
“I just ran into Regina Knowles at the gym. She told me after Steve and Lauren left on Saturday, Lauren had actually called her looking for Whitney.”
“I still can’t believe it.”
Erica rubbed at her eye, stinging beneath her sunglasses. “I don’t know. It’s horrible. Almost made me forget how angry I was because I will tell you, I don’t believe for one second she was babysitting for the Zindels on Saturday night.”
“I wouldn’t make too big a deal out of it,” he said.
“So you think it’s okay for her to lie to us?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Well, what are you saying?”
Jay sighed. “I’m saying, our daughter came home Saturday night. Lauren and Steve’s didn’t.”
She shook her head, letting the silence fill the empty, uncomfortable space between them. “Anyway,” she said breezily, haughtily, by way of changing the subject. “I’m going to stop at the store, pick up a few things. I thought I’d make a casserole for Lauren, take it over within the next day or two.”
“You’re joking.”
“Oh, stop it. You know I can cook.”
“I remember so well that lemon chicken and scalloped potatoes. I had just renewed my Blockbuster membership and all the cool kids were dialing up AOL.”
“Oh,” Erica tsked. “Enough.”
“Okay, look, the really important thing here is, what am I getting for dinner?”
“Whatever you want, my love.”
“Well, then I’ll just put in my usual order.”
They both laughed, the mood lightened, the unpleasantness wiped away, however momentarily, before exchanging “I love yous” and ending the call.
She pulled into the grocery store parking lot and grabbed her phone and purse, mentally scrolling through the list of ingredients for a potato gratin. Simple, delicious, quick.
Her thoughts floated back to Jordan and her disheveled appearance Saturday night and her certainty the girl was lying about where she was. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was being lied to. She walked past the newsstand for the local community paper, Whitney’s smiling class photo staring out at her from beneath the thick pane of scratched, dirty glass. She stopped and stared at it, mesmerized.
Almost without thinking, she looked down at her phone and went in search of Ted Zindel’s office number. Ted’s second wife was an airhead who Erica had little patience for and she was in no mood to dumb down her inquiries.
Ted’s voicemail filled her ear.
“Hi, Ted, it’s Erica Mitchell and I was wondering if you could give me a quick call.” She paused, a shiver snaking down her spine as she looked at Whitney’s picture again. “It’s about Jordan.”
36
AVA
Ava glanced down the hallway toward Carly’s closed bedroom door as she moved between her closet and bathroom while she got ready for work, an unsettling question looping in her mind since Sunday morning when her daughter saw that Whitney was dead.
What did Carly mean when she said Whitney wasn’t supposed to die? Ava slid a simple silver hoop into her earlobe with her good hand as she turned the odd statement over in her head like a coin she was about to toss, puzzling over the words, which no matter how many times she repeated them, she couldn’t make any of it make sense.
Adding to her unease had been Carly’s demeanor the past few days, vacillating between moodiness—flinching at the slightest noise, ready to dissolve into tears if you so much as glanced at her—to wandering around the house in a daze, staring off into space, unintelligible whispers slipping past her lips.
The details of what happened to Whitney were still scant, though sinister theories abounded, if the torrent of social media posts she’d seen were any indication. Whitney had been kidnapped from her house by a sex offender who’d murdered her after assaulting her. She’d willingly gone off with someone she knew, probably a secret boyfriend who snapped and killed her. Some had even speculated it was a jealous classmate. Around town, pink fliers with screams of a reward had started to fill up community boards in search of tips on the murder. The school had sent a few verging-on-hysteria emails about increasing police patrols and beefing up internal security around campus, measures Ava didn’t quite understand, since the murder didn’t take place on school grounds. Of course, if someone was knocking off East Lake Forest students, perhaps the moves did make sense.
The only certain thing was that Whitney Dean had been savagely murdered, found face down in a patch of black-eyed Susans in Middlefork Preserve.
And the murderer was still out there.
She’d finally settled on sending Lauren a hasty text on Sunday night, followed by a lengthy, heartfelt condolence card and the requisite flowers. She’d dropped by the house yesterday, bearing a candle, as she had never been a casserole person. She’d decided not to share that she’d been in the ER when Whitney was brought in, that she’d been mere feet from Lauren’s dying daughter. Ava couldn’t see what solace the information would have brought the woman, who was indeed inconsolable, wavering between spontaneous crying jags and stony, distracted silence. Ava spent a half hour sitting with her friend, but she doubted Lauren remembered much about that day or any span of time since her daughter’s murder.
