All Eyes on Us, page 22
“Agreed.”
We both stare at the list on the computer screen. Carter’s parents, Amanda’s parents. Six friends. Paulina. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something. Something obvious, something we should be able to see. But I can’t figure out what, and clearly, neither can Amanda. She closes her screen.
“Now what?” she asks.
“Now we hope your PI guy can deliver.” I glance at the clock on her wall. It’s after eight already. “I have to get home.”
Amanda walks me to the front door and hands me my coat.
“How are you getting there?”
“Bus.”
She frowns. “You walked from the stop? I’ll drive you.”
“That’s not—” a good idea, I start to say. Who knows who might be watching, and what they’d think about Amanda and me together.
“I’m just taking you to the bus stop, not to Culver Ridge. Relax.”
I relent and follow her into the garage. She drives a BMW. Of course she does. I pull my snow hat down low and sink into the passenger’s seat as we drive.
“I’ll email you,” she says finally, when we’re pulling up to the stop. “When I hear something from the PI.”
I don’t tell her I don’t have internet at home. That my phone is my lifeline.
“Right. I’ll watch my inbox.”
“Want to wait in the car until the bus comes?” she asks. “It’s pretty cold.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” But I don’t get out of the car right away. We sit in her BMW and stare at each other for a minute that stretches into two. I don’t feel much closer to solving this thing than I did yesterday, but I do feel better somehow. When this is all over, I’m going to move my life forward. We have a few possible leads. And Amanda’s not heartless. She’s just a girl whose entire future is on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. We’re the same.
I get out of her car, and before she drives away, she waves.
Knowing the Kellys have a PI on the case gives me a tiny glimmer of hope. But as I wait for the bus, my thoughts turn again to Paulina. More than anything else, my mind keeps going back to one thing—those pictures in the clearing. Pau couldn’t have taken them; she was in them. But she could have set it up so easily. The clearing was a perfect spot, untouchable. All this time, I’ve been thinking somebody followed us there. But what if my triangle is really a square, and Pau showed Trina exactly where to go.
27
AMANDA
SATURDAY, JANUARY 20
First thing Saturday morning, Dad and I drive to a sad row of shops along the side of a two-lane highway about ten miles outside Logansville. After the police station fiasco, I resolved to keep my parents in the loop. I told them about Rosalie’s phone as soon as they got home from Taviani’s last night, and they agreed we should call Nathaniel Krausse right away. My mother’s face went dark at the mention of Rosalie, but in the end she agreed. Her phone is our best bet.
The “agency” is an unmarked storefront with green, dust-caked Venetian blinds drawn tight across the window. I’m sure a low profile is part of the whole PI deal, but the sight of his office doesn’t instill a whole lot of confidence. He sounded capable enough on the phone last night, though. Smart, measured. He made no promises, but said he could work with the texts on Rosalie’s phone. That it might be possible to unlock the disguised number, depending on how the ID had been blocked.
Before Dad and I have even reached the front door, a middle-aged man in jogging sweats and glasses that look like they’ve survived since the eighties is ushering us inside. I guess PI Krausse doesn’t put a lot of stock in dressing for success. Regardless, my dad seems to trust him, so I decide to trust him too. It’s not like I have any better options.
The meeting takes under five minutes. We step inside, I hand over the phone, and he tells us he’ll be in touch when he has something. It’s basically exactly how I’d imagined my trip to the Logansville police would go.
“She needs that back,” I say. “So don’t delete any of her photos or anything.”
“Of course not.”
“How soon will you have something?”
He shrugs. “Depends on what I find. I’ll be in touch.”
I want to press him further, but Dad steers me back to the car.
“Let him do his job, Amanda. We’re paying top dollar. We’ll hear from him.”
I must cringe at the words top dollar because Dad gives my shoulder a squeeze. “It’s okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”
• • •
I spend the rest of the day making a final round of fund-raising calls on my mother’s phone while she ties up the landline. Every time she takes a break, I tense up, ready to pounce in case Officer Lu tries me again, but the kitchen phone doesn’t ring. Maybe she has the weekend off.
Just after noon, my new phone arrives via Saturday Express Delivery, and I take it upstairs to charge. My new number will be going to a very select list; if Private plans to continue his reign of terror, he’s going to have to find another way to reach me.
At six, it is finally determined that my donor outreach skills have been sufficiently tapped, and I am released to the Sunny Side with Trina and Adele. When we get there, Bronson and Alexander are already inside, holding down our corner booth.
“New number,” I announce. Everyone pulls out their phones to key it in. “Delete the old one, phone bit the dust. And don’t give it out. To anyone, okay?”
“Huh?” Bronson asks.
“I was getting some weird texts,” I explain. I raise my eyebrows at Adele and Trina to keep quiet. “I don’t want my new number getting around.”
As my friends enter me into their contacts, my stomach does a flip-flop. After making that list with Rosalie last night, everyone seems just a little suspicious. Our waitress drops off a stack of menus, and I page through mine without really looking.
“Where’s Graham?” Adele asks. “Not that I care.”
“With Ben, I guess,” Bronson says. “They should be here soon. Car’s in the shop again.”
I draw in a breath. How did I miss that? “Since when?”
“Since Monday.” Adele looks up from her menu. “I’m starving. Has anyone tried the turkey burger?”
“Since Monday?” I ask at the same time Alexander says, “Go for a real burger. Live a little.”
I stare at the four of them, poring over their menus like nothing unusual is happening. Ben’s car has been in the shop since Monday? As in the day of the accident. Why am I just hearing about this now? Finally, Trina looks up and meets my eye.
“Yeah, I guess he’s still having problems with the brakes. Same old shit.”
“He never came to the hospital that night, remember, Mandy?” Adele raises her arm to flag down our waitress. “He spent like all Tuesday apologizing. He was stuck in the shop, then he couldn’t get a ride out to Mercy ’cause we were all there already. Remember?”
“I wasn’t in school on Tuesday. Remember?” There’s a bite to my words I immediately wish I could take back. I’ve been keeping my friends deliberately out of the loop for days. This isn’t Adele’s fault.
She shrugs it off. “It’s been a weird week. Anyway, now you know, Ben’s having car trouble, yet again. It’s not exactly breaking news.” She turns her attention to our waitress, who is standing in front of us with her order pad and a smile. “I’ll have the turkey burger, with cheddar and tomato, no onion. And a salad instead of fries.”
“You want ranch or the vinaigrette?”
“Both, on the side.”
When it’s my turn, I can barely focus enough to order a Diet Coke. I have zero appetite. Except for Trina, who was legitimately out of town on a family ski trip, everyone was at the hospital the night of Carter’s accident. Except for Ben.
Just as I’m about to excuse myself to run to the bathroom and email Rosalie, the diner door swings open, and Graham and Ben walk in, grinning and punching each other’s arms. Like nothing fucked up is happening. All the goodwill I’ve been feeling toward Ben lately evaporates.
I stare at him, hard. Adele said Carter was out with the guys the night they met Rosalie. Did they all exchange numbers back in August? If Ben is Private, that would explain how he got Rosalie’s number.
My mind starts reeling. Carter has always been so nice to Ben. Totally big-hearted in that way that just seems to come to him naturally. He’s always made me feel like a mean girl around Ben, but what if Carter’s been entirely too trusting . . . ? Rosalie’s words from last night come flooding back: Maybe he’s jealous of Carter? Messing with his relationships would bring him down a notch. And Carter’s probably not playing lacrosse anytime soon.
They scoot into our booth, Graham next to me, and Ben on the end. I turn to face him, and I know my words are going to be sharp as glass.
“Heard your car’s in the shop. Brake trouble?”
He cringes. “Yeah, again. Sucks.”
“And where do the Gallaghers get their auto work done? The Kellys are a take-it-to-the-dealer family, but let me guess, you’re a Pep Boys kind of guy?” I sound like my mother, and for once, I don’t even care. If Ben hit Carter, he doesn’t deserve anything close to nice.
Ben swallows, glancing around for our waitress, or maybe an escape. “We go to Mike Parker’s dad.”
“Supporting local business. Very admirable.” My voice is cold, steady. For the first time in days, I’m one hundred percent in control. Everyone else shuts up and stares. “So if I swing by the Parkers’ shop, they’d tell me your car was in for brake trouble. And nothing else?”
Ben doesn’t say anything. He stares at the table.
“What the hell, Amanda?” Graham is looking at me like I might be the unbalanced one. “What are you getting at?”
“Let him answer,” I snap.
Ben finally looks up. “Needed some body work too. Nothing major, but they’re still waiting for a part.”
“The front bumper, perhaps? A headlight out?”
“Does someone want to tell me what the crap is going on?” Adele looks to Ben, then me, then Graham.
“I think,” Graham says slowly, “that Amanda might want to think twice about what she’s insinuating, before she says something she doesn’t mean.”
Adele sucks in her breath.
“Everybody out.” Before I can tell Graham I know exactly what I’m saying, Trina is ushering Adele and me along the booth cushions until the three of us are standing. She turns to Adele. “You, stay here. Amanda is coming with me.”
She takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. Our waitress gives us a puzzled look as we disappear outside.
“What?” I spit.
“You need to chill. What is this about?”
I eye Trina sharply. I’d rather be talking to Rosalie; she’s the only one who would get it. But for now, Trina will have to do.
“You don’t think it’s a little too coincidental? First, Ben doesn’t show up at the hospital when one of his best friends gets hit by a runaway driver. Then, we learn he wasn’t there because while the rest of us were worried about Carter, he was taking his car into the shop to get the brakes and front bumper fixed?”
“He didn’t say it was the bumper.”
“I will bet you any money, Trina. Ben Gallagher is a coward. He hit Carter, and now he’s trying to cover it up.”
Trina slouches back against the front of the diner and tilts her head toward the sky. “Ben’s car is always in the shop. It doesn’t seem so strange to me.”
“You don’t think he was acting weird just now? You saw how he could barely answer my questions.”
“Probably because he felt like he was on trial! Jesus. You know Ben’s sensitive about money. That whole ‘my family takes our car to the dealer’ stuff? You triggered him, big time.”
I need a new tactic. I stare at Trina until she sighs and looks me in the eye.
“Have you ever lent Ben Gallagher your camera?” I ask.
“This again?”
“I’m serious, Trina, think. The week you took those photos of Carter and Rosalie at the gallery. Did Ben use your camera, or did you leave it alone with him?”
“Maybe,” she says slowly. “We do have English and calc together. Maybe we went to the diner that Friday; I would have had it at the booth. If I remembered anything, I would tell you.”
I press my lips together tight. Either Trina really doesn’t remember, or she knows more than she’s willing to admit. I watch her face closely, but it remains blank.
“Forget the camera,” I say finally. “Think about the accident. Ben was at practice on Monday; he knew Carter was going to CVS. I’m not saying it was on purpose, but Ben would have been on that road. His brakes went out. The snow was coming down. He swerved onto the sidewalk, and he hit Carter. Then he freaked, turned around, drove off, went to the diner to meet up with Graham and Bronson for a bit, perfect alibi. At the hospital, Bronson said that Ben arrived late and left before Adele texted everyone. But we know he didn’t go home, right? He lied. He was taking his car to the shop.”
As I say the words out loud, they transform from theory to fact. I’m dead sure of it. The only difference between what I tell Trina and what I know in my heart is that it was on purpose. Even yesterday, I didn’t believe it could be Ben behind the texts, the threats, the hit-and-run. But maybe I’ve been giving Ben way too much credit. Or, not nearly enough. Rosalie’s words ring loud inside my ears: It doesn’t take a lot of guts to send anonymous threats. People will say anything behind the safety of a screen. And maybe they’ll do anything behind the safety of a windshield and a snowstorm too.
For a minute, Trina doesn’t say anything. Finally, she breaks my stare. “I suppose it is possible,” she admits. “Ben could have copied my memory card. It could have been him behind the wheel. But, Amanda, the roads by the high school aren’t exactly untraveled. It could also have been a lot of other people.”
“During the middle of a snowstorm? On a school holiday, when the athletes were the only kids there and practice had already let out? How many cars would have been on the road, really, Trina?”
“All I’m saying is, don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Fine.” But it’s too late. Trina doesn’t know half of the full story, and I’m not jumping to anything. I’m finally seeing what’s been staring me in the face for weeks. The truth.
I shove back inside the diner and toss a couple dollars on the table for my untouched pop. Trina follows me over to our booth.
“I’m going home. Everyone have a nice night.” I grab my bag and coat.
“Amanda—” Ben starts to speak, but I don’t let him finish. I’ve heard enough.
“Let her go,” Trina says. She starts to say something else, but I don’t stick around to find out what. I have to get home, email Rosalie, call PI Krausse. It’s time to unmask Private.
28
ROSALIE
SUNDAY, JANUARY 21
I bike hard from God’s Grace to Bracken Hollow, the burn in my calves and thighs spurring me on, driving me to pedal faster. I need to get to the library early, before the start of my shift. I need to check my email, something I haven’t been able to do all weekend. I can’t stop thinking about the screen shots Amanda showed me Friday night. It didn’t hit me until I’d gotten off the bus. In at least four of the texts, Private called her Princess.
Which is exactly what Pau’s always called her. Princess Amanda.
I don’t want the PI to tell me my worst fears are true. But I have to know.
I pedal harder.
At the library, I wave to Marge, then head straight for an open computer station. I draw in a deep breath as my email loads. There’s a new message from Amanda, from late last night.
Subject: Private
From: Amanda Kelly
To: me
Rosalie!!!
PRIVATE IS BEN GALLAGHER. He was the hit-and-run driver. I have evidence.
We also got another update. Two group messages from this afternoon, to you and my old number. PI Krausse screen-shot them for me:
Your time is running out, ladies.
You need to focus. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.
You both know what you have to do. If either one of you lets the hourglass run dry, there will be blood.
Now that I know it’s Ben writing that crap, I want to strangle him. You were right, Friday night. He’s jealous. He’s trying to bring Carter down, and us along with him. You actually met him the same night you met Carter. Picture all the guys Carter was with. Ben was the tall, awkward one.
This thing is almost over. I can taste it. I’m onto Ben, and now so is PI Krausse.
Take care, Rosalie. For real. Maybe don’t go out alone, okay?
I’ll be in touch.
—Amanda
I close the email and exhale. I don’t know what evidence Amanda has about the hit-and-run, but every molecule in my body vibrates with the hope that she’s right. That all my suspicions about Paulina have been completely in my head. What if it was never a square, or a triangle either? What if it’s just Ben?
I press my eyes closed and try to let myself believe it. If it’s true, by Carter’s birthday, Ben Gallagher will be in handcuffs. I do remember him from that night. The guy Elissa knew from leadership camp. He seemed . . . nice.
I run my palms back and forth across the tops of my jeans and try to get myself together. If Ben is Private, if PI Krausse is on the case, that solves half of my problems. But when Carter gets out of the hospital, my parents will expect to see him. They’ll expect everything to pick up where it left off. And that’s not going to happen. Not with Carter, not with any other boy. Never again.
I know in my heart I can’t go back, make those choices all over again. Can’t do that to Carter, or Amanda, or Paulina. Or most of all, myself. In the end, Pau was right. Graduation is a long time away. And four and a half more months is too much of my life to give to the Fellowship.
I touch the ring on my finger, spin the silver band around and around. In the twelve days I’ve been wearing it, I almost got used to its presence. How my parents think it’s a promise I’ve made about Carter. How it’s another lie. I slip it off and into my pocket.
