Call Me Grim (16 page)

Now I remember why Aaron’s name sounded familiar to me. A few years ago, I went to a sleepover with Haley and a few other girls in our class. True to preteen form, we spent half the night sitting in a tight circle on our sleeping bags telling scary stories.

We all were supposed to tell one. I made mine up as I went—something about a babysitter and a one-eyed killer with hooks for hands—but Salma Byrd (this was before she was too cool to talk to us) told the scariest story of all. It was the scariest because it was true and it happened in Carroll Falls. She knew it was true because her Grandpop told her it was and to our twelve-year-old minds, that was all the proof we needed.

I don’t remember the details of Salma’s story, but what I do remember seems far-fetched now. She said Aaron killed his parents because they made him eat broccoli and he hated broccoli, and her description of the murders was chock full of unrealistic gore, of course. But I definitely remember that his little sister watched the murders and went crazy. And I remember the song.

After the story was over, Salma sang a song that went along with the story. I remember the last creepy lines as if she were whispering them in my ear now:

Some say he still roams Carroll Falls, even if he has departed.

Looking in windows for his sister, hoping to finish what he started.

For a month after that party, I slept with my closet light on and my shades drawn tight, convinced the boy in the story would look in my window and mistake me for his sister.

It’s sort of funny now. Aaron does still roam Carroll Falls, but not for the reasons the song says. Sometimes, I guess, the truth really is stranger than fiction.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, nodding. “I’ve heard that story. Seriously creepy. But if it isn’t true, then what happened?”

“I don’t know much.” Mrs. Lutz shrugs as she pushes a chunk of chocolate around the bottom of her bowl with her spoon. “All I can say is I knew Aaron and his family. And from what I knew of them, Aaron didn’t kill anyone. It’s a lie.”

Ugh. We’re back to that again? How can I get her to stop saying “It’s all a lie” and “Aaron didn’t kill anyone” and start really talking?

“You knew his family? How did you know them?”

“I grew up next door to the Shepherds. Actually, I still own that old house. I couldn’t bear to sell it.” Mrs. Lutz wipes her mouth with a paper napkin and then stuffs it in her empty dish. “Aaron was my first boyfriend, you know. He was my first kiss.”

I almost choke on my ice cream. Aaron dated Mrs. Lutz? And he kissed her? Ew. He’s so hot and she’s so…old. And well, she may be a little pretty when she smiles, but even without the crack in her soul, she’s what my grandma calls a “handsome woman.” I swallow my ice cream down and pray Mrs. Lutz didn’t notice my instant reaction.

“It’s okay,” she says and actually chuckles. So much for not noticing. “I imagine it’s hard for you to picture me as a young girl, but I was actually a bit of a hottie back then. I had quite the pair of…” She holds her hands out in front of her chest and winks. “Well, you know.”

All I can do is nod. I’m afraid that no matter what I say, I’ll jam my foot in my mouth the moment the words leave my lips. I clear my throat and take a few sips of soda before I continue.

“So, what do you know about the murders, Mrs. Lutz?” I say. “The real story.”

“My father was the sheriff at the time, so I heard bits and pieces from him.” She studies her folded hands. “He said some partiers found Mr. Shepherd’s body around two that night. On the rocks under Carroll Falls Bridge. Almost every bone in Mr. Shepherd’s body was broken. At first, my father thought he was just another Jumpers’ Bridge suicide, until he went to their house to break the news to Mrs. Shepherd. That’s when he found her, beaten and dead, on their living room floor.”

Chill bumps raise on Mrs. Lutz’s bear arms and she slides her hands up and down over them. I’m actually a little hot with the sun beating on us through the window, but I have a feeling it’s not the temperature that’s giving Mrs. Lutz gooseflesh.

“My father found Sara curled up in the hallway closet, muttering to herself. He could hardly understand her, but he was able to make out two things: ‘Aaron did it’ and ‘I’m so scared.’”

“How old was Sara when this happened?” I say as I cross my arms over my middle and rub away my own chill bumps.

“Eight. Maybe nine.”

Max’s age.

“I have to tell you,” I say with a nervous laugh. “You’re doing a terrible job of convincing me that story is a lie. Honestly, it sounds like an open and shut case to me.”

Mrs. Lutz flinches before she says, “I know it sounds bad, but you didn’t know them. You didn’t know
him
.”

“That may be true.” I stir the remaining ice cream in the bottom of the dish and hope Mrs. Lutz didn’t hear the lie in my voice. “But what’s there to know that would make that sound any better?”

“Well, first of all, Aaron could never have done something like that. Ever. I am so tired of the gossips in this town painting him as a monster. He wasn’t a monster. He was kind and thoughtful and always did what he thought was right.” Her voice trails off as she gazes at her hands. She clears her throat. “And second, Sara didn’t go crazy. She may be a touch eccentric, but not crazy. She was always a quiet girl, so when she lost both her parents and her half-brother, she withdrew into herself and shut out the rest of the world for a while.” Mrs. Lutz meets my eyes for the first time since she started telling this story. “You know, you’d probably like her, Libbi. She’s an incredibly talented artist, just like you. One of her paintings hangs above the librarian’s desk in the school library.”

“The one with the apples?” I ask, flabbergasted. “Aaron’s sister did that? I love that painting. It’s so raw. So emotional.”

Mrs. Lutz nods and watches me closely. “Sara may be a little socially awkward, but she can certainly communicate with a paintbrush.”

“Ms. Weese said that was painted by a local artist. Does that mean Sara’s still in town?” I ask, more shocked than I probably should be.

“Yeah. Well, sort of. She lives about a mile outside of town with a menagerie of animals.” Mrs. Lutz smiles fondly. “I visit her sometimes.”

“Is she married? Does she have kids?” My forgotten sundae has melted into ice cream soup in front of me, but I don’t care. I’ve turned into a fangirl.

“No, she lives alone. Well, except for the zoo. Like I said, Sara has always been a bit on the odd side. It just got worse after—well, you know.” She twists the rings on her left hand around and around her finger. “But it didn’t matter to Aaron if she was strange. He adored her. Even if he
had
killed his mother and stepfather, which he didn’t, I know he wouldn’t have left Sara alone like that. He loved her too much.”

Mrs. Lutz folds her arms over her chest like she’s presented an airtight alibi for Aaron.

“I get that he loved his sister.” I pause and study her, unsure of how she’ll take what I’m about to say. “But I don’t understand why you’re so convinced Aaron didn’t kill them. It seems obvious to me he did it. What makes you so positive he’s innocent?”

“I just know.” She smiles like that’s all she’s willing to give me and all I need to know. “So, enough of my story, tell me what gossip you’ve heard about him. I’m curious to see how the story has changed over the years.” She sips her soda and raises her drawn-on eyebrows expectantly.

I’d rather not regurgitate the horrible story Salma told us. Given how adamant Mrs. Lutz is that Aaron’s innocent, she probably won’t take it well. But her direct stare says she’s done talking, and the only way to keep this conversation going is if I spill what I know. So I do.

I tell her the bits of Salma’s story that I remember, including the over-the-top gore and the dumb reason she said Aaron did it. The more I say, the more horrified Mrs. Lutz’s face becomes. Halfway through my sucky rendition of the eerie song, she raises her hands and tells me to stop.

“That is ridiculous! They have a song about it now? Really?” Mrs. Lutz shakes her head in disgust. “I can’t believe it. People who didn’t even know him.” Her cheeks flush crimson. “And they say he killed his mother and stepfather over broccoli, of all things. Come on! He didn’t kill anyone. He wasn’t even there—”

Mrs. Lutz stops talking. Her face goes white, making the dark line of her mark stand out in contrast—a jagged, black scar.

“How do you know he wasn’t there?” I say, when she doesn’t continue.

She bites her lower lip and her fingers spin her rings so fast I’m afraid the friction might start a fire. Then she stops. She stops spinning her rings and biting her lip and she leans close to me. Her face a mere inches from mine. I can smell the sweet mint and chocolate on her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” She sneaks a peek over her shoulder. “If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it quiet? Because you can’t talk about this to anyone, Libbi.” She grabs my hand and crushes it in her grip. “No one. Promise me you’ll keep this between us. No matter what.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, forcing myself not to yank my hand out of her sweaty grasp.

“I need to hear you promise me,” she whispers, her eyes glued on mine.

“Okay. I promise. Cross my heart.” I draw an
X
across my chest for good measure.

“Because if you talk, I’ll deny everything.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

She closes her eyes and bows her head, her forehead less than an inch from mine. She stays like that for a while, and I’m about to say something to get her talking again when she finally speaks.

“I know Aaron didn’t kill his parents,” she says so quietly I struggle to hear her above the noise in the busy ice cream shop. “I was with him the night they were murdered.”

“What?” I say so loudly an old woman at the table next to us shoots me a dirty look. I lower my voice. “Why haven’t you told anybody?”

“I would have, but Aaron disappeared the next day and I was scared.” A tear gathers in the corner of her eye. “I was afraid everyone would think I had something to do with it. I’m still afraid of that.”

“But everyone thinks Aaron’s a psychopathic killer.”

“I know.” She glares at me. “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve been listening to that crap for forty years. Not being able to say anything has tortured me. I told myself when he came back I’d back him up. I’d be his alibi, but he never came home. And then I started thinking about Sara and how he’d never leave her alone, and that’s when I knew. I knew he was dead, too.” The tears spill onto her cheeks and make two tracks in her heavy makeup. “And the thing that scares me the most? I think if I had said something, if I had told my father that Aaron was with me that whole night, he would still be alive today. But Aaron is dead, and it’s all my fault.”

The tears flow down her face in miniature streams, and she hiccups a sob. It crosses my mind to pat her shoulder and tell her not to cry, that Aaron is alive and well and waiting at Jumpers’ Bridge, but I think better of it.

“You don’t know he’s dead. And if he
is
, I’m sure it’s not your fault,” I say. “Why would you think it’s your fault?”

“Because my father killed him,” she says to her empty ice cream dish. “After he found poor Sara rocking back and forth in the closet next to her mother’s body, he did his policeman duties and then he came home. The sun was just starting to peek through the trees when he brought me downstairs and sat me at the kitchen table. He told me about Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd and asked me if I saw or knew anything about it. I said no. My father would have been furious if he knew I’d snuck out of the house to be with Aaron. It never crossed my mind that he’d think Aaron was a killer. How could he think that? Aaron wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”

I nod in agreement, which is odd since I know what she just said isn’t true. Aaron admitted it to me himself at Jumpers’ Bridge. But even with his confession fresh in my mind, it’s hard for me to see him as a cold-blooded killer.

“After I told him I didn’t know anything,” Mrs. Lutz continues, “my father stood up, took off his badge, and set it on the table in front of me, and then he left the house. I don’t know for sure—Daddy never talked about it again—but I think he went after him. I think he hunted Aaron down, killed him, and hid the body somewhere no one would ever find it. That’s why Aaron never came home. He wouldn’t leave Sara. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.” The last few words she speaks are so hushed I have to strain to hear them.

“There could be another reason he didn’t come back,” I say, and she shoots me a doubtful glance. “Maybe he was afraid, like you were, and ran.”

“If there’s one thing I know about Aaron Shepherd, it’s that he was no coward.”

That may be true, but since Aaron is alive and well, I know Mrs. Lutz’s father did not kill him. But I can see in the hard set of her eyes that Mrs. Lutz truly believes the opposite. I can understand why she thinks her father killed him. What I don’t understand is how he managed to kill his mother and stepfather if Mrs. Lutz was with him the entire night. Something doesn’t add up. Either Aaron lied to me about the murders, or I’m missing something crucial.

“You said you were with Aaron all night. What were you guys doing?” I try not to cringe as I say it. I don’t want to hear about a make-out session involving Aaron and any other girl, much less Mrs. Lutz.

I expect her to blush, but she doesn’t. Instead her eyes widen and her cheeks pale. Her hands shake as she spins her rings a few times, then she straightens her back, laces her fingers together in front of her, and meets my eyes directly.

“That was forty years ago, Libbi. I don’t remember.” She glares at me. “We weren’t killing his parents, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” I say, glad she can’t read minds. “I’m just trying to understand what happened that night.” And why she has a mark on her soul with no memory of how it got there.

“It was a long time ago. You can’t expect me to remember every detail.”

“I don’t expect you to remember everything. But how can you be so sure Aaron was innocent when you can’t even remember what you did that night?”