Deadly Cool (24 page)

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You kept asking questions, digging in where you didn’t belong. I tried to reassure Kaylee that our plan was foolproof, but the more you nosed around, the more nervous she got. And then she started to question whether we had done the right thing. She was scared and wanted to go to the police. She wanted to confess everything.” She shook her head. “What a waste. And it’s all your fault!”

“
My
fault?
You
killed her.”

“Why did you have to be so nosy? What did you care, anyway? I mean, what did you care if Josh went to jail? The guy cheated on you.”

“Yes, I’m aware, thanks.” Geez, did everyone have to keep pointing that out? “So, you killed Kaylee?”

She nodded, slowly. “I had to,” she repeated. “I overheard you saying that you were meeting a witness at night on the football field. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to take care of both of you. Kaylee needed to be shut up, and if you were the one to find the body, well, I thought maybe it would scare you off. Make you quit poking your nose where it didn’t belong.”

“Uh-huh.” I rubbed the tape at my wrists against the edge, feeling it slowly bite into the tape. Not exactly an instant escape, but if I kept rubbing . . . “Go on,” I prompted.

“Well,” Caitlyn continued, “I told Kaylee to meet me out there at quarter to midnight. I told her I agreed that we had to go to the police, but we needed to get our stories straight first. That we’d confess to you, and go straight to the police afterward. Poor thing totally believed me.” She shook her head as if she really did feel sorry for Kaylee. “She never even saw it coming. I snuck up behind her, whacked her over the head with a rock, and down she went. Quick and painless.”

Yeah, except for the whole being-dead part.

“And you left her there as a threat to me?”

She nodded. “I hoped it would scare some sense into you, and you’d mind your own business.”

“But I didn’t.”

She glared at me. “No, you didn’t. You asked too many questions. And sooner or later you were going to ask the right one of the right person. And that’s why you have to die, too.”

Even though I’d been pretty sure she wasn’t just going to let me go, hearing her say the words out loud sent a chill up my spine.

“I’m not the only one who knows it was you,” I said, hoping I could convince her that the secret didn’t die with me.

“Oh really?” she put her hands on her hips.

“Chase saw your car in the photos. He knows it was parked on Josh’s street the day of the murder.”

She shrugged. “A car on the street is hardly proof that I killed anyone. Lots of people were parked there that day. Josh. You. Chase.”

Good point. “And Andi Brackenridge has video of you. She was going to show it to me tonight.”

She grinned, showing off all five hundred of her teeth again.

And I felt the pieces click into place once more. “Andi doesn’t have video, does she?”

Caitlyn shook her head very slowly.

“And she didn’t send me that text today, did she?”

Again with the head shake.

“You did.”

She nodded.

“So that you could trap me, strangle me, knock me over the head, and tie me up.”

“Actually, I had only planned on strangling you. But the best laid plans . . .” She shrugged. “I had to improvise a little.”

“What about the hoodie?” I asked, doing anything I could to stall her. I rubbed furiously behind my back, almost not even caring if she saw me now. I could feel the tape ripping, the fabric becoming thinner and thinner. If I could just keep her talking a little bit longer . . . “Shiloh Jackson said she saw Chase’s black hoodie with a purple eagle on it in the window of Josh’s bedroom right before Courtney was killed.”

She cocked her head. “You mean
my
black hoodie with a purple
butterfly
on it?”

Mental face palm. So Shiloh hadn’t been lying; she’d just seen what she wanted to see in that window. I suddenly felt so stupid for having doubted Chase. If I ever got out of here, I was going to spend the rest of high school making it up to him.

If.

“So, what are you going to do now?” I asked. Even though a sneak preview of my own death wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time, I needed a few more seconds before I could get my hands free.

“Now, there’s going to be a terrible accident,” Caitlyn said, looking as if she almost believed her own story. “There’s going to be a fire. In the band room. With the ancient wiring in these rickety old portables, it was bound to happen sometime. And, as they clear the wreckage, they’ll find a body among the ruins.”

Sweat traveled down my spine. “Mine?” I asked.

She nodded. “Horrible tragedy that you just happened to be investigating in the band room when it went up in flames.” She pulled a lighter out of her backpack. “Fire is the perfect way to cover evidence. Especially once the firefighters blast their hoses all over the scene.”

“You’ll never get away with it,” I said, realizing I sounded frighteningly like a character in a
Scooby-Doo
episode.

She shrugged. “Josh is in custody. You’re about to die. I already have gotten away with it.”

She had a point.

And, I noticed as she reached into her purse, she also had a can of lighter fluid.

I watched in horror as she uncapped the can and poured the acrid liquid on the floor. With slow, methodical movements, she started to walk around the room, liberally dosing the area by the door, then spraying the wooden instrument cabinets.

“You’re really serious?” I asked, feeling adrenaline build up in my chest as she created a path of lighter fluid that led right to me.

She looked hurt. “Of course I’m serious. Why doesn’t anyone ever take Color Guard girls seriously?”

That was a loaded question I was way too preoccupied to properly answer at the moment.

“You can’t do this,” I sputtered.

“I already am.”

“Your plan is flawed,” I said, desperately buying time.

She paused. Cocked her head. “How so?”

“There is one thing you didn’t count on,” I said, feeling the last of my bonds finally give way.

She scrunched up her adorable little swollen nose. “What?”

“A broken music stand,” I said.

A wrinkle nestled between her eyebrows. “A what?”

I took her moment of confusion to act. It was now or never. I took a deep breath, then launched myself forward, tearing my hands apart with a loud rip as the last of the duct tape gave way.

I tackled her from the front, knocking her back onto her butt, the can flying from her hand to hit the far wall.

“Uhn.” Caitlyn’s head hit the floor, smacking loudly against the linoleum.

But she wasn’t dazed for long. She reached both hands up and grabbed a handful of my hair, tugging.

I screamed, my head following where she tugged, flipping me off her and down onto the floor beside her. I reached out, smacking indiscriminately in the direction of her face. I felt a couple slaps connect, but it didn’t loosen her grip on my hair any.

“Let. Go,” I said through gritted teeth, my scalp on fire.

“Stop hitting me,” she responded, ducking as I connected with her cheek.

No way. I was fighting for dear life. If I lost, I was toast. Literally, if Caitlyn had her way.

We both tugged, slapped, and punched, hoping the other one would say “uncle.” And I felt myself losing the upper hand my momentary element of surprise had gained. Apparently carrying those tall flags around had made Caitlyn’s arms crazy strong. She was winning.

I struggled against her, kicking with my legs. One foot connected with the rack of clarinets, sending a spray of wind instruments raining down on us. One thunked me in the head, knocking my headache into migraine territory.

A couple hit Caitlyn on the shoulder, causing her to lose her grip and roll to the right.

“My hair beads!” she screamed, as little purple hearts scattered across the floor. “That’s it—now you’re going to pay.”

Uh-oh.

Caitlyn lunged forward and grabbed my upper arm, dragging me to my feet and slamming me into the back wall.

I felt my teeth rattle as the jolt echoed through my body. It stunned me for a moment, but I quickly recovered, diving forward toward her.

Unfortunately, as I lunged at Caitlyn, I also knocked into a rack of French horns. They came tumbling down, hitting a tuba propped up against the wall beside the rack, and clattering to the floor.

And, even more horrible, creating a spark.

I watched in horror as the spark hit a puddle of lighter fluid on the floor, instantly erupting it into a live flame. Which spread like a dynamite line across the back wall, down the center of the room, through the woodwind section, and into a pile of sheet music that instantly went up in flames, throwing Bach, Beethoven, and Sousa around the room in a whoosh of glowing flames.

I blinked.

So
not good.

Caitlyn jumped back from the flaming sheet music. I could see her mental wheels turning. Not exactly as she had planned, but improvisation seemed to be working for her. Especially since she was on the side of the room nearest the door and I was on the side nearest a growing wall of fire.

Caitlyn looked from me to the door. She shrugged. “Sorry, Hartley,” she said.

And before I could even protest, Caitlyn had slipped out the door to freedom.

And I was alone. In a flaming band room. With the exit blocked.

Miss Dumb Luck strikes again.

My head whipped around wildly, looking for any possible escape route. Windows? Not allowed in portables. Cracks in the walls? I scooted as far back into the only gasless corner that I could, feeling the heat from the flames creating a sunburn effect on my cheeks. I was slowly roasting like a pig. I pushed on the walls. Solid. No cracks, no holes, no way to get out.

And the flames were growing, backing me into a corner.

I fought down the urge to cry like a baby, instead feeling my way along the wall for any possible place to hide from the inferno intent on roasting me alive. My fingers explored the wall behind me as I slunk to the left, one eye on the flames. Unfortunately, the only thing they came upon was a pile of pom-poms stacked in the corner. For lack of a better plan, I grabbed one and threw it into the fire licking at my feet. It made a sizzling sound, turning the flames to blue and purple, setting off a noxious smell. But it slowed their progress toward me.

I quickly grabbed another pom-pom and tossed it. It wasn’t putting the fire out, but it was buying me time.

“Help!” I screamed, my voice quickly gobbled up by the crackling flames. “Help me! I’m in here!” I yelled again. Not that I had much hope of anyone hearing me. I’d seen for myself just how deserted the campus was. But I was out of other options.

“Heeeeeeeelp!” I yelled again, throwing another pom-pom onto the fire.

My voice was hoarse by the time I got down to the last pom-pom, and my skin was turning a bright red. Flames pushed closer, showing no sign of mercy.

This was it. The end of the road. I never thought this was the way I would go. Honestly, I never put much thought into going at all. Going was something old people did. Not sixteen-year-olds. Only here I was. Sixteen, and going like a marshmallow at a campfire.

Those tears got the better of me, sliding silently down my cheeks as I thought of Mom. She was going to be so pissed when she found out I’d snuck out to my death. I pictured Raley giving her the news, his fatherly face drawn in concern. I pictured Sam when she heard about her best friend being barbecued. What would she say? What about the other students at HHH? Would Ms. Bessie be overrun with the grief stricken, or would they spend a day wearing designer armbands, then go about their business as if I’d never existed?

And what about Chase?

Funny that I would think of him at a time like this. I’d only just met him—it wasn’t like he had played a big role in my life.

But I did. I thought of him and the regret I felt for thinking he could be a killer. For the hurt I’d seen in his eyes that day. For rummaging through his room. For not letting him finish his striptease before I popped out from under his bed.

In fact, I was thinking so much of Chase, that I almost thought I saw him. I was clearly hallucinating, the toxic fumes from the melting pom-poms finally hitting my brain. I hallucinated his shape through the haze of smoke choking the room: the flames licking at the corners of my vision as I watched my hallucination leap over a pile of burning clarinets, his form covered in a wet cape, hands reaching through the last of the flaming pom-poms toward me.

Then they grabbed me around the shoulders.

Wow, this was one strong hallucination.

“Hartley!” he yelled at me.

I blinked through the smoke and my own hazy brain. “Chase?”

“Hold on to me.”

I did, grabbing the wet hand that reached out toward me.

A second later the wet cloak was around my shoulders, too, and Chase was dragging me back through the flames out toward the door. A second later, the heat of the flaming room gave way to a slap of cold air on my cheeks, the wet cloak falling to the ground. Me with it.

“Hart? Hartley, talk to me. Are you okay?” Chase said, leaning over me.

I looked up into his face. I put a hand out and touched the fine stubble on his cheek. What do you know—he was actually real.

“Say something,” he choked out, his eyebrows drawn into a tight line.

“Something.”

He let out a sound that might have been a sigh or a sob, I wasn’t quite sure. He reached down and hugged me to him even more fiercely than Mom ever had.

Then he did something totally unexpected, which made me once again wonder if I was hallucinating.

He kissed me.

His lips covered mine softly and slowly, tasting like coffee and peppermint gum.

I experienced one full second of heaven.

Then I promptly passed out.

TWENTY-THREE

I WOKE UP, LYING ON A STRETCHER. NOT THAT I COULD SEE
it, but from my vantage point—staring up at the dark sky, an EMT taking my blood pressure and my head strapped to a rigid wooden board—I surmised I was on a stretcher. Brilliant, no?