Guilty

GUILTY

Norah         
McClintock

ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

Copyright © 2012 Norah McClintock

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

McClintock, Norah
Guilty [electronic resource] / Norah McClintock.

Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN
978-1-55469-992-6 (
PDF
).--
ISBN
978-1-55469-993-3 (
EPUB
)

I. Title.
PS
8575.
C
62
G
83 2012       
JC
813'.54       
C
2011-907709-4

First published in the United States, 2012
Library of Congress Control Number
: 2011943677

Summary
: After Finn's stepmother is allegedly murdered by Lila's father, the two teens must work together to see what is true. And who is guilty.

Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book
on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council
^®
.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Design by Teresa Bubela
Cover image by Getty Images

www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.

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Contents

One FINN

Two LILA

Three FINN

Four LILA

Five FINN

Six LILA

Seven FINN

Eight LILA

Nine FINN

Ten LILA

Eleven FINN

Twelve LILA

Thirteen FINN

Fourteen LILA

Fifteen FINN

Sixteen LILA

Seventeen FINN

Eighteen LILA

Nineteen FINN

Twenty LILA

Twenty-One FINN

Twenty-Two LILA

Twenty-Three FINN

Twenty-Four LILA

Twenty-Five FINN

Twenty-Six FINN

Twenty-Seven LILA

Twenty-Eight FINN

Twenty-Nine FINN

Thirty LILA

Thirty-One FINN

Thirty-Two LILA

Thirty-Three LILA

One

FINN

I
hear my dad bellow, “What do you think you're doing?” But it's Tracie's voice, sharp and shrill, that pulls me away from my computer.

“Robert,” she shrieks. “Do something!”

Robert is my dad, but Tracie is the only one who ever calls him that. To everyone else, he's just Rob.

I go to the window, wondering for the zillionth time how he can stand her. She's always telling him to do something or, better, buy her something, and she does it in a voice that's like a dentist's drill. It's so annoying that you'd do anything to make it stop. I know. I've thought about plenty of ways to shut her up.

I look out the window and see Tracie down in front of the garage. The security light makes ugly shadows on her face. She lies about her age to everyone, and that bright light and those shadows make her look even older than she really is.

She's with my dad, but they aren't alone. There's someone else down there. A man. His back is to me, so I have no idea who he is or what he's doing there. The three of them are just standing in front of the garage—the man with his back to me; Tracie, in the light, her eyes on the man; and my dad, between Tracie and the man.

My dad shouts. It sounds like, “Hey!” Suddenly both he and the man are in motion. My dad lunges at the man. He claws at him, as if he's trying to wrestle something away from him. What's going on? Are they serious, or are they clowning around? Is the man a friend of my dad's? What's he doing here so late?

Tracie shrieks, “Be careful, Robert!” The panic in her voice puts me on full alert. My dad and the man aren't just fooling around. At least, Tracie doesn't seem to think they are. I've decided that maybe I should go down there when:

Blam!

Blam!

I freeze. What the—?

Down below me, Tracie crumples and falls to the ground. My dad turns to look at her. He bellows. He lunges at the man again.

Blam!

Blam!

A second person falls to the ground.

Only my dad is left standing.

I run downstairs and fly out the back door. My dad hears me coming. He spins around. He yells at me, “Call nine-one-one. Call nine-one-one.”

I swing back toward the house, duck inside and grab the cordless phone from the kitchen counter. I make the call. I give our address, our phone number, my name. I answer questions. I promise to stay put.

But I don't.

When I finish the call, I run back outside.

My dad is on his knees beside Tracie. His hand is pressed against the side of her neck.

“Dad?”

When he looks at me, I see astonishment in his eyes.

“I—I think she's dead. I—that man, he—” He can't get the words out. He can't finish his sentence.

“It's okay, Dad,” I say. “I saw what happened.”

My dad doesn't answer. He doesn't move. He must be in shock.

“An ambulance is coming,” I say. “The police too.” I'm just guessing on that, but it's a safe bet. I mean, I told the 9-1-1 operator that two people had been shot.

“Dad, you should come inside and sit down.” I'm afraid if he doesn't, he'll collapse. I take his arm. That's when I finally see the man's face.

“I know him,” I say.

My dad's head whips around.

“I mean, I recognize him. He was here earlier tonight. He asked for you. He must have waited for you to come home. Who is he, Dad?”

My dad doesn't move for a whole minute. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“He's the man who murdered your mother.”

I look down at Tracie. I'm as stunned as my dad about what has just happened. I feel bad for Tracie. I really do, even if I never could stand her. But she's not my mother. She's just some woman my dad married after my mother died.

“I'm talking about Mom, Finn,” my dad says. “That man—he's the one who murdered Mom. Your real mom.”

I look down at the man who lies motionless on the asphalt. I spoke to him earlier when he came to the door asking to see my dad. Now I find out he's the one who shot and killed my mother more than ten years ago?

Two

LILA

I
'm in one hell of a bad mood by the fifth or sixth time the doorbell rings. I knew something was up when he left the apartment after supper. He was acting strange, but when I called him on it, he lied to me. He told me to stop worrying so much, nothing was going to happen, he wasn't going to do anything that would get him into trouble. He told me he had some business to take care of. That was hours ago. It's four in the morning. If he's drunk or, worse, if he's on something, I swear that's it. I'll pack my bags and be out of here. All night I've had the feeling that Aunt Jenny was right. I never should have come here.

The doorbell rings again. I unlatch the door and almost rip it off the hinges when I open it. I'm ready to let him have it.

But it isn't him.

It's a man and a woman, both in suits, both grim-looking. The man shows me his id. He's a cop. Terrific. Three days out—I'm betting that's some kind of record.

“Are you Lila Ouimette?” the woman cop asks.

If she knows enough to ask the question, then she already knows the answer. But I nod anyway.

“Does Louis Ouimette live here?” her partner asks. He says it Lou
-is
, like Louis Armstrong.

“It's Lou-
ee
,” I tell him. “And he's not here. If you find him, do me a favor. Tell him I've gone back to Boston.” Back to Aunt Jenny, who warned me.
I know he's your
father, Lila, but he's been in prison for ten years. That does
things to a man. And before that…

“When was the last time you saw or spoke to your father?” the woman cop asks.

“This morning.” I look at the two cops. “What did he do?”

“Is there anyone else here with you, Ms. Ouimette?” the male cop says, his eyes searching through the open door behind me. I feel ashamed at what they're seeing—the shabby ground-floor apartment in a tiny run-down house that is almost more than we can afford. It's nothing like what I'm used to.

“No. I'm here alone. Why?” Something in the way he asks makes me think of all the cop shows I've watched. My imagination kicks in. I tell myself I'm being ridiculous, but the words come out anyway. “Where's my dad? Did something happen to him?”

“I'm sorry to have to tell you this,” the woman cop says. “But your father is dead.”

My mind blanks out. I'm looking at the woman cop. She's telling me something else. I see her lips move, but I can't hear her. I can't hear anything except the pounding of my heart. It fills my ears. My father is dead? That's not possible.

“There must be some mistake,” I say. Now
I
sound like someone straight out of one of those stupid tv shows.

The two cops look steadily at me. There's no mistake.

“What happened?” I ask. “How did he—?”

“He was shot.”

Shot?

“How? Who shot him?”

“We're still investigating,” the woman cop says. “We're going to need you to identify your father, Lila, unless there's some other family member who can do it.”

“I'm it,” I say. “I'm his family.” Aunt Jenny is my mom's sister. She doesn't think much of my dad. She never did.

“Is there anyone you'd like to call? Anyone you want to come with you?”

I shake my head. “My father and I moved in here a couple of days ago. Before that, I was in Boston. I don't know anyone here.”

The woman cop nods. She asks if she and her partner can step inside while I get changed, which is when I remember that I'm wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a ratty old T-shirt. I nod. They come in, and I go to my room to put on some jeans and a sweater. I run a brush through my hair, even though no one cares what I look like. Not under the circumstances.