Last Seen Leaving (37 page)

“Relax, I like you already,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Besides, you two better get going or you'll miss your movie.” He beamed back at her, proud of the compliment in a way that made me melt a little inside, and I set my glass on the table again so I could lead the way back to my room. As we started up the short hallway to the front of the house, my mom called out, “And can the ‘Mrs. Doherty' stuff—it's Kate!”

Two weeks had passed since the night of my discovery behind the barn, and while my life hadn't exactly returned to “normal,” it was finally achieving a sense of equilibrium—a new kind of normal, I guess, and one that felt good. It was the first night that Kaz had eaten dinner with my family, for instance, and instead of watching us with frozen smiles as if afraid to say something wrong and offend us both, my parents had actually teased us about our furtive looks and flirtatious nudges under the table. I liked it.

Also, I was something of a living legend at Riverside. Coming out, dating a college guy, getting embroiled in a murder investigation, and facing down a gun-wielding killer had taken me from nondescript to noteworthy in the space of two weeks, and suddenly I was one of the popular kids. The only person who seemed to bear me any ill will, actually, was Mason Collier, who resented my sudden fame and groused nastily to anyone who would listen that I shouldn't be allowed to use the men's locker room anymore, because I “couldn't be trusted.”

“Do you really think they like me?” Kaz asked in a doubtful undertone once we reached my bedroom. “Your mom isn't just saying that?”

“Believe me, my mom doesn't say stuff she doesn't mean,” I promised, shrugging—with some difficulty—into a sweater, the bulky cast that made a club out of my right hand still turning every change of clothes into a magic trick. “And she's really polite to people she doesn't like. Like, one time, my dad's boss came over for drinks? And he made all these obnoxious, sexist jokes, and the whole night my mom's saying stuff like, ‘Well, isn't that interesting?' and ‘Can I freshen anyone's coffee?' while giving him this huge smile that was all teeth, like a velociraptor.”

“Got it. Dinosaur smile equals no likey.”

He was still nervous, I could tell, and not for lack of reason, either; we were about to meet Micah and Tiana for our first official double date. We'd gotten coffee together once already, just so they could all meet each other, but I had sort of monopolized the conversation with my retelling of The Big Showdown With Cedric—much, I believe, to everyone's mutual relief. So tonight was going to be Kind of a Big Deal, and while Micah had relaxed a lot, he still had problems talking to me about Kaz without looking like a student driver trying to merge lanes on a crowded freeway.

But even if there were still the occasional awkward or embarrassing moments as my friends and family adjusted to the idea of my dating a guy, it still meant a ton to me that all of them put effort into getting to know Kaz—that all of them wanted him to feel welcome. For his part, he had steeled his nerves and made a point of telling his parents about me; I wouldn't be getting to meet them anytime soon, but he had been ecstatic to report back that they had actually acknowledged my existence. Even if his mother apparently referred to me exclusively as Kaz's “good friend.”

At the front door, my dad performed a cursory check of our preparedness. After ascertaining that we both had working cell phones and cash in case of an emergency, he said, “Okay, well, have fun. Text when you get there. And when the movie's over. And … come home right after?”

I nodded, fighting off an eye roll. The night I'd gone to leave that photograph at January's memorial, I hadn't returned to the house until late—well after my curfew—having lost all track of time while I sat thinking in her favorite meadow. It had triggered every paranoid instinct my parents ordinarily suppressed, and even now it was sort of a miracle they were letting me out of the house without a police escort. I was pretty sure they would calm back down eventually; the bad guy was gone, the intrigues were settled, and I had every intention of regaining my nondescript status.

In the days that had passed, I'd received no further communication from the mysterious California number; by the time I screwed up the courage I needed to dial it and see what happened, it was already out of service. A disposable cell, most likely, and one that was probably already on its way to a landfill somewhere.

For an hour or more, I'd sat in January's meadow that night, agonizing over what to do—wondering if I had a duty to tell someone what I'd uncovered, or if I even had the right to. If January really was still out there somewhere, still alive, the road she faced would be a hard one. She was clever, I knew … but was she really clever enough to figure out a way to finish school and go to college? To realize the dreams she'd had, to achieve the goals that had driven her for as long as we'd been friends? Or was she maybe just another minimum-wage earner in LA now, already embarked upon her life's career, her destiny settled for her by default? And then there was the fact of her pregnancy, a problem that defied any easy solution. Unless she got her hands on a
really
convincing fake ID, or was willing to risk her life in some back alley somewhere, she was probably going to have to have Cedric's child after all. And what then?

It wasn't fair, and a huge part of me burned with resentment when I thought about Jonathan on his way to Capitol Hill at the expense of everything that had been taken from his stepdaughter—and everything that had been taken from me and Tiana and Micah and everybody else who loved January. My lust for righteousness wanted the story to come out in full detail, for the Walkers to be held publicly to account for failing her, and for her to be able to return to her friends and the possibilities of a bright future.

But that decision wasn't mine to make. I had been taken into the most crucial of confidences, and I simply couldn't violate that trust, no matter how difficult it was to keep silent. She could have gone to the media with her story and blown Jonathan's tightly controlled life apart in one fell swoop, burning down the house and becoming a national news story overnight … but she hadn't; she could have disappeared without a trace, and then come back after the election when the stakes weren't quite so high, taking her chances that her parents would be more accommodating at that point—but she hadn't done that, either. She still
could
come back, I told myself, if she really was alive. The door remained open, and she could come back to Ann Arbor any time she wanted. That she hadn't yet meant staying away was her choice. And if someday she did choose to return, I wanted to be part of the reason instead of the cause.

Finally, I'd made the long trek back to where I'd left my bike on the Walkers' drive, the grocery bag containing the empty blood pouch clutched in my hand. On my way home, I stopped at the first public trash can I came across and shoved the evidence all the way to the bottom. When the police eventually gave up on searching the river, they might return to the fields—this time with cadaver dogs. I didn't know if the animals only smelled corpses, or blood as well, but I decided it wasn't worth leaving to chance.

Kaz and I made our way down the front walk to where the Lexus was parked by the curb, and a molding jack-o'-lantern leered up at me from the neighbor's driveway, the final remnant of a Halloween I'd never forget. Thanksgiving was only a week away, and I was actually looking forward to it. In spite of everything, or maybe because of it, I felt like I had a lot to be grateful for: my family, my friends, Kaz, my good memories of January, my crappy bike and my dad's groan-worthy jokes and my mom's velociraptor smiles. That I was still alive to appreciate the smoky fragrance of dried leaves on the night air, to complain about the sticky sourness of fake champagne, to blush whenever Kaz paid me an impromptu compliment or introduced me to one of his friends as “Flynn, my boyfriend.”

Before I got into the Lexus, I looked up at the sky, at the scattering of stars that showed above bare tree branches and in between clouds, and I watched my breath stream up and disappear into the night.

Once I buckled my seat belt, and Kaz had put the car in drive, I took his hand in mine and held it all the way to the movie theater.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It takes a village, as they say—and my village has some of the greatest inhabitants. My name may be on the cover of
Last Seen Leaving
, but this book would not be in your hands without the hard work, commitment, and encouragement of many people—all of whom deserve my unending gratitude.

To my amazing agent, Rosemary Stimola (aka Obi-Wan): I know how to say thank you in a dozen languages, and I still can't think of a way to express how grateful I am for all of your confidence, your support, and your counsel. While I was still hoarse from screaming across the Atlantic that
I had an agent
, you presented me with an offer for publication, and my voice hasn't been right since. You believed in my work, and in me, and for that I say: Thank you!
Merci! Tack så
mycket! Kiitos! Gracias! Grazie! Danke! Dziękuję! Paldies! Ačiū!
Äitah! Спасибо!
Still not enough, but I'm trying.

To my extraordinary editor, Liz Szabla: working with you has been sublime. Your love for this novel and your trust in my writing have made every step of this process a pleasure; thanks to your guidance, the story contained within these pages is stronger and better than I could have ever imagined, and my life has been remarkably stress-free. From the very beginning, every conversation we've had has reinforced my conviction that Flynn and January have been in the perfect hands, and for all that you've done, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

This book would not even be a book at all if not for my publisher, Jean Feiwel; you made my greatest dream come true, and if I were a genie I would return the favor a hundredfold. Until I can make that happen, however, please accept my most sincere gratitude for allowing me to add “Published Author” to my bio.

My admiration for Rich Deas, the creative director for Macmillan Children's Publishing Group and the genius who designed the gorgeous cover art for this book, is boundless. Thank you for your stunning work and for proving that nothing is ever so great that it can't somehow get even better. I am in awe.

My greater Macmillan family has been phenomenal, and every day I find myself more and more grateful for their work in promoting
Last Seen Leaving
. To Molly Brouillette and Caitlin Sweeney: your enthusiasm for this book means everything to me, and I am so incredibly thankful for everything you've done to share it with the world. You are amazing. A thousand thank-yous are also due to Morgan Dubin, Brittany Pearlman, and the rest of the Fierce Reads team for championing this book and for including me in the ranks of some of my all-time favorite authors. I am humbled.

The first person to review a completed draft of this novel was my mom, Amy Roehrig, and, oh boy, does she deserve a lot of thanks. Mom, you read my manuscript in its roughest form and said, “This is the one.” And, you know what? As usual, you were right. I've come a long way from the dark, dark house in the dark, dark woods, huh? Thank you for everything. The second person to read the pages that eventually became
Last Seen Leaving
was Mary Pomerantz, and I owe her an enormous debt. Mary, you once rescued me from some serious turmoil with the power of Implied Friday—and I'm not sure, but I believe you might be just a
little
bit magical. Thanks for your feedback and for years of wonderful friendship.

My mother, Kay Nichols, is perhaps most responsible for my love of thrillers and suspense fiction. Mom, our little two-person book club—swapping and rhapsodizing over novels about demented serial killers and grisly murder—is really what made me want to give writing a try. Thank you for always believing in me. My dad, Charlie Roehrig, is the coolest guy I know and also my number one fan. (The feeling is mutual!) Dad, I'm glad I inherited your weird sense of humor, and I'm truly grateful for all those lessons you tried to teach me about discipline and hard work. Took me a few decades, but I finally get it now. My mother-in-law, Māra Trapans, is an incredible human being who felt like family from the moment we met. Thank you so much for your joie de vivre, your warm heart, and for spreading the gospel of kindness at every opportunity. You are an inspiration, and please know that
I
know how big I hit it in the in-law jackpot.
Paldies!

The rest of my immediate family I am going to list in a big lump, because
Jebus
, you guys. Todd, Debie, Andy, David, Jennifer, Alexis, Olivia, Ann, Gina, Jordan, Pat, Kiersten, Cayden, Liam, Jaime, Nick, Brendan, Dylan, Drew, Dan, Marz, Evie, Maija, Christian, Emma, Amanda, Indra, Daina, Austris, Gunta, and Ieva: I LOVE YOU ALL.

Many, many thanks, too, to my second family—the ones I chose. It is because of you all that I am still barely maintaining these few footholds I have on sanity anymore. Jenn: Neither of us is old enough to have had a friend for
twenty-four years
, and yet … here we are. You're the best. Always. Angela: Where do I even begin? Formosa! Jones! Roomie night! Stinkers!
Passions!
Mustache karaoke! Your heart is as big as all outdoors, and I love you to death. Kasey: From London to Los Angeles, we've conquered a lot of territory together, but please always remember that
I'm the best climber.
Natalie: Our exploits are legendary (and possibly on file at the FBI somewhere), but
Tamara
will always be our finest hour. WHERE'S YOUR PEPPERMILL NOW? Tara (aka T-Boz): You will forever be one of my favorite people and not least because of how eagerly you've enabled my unhealthy obsession with horror movies. Leslie: Will you look at this? It's a book! It's
my
book! I can't
believe
it! You were the first person to encourage me to write a novel, and you'll never know how much it meant to me. Thank you.