Social Suicide (15 page)

I FELT SICK AS I WATCHED RALEY LEAN DOWN AND GIVE
Mom a peck on the cheek. This was the guy she’d been IM’ing with last night? Giggling, grinning, acting like a fool over? Ugh. Suddenly Mr. Candlelit Dinners didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Whoa. Isn’t that Detective Raley kissing your mom?” Sam asked.

I had to get out of there before I lost my latte. I grabbed Sam by the arm and made for the door, purposely not looking in Mom’s direction again.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with that same ball of nausea in my stomach, torn between the urge to shake some sense into Mom or stick my head in the sand ostrich-style until she came to her senses. Considering Raley had a gun and I was just the teeniest bit scared of him, I went for option number two. Denial, ostrich-style.

Which worked fabulously until I spied Mom’s minivan parked at the curb after school. The second I slipped into the passenger seat, Mom turned to me.

“Hartley, I think we should talk about me starting to date again.”

“I really think we shouldn’t.”

“I know this is new. And I can see that it’s upsetting to you.”

“Totally not upset at all,” I lied, holding on to denial with all my might. “I’m cool with it.”

“Detective Raley and I got to talking the other day when he brought you home, and we realized we had a lot in common.”

“You don’t need to explain, Mom. I’m fine.”

“I know you just see me as ‘Mom,’ Hartley, but I’m a woman, too.”

“Mom, really. We can totally not discuss this.”

“Women have certain feelings. Emotional needs. Other needs.”

“Know what? Let’s listen to some Steven Tyler. Really loudly, ’kay?” I begged, reaching for her radio.

Mom sighed. “Okay. But I just want you to know we can talk about this. When you’re ready.”

I heaved a sigh of relief as embarrassing classic rock filled the car. Discussing Mom’s needs being fulfilled by Raley was enough to make me throw myself into a pool with a charging laptop.

Thankfully, I was able to avoid Mom the rest of the afternoon, hiding out in my room as I did my homework. I even got her to agree to lift the lockdown enough to let me go to the football game the following night with Sam and Kyle by (A) pointing out that there would be plenty of teachers around and (B) telling her that I had a need to socialize with people my own age, too. (Not to mention a need to be as far away from my mom’s nightly, giggling IM sessions as possible.)

So the next day after Sam and I took our dreaded American Government midterm, I went home with her to rummage in her closet for the perfect game-day outfits. Of course, Sam had to call Kyle no less than four times to make sure their outfits coordinated. I wasn’t sure if it was cute or weird, but I decided to stay out of it, borrowing a hot pink sweater and a pair of black leggings that looked great with Sam’s suede calf boots with the fur lining. Sam ended up in a pair of skinny jeans, her I Like Boys shirt, and a red Stanford jacket (one of several her father had purchased for her).

Kyle met up with us at the hot dog cart, where we found him wearing his Boy shirt, per Sam’s orders, and shoving half a wiener in his mouth. “Hey!” He waved, wiping a glob of yellow mustard from the corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” I greeted him back. Sam gave him a kiss on the cheek (the one without mustard).

“Have you seen Connor Crane?” I asked, standing on tiptoe to see over the heads of our classmates crowding into the stadium.

Kyle shook his head. “I’m sure he’s here, though. He’s the starting QB. Why?” he asked.

“I have a few questions for him,” I answered.

With all the not thinking about Mom I’d been doing, I’d had ample time to think about our list of suspects. And I kept coming back to Connor. He’d been the closest to Sydney, and if I’d learned anything from watching cop shows on TV, it was that the boyfriend was always the prime suspect. Was Connor experiencing survivor’s guilt, as Jenni had suggested? Or was it something more sinister . . . like killer’s guilt?

I told Kyle and Sam my suspicions as Kyle wolfed down the rest of his hot dog. When I was done, Sam nodded.

“I agree,” she said. “He’s got the shakiest alibi and the biggest motive. Love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

Then, as if to illustrate her point, Sam reached up and wiped another glob of mustard from Kyle’s cheek. He grinned, leaning down to kiss her.

“Ohmigod, you guys are so cute!” Ashley Stannic said, jumping in line behind us to grab a hot dog. “I’m totally writing about those shirts in my column tonight.”

“Thanks!” Sam said, beaming.

“Have you seen Connor Crane?” I asked Ashley.

She nodded, her bangs bobbing up and down. “Over by the locker room. He was signing autographs for freshmen.”

I thanked her and left Sam and Kyle to find us seats inside while I tracked down the quarterback.

As I slowly made my way through the crowd, I spied Chase sipping a Pepsi near the entrance to the stadium. I almost called out to him to enlist his help in interrogating Connor, but I paused. Chase was not alone. Someone was with him.

A girl someone.

An odd sensation fluttered in my belly as I took in his companion. She was tall, almost as tall as Chase, with dark hair that hung in long, loose waves like in a Pantene commercial. She was showing off her slim figure in a pair of tight, layered gray T-shirts and super skinny jeans that instantly made me aware of how bright and bulky my sweater was. I didn’t recognize her from school, and she looked older . . . maybe college age? Which shouldn’t have been that surprising, I guess, since Chase was a senior. It made sense he’d go for someone who was more mature.

Miss Perfect leaned in close to Chase, grabbing his arm and whispering something in his ear. Chase grinned, bursting into laughter at their inside joke.

That fluttering settled into a brick in the pit of my stomach, weighing me down so badly I couldn’t raise my arm to wave at him.

Chase had a girlfriend. I felt colossally stupid for ever thinking that our mutual investigating had anything to do with going out together. Clearly Chase was already going out . . . with someone else.

I shook my head, telling myself I didn’t care. Chase and I were not an item; we were nothing. We were one kiss, one time. I had no reason to feel jealous. I didn’t feel jealous. I was fine. Totally fine with Chase being fine with his fine college girlfriend.

I quickly turned around and all but sprinted in the opposite direction before Chase could see me and my fineness.

So quickly that I almost knocked into Connor as he exited the locker room in front of me.

“Whoa. Dude,” he said, his helmet dangling from his hand.

“Sorry.”

“Ashley texted that you were looking for me?” he asked.

I was? I paused, willing my heart to slow down. Right. I was.

“Right. I was.” I cleared my throat, willing my head to focus on anything but the image of Chase’s beautiful accessory. “I talked to Jenni today,” I finally managed.

He gave me a frown. “Why?”

If that was a subtle jab at my social standing, I decided to ignore it. (I was getting to be an expert at this ostrich thing.)

“She told me you’ve been studying with Val Michaels,” I said instead.

Connor cocked his head at me. “Yeah. So what?”

“How did Sydney feel about that?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Why?”

“Well, it’s just that I know how these late-night study sessions can go. I’m not sure I’d be cool with my boyfriend engaging in them. At least not after what happened with Quinn.” I gave him a pointed look.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Hey, that was a one-time thing. Totally a mistake. And Quinn started it.”

“But Sydney wasn’t very happy about it.”

More cheek biting. “No.”

“And then you broke up with her to win homecoming with Jenni.”

“I told you, she was cool with that.”

“How cool was she with you and Val studying together?”

“I dunno.” He shifted his helmet to the other hand.

“I mean was she upset? Angry? Sad?”

He shrugged. “She was . . . you know . . . not happy, I guess. But she understood.”

“That’s a pretty understanding girlfriend,” I observed. “You sure she wasn’t upset? That maybe you two had an argument? One that might have gotten out of hand and someone was, say, pushed into a pool over it?”

“Dude, you are way off,” Connor said. Though he shifted his helmet to the other hand again, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Where were you three nights ago?” I asked, switching gears.

“Why?”

“Nicky Williams was attacked. Most likely by the same person that killed Sydney.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “I had nothing to do with Nicky getting hit. I don’t even know Nicky.”

“And Sydney?” I pressed.

His front teeth munched down on his lower lip, his eyes hitting the ground. “Look. You want to know the truth? Fine. It was my fault, okay?”

“What was your fault?” I asked, leaning in.

“I killed Sydney.”

I froze, the sudden confession stunning me. “Wait—you admit you killed her?” Surely it couldn’t be this easy, could it?

Connor nodded, still staring at the ground. “She couldn’t take seeing me with Jenni. Not after what happened with Quinn. I told her it didn’t mean anything, but then when she found out I was studying with Val? Well, that must have pushed her over the edge.”

I narrowed my eyes. “‘Pushed her over the edge?’”

He looked up, genuine regret filling his eyes. “Why else would she kill herself?”

I blinked at him. “You said you killed her because you think she killed herself over you?”

He nodded.

Mental face palm. Suddenly I wasn’t sure there was enough room on the campus for both me and his ego.

On the other hand, Connor looked like he sincerely thought Sydney had killed herself over him. In fact, this was the most sincere emotion I thought I’d ever seen from him.

Which meant my number one suspect just plummeted to the bottom of my list.

I left Connor, contemplating this cheery thought as I trudged back toward the stadium. The game was about to start, but my heart just wasn’t into watching it. I was depressed. Depressed for Sydney who had not only been dumped by the vainest guy in the world but also killed by some schmuck. And depressed that I was no closer to finding out who that schmuck was. It didn’t seem fair.

I wandered past the main entrance gate, out into the now dark and deserted parking lot, the crowd having filtered into the stadium, where I could hear their collective cheers rising up to the night sky from the well-lit arena.

“Hart!”

I was so engrossed in being depressed that I hadn’t even seen him until he called my name. Chase. He was standing at the trunk of his Camaro.

I had a fleeting thought of running away—the last thing I wanted to do was add to my depression by hearing about Chase’s wonderful girlfriend—but I knew Chase could outrun me. Instead, I shoved my hands into my sweater pockets and walked toward him.

“Hey.”

“How come you’re not inside?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I was interviewing Connor.”

“What did he say?” Chase crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against his car.

I gave him the gist of the interview, how Connor was convinced that Sydney had killed herself over him.

“Do you think she did?”

“No!” I spit out on a laugh. “Geez, how conceited can a guy get?”

Chase frowned. “Well, it’s possible she was really hung up on him.”

“You think all girls are just hanging on guys? That guys mean that much to us?”

Chase cocked his head at me. “No. But maybe—”

“I mean, we can get along without you guys, you know? The sun does not rise and set on having a boyfriend. Those of us without boyfriends can get along just fine.”

“Okay. It was just a thought,” he said, taking a step back. “Geez, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

“O-kay.”

“Where’s your
friend
?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The girl I saw you with earlier.”

“Oh, Carly? She’s inside. She left her jacket in the car.”

I looked down and saw a pink Windbreaker in his hand. Fab.

“Well, you don’t want to keep her waiting,” I said, turning around.

“Hart, are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I shot back, a little louder than I’d meant.

“Hart—”

“I’m fine!” I shouted, then turned to go.

But I took only one step, my eyes inexplicably blinded by blurry, unshed tears, when I felt Chase’s body slam into mine from behind.

“Unh!”

I fell to the ground, the full weight of Chase on top of me as the asphalt scraped my palms, and my forehead connected with the ground, jarring my teeth together with a painful smack.

I was about to ask what the hell he thought he was doing when a pair of headlights whizzed past my head, tires coming within inches of my nose.

Holy fluffin’ fudge. That car had almost hit me!

“DID YOU SEE THAT CAR?” CHASE GASPED IN MY EAR
.

I paused, blinking back a sudden headache. “He tried to hit me. He was going to run me over.”

“I didn’t see the license plate, but I’m pretty sure it was a Toyota,” Chase said, standing up and staring at the taillights as the car rounded the corner onto Main.

“He was going to kill me.” I turned to Chase. “He was trying to kill me.”

Chase reached down, grabbing my hand and pulling me up off the ground. “Did you see the driver?” he asked.

I shook my head. Honestly? I hadn’t seen anything more than a pair of headlights.

“You’re bleeding.”

I looked down. He was right. My palms were scraped raw.

“Get in. I’ll drive you home,” he said, gesturing to the Camaro.

I paused. While one near-death experience was enough for one night, walking four dark blocks home while a guy in a car who wanted me dead was out there riding around didn’t hold a whole lot of appeal. I did a mental eenie-meenie-minie-mo and finally got in.

Chase made the five-minute drive in two flat, pulling up to the curb outside my house and insisting on following me to the front door.

It was unlocked, and I pushed inside, finding Mom on the sofa in the living room, sitting next to the only thing that could possibly make my evening worse.

Raley.

Dude. A second date already? They both had glasses of wine in hand, and Mom’s cheeks were flushed pink as if it wasn’t her first.

Raley looked completely different than I’d ever seen him. Gone was Cop mode, and in its place, a relaxed pose, eyes crinkling, lips tilted upward in a lazy smile. His entire being was different.

Or maybe that was just my bump on the head talking.

“Hartley?” Mom asked, confusion lacing her voice. “I thought you were staying at Sam’s.”

“I fell,” I said feebly.

“Someone almost ran her over,” Chase corrected, coming in behind me.

And just like that Mom went into SMother mode and Raley went into Cop mode, and I was surrounded by overprotective adults playing Twenty Questions.

“Where? What happened? Are you okay?”

They all blurred together through my headache haze. Thankfully, Chase took over, telling them about the car in the parking lot and how we’d had to dive for the pavement to avoid it. By the time he was finished, Mom was hugging me tighter than a boa constrictor, and Raley’s eyebrows were doing that deep frown thing again.

“You need to be more careful,” he said.

“I think this was more than just an accident,” Chase said. “I think someone tried to hit her.”

“Why do you think that?”

“For one? They didn’t even try to brake. They just sailed through. For another, look at the sweater she’s wearing. It’s practically Day-Glo.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and felt myself blush. Hey, not all of us can look so chic in plain gray like Miss Perfect.

“I knew I should never have let you go out alone,” Mom said, crushing me to her.

“Mom. Air.”

She let up a little, but shallow breaths were still all I could manage.

Raley gave me a long stare. I put on my most innocent face, just a shade shy of actually whistling and staring at the ceiling.

Luckily, he let it go.

“Look, I, uh, I have to get back to the school,” Chase said.

Right. To his date.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked.

For some reason the thought of Miss Perfect waiting for him back at the stadium coupled with the concern in his voice sent that headache at my temple into overdrive. I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m fine,” I said, hearing an edge I hadn’t meant to share creep into my voice.

Chase paused, looked from Mom to Raley, then back to me. He must have decided that I was in good hands as he nodded. “Right. I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”

But he didn’t give me a chance to answer as he turned and walked out the door.

After Chase went back to his date at the game, Mom and Raley went back to their date on our sofa (I could never sit there again), and I went to my room. Alone.

I flopped down on my bed and contemplated the ceiling, thoughts swirling in my aching head. This case was spiraling out of control faster than I could rein it in. And the ironic part was someone out there thought I knew a hell of a lot more than I did. Really? We had a lot of theories but no actual proof of anything.

Which meant, I realized as I finally drifted off to sleep, there was only one thing to do.

“I’ve decided to bluff.”

Sam and Kyle turned to me as one over their Jamba juice. Singular. With two straws. The cute was oozing from their pores.

“Bluff what?” Chase asked, sipping through his straw and making slurping sounds.

He had, as promised, called me first thing that morning. Only I’d been too afraid of that edge creeping back into my voice to answer. I’d let him leave a message, and instead of calling him back, I’d texted Sam to tell her about my near fatal run-in with the Toyota. She had insisted on meeting me for a breakfast smoothie. And lately wherever Sam went, Kyle went. And because apparently Chase had texted Kyle to text Sam to find out why I wasn’t answering my phone, Kyle had told Chase we were all meeting at Jamba Juice.

And as if the awkward, crackling in the air every time I looked Chase’s way (not that he noticed, which just made me feel even more awkward), wasn’t enough, guess who else had tagged along? Mom had insisted on driving me and was sitting at a table across the patio, sipping on a pre-workout wheatgrass shot while talking to my dad on the phone and sending worried looks my way every five seconds.

Which is why I had decided to do something drastic.

“I’m bluffing a story for the paper,” I told the three of them.

Chase opened his mouth to protest, but I ran right over him.

“I’m going to say I’m printing a story exposing Sydney’s killer.”

Chase shut his mouth with a click.

“Whoa. You know who the killer is?” Kyle asked.

Sam elbowed him. “No, babe. That’s the bluff part.”

“Why would you do that?” Chase asked, his eyes intent on me.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore them. “In order to get the killer to come after me.”

Chase gave me a hard look. “Are you insane? Why do you want to do that?”

“How else am I going to flush this guy out?”

Chase didn’t answer, just stared at me, his jaw tense, his eyes an unreadable black.

“Look,” I explained, “we’ve been going around in circles for days. It could be Quinn, it could even still be Connor or Jenni . . . heck it could be anyone on campus! Maybe it was even Nicky and he paid someone to hit him over the head to divert attention.”

“A concussion is a heck of a diversion,” Kyle pointed out.

“The point is we have no idea who killed Sydney, and we’re no closer to knowing than we were a week ago. So we need to do something drastic to make the killer tip his hand.”

Sam nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Sure, it does. The killer is already scared,” Kyle said. “He killed Sydney to keep her quiet about who sold her the cheats, then hit Nicky over the head to keep him quiet, too.”

“Don’t forget he tried to run over Hartley,” Chase said, still sending me the evil eye.

I swallowed. “Right. So if I spread the rumor that I know who the killer is and I’m going to print it in Monday’s paper, it should get the killer to—”

“Come after you,” Chase finished for me. He leaned forward, putting both elbows on the wire metal table. “Which is a really bad idea, Hartley.”

“Not if I’m ready for him.”

“How exactly do you propose to be ready?”

“Well . . .” I hadn’t really thought that part through yet.

“We’ll protect you,” Kyle said, puffing out his chest.

“The homecoming dance is tonight,” Sam piped up. “All our suspects will be there. If we spread the rumor now, whoever is guilty will totally be on edge tonight.”

“And we’ll be sure to be around you twenty-four/seven. We won’t take our eyes off you,” Kyle repeated.

“So when the killer strikes, we’ll catch him,” I finished.

Sam and Kyle nodded. I nodded back. We all looked at Chase.

“Oh, now you want my opinion?” he asked, still scowling.

Not really. But I nodded anyway.

“This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “Being bait? Are you kidding me?”

“You have a better idea?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Look, it will work. Trust me.”

Chase narrowed his eyes. He clenched his jaw. Finally he threw his hands up. “Dammit, Hartley,” he said. “Now I have to get a tux.”

I blinked at him? “Tux?”

He stared right at me. “Because if you’re really going to go through with this, I’m not letting you do it alone. I’m now your official homecoming date.”