Truly, Madly, Deadly (12 page)

“Haas? You’re Logan’s brother.” Sawyer did a mental head slap. “Detective Biggs mentioned his partner but I didn’t realize—I didn’t put two and two together, I guess. I remember Logan saying that his brother was a cop, though.”

“You can call me Stephen.” He nodded, offered Sawyer a hand. “So, you are a friend of my brother’s?”

Sawyer nodded. “Kind of. He has the locker under mine, and I drove him home from school once.”

Stephen cocked that half smile again and pointed at her, green eyes narrowed. “Ah, that’s right. You’re
that
Sawyer Dodd.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“My little brother kind of has a—let’s just go with mammoth—crush on you.”

Sawyer’s cheeks flushed red, and she felt the heat go to her ears. “Oh.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, right. Actually, I was looking for Detective Biggs. Is he in?”

Stephen checked his watch. “He probably won’t be in for another couple of hours. Is there something I can help you with?”

Sawyer chewed her bottom lip. “Well not to be rude but no, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, let me put it this way: Detective Biggs won’t be in for another couple of hours, and even then, it’s pretty likely you’ll be talking to me. I’m his liaison.”

Sawyer smiled in spite of herself. “Liaison? That sounds very French.”

“And masculine, right? Why don’t you follow me over to the conference room and you can tell me what’s going on. I can start the case file for Detective Biggs.”

Sawyer’s fingers still worked the strap of her purse, and she felt herself shift her weight from one foot to the other. “Well…”

But Stephen Haas’s face was so earnest, so open, that Sawyer smiled thinly and followed him into the conference room.

“So,” he said, whipping out a yellow legal pad, “what can I help you with?”

Sawyer’s eyes followed the blank lines on the notebook, and she licked her parched lips, fisted her hands, which seemed clammy once again. She cleared her throat. “Well,” she began, feeling her mind whirl with everything that had happened—and how preposterous it would sound. “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing.” She stood. “You know, I should really just go.”

Stephen laid a gentle hand on her forearm. “Sawyer, if whatever is bothering you is enough to make you drive all the way down to the police station at seven o’clock in the morning, it’s something I want to hear about. Besides”—he flashed that sweet, relaxed smile of his—“I’ll be the judge of whether or not we send in the SWAT team or the guys in the white coats with the straitjackets.”

Sawyer sunk back down, still nervous, but feeling a genuine smile twitching at the edges of her lips. “Well, Detective Biggs came to my house a few weeks ago—just after my boyfriend, Kevin Anderson—died in a car accident.”

Stephen nodded. “Kevin Anderson. It was a drunk-driving accident, right?”

Sawyer pinched her lip. “Yeah. But they think someone else was in the car. Someone who escaped. They think it was me.”

Stephen’s eyebrows rose. “And was it?”

“No. No. We got in a fight that night and when I left him, he was drinking but he was alone.”

“Okay. But I don’t see how this is—”

“And the Monday after his funeral,” Sawyer went on, her eyes fixed on the faux wood grain veneer on the conference table, “I got a note. It said, ‘You’re welcome.’ And there was a newspaper article with the note—it was the one about Kevin’s death.”

Nate leaned back in his chair, sucking in his breath and tapping the end of the ballpoint pen on the still-blank notepad. “Sounds like a prank to me. A prank in really bad taste.”

“And then my Spanish teacher was killed.”

“Uh, Mr. Hanson, right? Logan told me about that. But he wasn’t murdered; he died of an allergic reaction.”

“Yeah, but then I got another note. Oh, and before that, we were at a party and someone attacked my best friend, Chloe Coulter.”

“Can you spell that last name?”

Sawyer bit her nail. “Maybe you shouldn’t write that down.”

Stephen raised his eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t I write it down?”

“It’s just—we were out, late—and Chloe’s parents don’t know.”

“If this was an attack, Sawyer, this is pretty serious. Tell me what happened.”

“It was serious. Someone tried to cut the brake lines on Chloe’s mother’s car. And Chloe walked outside—”

“Where did this happen?”

“Oh, at the Rutgers’ house. But maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Let me guess. This girl’s parents didn’t know they were hosting a party?”

“It was a guy, actually, Evan. Evan Rutger. And no.”

Stephen sucked in a breath. “Okay. Just tell me what happened and we’ll figure out who to talk to—if anyone—after, okay?”

Sawyer nodded. “Okay, I guess. Anyway, someone hit Chloe in the head.”

“Was she injured badly?”

“Not very. But enough. He drew blood.”

“So you know it was a male.”

“No, not—I mean, that’s what Chloe said, but she also said she really didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Did anyone call this in?”

Sawyer shook her head again, feeling slightly ashamed. She should have made Chloe call the police that night. “No. Chloe didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“Okay, so your friend got attacked. Did she receive any of these notes?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Has anyone messed with your car? Have you seen anyone who fit the description of Chloe’s attacker?”

“No.”

“So there really isn’t any reason to believe that the same person is targeting both of you?”

“No.” Sawyer frowned. “I guess not.”

Knowing that her best friend wasn’t a target of Sawyer’s admirer should have made her feel better, but the thought that two horrible people out on the loose in Crescent Hill wasn’t any more comforting.

“So you said you got a note after your teacher passed away.” Stephen cocked his head. “Did you bring any of these notes?”

Sawyer wagged her head. “No. I didn’t really plan on coming here this morning.”

“Do you recognize the handwriting, or was there a postmark? Anything recognizable?”

“No.”

“Well, Sawyer, I understand your concern and I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, but I really think this is just—”

“A coincidence? A prank? Someone sent me flowers too, at school. And then someone spray-painted my gym locker—right after making coleslaw out of my clothes while I was in the shower.”

Sawyer listened to the tension rising in her voice and cringed inwardly. Everything she was saying
did
sound preposterous, coincidental—like a prank. Someone was playing with her—was capitalizing on the horrid things that had happened and trying to freak her out. Sweat beaded along her upper lip and she sighed.

“Maybe you’re right. This is probably just a really bad prank.”

Stephen pressed his lips together in a sympathetic smile and patted Sawyer’s hand as it rested on the table. Her eyes followed his hand.

“I’m sorry that someone would do this to you, Sawyer. Kids can really suck. And from what I hear from my brother, your class has a particularly mean streak.”

Sawyer thought of Logan sitting in her car in his sweatpants and forced a smile. “I guess so.”

“He’s mentioned some kids—your late boyfriend included, sorry—who have pretty much tortured him from the time he set foot on campus.”

Sawyer dug her fingernail into the table’s veneer.

“Is there anything else I should know about these incidents? I’ll write a report just so we have something on file, should there be any more—”

Sawyer’s eyes flashed and her whole body stiffened, the thought of another note, another murder, like a steel fist to her gut. Stephen seemed to read her immediately. “Not that there will be any more incidents.”

She thought of the peanut butter label and shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Call me Stephen. Or Officer Haas, at worst. Not sir.”

Sawyer nodded wordlessly and stood when Stephen checked his watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting to school? If you leave now, you can just make the last bell.”

“Yeah.” Sawyer gathered her purse. “Thanks.”

As she left the police station she felt an overwhelming sense of relief—fueled by stupidity—and the tiniest bit of calm.
Yeah,
she convinced herself as she drove the distance to Hawthorne High,
it’s just a prank. A stupid, bad-natured prank. I’m not responsible for anything.

She repeated the mantra even as she guided her car into the parking lot and pulled it into park. She gathered up her backpack, a twinge of confidence bolstering her movements.
Just
a
prank…
The words resonated in her head and seemed to fill her with a modicum of calm. But somewhere, deep down, Sawyer knew the calm wouldn’t last.

Sawyer was feeling slightly more comfortable after homeroom and had nearly forgotten the notes, the flowers, and the shredded clothes by the time she got to second period. When she walked into the choir room, she was downright giddy thinking of her solo, appearing in her new choir costume. Chloe bounded over to her.

“Hey! You’re smiling. Kind of like an idiot.” She poked Sawyer in the ribs and grinned. “Anything I should know about?”

Sawyer shook her head, feeling her soft brown hair tumble over her shoulders. “Nope. I’m just feeling pretty decent today.”

“Good to know.”

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Mr. Rose strode through the door, hands up as though he were conducting the students’ conversations. “Tone it down now. I suspect you all have been looking over—and loving—our new set list.” He shuffled some papers. “We’re going to start today with the third number first so we can work on everyone’s solos.” His eyes flashed to Sawyer’s and she gulped, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh, crap. I forgot my sheet music,” she murmured.

“Huh?” Chloe asked.

“My sheet music.” Sawyer’s hand shot into the air. “Um, Mr. Rose? Can I run to my locker for just a sec? I left my sheet music in there.”

Mr. Rose sat down at the piano and nodded, waving absently toward the door. “Hurry.”

Maggie rolled her eyes as Sawyer shimmied past. “And the whole world waits for Sawyer Dodd,” she muttered just loud enough for Sawyer to hear.

Sawyer pushed into the deserted hallway and, head down, beelined toward her locker. She looked up just in time to avoid a collision with Cooper.

“Oh, hey.” He flushed a blotchy red from exposed neck to forehead and then broke into an uncertain grin.

Sawyer looked from Cooper to her locker—less than three paces away—and back to Cooper again. “What are you doing out here?”

He waved a pink hall pass. “Bathroom break.”

Sawyer bit her lip and pointed over Cooper’s right shoulder. “The boys’ room is in corridor C.”

Cooper’s smile looked uncomfortable, forced. “I thought I’d take the long way. Trig is killing me.”

Sawyer cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “The very long way.”

“What are you doing out here in the middle of class? I mean, besides general interrogation.” Cooper’s voice was light, amused, but there was an edge to it that made Sawyer feel uncomfortable.

“Forgot something in my locker,” she said.

“Oh, your locker is in this corridor?”

Sawyer nodded, unease traveling the length of her spine. “All the junior lockers are.”

“Right. We were all kind of mixed up at my old school.” Cooper dangled the hall pass again. “Well, I should be getting back to class. Someone’s going to catch on that it doesn’t take this long to pee.”

Sawyer said nothing while Cooper hurried past her down the hall. He headed away from corridor C, away from the bank of math classrooms behind them. When she finally turned to her locker, Sawyer spun the lock, feeling a weird sense of calm and dread.
If
there
is
a
note, Cooper is suspect number one,
she told herself.

She immediately thought of their conversations, of the delicious heat that crept through her when his lips were on hers. She thought of the softness in his eyes and felt herself slump. “God, I’m freaking paranoid.”

Cooper
would
never
do
anything
to
hurt
me. He—
she paused in mid-thought, about to utter the word “loves.”
He
likes
me,
she corrected herself.

Even
people
who
like—or love—you can hurt you,
her conscience warned her. Sawyer ignored it.

“Prank,” she muttered out loud, as if trying to convince herself. “Stupid prank.”

But there was nothing amiss in her locker, and her sheet music, her track clothes, and her photos were exactly as she had left them. She slammed the metal door, her heart thumping in a way she could barely remember—normally.

She whistled the chorus of her new solo as she skipped back to class.

***

“So, I figure I’ll head home and change, and then drive over around five. Sound okay?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I say we do an all-night bad-movie chocolate fest. If I get through chem today, I’m totally going to need it.” Sawyer turned to head to her locker when Chloe laid a soft hand on her forearm.

“Hey, Sawyer”—she licked her lips—“I’m really glad you’re—you’re feeling better.”

Sawyer felt a lump grow in her throat, but this time, it didn’t have the sharp pang of despair that she was now so used to. Instead, she smiled—genuinely—and pulled her best friend into a hug. “Me too. And you too.”

Chloe pulled back, confusion flitting across her face. Sawyer cocked her head, gently brushing her fingertips over Chloe’s forehead, over the still-healing cut above her best friend’s eye.

“Oh, right.”

“Hey, Chloe, speaking of that. Did you—did you ever go to the police?”

Chloe shook her head. “I told you—my mom would kill me. Besides”—she wrinkled her nose—“Ryan was able to get the car towed without anyone being the wiser. His dad owns that garage out on Forest, you know.”

Sawyer nodded. “But someone attacked you, that’s pretty—”

Chloe put her hands on Sawyer’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “It’s over, Sawyer. No big deal.”

Sawyer wished she had an ounce of her best friend’s bravery. Maybe then she wouldn’t nearly jump out of her skin every fifteen minutes or scrutinize cute guys who were just trying to be nice to her.

“I worry about you, Chloe.”

Chloe began to annunciate. “No. Big. Deal. Car is fine.” She pointed to her forehead. “Noggin made of stone or some such other hard material.”

Sawyer laughed. “I guess. And hey, I guess with the car at Ryan’s dad’s, you two got to spend some extra time together, huh?”

Chloe’s eyes rolled to the ceiling and a sly smile formed on her lips. “A lady never tells…”

“Which is why you should be spilling everything.”

“Nothing to tell, S. Don’t you think I would have given you every sordid detail by now if there was?” She winked. “Best friends don’t keep secrets.”

Sawyer felt her smile falter, just for a second. “Yeah. You’re totally right.”

“All right, gotta run. See you later, sweet cheeks.” Chloe skipped through the double glass doors on her way to P.E. while Sawyer spun her locker combo and yanked out her chemistry book.

“You!”

Maggie’s voice cut through the din of students in the hall.

“What’s Maggie going on about now?” Sawyer murmured to herself.

“I’m talking to you!”

Sawyer felt a bony finger jabbing below her shoulder blade. She gripped the sides of her locker and breathed in what was supposed to be a calming breath. Maggie poked her again.

Sawyer spun around, eyes in mid-roll. “What do you—” Sawyer stopped when she saw the note clenched in Maggie’s hand. It was the same pale-green paper, the same size and shape, and judging by the fury in Maggie’s eyes and the flush on her cheeks, Maggie had read it.

“Where did you get that?”

“You shoved it in my locker, you bitch!”

Before Sawyer had a chance to process what Maggie had said, she felt Maggie’s palms against her chest, giving her a hard shove that landed her against the cold metal of her locker. Her lock stung the back of her neck, and Sawyer winced.

“You think I’m a whore?” Maggie continued without missing a beat, waving the note in Sawyer’s face. “You think I’m a slut? Kevin only left me for you because he heard you were easy. He heard you were blowing half the guys from here to your stupid new housing tract.”

Maggie’s face was inches from Sawyer’s, and her voice had reached a frenzied pitch. Her eyes were wild, her nostrils flared, and that was what Sawyer was focused on when Maggie hit her.

The slap was clean and stinging against her cheek, and for the second time in her life, Sawyer felt cornered, threatened. Her eyes watered, and she pressed herself against the cold metal lockers.

“You don’t know the first thing about me and Kevin!” Maggie spat. “He cheated on you with me!”

A tiny bubble of anger percolated low in Sawyer’s stomach. She stopped listening as Maggie went to slap her again. She grabbed Maggie’s wrist, feeling the heat roiling into a full fire in her gut. No one was going to hit her again, not ever.

“Don’t you touch me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t send me those damn notes,” Maggie screamed back. When her other hand came up against Sawyer’s head Sawyer grabbed that too, and gave Maggie a hard shove. Maggie stumbled over her own feet, over the group of kids who had ringed them to watch, and fell hard on her butt on the linoleum. The note slipped out of her hand, and Sawyer watched its graceful arc as it slid behind Maggie and came to rest against the bank of lockers.

Maggie’s fury was palpable. “You bitch!”

“What’s going on here?”

Principal Chappie’s baritone voice made the kids scatter like marbles until only Sawyer and Maggie were left, Sawyer pressed against her locker, Maggie looking like a wounded dove on the floor. Sawyer watched Maggie’s chest pulse as she blinked hard until huge mascara-colored crocodile tears slid over her cheeks. “Sawyer attacked me! She pushed me down!”

“No, I didn’t,” Sawyer protested. “She came after me!” She stepped closer to Principal Chappie and Maggie stayed put, throwing an arm over her forehead as through she feared a blow from Sawyer.

“Oh, get up!” Sawyer barked at her. “You know what happened. You fell over your damn self trying to hit me. Tell him!”

Maggie blinked innocent, doe-like eyes. “I don’t know what happened. I was walking down the hall and Sawyer threw herself on me like some kind of animal.”

“No, I didn’t! And you spray-painted my locker and tore up my clothes!”

Maggie’s poor-girl façade didn’t crack. “I don’t know what she’s talking about, Principal Chappie. She’s crazy. She sent me a threatening note. I’m just…” She sniffed, and Sawyer watched Maggie’s small shoulders shiver, her face crumble under another torrent of tears.

That
girl
could
win
an
Oscar,
Sawyer thought bitterly.

“I’m just so scared. I don’t know what I ever did to her.”

Sawyer gaped. “What
I
did to
her?
Principal Chappie—”

Principal Chappie helped Maggie up and cupped his chin with his hand. “You’d better come down to my office, Sawyer. Do either of you need to see the nurse?”

Maggie made a show of checking her elbows, twisting her wrists as though looking for breaks. “I think I’m okay, sir. I’d just like to get to class. I have a presentation due for English.”

“Of course, Maggie. Go on ahead.” Principal Chappie put his hand on Sawyer’s elbow. “Sawyer?”

Anger radiated from Sawyer in waves as Maggie slipped away, head held high.

Sawyer watched her leave.

“Come on,” Principal Chappie said.

“Fine,” Sawyer relented, trying to loosen the tight set of her jaw. “Let me just grab my backpack.” She bent down to gather her pack, then snatched Maggie’s discarded note from under the locker, jamming it down in her pocket. “Okay.”

Sawyer sat in Principal Chappie’s office, chewing her bottom lip as he hung up the phone. “You father should be here in just a few minutes. I already told him what we talked about.”

“I’m suspended,” Sawyer said miserably.

“Effective immediately. But don’t think this as some kind of vacation. You will come in tomorrow morning before the first bell and report to detention while the board decides whether your punishment is sufficient.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Sawyer said, her voice a low, nearly inaudible rumble.

“If you choose not to report to detention tomorrow, you will immediately be expelled.”

“Expelled?” she gaped.

“This is very serious, Ms. Dodd. We don’t take bullying lightly at Hawthorne High. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her entire focus going to the note in her pocket. Its contents radiated through her, and she played through any scenario that would allow her a few private moments to read it.

“Can I use the restroom?”

Principal Chappie pressed his lips into a stern, straight line. “Is it an emergency?”

Sawyer pumped her head, pressing her fingertips to her lower abdomen. “Cramps.”

He seemed to consider a moment before picking up his phone once again. “Ellen, can you come here and take Ms. Dodd to the ladies room?”

“I can go to the bathroom alone, Principal Chappie.”

Ellen, a freshman who barely cleared Sawyer’s chin, was standing in Principal Chappie’s doorway a beat after he hung up the receiver. “I can take you right now.” Ellen’s cracked lips broke into a friendly smile, showing off a mouthful of silvery braces.

“Thanks,” Sawyer muttered, walking behind the tiny blond.

“So,” Ellen started when they had reached the relative sanctity of the deserted hallway. “Is it true you attacked Maggie Gaines?”

“No,” Sawyer said without looking at the girl.

Ellen frowned, and Sawyer saw the girl’s fingers go to the hem of her T-shirt, rolling the fabric nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Sawyer said, stopping to face Ellen. “I’m just in a really bad mood. It’s nothing against you.”

Ellen nodded, her cotton candy fluff of blond hair swirling around her freckled cheeks. “That’s okay. I’m sorry about the suspension.”

“You already know?”

Ellen’s freckles disappeared under a wash of pink. “I kind of figured. It’s a zero-tolerance policy here.”

“Anyway”—Sawyer pointed to the girl’s room door—“I’m just going to—”

“Oh, right.” Ellen nodded, smiled, and leaned against the adjacent wall. “I’ll just wait for you here.”

Sawyer jammed her hands in her pockets, her fingertips brushing the top of the note. Her stomach dropped, but she forced a small smile. “I promise not to make a run for it.”