Vision (5 page)

“First I heard of this. Wonder what happened to her?”

“Dead, most likely,” Coco said.

Bobby scratched his head. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the girl’s eyes. Under the forced photo smile, was that a hint of desperation? “Why would you think that?”

“Isn’t that how it always turns out on TV?”

Bobby shifted in his seat, inexplicably unsettled. “That’s pretty cold of you. What if it was Dana?”

As if on cue, the door to the café jangled open. Dishwater Dana slinked toward Coco, eyes shining as if he was the light of heaven made flesh.

“Hi, guys,” she murmured. Without even a glance in Bobby’s direction, she flopped into the chair next to Coco’s. Bobby groaned inwardly. Whenever Dana was around, sounds seemed to go quiet, as if her silence had the power to suck in all his words.

“Hey, Babycakes.” Coco dragged Dana’s chair closer and greeted her with a long, slow kiss on the mouth. She threw her arms around his neck, her skinny body twined with him like a kudzu vine. Transfixed, Bobby thought how nice it would be to have Gabe pressed against him like that. And then that alarm went off in his head.

Wrong. Don’t go there. You can’t have that
.

Suddenly, the café had become suffocating and Bobby felt the urge to run. Anywhere. But he wasn’t ready to go hanging around the laundromat and increase his odds of running into Gabe. Instead, he took a huge bite of sandwich to keep himself from blurting something rude.

Dana pulled the newspaper toward her, a cascade of stringy hair hanging in her face. Between the strands, Bobby could see her pouty lips move as she read. “My cousin Rosemarie knows this girl,” she said finally, her gaze still trained on the article. “And now the State Police have pulled Daddy into the case…whoops!” Dana clamped a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that. Daddy told me never to talk about official police business.”

Bobby leaned forward, angling the paper so he could look at it again. “Why? Is it a murder investigation now?”

“Let it go, Sherlock.” Coco said. “She said she can’t talk about it.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Figures. The one time Dana Barclay has something to say, she’s under a gag order.”

Dana’s eyes flashed to his, something cold and sharp behind the softness, like a needle tucked inside a cotton ball.

“Why are you so interested, Bobby?”

“Why not? Nothing ever happens in Graxton.”

“You think a girl disappearing is cool?” Dana stared at him, the corners of her mouth tugged downward. It was a known fact that her father, Sheriff Barclay, hated Bobby’s dad. Chuck Barclay and Sam Pendell had been bitter rivals in high school, a feud that continued into their adult years. Somehow, Dad had always managed to keep a step ahead—until he landed in a wheelchair. Hate like that, Bobby thought, doesn’t just go away. It goes underground and festers, eventually seeping into everything.

Dana stood abruptly. “I have to go. Daddy’s picking me up in five. Movie night in Kingston.”

“Have fun,” Bobby said under his breath. Dana glared at him, face flushed, nostrils flared.

After Dana had left, Coco drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “What the hell was that? I know you two aren’t best friends, but can you at least try to be civil?”

“Sorry. I don’t know what’s got into me today.”

Coco frowned. “You sure you’re feeling okay? You look pale, like the skin on your ugly mug is pulled too tight around your skull.”

Bobby cleared his throat and wondered if the day’s strains showed that clearly on his face. “I’m fine. I was just curious, is all. It’s weird, isn’t it, that they’re keeping it all hush-hush? I wonder what’s really going on.”

Coco slanted his head, still gazing at Bobby with his piercing stare. Bobby knew the prospect of a riddle would be too tempting for his friend to pass up. But just why
he
was so curious, Bobby couldn’t begin to explain.

“I can ask him for you, if you like,” Coco said. “Barclay’s always tripping over himself to be nice to me. I’ll just kind of mention that Dana is upset by the whole thing. See if he bites and throws me some inside info.”

“No! I mean, never mind. I just thought, if you’d heard chatter…”

“So now I’m Homeland Security.” The glint in Coco’s eye was back and Bobby knew he was forgiven. Coco never stayed mad long.

Bobby threw a piece of lettuce at Coco’s head. A crust of bread sailed back at him. Pete started barking and then Aaron rushed over, picked up a napkin and put it over Coco’s eyes, yelling, “Pirate attack!”

Bobby laughed hard as the memory of their years of zaniness washed over him in a warm wave. He joined Aaron in the attack, and helped pull Coco from the chair to the floor. Pete got busy licking everyone, the three of them wrestling and laughing on the floor like puppies.

Jerry’s voice cut through the mayhem. “Excuse me, boys. We seem to have another customer.”

From the tangle of bodies, Bobby looked up. Arms folded, Gabe stood smirking from the doorway. In the confusion, he hadn’t heard the jangle of the door opening. “Looks like fun. Mind if I join in?”

Coco was on his feet in an instant and, smoothing his rumpled clothes, lunged toward her in a few long-legged strides.

“Welcome! Can I get you anything, madam?” He pulled out a chair at the nearest table and gestured toward it. “Please, have a seat! I’m Coco, otherwise known as James Woods, no relation to the actor of the same name.”

Gabe giggled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gabriella. But call me Gabe.” Bobby sighed. It was no contest. He could never outshine Coco when it came to charm. In this case, maybe that was a good thing.

“Sorry, but I’m not staying, actually. Dad just sent me over to ask for some extra cream.” Her gaze strayed toward Bobby. Feeling like the king of idiots, he picked himself up from the floor.

“Oh, hey, Bobby Robert.”

“Um, uh,
hi
.”

“Yo! Gabby Friend!” Aaron skipped over to greet her. Bobby just wanted to hide under the table, curl into a tight little ball, and die.

“It’s dead as hell over at the Grill, but we ran out of cream. And our only customers want coffee. Embarrassing, huh? The Foodmart is closed. Dad said to pay you double if you can spare some.”

Jerry had already retrieved a container of half and half from the refrigerator. “No need. Local businesses have to hang together. He’ll cover me another time.”

Gabe flashed a bright smile and Bobby looked away. It was like staring into the sun. His eyeballs were melting. Could everyone see what this girl did to him?

“Okay, cool. And thanks!” she said. Again, Bobby felt her eyes graze past him, and risked a glance. Lips pursed, she was looking straight at him, mildly amused, like she was an anthropologist studying the natives in their natural habitat. He felt scrutinized. “Nice to meet you, Coco-slash-James. See you around, Little Pendell and,” she paused, “you, too, Bobby Robert.” She whirled around and left, the door closing with a jingle of bells. If only he’d heard them when she’d entered.

Coco squinted at him a good long time before he spoke. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” Bobby tucked his T-shirt back into his jeans.

“The chick likes you.”

“What? You’re insane.”

“I’m not. I have chick radar. She turned pink when she looked at you.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s all over your face. You are toast, my man. Because you’re hot as hell over that babe. And I can’t blame you.”

Bobby headed for the exit. “Look, think what you want. I got me some laundry to do.”

T
he next day dawned cloudy and cool. Bobby hustled Aaron out the door and down the driveway to where the school bus picked them up. No way was he going to waste precious gas driving the eight miles each way to their schools in Waterbury. And he actually looked forward to the bus ride for the extra sleep time.

But today the yellow speck moving rapidly toward them was not the orange yellow of the school bus, but the acid lemon of Coco’s VW. Since the Woods lived on the north side of Graxton, three miles closer to Waterbury, Bobby always refused a ride.

Coco made a quick three-point turn and rolled down the window. “Get in.”

“The bus will be here any minute.”

“I drove out of my way to pick you up and you’re going to refuse me?”

“C’mon, Bobby! Get in!” Aaron said. “That way I won’t have to sit next to Harvey the Nosepicker.”

Bobby and Aaron were one of the last stops on the route, so most mornings they usually got the last available seats and took turns sitting next to Harvey Reilly, alias the Nosepicker.

Bobby sighed and climbed into the front seat, while Aaron bounced into the back. “So, what’s the occasion?”

Eyes fixed on the road, Coco shot him a sideways glance. “A guy can’t want company?”

“Give me a break. You’d rather go deaf from your shitty rave music than talk to me first thing in the morning.”

Coco looked straight ahead and turned onto Route 23, headed north. “So, you’ll never guess who popped into the café after you left.”

Bobby’s stomach flipped, his teeth clenched.
Please don’t let it be Gabe
. “Do I want to know?”

“Of course you do, dipwad, or I wouldn’t be telling you. Sheriff Barclay stopped in to chew the fat with Pops.”

Bobby exhaled, giddy with relief. “Did Miss Dishwater come back to pick up where you guys left off?”

“If you’d take the time to get to know her, you’d understand what we have between us.”

“I can guess what you have between you. Whatever. It’s your life. What about the missing girl? He tell you anything?”

“Not exactly. After a few brewskies, he started yakking even more than usual, and I just cleverly steered the conversation in a direction of interest.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got him talking about the prom-girl disappearance and the possibility that it’s murder. Then, without my asking, he starts rambling about serial killers and what motivates them.”

“Do they think the prom girl is the victim of a serial killer? I never heard of any serial killings around here. Wouldn’t there be others? She probably drank herself into a stupor and fell into the reservoir.”

“That’s what I thought, so I asked Sheriff Barclay about it,” Coco said.

“What, then?”

“It’s not what he
said
, Pendell. It’s what he didn’t say. His face turned three shades of purple and then he asked me who’d told me about a serial killer in Graxton.”

“You’re shitting me. You didn’t bring up my name, did you? You know how he feels about anyone named Pendell.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He leaned over the table and grabbed my arm and told me if anyone ever gave me any information, I should come straight to him.”

Bobby’s heart hammered, cold sweat coating his forehead. Dizzy. He felt dizzy. And he had no idea why. “What else did he say?”

“He got all serious, then said, in a very low voice, that we never had the conversation. That there had never, he repeated,
never
been a reported case of a serial killing anywhere near Graxton, or in Waterbury County.”

“What the fuck?”

“What exactly’s going on with you, anyway, Pendell? All the color drained out of your face. You’re as skittish as a squirrel protecting his nuts. Something wrong with your nuts?”

Bobby slumped lower in the seat. “Getting over a stomach bug.”

“Right.”

“Bobby hit his head yesterday and started acting all weird,” Aaron said from the back seat. Bobby groaned. He should have known Aaron was listening. He was the nosiest kid on earth.

“Thanks for ratting me out, Aaron. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

“Yep,” Coco said. “Just like you always are.”

Bobby had Mr. Cooper for Music Theory fourth period, which he always looked forward to. The class was small and tight-knit. Oftentimes they’d go off-topic and talk politics or discuss the great bands of the sixties and seventies. Kenny Cooper shared Bobby’s passion for the music of that era, especially the Who and the Stones, and discussions got pretty heated when the other students poked fun.

After Music, Bobby had lunch. He’d started for the door, his stomach already rumbling, when Mr. Cooper called out to him.

“Hey, Bobby. Got a minute?”

Lately, Mr. Cooper had been pressing Bobby to push for admittance to the prestigious Morton Conservatory. He didn’t understand why the man didn’t get that it was all pointless—that even if he got the full ride to Morton, he could never leave Graxton. Though a totally cool guy, Kenny came from a different universe than Bobby—an alternate world where there was more than enough money and endless opportunities. Bobby was grateful for his mentorship and attention and felt bad about deceiving him, but didn’t have the heart to set him straight.

“Uh, sure.”

“In my office?”

The office adjoining the music room was small and cramped but, for Bobby, was like a fleeting glimpse into the magical world beyond Graxton—the closest he was ever going to get.

A wooden bookcase filled with musicians’ biographies sat against one wall, its top crammed with photos of Mr. Cooper smiling beside the famous musicians and conductors he knew, and in some cases had performed with. A jungle of flourishing plants framed the window in leafy splendor, and a print of a painting by an old master that had always fascinated him hung on the opposite wall. Today Bobby settled into the leather upholstered chair and, instead of facing Mr. Cooper, stared at the print.