Change of Heart (6 page)

I heard loud music in the background.

“Where are you, Dad?”

“I'm working. What can I do for you? Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine, Dad.” I tried to sound casual, even indifferent, as I asked, “Is Nick with you?”

“Robbie ...”

“Come on, Dad. If you can't trust your own daughter, who can you trust?”

“I'm working,” he said again, his voice firmer now. “I'd love to tell you all about it, Robbie, but I can't. Not now. Okay?”

It wasn't okay, but there was nothing I could do about it. I hung up without saying goodbye.

The next morning I got up, as usual, showered, as usual, dressed, as usual, and went downstairs to grab a bite to eat before heading to school, as usual. My mother was still home. She had the TV on so she could catch the morning news while she bustled around getting ready for work.

The phone rang. My mother answered it. She listened for a moment and then said, “She's right here.” She handed the phone to me. “It's Morgan,” she said. “I could be wrong, but it sounds like she's crying.”

I sighed. One of two things must have happened: either Billy had done something stupid or Sean had dumped her. Whichever it was, I was in for an earful.

“Do you have the TV on, Robyn?” Morgan said. My mother wasn't wrong. She was crying. “Channel 2. Oh my god.”

I reached for the remote, clicked to the right channel, and saw a reporter standing outside the hockey arena. There were police cars and yellow crime-scene tape in the background.

“What's going on, Morgan?” I said. “What happened?”

“It's Sean.” She started to let out long, heart-wrenching sobs. “Oh, Robyn, he's dead. Someone killed him.”

I stared at the TV again, but by then a different reporter was on the screen talking about a truck that had overturned on the expressway and backed up traffic for miles in every direction.

“Killed him?” I said. “What do you mean, killed him?”

My mom, who was at the front door with her briefcase in her hand, paused to look at me.

“Murdered him,” Morgan said between sobs. “Someone murdered Sean.”

My mom came back into the kitchen. “What's going on?”

“Morgan's boyfriend was murdered.”

Her face went pale.

“Someone murdered Billy?”

“Not Billy. Sean Sloane.”

Now my mom looked baffled.

“Long story,” I said.

“Robyn, I'm at home. Can you come over?” Morgan said. “Please?”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

My mother agreed to let me skip school for the day. “If that boy was as popular as you say, there isn't going to be much work done anyway. They'll probably bring in grief counselors.” She checked her watch. “Grab your things, Robyn. I'll drop you at Morgan's house on my way to the office.”

I reached for my backpack, which was already packed for a weekend at my dad's place.

Morgan's face was puffy, and she was holding a wad of damp tissues when she answered the door. She threw herself at me. I held her and asked her if she wanted me to make her a cup of tea. She trailed after me into the kitchen.

“What happened?” I asked while we waited for the kettle to boil.

She shook her head. “I don't know the whole story. I only know what I saw on TV. I couldn't believe it. I called Sean's house, but no one answered. Robyn, can you imagine how his parents and his brothers must feel?”

“I didn't see the news, Morgan. What did they say?”

“That he was at the arena last night, practicing.”

“He was at the arena?” That didn't make any sense. “But he was injured.”

“You don't know Sean,” Morgan said. “He never lets anything come between him and hockey. The doctor said that he was going to have to miss a couple of games—playoff games—on account of what happened. But he told me he didn't want to lose his edge. He told me yesterday when I went over to his house that he was going to get some practice in. They said on the news that when his mother went to pick him up, she found him ...” She started to cry again, and it was a few minutes before I could calm her down. I had just made tea when the doorbell rang. Morgan blotted her eyes with a tissue.

“Will you get that, Robyn? Please? I don't think I can face anyone.”

The man in the dark overcoat standing on Morgan's front porch, waiting patiently for someone to answer the doorbell, was a homicide detective. His name was Charlie Hart. He was a friend of my father's.

“Robyn,” he said, surprised. “I'm looking for Morgan Turner. Is she here?”

“She's inside. Come in.”

He wiped his feet on the mat outside and again in the front hall and followed me through to the back of the house. Morgan was blowing her nose when I showed him into the kitchen. He introduced himself. He said that he was investigating Sean's death and that he understood from Sean's mother that Morgan and Sean were close. As soon as he said that, Morgan started to sniffle. Charlie Hart said he knew it would be difficult, but that he was trying to find out what had happened to Sean and that he needed to ask Morgan some questions.

“I'll be in the living room,” I said.

Morgan grabbed my hand. “Stay with me.”

I glanced at Charlie Hart, who nodded. I sat down beside Morgan.

“How well did you know Sean?” Charlie Hart asked Morgan.

“Pretty well, I guess.” Her voice was small and trembling. “I was going out with him. We'd been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday. I went over to his house after school. He was injured playing hockey the other night and he missed school, so I went over to see how he was.”

“Was anyone else there?”

“His mom was home for a while. But she had to go to work. His brother Colin came home just as I was leaving. I saw him sitting outside in his car. I knocked on the window and waved to him on my way down the driveway.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“No. He seemed preoccupied. He was reading something.”

“How were you and Sean getting along?”

“Fine.”

“Did you and Sean have an argument or fight about anything last night?”

“No!” Morgan glowered at the detective.

“Do you remember what time you left Sean's house?”

Morgan glanced at me. I knew exactly what she was thinking: Why is he asking me all these questions?

“It was about six o'clock, I think,” she said.

“Where were you between ten o'clock and midnight last night, Morgan?”

“I was right here.”

“Was anyone here with you?”

“My parents. They were both here. I watched the eleven o'clock news with my dad. I didn't kill Sean.” She was furious now.

Charlie Hart pressed on.

“Where are your parents now?”

“At work. Don't you believe me?”

“This is just routine. Can you tell me how I can get in touch with them?”

“I can give you their phone numbers.”

Charlie Hart handed her a notebook and a pen. She wrote down her parents' work numbers. Then he said, “Did Sean tell you anything about his plans for last night?”

“Just that he was going to the arena. He wanted to practice.”

“Did he say if anyone was going with him, or if he was planning to meet anyone there?”

Morgan shook her head. “I told him he should be careful that he didn't get hurt again, but he said no way. He said there wouldn't be anyone else there, so the only way he could get hurt was if he tripped over his own skates.” A look of horror came over her face as she realized the terrible irony of what she had just said. I reached for another tissue and pressed it into her hand. “He—he said the arena wasn't even open last night, but that Wayne would let him in. Wayne is the janitor. He and Sean get along really well. Wayne lets him on the ice whenever he wants. He trusts Sean to lock up when he leaves.”

“So as far as you know, Sean wasn't planning to meet anyone?”

“No.”

Charlie Hart was quiet for a moment. A lot of people would have assumed that he was trying to think of his next question, but he wasn't. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask. He was just giving Morgan time to compose herself.

“Was Sean having trouble with anyone?” he said.

My whole body clenched up when I heard that question. I glanced at Morgan and willed her not to say anything about Billy. I was pretty sure that someone would eventually mention him if they hadn't already, but I didn't want it to be Morgan. Charlie Hart glanced at me. Then he turned his sharp eyes back to Morgan and waited for her to answer.

Morgan looked directly at the detective. “He was in a fight at school on Monday.”

Charlie Hart's face was impossible to read, but I was willing to bet he already knew that.

“And ...” She hesitated and glanced at me. “Somebody vandalized his locker at school. And—” She stopped abruptly. “Maybe it would be better if Robyn wasn't here.”

I tried to stay calm, but my cheeks burned. I stood up, walked out of the kitchen, and closed the door behind me.

It was twenty minutes before the door opened again. Charlie Hart nodded to me as he passed through the living room and then let himself out. A few more minutes passed before Morgan came out of the kitchen.

“He wants me to go to the police station and make a formal statement,” she said.

“You told him about Billy, didn't you?”

“He would have found out anyway.”

“But you told him. Morgan, you don't really think Billy had anything to do with what happened to Sean, do you?”

“I don't know what to think.”

I

went from Morgan's house to my father's place. I was climbing up to my dad's third-floor loft when I heard footsteps coming down toward me.

It was Nick.

He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Worse, he seemed uncomfortable at finding himself two steps above me in the stairwell. We stared at each other for a moment. Then, without a word, he brushed past me.

“Nick,” I said.

He turned slowly.

“If you find it so unpleasant to be anywhere near me,” I said, “maybe you should stop coming around.”

His eyes were hard and distant. “I was just leaving something for your dad. I thought you'd be at school.”

I turned away from him and continued on up the stairs. The whole time I was waiting for him to call me back and tell me that he was sorry and that he missed me.

But he didn't.

When I got up to the third floor, I saw a thick brown envelope leaning against my dad's door. Nick had said he'd left something. He must have meant that envelope. I picked it up, unlocked the door, and went inside. I tossed the envelope onto the dining room table, dropped my backpack onto the floor, and reached for the phone to call Billy. Still no answer.