Deadly Cool (12 page)

“I have a witness.”

He cocked his head. “A witness to what?”

“You and Courtney. She has video.”

He paused. “Video of what?”

“What do you think?”

He was smart enough not to answer. Instead, he said, “I didn’t kill her.”

“But you slept with her.”

“I—” he started.

But I didn’t let him finish. “Don’t even try denying it. I
saw
you, Josh. God, how could you?”

He took another step toward me. “Hartley, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t you dare be sorry!”

He froze.

“Look, it’s not like I wanted things to happen this way, Hartley.”

“How exactly did you want them to happen, Josh?” I asked, my voice rising. “Behind my back?”

“No.” But I could tell that was exactly how he’d wanted them to happen. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t mean for me to find out.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me, Josh, exactly what is it like?”

He looked down at the floor. “We were at a football game in Walnut Creek. It was after the meet, we’d just won, and we were coming back home on the bus. Courtney sat next to me, and one thing led to another . . .”

“I do not want to hear this.” A truer phrase I have never uttered.

“It just happened.”

“Earthquakes just happen. Tornadoes just happen. Your tongue does not just happen to fall into some other girl’s mouth!” Not to mention certain other body parts that I was
not
going to think about.

Josh bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” he said for the gazillionth time.

I should have backed away then, licked my wounds, let my pride begin the slow process of recovery. Instead, I asked, “Why?” Because, clearly, I am some sort of masochist.

“Why am I sorry?”

“Why did you sleep with the president of the Chastity Club?!”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, you wanna know the truth?”

“No, I’d prefer to continue hearing the lies fall out of your mouth.”

He sighed, then looked down at the floor. “Look, you and I have been dating for six months, Hartley. Six months. Face it, you were never gonna give it up.”

Oh, he did
not
just say that.

I don’t know what I’d hoped to hear. Maybe that Courtney was prettier than me, smarter than me, better at crossword puzzles.

But what it came down to was that the chastity queen put out and I didn’t.

“Seriously? That’s your reason? You cheated on me with Courtney Cline—Courtney Cline of all people!—because I wouldn’t sleep with you?”

“I respect that you’re a virgin,” Josh said, “but, Hartley, come on.”

“Come on? Come on?! That’s the best you can do?” My entire relationship with my first true love had come down to two little words.

“I’m sorry.”

I felt hot tears backing up behind my eyes but refused to give him the satisfaction of shedding even one.

“You are such a jerk.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“It meant something to me.”

“Hartley—”

He reached out a hand toward me.

“Don’t you dare touch me. You do not get to touch me. Just go.”

He opened his mouth to speak but must have thought better of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Then he turned and slipped out the window the way he’d come.

I had the fleeting idea to run out front and tell Detective Raley just where he could find Josh DuPont. I had the feeling I’d find immense satisfaction in seeing him haul my ex-boyfriend away in handcuffs. I might even help them beat a confession out of him.

But the truth was, even through my anger, I knew Josh hadn’t killed Courtney. He was a weasel of the lowest order. Which just served to solidify my theory that he didn’t have the guts to kill Courtney.

So who did?

ELEVEN

I SPENT THE REST OF THE NIGHT ALTERNATING BETWEEN
crying, punching my pillows in lieu of Josh’s face, and whining to Sam on the phone. Good friend that she was, not only did she let me keep her up way too late, she ditched the censoring thing long enough to call him a string of names that would have made a sailor blush.

“Thanks, I needed that,” I told her.

“No prob.” She paused. “So, you’re totally through with him, right?”

I nodded at the phone. Then said, “I didn’t call him quite as creative names as you just did, but, yeah, I am. Totally over him.”

I’m proud to say I actually finished that sentence before bursting into tears. Luckily, Sam had unlimited minutes and didn’t mind hearing me blubber incoherently about just how over Josh I was late into the night.

I awoke the next morning groggy, puffy eyed, and generally feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. A big one. That had backed up, hit me again, then shown me a video of my boyfriend doing a perky brunette.

I brushed my teeth twice, trying to get the bad taste of Josh’s confession out of my mouth, washed my face with an apricot scrub that left my skin raw and tingly, then tied my hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail, ready to face the day.

As an eff-you to my crappy mood I put on a pair of skinny jeans, some sparkly silver flats, and a loose T-shirt with silver sequins all over. I capped it off with pair of silver earrings, hoping the dangling hoops would distract from my red-rimmed eyes. Then I added a layer of mascara and eyeliner just to be sure.

I grabbed my book bag and managed to slip out the front door before Mom could shove a bowl of oatmeal with agave syrup at me, instead walking the two blocks over to the nearest Starbucks and ordering a venti latte. Double shot.

By the time I walked the rest of the way to school, I was caffeinated, renewed, and ready to start my day.

Unfortunately, the first person I saw was Mary Bessie, grief counselor extraordinaire.

“Hartley!”

“Hi, Ms. Bessie.”

“Mary. How are you, Hartley?”

“Fine.” I loved that word. It covered all manner of sins. No matter the situation, one could always feign fineness.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” she said, doing her patented head tilt as she scrutinized my eyes.

So much for CoverGirl.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Very.”

“I’m here if you want to talk about how you’re feeling right now. You know, tears are emotion in motion.”

I did a mental eye roll. “I’m late for English.”

“The warning bell hasn’t even rung yet.”

“Nice chatting with you,” I called, backing away.

She stood in the doorway to her office, her head still tilted, annoying sympathy oozing from her polyester-clad frame.

I managed to make it through lit and the next two periods without incident. Today, the sidelong glances from my peers were fewer and farther between, the chatter continuing as I passed instead of immediately ceasing with a hissed, “It’s her!” It had been two whole days since Courtney had been found dead. An eternity. I thanked God for the short attention span that had been electronically bred into my generation. At this rate, by the end of the week no one would remember Courtney at all, let alone the poor clueless chick whose boyfriend had effed her, allegedly killed her, and left her for said chick to find.

In fact, by fourth period, I’d almost forgotten it myself.

It wasn’t until lunch that I was ripped away from my BFF, denial, again.

“Hey, Hart.”

I looked up from my locker to find Chase bearing down on me. He was doing the black-on-denim thing again, his hair looking slightly more spiky than usual, as if he’d spent the morning running his hands through it. In frustration, if the concerned line of his eyebrows was any indication.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“So talk,” I said, shoving my chem book into my bag.

He looked past me at the crowded hallway, then lowered his voice. “An anonymous tip came in to the paper. About Courtney.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Anonymous tip? That seems a little melodramatic, doesn’t it?”

“If you like that, you’ll love this. It’s from someone who referred to himself as ‘Deep Blogger.’ He says he saw who killed Courtney Cline.”

“Really?” I asked, skepticism lacing my voice.

“Really.”

“So who killed her?” I asked.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Of course he didn’t.”

“He said he’d only tell you.”

“Me?!”

“Shhhh!”

I lowered my voice. “Why me?”

Chase shrugged. “I guess he saw your TV interview.”

“Fine. Give him my email addy.”

But Chase shook his head. “He said he couldn’t risk sending that sort of information via email. He wants to meet with you in person.”

“That’s just wonderful.” I threw my hands up.

“It gets better. He said he’d be on the football field. At midnight tonight. And you should come alone.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Am I living in an episode of
CSI: Silicon Valley
?”

Chase grinned. “Cute.”

Despite my foul mood, I think I blushed. “I was going for exasperated, not cute.”

“Try harder next time,” he said, still grinning. A dimple dented his left cheek, totally at odds with the Danger: Bad Boy Ahead image he was cultivating.

“
Anyway
,” I said, “this feels like a total prank. Midnight? Come alone?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

I blew out a puff of air, ruffling my hair. “I am so sick of this. I swear if I get out there and no one shows up . . .”

“Whoa. Wait—you’re not actually thinking of meeting him, are you?”

I turned to him. “Of course. I mean, it’s probably a prank, but I need to be sure, right?”

“No!” he shouted.

“Shhh!” I said, turning the tables on him.

He failed to see the irony, completely ignoring me as he continued. “No, I definitely do
not
think you should meet him.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t we just go over this? Alone? In the middle of the night? In a deserted location?”

I put my hands on my hips. “The HHH football field is hardly the middle of nowhere. I think I’ll be okay,
Mom.
”

But he shook his head again. “No. No way can I let you go.”

“I’m sorry, ‘let me’? Since when did you become my keeper?”

“Hartley, we’re dealing with a killer here. This is not some game.”

“Oh, gee, I’m sorry. Here I thought we were playing Parcheesi.”

Again, my excellent sarcastic wit was wasted on him.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“And that’s safer because?”

“I’m a guy.”

“Right, and having a pair of dingle balls makes you invincible how?”

“Okay, now you’re just being unreasonable.”

I threw my hands up. “In the past two days I’ve been cheated on, lied to, stalked by both a cop and a grief counselor, and now, thanks to an overzealous reporter, the entire student body thinks I’m some sort of wannabe Nancy Drew, and I’ve got a date with a secret informant on a damp field in the middle of the night. I think I’ve earned the right to be a little unreasonable!”

“You are not meeting this guy.”

“I’m
so
meeting him.”

“I don’t like this, Hartley.”

“I don’t care what you like!”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Hey, what’s with the attitude? I’m not the one you should be pissed at here.”

He was right. I was totally projecting. I was pissed at Josh, but Chase was a closer target. And the whole macho thing was not winning him any points today.

“I’m just looking out for your well-being,” Chase said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Why does everyone say that when what they really mean is that they don’t want to feel guilty?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Whatever.”

Chase shook his head. “Why are you even doing this?”

“Arguing with you? Good question. You’re really not worth the time.”

“No. Trying to help Josh. The guy who
cheated
on you.”

I felt my face flush, my cheeks burning. “I know he cheated. Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then why do you still care?”

“I don’t!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

Chase threw his hands up. “You know what? Fine. Go meet this psycho killer on the football field at midnight. Knock yourself out!”

“Fine. I will!”

“Good!”

“Great!”

By this point our conversation had escalated into a bona fide shouting match. Every head within eyeshot was turned our way. Chris Fret stood at his locker, his hands frozen over a cross-country jersey, his mouth open. Jessica Hanson was filming us on her phone. The Color Guard girls were openly staring, Caitlyn narrowing her eyes at us, while Kaylee chewed on a fingernail, looking concerned.

I slammed my locker shut and ducked my head, turning my back on Chase as I stalked off.

God, I hated guys.

I hid out in the girls’ bathroom for the rest of lunch period, then kept my nose glued to my books through chem and trig. As soon as the last bell sounded I sprinted for the doors, managing to sneak away with only a few illconcealed glances from the curious. Needless to say, by that time every person at HHH with a cell phone knew about my fight with Chase. In fact, one text had even been mistakenly sent to me:

hart’s totally lost it.

I texted back that Cody ought to check his contacts more carefully before sending mass messages.

oops. Srry.

I ignored the apology—I’d had enough of those to last me a lifetime—and made my way home.

Of course Raley was once again parked in front of my house. I was beginning to think of him as a permanent fixture. Kinda like a big, annoying garden gnome.

“Caught any bad guys today?” I asked as I walked past.

He just shook his head and retaliated with, “Nope. Seen Josh today?”

“Nope.”

Neither of us believed that, but I didn’t give him a chance to question me any further, quickly heading up the walkway.

I stuck my key in the lock and opened the door to find a note from Mom taped to the entry credenza: