Spirit Seeker (2 page)

“They were murdered?” I shivered, shoving away the horrible image, terrified at what Dad would say next.

Dad looked at me and grimaced as if he were in pain. “Yes. The people who were murdered were Cody’s parents.”

Words battered themselves against the blackness in my mind and wouldn’t take shape. “Cody?… Cody? What happened to Cody?”

Dad stretched out one big hand, clumsily patting my shoulder as if he didn’t know what else to
do. “Cody wasn’t there, Holly,” he said. “Two cars were in the three-car garage, both of them registered to his parents. There was no sign of Cody or his car.”

I
woke up Mom, and she held me tightly, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed, murmuring against my hair. When Dad came in, she pulled him down beside her and said, “Oh, Jake, how terrible! Cody’s parents! Oh, Jake!”

Mom seemed to forget she was angry at Dad, and for a few minutes I could imagine that Mom and Dad loved each other just as much as they had when the house was warm and snug with the feelings that come with being a close, united family.

“We have to find Cody,” I mumbled.

“We will,” Dad said. “I contacted the police in Conroe. They had an address for the Garnetts’ lake house.”

I could picture uniformed cops knocking at Cody’s door, waking him in the darkness with the news about his parents. Strangers telling him. People who wouldn’t care.

I sat upright, twisting to face Dad. “Could we drive to Conroe? Could we break the news to Cody?”

“He’s probably already been told,” Dad said, and I groaned.

Mom gave my shoulders a squeeze, but she glanced at Dad as if she was disappointed in him. “We should have been there,” she said. “He’s Holly’s friend, Jake. He’s just a boy.”

Dad’s jaw stiffened. “Neither of you understand. It’s important that Cody be … uh … located as soon as possible.”

“But strangers …,” Mom began.

I interrupted, a chill like an icy hand shivering up my backbone. “Located?” I asked. “Are you saying that Cody is a suspect?”

Dad’s uncomfortable silence was the only answer.

“Dad!” I shouted at him. “Cody’s parents were murdered! It’s going to be horrible for him when he finds out. You can’t think of Cody as a suspect!”

Dad stared at the floor, but he said, “We have to explore every possibility.”

“Don’t do that!”

He looked up at me, surprised. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t sound like you’re reciting from a police manual. This is Cody we’re talking about.”

I realized that Mom had pulled her arm away from Dad’s shoulders and was leaning against me as though the two of us had joined forces against
him. “Holly’s right,” Mom said. “Cody’s her friend.”

Dad heaved himself to his feet. “Cody will get every consideration,” he said. “No one’s going to accuse him of anything. As of now, we have very little to go on.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying these things about showing him consideration, then turning around and accusing him.”

Dad’s chin stiffened again. “In most multiple homicides which involve families, especially when there’s no sign of forced entry, the lone survivor is the most logical suspect. You know about the Weinstrath murders, the Coul—”

I jumped to my feet, facing Dad. “This is not about old convictions! This is about Cody!” I yelled.

The bedside phone rang, and Dad swooped up the receiver, pressing it close to his ear. “Campbell here,” he mumbled.

Holding my breath, I waited, wishing I could overhear what was being said.

“Okay,” Dad said. “Thanks. I’ll get back with you as soon as possible.”

Slowly he replaced the receiver and looked up at me, his eyes darker and deeper than I’d ever seen them. “That was Conroe PD,” he said. His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat a couple of times before he could continue. “Cody was not at his parents’ lake house when the officers arrived, and, according to their report, there was nothing to indicate he’d been there recently.”

Frantically I tried to think of a reason, but thoughts skittered in and out of my head like jagged stabs of light, disappearing before they began to make sense. “Maybe the police went to the wrong house. I’ve been to their lake house, and it’s hard to find. I mean there are roads that wind around the lake and then dead-end into other roads, and besides, what if Cody slept outside on the porch or took out the boat?”

Mom squeezed my hand and said, “Calm down, Holly. There’s no reason to panic.”

But Dad had picked up the phone again and told whoever was on the other end, “Put out an APB. Cody Garnett. Brown hair, slender.” He glanced at me. “How tall would you say Cody is, Holly?”

“Dad, you can’t do this!” I exploded. “You’re acting like Cody’s a murderer!”

“I know how hard this is for you, Holly,” Dad began.

“How could you know? You’re determined that Cody’s to blame without even finding out what really happened!”

“Holly …”

“Aren’t people supposed to be considered innocent until they’re proven guilty? Isn’t that the way it works? So why are you sending out a bulletin to pick up Cody?”

“For his own good.” Dad sighed. “I’m not going to try to explain while you’re in this mood.” His voice hardened as he asked, “How tall is Cody? Five-eleven? Six feet?”

“You’re not being fair!” I shouted and ran into
my room. Fair? Not being fair? The word brought up a hateful memory, one that still taunted me, even condemned me. The memory rushed into my mind. I remembered so clearly when I was in the sixth grade. Three of us had stayed in the classroom during recess. We’d been allowed the special privilege of coloring in the banners we were making for the school’s book fair.

One of the girls was Paula, who was so shy she spoke in gaspy whispers and turned pink every time Ms. Donavan, our teacher, called on her. The other was my best friend, Mindy. At least she said she was my best friend. She sat next to me at lunch, and walked home with me from school, and sometimes invited me to her house. It was special to be Mindy’s best friend—particularly for me, unused to the popularity that radiated in a wide swath around Mindy. Along with Mindy I was invited to everyone’s birthday party. Kids I hardly knew talked and joked with me, and a boy named Robert even asked me for a date. Mom and Dad said no, I was much too young to date, but I didn’t mind. I’d been asked, hadn’t I? It was a heady feeling, and I loved every minute of being Mindy’s best and special friend.

But on that day, the day Paula, Mindy, and I were supposed to be working on the banners, Mindy got bored and began to act silly. She started fooling around with the stuff on Ms. Donavan’s desk, saying so many funny things I couldn’t stop laughing. The more I laughed, the sillier she got.

Then Mindy picked up the ceramic statue of a
little girl reading and began waving it around. Paula, always cautious, said quietly, “I don’t think you should do that. That’s expensive. That’s a Lladro.”

I heard Paula and got nervous and stopped laughing, but Mindy didn’t. Mindy giggled and stared at Paula with hostility. “What’s a Lladro?” she said. “This looks like a silly old statue to me.” She tossed it a few inches into the air and caught it.

Paula gasped. I did too.

“Mindy,” I warned, “that’s one of Ms. Donavan’s favorite things. Her mother gave it to her years ago when she became a teacher. She said so.”

“Are you taking Paula’s side, Holly? I thought we were best friends.” Mindy glared at me with a look that made me cringe. I sank back in my seat.

But Paula walked to the desk as Mindy tossed the statue and caught it again. “Don’t do that,” she ordered.

I’d never heard Mindy challenged by anyone, and I sucked in my breath.

Mindy glared at Paula. “Okay,” she said. “If you’re so crazy about this stupid statue, you take it.” She tossed the statue to Paula.

Taken by surprise, Paula fumbled for it. But her fingers barely grazed the statue, and it dropped to the floor near her feet, smashing into a dozen pieces.

Neither Paula nor I could move. We just stared, openmouthed.

The door to the classroom opened. Somehow, Mindy was in her seat as Ms. Donavan entered the room.

“Oh, Paula!” Ms. Donavan cried. “How could you?”

She bent to pick up the pieces, and as she rose, her eyes were damp.

“I’m sorry,” Paula murmured, and tears rolled down her face too. “It was an accident.”

The accident wasn’t Paula’s fault, and I knew it wasn’t fair for her to take the blame. My lips parted as I tried to get the courage to speak the truth, but Mindy slowly turned in her seat, her gaze penetrating mine. I wanted to tell what had happened. I desperately wanted to. But I realized that if I did, I’d lose Mindy as a friend, and I’d lose the other friends I’d made because of Mindy. I was scared that nobody would like me.

“What’s done is done,” Ms. Donavan said, her eyes still on the broken statue. “Run outside, girls. You’ve got about ten more minutes of recess. We’ll work on the banners later.” She stooped to pick up the pieces.

Outside in the hallway, I felt sick to my stomach. “Paula,” I managed to say, but Mindy grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the playground.

“She dropped it. You saw her,” Mindy said.

Paula looked at me, but she didn’t say a word. Neither did I, not then and not later.

A few weeks later, Paula was no longer in our school. Ms. Donavan told us that Paula’s father had been transferred to another state. She’d left
Houston, but the memory of what I’d done—what I
hadn’t
done—stayed with me. It taunted me through Mindy’s eyes, and I no longer wanted to be her best friend. I knew the difference between right and wrong. I should have stood by the truth and stood up for Paula. I shouldn’t have allowed her to take the blame.

There was nothing I could do to make amends to Paula, and if the incident still bothered her, I’d never know. But I did know that I had another chance to do the right thing. I could stand up for Cody, if he were innocent.

But of course Cody was innocent.

I heard Dad calling for me to come back, so I hurried to their bedroom, where Dad was talking on the phone, repeating his guess to whoever was on the other end of the line.

He looked in my direction. “Holly? Holly, pay attention. Am I remembering correctly that Cody drives an old, slightly beat-up blue two-door Thunderbird? Is that description right?” Dad asked. I refused to answer him. I hated Dad’s good memory. Even when I went out on a date, he was more a detective than a father.

Dad turned his back on me, but I heard him say, “Look up the registrations under Sam and Nelda Garnett. You should be able to get the information. The cars in the garage were a Cadillac, two—maybe three years old—and a fairly new BMW.”

When Dad hung up, he turned to face me. His shoulders drooped, and his eyelids sagged at the
outer corners like crooked window shades. “I’m trying to help Cody,” he told me.

“You’re not!”

“If I do my job right, I will.”

Mom put an arm around my shoulders and said, “It’s nearly four o’clock. Since it’s Saturday, we can sleep in, so let’s get back to bed. We’ll all think better when we’re rested.”

I wanted to snap at her for using her teacher voice. “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of the kids in your fourth-grade class!” But my quarrel wasn’t with Mom. It was with Dad, and Mom did have a point. I needed time to think, to work out some kind of plan to help Cody. He’d need someone, and I wouldn’t let him down.

As I got to my feet, a sudden thought struck me so hard that I gasped. “Dad!” I said. “What if Cody didn’t get to the lake house because … because he was at home when his parents were murdered, and whoever did it kidnapped Cody and used his car? What if …?” I couldn’t finish.

Dad’s forehead crinkled, and I realized he’d been aware of this possibility all along. “Forget it, Holly. Don’t borrow trouble,” he mumbled. “There were no signs of a struggle.”

“But it could have happened. That’s why you ordered an all points bulletin, wasn’t it?”

“It had something to do with it.”

My throat ached as I choked out the words “I’m sorry, Dad. I got so angry … I didn’t mean the things I said.”

“No matter,” he answered and shifted uncomfortably. “We’d better do what your mother suggested, and go to bed.”

I wished he’d reach out to me, but Dad has never been the kind of person to show how he feels.

I wandered back to my room and shut the door. A snapshot of Cody was propped against the lamp next to my bed, and as I picked it up, studying it intently, I could feel his arm around my shoulders, his breath against my cheek, his lips against mine. In this photo Cody was dressed in swim trunks and a faded T-shirt and was leaning against a surfboard propped in the sand. His smile was broad, and I’m sure that a moment after the picture had been taken, he’d burst out laughing.

“Oh, Cody!” I whispered, hurting for him. I gently put the photo back in place and flopped onto my bed. I knew I’d never be able to sleep. Was Cody dead too? Or was he alive somewhere, at the mercy of the person who had murdered his parents?

I struggled to my feet and began to pace as I attempted to make sense of all I’d heard. There’d been no forced entry, Dad had said. No sign of a struggle. That meant Cody couldn’t possibly have been in the house when the murders took place. Cody was tall and strong. He would have put up a fight to try to save his parents. He never would have gone peacefully with the murderers, no matter what. Cody had told me he was going to the lake house, so that’s what he did, didn’t he?

I shook myself. Of course he did. What kind of
a friend was I if I allowed myself to doubt him for even a minute? Somehow, in some way I didn’t understand right now, when the police had gone to the Garnetts’ lake house, they’d missed him. Cody’d be able to tell us why. In the meantime, I’d do what Mom had said. I’d go to bed and try to sleep.

I visualized the Garnetts’ trim two-story brick house with bright borders of pink and white begonias around the front and down the walkway, the lawn a thick, smooth carpet of St. Augustine grass. “Mom’s the gardener,” Cody had told me the first time I’d seen his house.