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  Also by Jeffry W. Johnston

  The Truth

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jeffry W. Johnston

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Nicole Hower/Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover image © Tony Watson/Arcangel

  Internal design by Ashley Holstrom/Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data

  Names: Johnston, Jeffry W., author.

  Title: Following / Jeffry W. Johnston.

  Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Fire, [2019] | Summary: Amateur investigator Alden Ross thinks he witnessed a murder, but when the victim shows up alive, he must figure out what he could have seen and what the school’s most popular couple is hiding.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018033686 | (pbk. : alk. paper)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Detectives--Fiction. | Murder--Fiction. | Mystery and detective stories.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.J645 Fo 2019 | DDC [Fic]--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018033686

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  This one is for Wendy Schmalz.

  I couldn’t ask for a better agent.

  Chapter One

  It’s Thursday, and I haven’t followed anybody all week. That’s a long time for me. But with the school day over, the urge is strong as everyone leaves and heads home. I’m keeping my antennae up, just in case somebody catches my attention.

  But I promised Charlie I wouldn’t. Told her I’d go the whole week without doing it. Nobody stands out, anyway. I’ll go home; my uncle won’t be back from work for a few hours. I could get started on homework. I have a report due in a week that I keep putting off.

  The gym door opens, and out storms Greg Matthes looking pissed. Really pissed. Which is news in and of itself. Look up perfect in the dictionary, and you’ll find Greg’s face grinning back at you. Seventeen, a senior, and a year ahead of me, popular, multiple-sport athlete Greg Matthes has a smile for everybody; it doesn’t matter if you’re a friend, teammate, acquaintance, or someone he just passes in the hall.

  The reason Greg is angry could be big. Really big. If I’m going to be a detective or private investigator someday, I need to keep my skills sharp. I need to keep practicing. I shouldn’t let this opportunity slip by.

  Greg doesn’t see me as he hoists his backpack—adorned in the school colors of orange and black, and covered with patches announcing every school sport he plays and every year he’s played them—onto his back and strides purposefully away from the school. Shouldn’t he have baseball practice now? An unzipped tan jacket covers the shirt baseball players usually wear for practice. Maybe he got thrown off the team. That would be big! My notebook is in my backpack, and I pull it out just in case I need to take notes.

  In my head, Charlie’s voice scolds me—You promised, Alden—and I hesitate. Another voice assures me—She’ll understand. After allowing him a little distance, I start to tail him. I need to keep the right distance: not too close that he can sense me behind him, but not so far I could lose him. Fortunately, he never looks back. We go on that way for a while, and I have to work to keep up with him. But I’m skinny and wiry, and I walk a lot, so it’s not a problem.

  All of a sudden, he stops to pull out his phone. It must have rung, and I just didn’t hear it. If I was closer, I’d need to slow down and walk nonchalantly past him so as not to look suspicious. Then I could pick him up again later. But I’m far enough back that I’m not going to pass him. Instead, I open my notebook to make it look like I’m studying it and turn down a side street Greg has already passed. I keep going until I reach trees, my head and my eyes up.

  He’s half turned toward me, but isn’t looking my way. He listens, then barks a few words into his cell I’m too far away to make out. He listens again, barks again, then angrily stuffs his cell back into his pocket. I pull back, but he turns away. Could the call have something to do with why he’s angry? Maybe the call came from his girlfriend. She would normally be watching Greg at practice. I guess not this time. A rift between Greg Matthes and Amy Sloan would be bigger than Greg getting kicked off the baseball team.

  If Greg’s photo is next to perfect, Amy Sloan’s would accompany sweet or innocent. Also a year ahead of me, she’s one of the prettiest girls in school. I’ve found myself staring at her more than once. And while she’s not a Jesus freak who goes out of her way to convert everyone she talks to, she makes it pretty clear the silver cross she wears around her neck is more than just jewelry. If Greg hopes for anything more than a kiss from her, he’s going to have to wait until after marriage, I’m sure.

  Which seems fine with Greg, far as I can tell.
One time I had him on my list and followed him, figuring anyone who seems that perfect had to have secrets. Secrets that a good investigator should be able to uncover. But I ended up spending the entire time bored out of my mind. No matter when I followed him, after or before school or on the weekend, he’d always end up with Amy somewhere along the way. They’d meet with friends at McDonald’s, Hardee’s, the mall, or they’d just hang out together, always holding hands as if letting go might cause the world to explode. The one time they went to her house, Amy’s mother was there to greet them. I’m sure she had chocolate chip cookies and milk ready. And they probably sat with just the right amount of space between them on the sofa while watching TV. After a week, I’d had enough. I decided they were as boring as they looked.

  But maybe I was wrong. He starts moving again, and again I follow him, keeping pace. If he’s on his way to see Amy, it’s not at her house; he goes right by there without stopping. No cookies for Greggie today.

  His house is just a couple of blocks farther, but he passes that as well, not even bothering to go inside to drop off his backpack.

  We reach Fast Food Row, with one greasy franchise after another, but none of them interest Greg. And now we’re leaving the places where Milton High kids tend to hang out and are entering territory I’m not as familiar with. We’re approaching the edge of town, passing stretches of empty lots, a few lonely businesses, and the occasional abandoned building or three. With nobody else in sight for blocks, I give him more space, ready to duck behind a structure should he start to look back. There’s been talk of renovating this part of Milton for the last few years, but nobody has gotten around to doing it. Why would Greg be walking here?

  Maybe he doesn’t have a destination in mind. Maybe that phone call made him so mad he just needed to walk off his anger, though it clearly hasn’t worked.

  Greg stops so abruptly I’m worried he’s seen me. I hide behind the nearest building. He’s looking in my direction now, and I prepare to run around to the other side of the building if he starts toward me. But after a few seconds, he looks the other way. Like he’s looking for something. Or someone. Someone he’s meeting? Who could be meeting him way out here?

  All kinds of possibilities run through my mind. He’s here to buy drugs. He’s an athlete, so maybe it’s steroids, and he comes all the way out here so no one he knows will see him. Or it could be worse than steroids. Could perfect Greg Matthes be a secret drug addict?

  He’s standing in front of what used to be Miller’s Park, an abandoned Little League field that was torn down several years ago, after the newer, more modern park was built across town.

  I’m not tall, I don’t carry extra weight, and I do walk a lot, but following Greg all the way here at the pace he set has left me out of breath. But now that we’re stopped, Greg looks more winded than I am. His perfect blond hair is plastered to his forehead and sweat shows on his muscular arms and legs, I can see wet spots on his shirt, and yet he looks like a model in a TV commercial. Meanwhile, I’m sure my sweaty stick arms, skinny legs, and damp T-shirt make me look like I’m in need of CPR.

  Still, he shouldn’t be that out of breath. Unless he’s like this because of what’s bothering him. Right now he looks more worried than angry.

  He stands there for another minute, still glancing around. Then, taking one more deep breath, he turns and walks into the old park.

  After letting him disappear, I cautiously follow. Once I see what’s inside, I realize how hard it will be to stay hidden.

  There are two fields, both barren and clearly in disrepair. The closer field still has part of its backstop behind what used to be home plate, though the metal is bent and rusty. Two splintered benches where the players used to sit also remain, as do a set of bleachers on the third-base side of the field. What’s left of the basepaths is packed dirt, littered with stones and trash; the outfield is weedy and overgrown.

  The second field is farther back and in worse shape. There are no bleachers or backstop and only the barest outline of basepaths. All that remains is the brick structure I think was once a dugout, though the bench for the players to sit on is gone.

  Greg’s back is to me, and I quickly run to the bleachers. Crouching down behind them, I slide off my backpack and peer out.

  He’s headed toward the other field. But someone is waiting. Female. Standing near what used to be first base. It’s a distance, but I’d know Amy’s bright-red hair and the blue jacket anywhere. Did she see me coming in behind her boyfriend? I remain crouched behind the bleachers, ready to run at the first sign I’ve been compromised. But her attention seems focused on Greg as he approaches her.

  This makes no sense. Why meet all the way out here? It can’t be for anything good. Maybe that’s what Greg’s angry phone conversation was about. Amy checking to make sure he was on his way? He sure didn’t seem happy to be reminded.

  I wish I were closer. Sometimes I carry binoculars with me, but I don’t have them now. I consider running to the backstop; it won’t hide me as well as the bleachers, but I could get a closer look. I start to stand up, then change my mind. Too risky. At least they’re far enough away they shouldn’t be able to see me, as long as I’m careful.

  As soon as Greg reaches her, Amy wraps her arms around him. She tries to kiss him, but Greg forces her to let go. Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise? First Greg says something, then Amy. I can’t hear either of them, but I still pull out my notebook and a pen and start taking notes.

  They’re gesturing at each other. Both upset about something. This is no ordinary fight. This could be them breaking up. It wouldn’t be long before the word was out at school: the dream couple together no more. And I would be the first to know about it.

  Their voices rise as they yell back and forth. All I’m getting are fragments.

  “You have to!” Amy shouts. Her voice is higher pitched than normal.

  Greg comes back with, “No! You can’t make me…” The rest is unintelligible.

  Then Amy: “…you don’t, I’m going to…” It fades away again.

  Greg: “No! Let’s talk about this…”

  Amy brusquely starts walking away from him, toward the dugout. He follows her, shouting, “Don’t you walk away from…” He grabs her by the arm to turn her around, but she resists, pulling away so hard she stumbles. Greg tries to help but she shakes him off.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Greg says something I don’t hear. Amy follows with, “Leave me alone!” then marches away, disappearing behind the brick wall. Greg pushes off his backpack as he, too, disappears behind the wall.

  I wait for them to reappear. Except they don’t. I hear nothing.

  A full minute goes by. Nothing. I’m not sure what to do. Maybe instead of walking along the wall, they’re walking away from the wall, which is why I can’t see them. They could be getting away.

  I creep out from behind the bleachers, ready to jump back behind them if necessary. I can’t see anything, so I inch sideways, slowly, carefully, trying to find the right angle to see behind the wall while still keeping out of sight.

  This is ridiculous. They could be making out back there. Though, knowing Amy, I kind of doubt it. Still, I should just leave.

  I start to turn away, but something makes me stop. A sound of some kind. A voice, maybe, blurting out “No!” or “Don’t!” Maybe.

  And then, I see movement. Something flying up high above the wall before descending out of sight. It happens so quickly I can’t tell for sure what I saw. There’s a thud. I can’t think of what else to call it. Then something else. Not loud but it could have been somebody crying out. In pain.

  Followed by silence.

  My chest hurts; I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out and keep moving. I have to make sure there’s nothing wrong. I’m past the backstop now and still don’t see anything. I keep going. There’s nothing protecting me now. Any se
cond Greg and Amy could reappear from behind the wall, and I’d be caught, stuck with having to explain what I’m doing here.

  But the hard knot in my stomach will only be untied by me seeing for sure what’s going on back there.

  I’ll just take a quick peek. Then I’ll leave.

  Only a few more steps…

  My heart stops as Greg reappears, holding his backpack by the straps. Is that… Is that blood on it? He’s crouching down; there’s something lying on the ground at his feet. It takes me a moment to realize what I’m seeing.

  I cry out. How loud, I’m not sure.

  And then I’m running, out of the park, down the sidewalk. Do I hear footsteps? I don’t dare look back. I just keep running, and I don’t stop running until I’m pounding on my best friend’s front door.

  Chapter Two

  “What did you see?” Charlie asks. I could barely talk when she first opened the door, out of breath, with a huge weight pushing against my chest and a sharp pain ripping through my left side. Charlie’s the same age as me, but a lot stronger from her after-school weightlifting sessions. So when I’d started to collapse she caught me easily, brought me inside, guided me to the living room couch, and got me water to drink. Her parents aren’t home yet, which I knew. Her mom works in an office, her dad is the chief of police. Charlie and I have been friends since forever.

  I’m taking another sip of water, and Charlie asks me again, “What did you see?”

  “A body,” I blurt out.

  “A what?”

  “A body.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “No, I made it up!”

  “Alden, this is not a game!”

  “Do I sound like I’m playing a game?”

  Charlie says nothing.

  “It was Amy. Lying on the ground. At Greg’s feet.” I take a breath. “I think she was dead.”

  Charlie stands up from the couch. “Why do you think she was dead?”

  “She wasn’t moving. Or breathing.”

  “How can you be sure? You said it was a distance. Maybe you just couldn’t tell.”