Following Page 4

  “Check Fast Food Row. If you don’t find him, just come back here. We’ll wait for him.”

  “What if he’s out till late? We have homework. You left your books at my house before we went to Miller’s Field, remember? And your uncle and my parents might have something to say about coming home late without telling them where we were first.”

  “We’ll call them, make up some excuse—”

  “Alden, stop. Sit down. Take a breath.”

  I start to say more, but she gives me that hard stare of hers. I shut up and sit on a nearby bench, taking deep breaths. After a moment, her gaze softens, and she sits down next to me. “Maybe we should call the police,” she says. “Talk to my dad.”

  “And tell him what?” I say. “That we found Amy’s necklace at Miller’s Park, so she must be dead?”

  “You can tell him what you saw.”

  “He’ll know I was the one who made that call. The one he thinks was a prank.”

  “You’ll tell him it wasn’t a prank. I’ll be there to back you up.”

  “It’ll piss him off,” I argue, “especially if he finds out you were with me when I made the call and didn’t tell him. You’ll get in trouble, too.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “He’ll never believe me.”

  “Why not?” Charlie says. “He knows you. He likes you. And like I said, I’ll have your back.”

  “But you didn’t see it happen,” I say, feeling more agitated. “Only I did. It’ll be like the last two times.”

  “What do you mean ‘like the last two times?’”

  Crap! Why did I say that?

  Charlie stares at me. “Alden, what are you… Wait a minute. Are you talking about…”

  I’ve never told Charlie it was me. I’ve never told anyone.

  I tell her now.

  The first time it happened was a few weeks after the shooting. I was living with the Walkers. The legal stuff was still being worked out so my uncle could become my guardian, and he was looking for a new job and closing the sale of his house so he could move to Milton.

  I was at the mall with Charlie and her mom buying clothes for the coming school year. Mrs. Walker had given me some cash to spend, and I was in a store checking out shirts when I saw a man who looked suspicious. Following him, I swore I saw the outline of a gun pressed against his jacket pocket. After following him into a toy store filled with children, I went to the mall’s nearest pay phone and called the police. I hung up without leaving my name. The town was still on edge over the shooting that had just killed my parents, so it didn’t take long for the police to show up full force, Chief Walker in the forefront, to take him down. But all he had on him was a cell phone, a wallet with his ID, cash, and credit cards, and some loose change. And, in a bag, a Star Wars ship he had just bought for his kid. No gun. It turned out the guy was at the mall with his wife and son. The incident was a big story on the evening news and in the next morning’s paper. It even got some national attention, considering what had happened in Milton at the summer fair. Fortunately, the guy didn’t sue. He’d been at the fair himself that day, he said, and he understood.

  The second time was a month into the new school year. Uncle Bill had been living with me about five weeks when I swore I saw Gavin Mackee carrying a gun into school. I kept my eye on him, this time waiting until I was sure I’d seen it on him a second time, before calling the police. Again, anonymously. The school went into full lockdown. Again, Chief Walker showed up with what seemed like the entire force.

  They took all the students out of the building. Gavin swore he did not have a gun, but they searched him anyway, as well as his locker and his book bag. They even checked the entire school building, thinking he might have hidden it somewhere. No gun. It was a big news story then, too. Another example, the newscasts said, of a town still on edge after the horrible shooting that summer. I didn’t tell anyone it was me. Not even Charlie.

  Chief Walker was angry, of course. He swore he’d find out who made the two calls. Deep down, I was afraid he already knew. But he never said anything.

  After that, I realized if I saw something suspicious in the future, I would need proof before calling the police, which meant I needed to improve my observation and investigation skills.

  I went online and learned ways to follow people without being seen. Then I began practicing by picking people to follow. I took notes. Even collected evidence when I could, though it never came to anything.

  Until I followed Greg Matthes to Miller’s Park.

  “That was you, both times?” Charlie says.

  I nod.

  “Gavin was messed up about that for a long time.”

  “I know,” I say in a small voice. “I’m sorry. I really thought I saw…” I let my words trail off.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

  “Your dad’s the police chief.”

  “So you don’t trust me?”

  “That’s not it. I didn’t want to put you in a bad position.”

  Shaking her head, Charlie gets up from the bench and stands with her hands on her hips. I stare at the ground, saying nothing. We stay that way for a long time. Finally, she sits back down and says, “You have to tell my dad what you saw.”

  “You mean you believe me?” I ask, surprised. “After what I told you?”

  “You’re not the kind of person who plays pranks like that. I’m sure you thought you were doing the right thing. Even if you were wrong about the guns.”

  “You believe I saw Greg kill Amy?”

  “There’s a big difference between thinking you saw a gun and seeing somebody get murdered. The look on your face when you showed up at my house yesterday…that was real. And finding Amy’s cross near where you said it happened…”

  Finally, she looks at me. “Yes, Alden. I believe you.”

  Her words are reassuring.

  “But you should tell my father.”

  “And if he figures out I was the one who made those other calls, which he will, he’ll think this is a prank, too. He’s already called it a prank in the newspaper.”

  “But you’re talking about murder this time. A murder you saw.”

  “If I go to him without proof, he’ll just think I’m crazy.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I think he knows I made those calls. He probably already thinks I’m crazy.”

  “You know that’s not true. My dad’s been nothing but nice to you. He and Mom took you in—”

  “I know. I’m grateful. I’m sorry.” I close my eyes and take another deep breath.

  Charlie breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about it? You’ve never really talked about…you know.”

  I do know.

  It happened so fast. My father shouting my name. Trying to protect me, just before the first gunshots rang out. My parents falling to the ground. Me falling, too. More gunshots. People screaming, running.

  And I could have stopped it.

  “Hey?”

  Hearing Charlie’s voice brings me back to the present.

  “Are you all right?” she asks.

  I hesitate, then nod.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up—”

  “No, I’m sorry,” I say. “Your parents have been very kind to me. I don’t know what I would have done without…”

  Again, I hesitate. “I have to get it right this time.” I look at her, trying to make her understand. “Especially if we’re going to accuse one of the most popular students at Milton High of killing his girlfriend.”

  Charlie doesn’t respond.

  “We need more evidence.”

  “Like what?” she asks.

  “We need to keep an eye on Greg.”

  “You mean follow him.”

  “Yes. He
might get sloppy and reveal something. Or, who knows? He might even take us to the place he buried her.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. People do strange things when they’re feeling guilty.”

  Charlie sighs. “Okay. Tomorrow, Dad has a seminar for police officers or something like that. He’ll be home after it’s over, sometime in the afternoon. Let’s give it till then to find more evidence. If we don’t find anything, I think we have to take a chance, for Amy’s sake, and tell my dad. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” I tell her.

  She nods. “So that’s your plan? Follow Greg and hope he leads us to something?”

  I look across the street at Greg’s house, then at other houses in the neighborhood. Everything is quiet, but people will be coming home from work soon, ready to begin the weekend. TGIF and all that.

  How soon before Greg’s family comes home?

  How easy would it be to break into his house?

  “Alden…” Charlie begins.

  “His backpack,” I say suddenly.

  “What?”

  “We need to find his backpack. It’s got Amy’s blood on it.”

  “Oh, come on.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure he’s gotten rid of it by now.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “He could have left it anywhere. Thrown it into a river. Tossed it in a dumpster somewhere. If he’s smart he’s burned it, destroyed it.”

  “You said it yourself, he’s no criminal mastermind.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but he’s not an idiot.”

  We do this all the time, this back-and-forth. “The only way we’ll know is if we look.”

  “And where do we start looking?”

  “Right there.” I point at his house.

  “What?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You mean break in? Right now?”

  “Not now. His parents could be home any minute.”

  “How are we going to do it?”

  “We’ll figure it out.” A plan is already formulating in my head.

  Chapter Nine

  The baseball team practices just about every day after school, but with the team fighting for a playoff spot, weekends were added as well. Which means we know where Greg Matthes will be this Saturday morning.

  It’s 9:00 a.m., and baseball practice has just started. When he walked out of his house a half hour ago, I followed to make sure he went straight to practice while Charlie stayed behind to keep watch on any comings or goings.

  My uncle is earning time and a half working all day Saturday, so he left before I did. Charlie’s dad had already left for his workshop, and she told her mom she was leaving early to go to the gym, then she’d be spending the day with me. Maybe we’d hit the mall or see a movie. If, later, she asked what movie we saw, Charlie would name one we’d already gone to and just tell her we’d wanted to see it again.

  I’m sitting on a hill that overlooks the school baseball field, watching the practice and hoping for a call from Charlie to tell me Greg’s parents and sister decided to go somewhere, leaving the house empty. Then I’ll head back, and we can figure out how to get in. If they don’t leave before Greg is finished with practice, I’ll continue to keep an eye on him and we’ll have to figure something else out.

  I’m not so far away that I can’t see the players being put through their motions, though I’m far enough away they can’t tell who I am, other than some kid with nothing better to do on a Saturday morning. My binoculars are next to me in my backpack, but using them, even at this distance, would look suspicious. Or at least weird.

  Even with the distance, I recognize Greg and can tell he’s off his game. I haven’t been to too many school events, but I have been to a couple of baseball games. He’s one of the team’s best players, known for his sometimes dazzling play at third base, scooping up tough grounders and firing strong, accurate throws to first base. He also owns the second-best batting average on the team, and a reputation for good sportsmanship. He’s the ideal athlete and teammate. Like I’ve said before: perfect.

  But he’s sure not perfect today. The team starts with batting practice, and all Greg is able to muster are some weak grounders and a few easy fly balls. He even whiffs several times, even though the assistant coach isn’t throwing the ball that hard. After he’s finished batting, the coach pulls Greg to the side to talk to him. He probably wants to make sure his star third baseman isn’t sick, with the playoffs coming up. I make note of Greg’s behavior in my notebook.

  After their conversation ends, the coach pats Greg on the shoulder and sends him out to field grounders at third.

  He’s not much better there. He starts by missing three easy ground balls in a row. Easy for him, that is; I doubt I’d be able to catch even one. When he finally fields one, he bounces the throw in the dirt well in front of the first baseman. His next is way wide, ending up far down the right-field line.

  Greg definitely looks like he has something on his mind.

  Something like murder.

  He does better for a couple of plays, then the bad throws start up again. After one the first baseman would have to be eight feet tall to catch, the coach replaces him. He sits on the bench with his head down.

  Noted.

  My phone buzzes.

  “We’re in luck. They just left,” Charlie says.

  “His parents and sister?”

  “No, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man. Of course, his parents and sister. And judging from what they’ve taken with them, they’re going to be gone for a while. Looks like a picnic or something. How’s practice?”

  “Greg’s doing terrible.”

  “Product of a guilty conscience.”

  I glance at my phone. It’s 9:32. Baseball practice usually goes two and a half hours, so we should have plenty of time. “I’ll be right over,” I say.

  Normally, it would take only ten minutes to walk to the Matthes house. I’m there in five.

  I’d left Charlie on the same bench we sat last night, reading a book while keeping an eye on the Matthes house across the street. But she’s not here when I jog up. Looking around, I see no sign of her. Kids are playing on the jungle gym at the far edge of the playground while parents chat, but otherwise, the playground is surprisingly empty for a Saturday morning. Where did she go?

  My phone buzzes. The text from Charlie reads: Cross the street. I’m in the backyard. Fence door is unlatched.

  I cross the street as nonchalantly as possible. I’m starting to think this is a bad idea. I feel eyes on me, like there are people watching from their windows who might find it strange I was walking into the Matthes family’s backyard, but I’m in too deep to back out now.

  The door to the wooden fence is unlatched, as Charlie said it would be. Checking one more time for any sign of someone watching me or dialing 911, I open the door. Charlie stands in the backyard with hands on hips, looking up. I follow her gaze to an open window on the second floor. “I checked all the other doors and windows,” she says. “This is the only one open. So that’s how we’re getting in.”

  “How are we going to get up there?” I ask.

  She points. “We’ll use that ladder.”

  The ladder is leaning on its side against a shed in the far corner of the yard. “Did you break into their shed to get it?”

  “Nah. It was already like that.”

  “Was the fence door unlocked?”

  “It’s just a latch.”

  I’ve had a lot of practice sneaking around. Charlie hasn’t. “Did you make sure no one saw you?”

  She glances over her shoulder. “We’re fine.” Then she looks at me. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  Before I can answer, Charlie continues. “Because listen, you’re right. More evidence wouldn’t hurt. Greg probably doesn’t
even have the backpack anymore. But we’ve got to be sure.”

  She eyes the ladder, then the window. “We should have plenty of time, but we can’t be a hundred percent sure his family won’t suddenly show up. So you stay outside and keep watch while I go in and search.”

  Who is this girl, and what did she do with Charlie? “Why should you go in?”

  The look she gives me is almost funny. “You know I’m better suited for this.” She emphasizes her point by flexing a muscle.

  “But I’m the one who knows what the backpack looks like.”

  “I’ve seen Greg with the backpack at school many times. I know what it looks like. Besides,” she adds, giving me a wink and a nudge, “how many backpacks can he have with blood on them?”

  I can’t believe how excited she is. Yesterday, I had to convince her. Now she’s already cased the house and can’t wait to break in.

  “Hey, don’t worry, it’s going to go fine.” She smiles. “You big goof.”

  “You’re bigger than I am,” I respond.

  “Bigger and stronger. But not goofier.”

  I can’t help but smile, too.

  “If we’re doing this, we should get started,” Charlie says.

  A good investigator understands that sometimes boundaries have to be pushed to get to the truth.

  “Okay.” We grab the ladder, hoist it up, and lean it against the house.

  Charlie sees me pull out my cell and says, “No talking on the phone while I’m in there. I’ll need to concentrate.”

  “All right,” I agree. “But if I see them coming back, I’ll text ‘get out.’ Then, no matter what, you get out.”

  “Got it. But we’re fine. Plenty of time.” She pats me on the shoulder and steps on the first rung of the ladder. Then she stops and steps off. “You’re not staying here in the backyard, right? You have to be able to see the front door.”

  “Right,” I say. In my head, I’m thinking, Duh.

  “After I’m in, go out front,” Charlie directs. “Watch from the playground. You’ll be able to see the house and all of the street. I’ll text you if I’ve found the backpack or when I’m finished, and you meet me at the ladder. Once I’m down, we’ll put it back against the shed and get out of here, no harm, no foul. No one will know we were here.”