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  “Uncle Bill’s working today,” I say. Thinking fast, I add, “I’ve got this big homework assignment I’ve been putting off. I’ve really got to work on it today.”

  “I’ve been telling you that you needed to get started on that,” Charlie says, a big, fake smile on her face that’s as much about her being mad that I’m not letting her go with me as it is about her backing up my story. Neither of her parents seem to notice.

  “Well, if you change your mind, you know where we’ll be,” Chief Walker says, slapping me on the shoulder.

  “See you later,” Charlie says as she and her parents head toward their car. When her mom and dad aren’t looking, she brings an invisible phone receiver to her ear and mouths, “Call me.” I nod, and she gets in the car with her parents.

  Greg is nowhere in sight now, but like I told Charlie, I know where he’s going.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I stop at home to drop off the bike because it’ll be easier to follow Greg on foot. I hurry to change clothes and grab snacks to take with me. I choose a different place than I did yesterday to watch the field from, this one a little farther away. I can still see the players well enough, and I’ll feel more comfortable using my binoculars without being noticed from this distance.

  I’m surprised to see Greg sitting on the bench while most of his teammates are in the field. Maybe he’s having another bad day. Or maybe after yesterday the coach decided he needed to bench him at the beginning of practice to send him and the rest of the team a message: we’re preparing for the playoffs, I expect everyone to do their best, and if you don’t, look what happens.

  I guess it works. As soon as I settle in, the coach sits down and talks to Greg. A pep talk, probably, with the coach using his hands a lot and Greg nodding in constant agreement. Once they’re finished, Greg jumps up and runs out to take over his position at third base.

  Greg may be doing better than he did yesterday, only missing a couple of ground balls early and making all his throws, but he’s not vocal like the rest of the team. He tries, but I can tell his heart’s not in it. Using the binoculars, I see a look of fierce determination on his face. He’s trying to act like the friendly, outgoing, good sportsmanship guy everybody loves, but something’s different. It doesn’t look like he’s having fun.

  This goes on for over half an hour. When all the players finally come in to the bench, I breathe a sigh of relief that practice is over, but it’s not. Now everyone is getting ready to hit. This goes on for another half hour. It’s so boring. Greg gets in a few decent hits during his turns. When everyone finally gathers at the dugout, I figure, hitting, fielding, that’s it. Nothing left, right? But then the coach talks to them. And I mean, for a long time. I get up and stretch. It’s approaching an hour and a half.

  A good investigator knows when to be patient.

  After taking a drink, I’m putting one of the water bottles I brought with me back into my backpack when a new group of players appear, coming from the school parking lot. They must be the junior varsity. Maybe it’s their turn to practice. Until I see that the varsity team isn’t leaving. They seem to be getting ready to play, and I realize they’re going to play each other.

  As the varsity team takes the field, I consider taking a break and walking to the nearby Dairy Queen for a milkshake. But I’ve got to stay here. Keep my eye on Greg. You never know what could happen. And I’ve got plenty of snacks with me.

  A good investigator is always prepared for long stakeouts.

  The JV team goes down one, two, three in the first, and Greg and his teammates are getting ready to bat when my cell phone buzzes. Charlie’s name is on the screen.

  “I told you not to call me!” I snap into the phone.

  “No you didn’t,” Charlie says back.

  “I…” I hesitate. She’s right. I didn’t. “Well, what if I’d been hiding really close to him, and my phone going off gave me away?”

  “Did it?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” Charlie says. “And you had your phone on vibrate, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So everything’s copacetic.”

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “I want to know how it’s going.”

  “It’s going fine,” I tell her, irritation still in my voice.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Right at the moment?” The smack of wood makes me look toward the field. “He just got a hit. Looks like it’s going to be a double.”

  “They’re still doing baseball practice?”

  “Yeah, please shoot me now.”

  “So he’s doing better than he did yesterday?”

  “Yeah. Looks like a talk from his coach helped.”

  “Do you think he told him, ‘Don’t let a little murder ruin your game, play your best. For the team?’”

  “I think he’s acting like he’s got something heavy on his mind, but he’s doing his best to play through it.”

  “Do you want me to come join you?”

  “No,” I say after thinking about it. “It’s still better if I do this alone.”

  “You sure?” Again, she sounds disappointed. “I’m the one who got you the backpack. Heck, I’m the one who found the cross.”

  “I still think it’s better.”

  “I’ve got news,” Charlie says with a new lift to her voice.

  “News?”

  “While you’ve been sitting on your butt watching a bunch of jocks, I’ve been doing investigative work of my own.”

  “What do you mean?” I say, feeling suddenly wary.

  “I got to thinking, how difficult can it be to learn the name of the church camp Amy’s supposed to be attending this weekend? Find out if she’s there or not. I mean to confirm it.”

  “Charlie, what did you do?” My voice comes out sharp and raspy.

  “Don’t worry, it was easy.”

  “What was?”

  “This guy who works out when I do—”

  “What guy?”

  “Just a guy, his name’s Jason, he’s a year older than us, a senior, you probably don’t know him. Come on, let me finish my story.”

  I wait, the fingers of my left hand tapping on my backpack.

  “He works out at school at a lot of the times I’m there,” Charlie continues. “He and I are friendly.”

  “‘Friendly,’ huh?”

  “You jealous?”

  Before I can come up with an answer, she says, “He dates one of Amy’s friends. I know where he works out on Sundays, and I caught him there. I asked him some questions—”

  “What kinds of questions?”

  “Chill, I kept it normal. Just asked him about this church camp I heard Amy Sloan had gone to. That I’d heard it was kind of strict. He said his girlfriend told him it’s super religious, shocker. They want the campers to focus so they really don’t let them keep their cell phones. He knew the name of the camp. Actually, I realized if we’d asked the reverend, he probably would have told us, duh. Anyway, I looked it up online. And called.”

  “You…you called it?”

  “Yeah, it was no big deal. I asked for Amy, the woman who answered said campers could not get calls unless it was an emergency. I was about to go into this big thing saying it wasn’t an emergency, but it was really important—”

  “Charlie—”

  “Will you stop interrupting me?” she blurts out. “I didn’t have to make up anything. Before I could, she says, ‘I can see she’s not here.’”

  I think my heart stops. “What?”

  “The woman says Amy never checked in. She has a list of those who did, and her name’s not checked. She’s not there, Alden.”

  “Because she’s dead,” I hear myself whisper.

  I’m sitting outside, the sun is bright and uncovered by
clouds, and yet I feel a deep chill. Everything seems to be closing in around me. I look at the field below. The players are running, throwing, catching, cheering, and encouraging each other, like everything’s normal, like the world didn’t just take a giant, awful turn.

  “Alden, you there?” I hear from the phone.

  “Yeah,” I say after a moment.

  “This is getting real now. I think part of me was hoping it would turn out she’d been at camp all along.”

  She pauses as if expecting me to say something, but I don’t. There’s another crack of the bat; the varsity players cheer as it clears the center-field fence. My mind is numb as I watch Greg trot home from second base before turning to thump his teammate’s back after he crosses home plate.

  My eyes start to burn.

  “We need to stop,” Charlie says.

  “Stop?” I mumble.

  “We need to tell my father.”

  I remain silent. The quiet stretches until Charlie asks, “Alden? Did you hear me?”

  “No.”

  “I said we need to—”

  “I mean, no, we can’t tell him yet.”

  There’s a pause before Charlie says, “We can’t keep quiet about this any longer. We’ve got to tell him.”

  “We will. But I want to keep following Greg a little longer.”

  “Why, what would that accomplish?”

  “I might get more evidence.”

  “We don’t need any more evidence. She’s not at the camp. You saw him beat her to death. We have his backpack with her blood on it. We have her cross that we found at the place she was killed. What more do we need?”

  “Maybe he’ll…” I hesitate.

  “Maybe he’ll what?” Charlie almost shouts. “Lead you to a plot of ground with a sign that says ‘Amy Sloan is Buried Here After I Murdered Her, signed Greg Matthes?’”

  “No,” I say, amazed on some level by how I’m able to keep myself under control. “No sign. But he still might lead me to a place the police could check out. Hopefully find her body.”

  “It’s not our job anymore, Alden. It’s the police’s job. My dad needs to know”

  “Or maybe…” I stop myself.

  “Maybe what?”

  When I don’t say anything, Charlie says, “Oh, I get it. You’re hoping she’s still alive and you can save her. Maybe Greg didn’t kill her, he just hurt her, and he’s holding her prisoner somewhere, and you’re hoping you’ll swoop in and save her. And then she’ll be so happy, and everyone will think you’re a hero and—”

  “Charlie!” I snap.

  “What!” she snaps back.

  I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. A part of me is wondering if she’s right.

  “I’m sorry for what I just said,” Charlie says. “It was…” She hesitates. “But this isn’t a game, Alden.”

  “I never said it was.” Then I hear myself say, “We could do it anonymously. Like before.”

  Charlie doesn’t respond.

  “We call the police,” I continue. “I call them. Tell them what happened. Then I hang up. Like before.”

  “What about the backpack and the cross?”

  “We can leave it for them somewhere to find. Then we’re done with it. But give me the rest of the day. To see if I find something more.”

  “What if he is just holding her prisoner somewhere, and there’s still time to—”

  “She’s dead, Charlie. You know it, and I do, too. Give me the rest of the day to find something I can really nail Greg with.”

  “You’ll call me tonight?” Charlie says after a moment.

  “Yes.”

  “And whether you learn anything more by tonight or not, we still tell the police.”

  “Yes. And one more thing.”

  “What?” Charlie says, sounding wary.

  “It looks like this is going to take longer than I thought. Uncle Bill will be wondering where I am when he gets home. When he calls me I’m going to tell him I’m with you, working on an important homework assignment. He won’t call you, but if necessary, can you back me up?”

  “Yeah. Okay,” Charlie agrees. Suddenly, she says, “My parents are home. Gotta go!” I hear her saying, “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” before she ends the call.

  I slip my phone back into my pocket and turn my attention back to the players. The varsity seems to be crushing junior varsity. The JV pitcher has his head down as another varsity player rounds the bases in another home run trot. The JV coach walks out to the pitcher’s mound where the rest of the team also gathers. He says something to the pitcher before giving him a pat on the shoulder. The infielders pat him on the back or give him words of encouragement that I can’t make out, but the pitcher still walks off dejectedly. It’s just a game, I want to shout at him. Not even an important game, a scrimmage. It doesn’t mean anything!

  The rest of the game plays out in a kind of blur, until the JV team finally calls uncle after five innings. Through the binoculars, my eyes stay glued to Greg as he joins his teammates in listening to the coach. To me he looks troubled and anxious, but nobody seems to notice.

  I notice. Because I know his secret.

  And soon others are going to know, too. So keep playing your stupid baseball. Like it matters. It’s not going to matter tomorrow. Not baseball or the playoffs or anything, because all anybody is going to be talking about is Greg Matthes, the murderer.

  A good investigator does not let his emotions get in the way of his investigation.

  I take a deep breath to calm myself down.

  The players finally break and head off in various directions. Two guys I don’t really know but whose names I remember as Nick and Riley walk with him. I stay back for a couple of minutes, letting them gain some distance as they walk away before I hoist my backpack up onto my shoulder and begin following them.

  There’s a strong feeling of power gained from following another person, in knowing that the person has no idea you’re watching. People are so into their own stuff, not seeing what’s around them, much less someone following them, that sometimes they end up revealing something only you are privy to. But it’s important not to let that power go to your head. You get too cocky and you can get too close. Make a mistake. Keeping your distance from the person being pursued while keeping your wits about you and staying observant makes you invisible, not only to the one you’re following, but to everyone else you pass on the way.

  I settle into a steady pace behind Greg and his friends. My gaze is as focused as it has ever been. My instincts are razor sharp. And Greg and the other two guys aren’t paying attention. Nick and Riley are talking back and forth as if involved in a friendly argument. Greg seems distracted, throwing in an occasional comment but mostly just walking, lost in his own thoughts.

  The three go inside a convenience store, and I step into a bookstore across the street, checking out the books on display near the front window until I see them coming out with bottles of Gatorade in hand, and they keep walking and talking and not noticing me. At times, it feels as if I could pick up my pace and get close enough to touch them, and still they wouldn’t know I was there. I resist the urge and keep my pace steady.

  Eventually they reach a corner where Greg breaks off from the other two and, waving, heads off in a different direction. I pull back a little so Riley and Nick are farther away, and there’s little chance they’ll see me before I turn my attention to Greg. Now that he is alone, he picks up his pace, moving much faster, his head down. It’s as if he is trying to get away from something. Maybe from himself. From his crime.

  I’m far enough behind him I feel safe increasing my own pace. But soon it becomes clear he’s just going home. Once he reaches the front of his house, he turns down the path leading up to the front door, opens it, and quickly goes inside.

  He didn’t have to un
lock the door to go inside, which probably means at least some of his family are home. I settle onto the same bench I was sitting on yesterday. This time I don’t pull anything out of my backpack to make it look like I’m doing something innocuous. I just keep my gaze fixed on the Matthes house. Staring, not moving, as if I want Greg to look out a window and see me watching him. Telling him with my eyes, I know what you’ve done, Greg. I know.

  This is getting real now.

  My phone buzzes, and for a quick moment I think it’s Greg calling because he’s seen me and wants to know what the hell I’m doing.

  He wouldn’t have my cell phone number, though, and pulling my phone out of my pocket, I see the name on the phone screen and push the answer button. “Hi, Uncle Bill.”

  “I’m home, and I’ve already ordered the pizza. Pepperoni and sausage and extra cheese.” He sounds much more upbeat than usual, even jovial. “Where are you?”

  “I’m with Charlie,” I lie. “We’re working on a really important homework assignment that I kind of let slide. I don’t know how long it’ll take for us to finish.”

  A beat. Then, “Oh.” The disappointment in his voice catches me by surprise. “I was hoping we’d…” He doesn’t finish his sentence but it’s enough for a pang of guilt to begin gnawing in my stomach. I quickly push it down. My eyes stay glued to the Matthes house.

  “Do you know how long it will take?” he asks. “I could call back and get them to delay the order.”

  “It could be pretty late,” I tell him. “It’s a really big assignment. I shouldn’t have put it off.”

  “Okay,” he says after a moment. “No problem.” There’s another long pause. “It’ll be here when you get home. You can just heat it up.”

  An awkward silence follows. I open my mouth, not sure what I’m going to say when my uncle says, “You better get back to work, Alden. Keep those grades up. Don’t be working too late, though…” His voice trails off.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Okay then. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  He hangs up, and I lay the phone down carefully next to me on the bench. I feel bad, but this is too important. I have to stay vigilant.