To Catch a Killer(22)

“I had to wait until Rachel went to sleep before I could sneak out.” He pulls up in front of my house and parks on the street. We get out of the van and walk up the driveway. He’s strolling casually, with his hands in his pockets, and I’m clinging to my messenger bag like it’s a floatation device.

“Wow. You snuck out and got caught?” He playfully nudges my shoulder with his. “Things must be tense around your house these days.”

Stunned, I stop in my tracks. Holy crap. Journey Michaels just did the playful shoulder nudge to ME.

He keeps walking a few steps but I’m in shock, still processing what just happened.

“What?” he says looking back.

“Nothing. Just … yeah. Things have been kind of tense.”

“At least you’re not under suspicion for murder.”

“Actually, I’m not completely clear, either.” I lead him around to the back of the house, up the stairs, and inside. Then, he follows me up to my bedroom. I toss my bag onto my bed. “They came in here with a search warrant and went through everything.”

“Harsh,” Journey says.

“You have no idea—unless they went through your room, too.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Miss Peters’s support meant everything to me, and what I’m hearing from Journey is that she meant the same to him. I edge toward the closet and take in a deep breath. “Miss Peters trusted you, so I’m going to trust you, too. Don’t make me regret it, okay?”

“I may not look like it, but I am totally trustworthy.” Journey follows me into the closet.

“You need to see this to understand it.” I lower the stairs and pause for a minute, debating. If I go up first, he’s going to be looking straight up at my butt. But I’m pretty sure it would be weird for me to make him go first.

“Wait down here until I turn on the lights.” I scramble up the ladder, slide past all the stuff, and find the foot switch. In a second, the attic is bathed in a warm glow.

Journey grins as he pops around the pile of junk and surveys my setup. “Wow. You have your own little apartment up here.”

“Yeah, sort of. Except no one knows I use this space.”

“I do,” he says.

“You can’t tell anyone about this. And I mean anyone. Promise?”

He crosses his fingers and lays them against his chest. “Cross my heart.”

I step over to the cabinet and start to open the lock. Journey moves in close, hovering behind my left shoulder. I don’t want him to see the combination. I point across the room. “Go sit over there.” My trust only goes so far.

He moves to the other side of the attic and sits down on the sofa. He runs his hand over the red leather. “This is nice. Where do you get something like this?”

“It’s from Italy. Same place my scooter comes from.”

“Your scooter is sick.”

“Thanks. It belonged to my mother. All of this stuff up here was hers. She was a fashion photographer and Italy was her favorite assignment.”

I snap on the gloves, remove my mother’s box from the cabinet, and ferry it to the center of the room.

“What’s that?” Journey joins me on the floor.

“It’s the evidence from my mother’s murder.”

He raises one eyebrow. “How’d you get that?”

“You don’t want to know.” My expression sends a message that sometimes you do what you have to do.

Tight-lipped, he nods in agreement. It’s like he understands me in a way no one has before.

I remove the top of the box. The tie that came from Journey lies on the top. I hand it to him. “This is the string you found on the floor of your van the night Miss Peters was murdered.”

Next, I remove the plastic evidence bag containing the shirt. I partially pull it out of the plastic; just enough for Journey to see where the missing tie was supposed to be attached. He leans forward, a frown wrinkling the area above his eyes.

He glances up, locking his gaze with mine. “It’s a match.”

“Yeah.” I refold the shirt and slip it back into the bag. I press the bag back into the box. “My mother was wearing that top when she was murdered. Which means that tie you’re holding has been missing for fourteen years.”

Deep concern clouds his face. “So it could be the same person?”

“It has to be,” I say.

“But why leave it in my van?”

“That’s what we need to figure out.” I motion to the stairs. “C’mon. We should get back to class. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never cut before.”

“Me neither, actually.”

Journey waits by the stairs while I lock everything, including the extra tie, back into the cabinet.

We step out of the closet. I close the door and I’m just picking up my bag when my bedroom door is kicked open with a loud bang.

Instinctively, Journey shields me behind him. “Whoa!” He throws his hands into the air. “Don’t shoot.”

I look around him, expecting to put a face to the shadowy visitor I saw leaving Rachel’s bedroom the other night. But instead, I see Rachel and Sydney.

Sydney gives a commanding gesture with her gun. “Step away from her.”