To Catch a Killer(27)

“But—”

“Just do it,” she says.

“I’ll think about it.” She gives me a hug and slips out the back door. But I’ve already made my decision. They don’t know about that strip of fabric, and how all of this circles back to my mother’s murder. I’m not saying anything until I figure out what the connection is.





15

Every murderer has a tell, and where it usually shows up is in their unorganized behaviors.





—VICTOR FLEMMING


I roll through morning classes on autopilot because all I can think about is how everything has changed. Before I know it, it’s time for lunch.

When Spam and Lysa arrive to hijack me from my spot on the cafeteria stairs, I’m waiting for them … with Journey Michaels in tow.

Spam gives me a half laugh, but poor Lysa’s eyes are about to fall out of her head.

I get it. Journey looks especially cute today. His snug sweater shows off his abs, and the dark gray color sets his eyes to stun.

“We need to talk.” Let them try and say this is all about Journey with him sitting right there.

Spam doesn’t look happy about my surprise lunch guest, but she turns and heads down the stairs with a motion for us to follow. She leads us to what is becoming our favorite table behind the cafeteria.

Clearly I didn’t think this through in advance. With only two sides to the table, I’m not sure where to sit. I busy myself brushing leaves and dirt off the benches to avoid picking a side. Spam and Lysa settle it by sliding in next to each other.

I offer Journey a shy smile and take a seat opposite them. Then he sits down next to me. We leave a noticeable space between us.

“So, the rumor must be true, huh?” Spam says.

Confused, I glance at Journey.

Spam waves her index finger between us. “That you two are now…” She wraps two fingers tightly together.

Journey and I squirm.

“No,” he says.

“Nothing like that,” I say at the same time.

“Really. Did you not cut class together earlier this week?” Spam’s mouth twists into a smirk. I forgot how addicted she is to gossip. Inquiring minds definitely want to know.

“We did. But it’s not what you think,” I say.

“I hope so,” Lysa says. “Because you two getting together after Miss Peters’s murder is creepy.” Lysa retrieves a sandwich from her bag and nibbles on one corner of it.

“We actually only met two days ago.” I glance at Journey.

“Really, only two days ago?” A slow, simmering fury builds up in Spam. “Should I mark that on my love calendar? Because yesterday you let us lecture you on what a lurker he is and never told us you were seeing him.”

“Who says I’m a lurker?” Journey says.

“We’re not seeing each other,” I say at the same time. “But we have figured out that together we have information we didn’t have separately.”

I’m relieved that Spam is dressed sedately. I need Journey to take her seriously. She’s her usual impatient self, though, patting her hand on the table for me to get to the point. “Like what?” she says.

I need to lead into this delicately. “The kind of information that says we have to investigate Miss Peters’s murder.”

Spam opens her bag and pulls out an orange. She digs her fingernails deep into the skin, releasing the citrusy scent. It immediately brings up a flood of memories. I picture Miss P in lecture mode—which she liked to call inspire mode—telling us how in science, like everything else, we have to dig deep to get to the truth.

“Nope. Disagree,” Spam says. “I’m not in favor. Cheater Checks is one thing. Murder is a whole new level. I vote we leave it to the police.” Spam proceeds to peel her orange.

I realize that I didn’t bring any lunch and it looks like Journey didn’t either. Spam notices and sets a few segments of orange in front of each of us.

He looks at Spam. “Hi. I don’t know your name. Let me just say that I don’t trust the police.” He pops a piece of orange in his mouth. I’m content to hold my piece and inhale the fragrance.

“The problem is the police don’t know what we know,” I say.

“Then maybe you should tell them,” Spam says. “Miss P obviously didn’t do that and look what happened to her.”

“Okay. We don’t know what Miss P knew,” I say. “But I am worried that what happened to her could happen to us. Or, me at least.” I go around the table making eye contact with each one of them. “I’m not going to lie. This is serious.”

“Have you received a threat?” Lysa asks.

“Not directly. But indirectly, yeah, I think I have.” I look to Journey. “These two are the best people to help us figure this out.” I gesture across from me. “Spam’s a tech rat: computers, cell phones, servers, flash drives, spy cams, anything electronic. She can hack it, and if she can’t, she knows who can.”

Spam shoots me a bug-eyed “WTF” look.

“No worries,” I say, attempting to soothe her. “He’s cool.”

She and Lysa exchange some wary side-eye.

“Lysa’s father is a lawyer and her mother’s a psychologist. So she’s great for legal stuff or anything having to do with human nature.”