To Catch a Killer(29)

“Great. Perfect.” I fumble with my bag. “I should give you my contact info, too.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns, calling back over his shoulder, “Just text me … or e-mail,” he says. “Then I’ll have it.”

I watch him move off and blend into the crowd heading for their classes.

I tingle at the sight of the scrap of paper in my hand. Journey Michaels just gave me his phone number.

It takes an extreme amount of restraint not to Snoopy dance on the spot, because that would be a complete dork move. Instead, I toss my hair back off of my face, turn, and head to class.

It doesn’t help that I momentarily forgot which class I’m supposed to be heading to and so I’m walking in the opposite direction. I keep walking until I’m sure that Journey is out of sight before turning back and hustling to beat the tardy bell.





16

Chain of custody is critical to insure that the evidence of a crime is true and hasn’t been tampered with.





—VICTOR FLEMMING


The last bell rings and I race to the student store to pick up some drinks and snacks before heading to our meeting place. I sent Journey a text, as he instructed. It was just a brief “see ya later.” As I pass the basketball courts I catch sight of him hanging out with a couple of his teammates. A cheerleader is listening intently to what he’s saying and rubbing his shoulder in a consoling way.

So I guess I didn’t turn him into a pariah, after all. And for that I’m a mix of happy and some other emotion I’d rather not inspect too closely.

Spam and Lysa are waiting at the table. But instead of their usual nonstop chatting, they look like strangers waiting for a bus. The only signs of life are Lysa’s eyeballs, nervously sliding between Spam and the basketball courts, and Spam’s thumbs, scrolling and clicking through her phone.

I slide onto the bench opposite them and deposit the snacks and drinks in the middle of the table.

My phone pings. I pull it out of my pocket. A shiver races through me at the sight of Journey’s name. “He’s on his way.”

There Spam and Lysa go again.

Lately, they share a secret look over everything I say.

I get it. Me getting a text from Journey Michaels is a pretty big deal. At another time this would have been cause for much squealing and flailing arms. They don’t seem particularly happy, though.

Lysa looks at Journey. “He’s trying to tear himself away from some cheerleaders.”

I glance over. The one cheerleader has multiplied into three. It’s practically a pageant. They’re each giving him a parting hug. I turn back to smile at Spam and Lysa. We used to laugh about this stuff all the time. Now it looks like I’m facing a firing squad.

Journey arrives, taking the seat next to me. “Did you get my text?”

The way he asks is so casual it flusters me. My face burns with embarrassment, so I skip over his question and dive right in. “Let’s go over the night Miss Peters was murdered just to get everybody straight on what happened.”

“We’ll go first.” Spam glowers at me across the table. “Oh right. Lysa and I weren’t there. Is that straight enough?”

“I’d give anything to not have been there,” Journey snaps. “No one wants that.” His arm accidentally brushes mine and we quickly jerk away from each other.

“It’s interesting that you’re willing to tell us everything now that you need our help,” Spam says, still sulking. “How do we know you won’t go rogue again?” She tears open a bag of chips and drags one of the drinks over to her.

“I won’t. I promise.” I look to Journey for confirmation. “We’ll work together. Like a team.” He agrees, also taking a drink for himself.

“Awesome. Kumbaya all around,” Lysa says with a sarcastic edge. “Can we get on with this? I have a ton of homework.”

I tip my hand toward Journey. “You start.”

He clears his throat and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Miss Peters knew I was coming that night, too. I was dropping off a toothbrush that belonged to my father to see if she could get his DNA off of it.”

“So you can try to get him a new trial,” Lysa says.

This surprises all of us, but no one is more surprised than Journey.

“How’d you know?” he asks.

Lysa smiles. “My father was your father’s attorney. It was his first murder trial.”

Journey’s lips tighten. “That means he’s my attorney, too. I mean, I’m hoping I won’t actually need one. But at the moment.”

I thought I was the only one keeping secrets but wow, Lysa knew Journey’s father was in prison and never told us. Now Spam and I exchange side-eyes.

Lysa scowls. “You know, there’s a rule of law called attorney-client privilege. Just because I accidentally hear something around my house doesn’t mean I can go blabbing it all over. You guys understand that, right?”

Spam and I nod. Journey pauses, taking it all in.

“Anyway.” He shakes his head and continues. “Miss P’s house is on a corner. I pulled up and parked along the side, not the front. Erin can tell you, my van is stupid hard to start and I didn’t want to get stranded. The neighborhood was completely deserted, so I left it running while I ran up to her porch.”