The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek(61)

“He’s right,” Rex said into the mic. “We can’t waste a moment. Which is why we need to tell you what actually happened to Alicia.”

“What?” Leif said off-mic, now his turn to be surprised.

“Everybody praises Mr. Whitewood and his school for saving the town or whatever, but I don’t see what’s so praiseworthy about murdering kids.”

Leif’s mom gasped again, as did Rex’s and the majority of the other people sitting in the pews.

“I mean, how many ‘freak accidents’ can one school have?” Rex continued. “Four dead kids in, like, a decade? Doesn’t that strike you as at least slightly disturbing? Right, Leif?”

“Uh,” Leif said into the mic, not quite understanding how even a soul-baring moment like the one he’d just had could be wrested away by Rex. “I agree that it seems a little fishy.”

“It’s more than fishy!” Rex said. “This man is a killer!” He pointed at Whitewood, and the crowd again gasped. Rex hoped it was the sort of gasp you’d hear at the end of a murder mystery, but he had the feeling it was actually disgust at his insolence. He couldn’t stop, though. “And we’re just gonna let him play the organ at the funeral of the girl he killed? That’s not right! You’ll never believe what we saw at the spri—”

“Now, now, that’s just about enough,” Wayne Whitewood said, standing up from the organ. He’d shouted the words, but he didn’t look angry. In fact, he seemed to be radiating warmth and kindness.

“See?” Rex said into the mic, terrified but knowing he needed to press on. “He doesn’t want us telling you—”

Whitewood stepped between Rex and Leif and covered the microphone. He lifted his hand, adjusting the mic to his level before putting an arm around each of the boys. Rex and Leif stayed completely still (or as still as they could while trembling), convinced they were about to be murdered in public.

“I’m truly sorry to interrupt you fellas,” Whitewood said into the mic in a quiet, gentle voice, “but I don’t think your words are really appropriate for the occasion. Trust me, I get it. As most people here know, I understand grieving very well. I lost my wife and my daughter.” There were tears in Whitewood’s eyes. “And just like you, I wanted to blame someone. When grief takes ahold of you…well, it’s not pretty. But I promise you boys…it will get better. Time makes everything better.”

“Bless you, Mr. Whitewood,” said a man from the crowd.

Whitewood nodded and smiled. “Now, why don’t you fellas get back to your seats? You said some beautiful things about your friend, and I know her family appreciates it.”

For lack of any other options, Leif and Rex stepped back from the podium and walked wordlessly to their seats, careful not to make eye contact with anyone, especially their parents. They stared forward as their sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Crawford, began to talk about what a joy Alicia had been to have in class.



* * *



—

AS JANINE AND Donna walked side by side across the lobby of the Shackelford Funeral Home, weaving through clusters of people and looking for the teenage boys Janine had met that day in Li’l Dino’s—the ones who had just bravely called out Whitewood during their best friend’s funeral service—Janine couldn’t help but feel a tinge of satisfaction.

The Gnome Girls were back.

Well, not entirely—Donna still wasn’t saying a lot and seemed to sporadically regress back into the aloof version of herself at unpredictable moments—but it was certainly a start.

With Donna by her side, Janine almost didn’t mind the stares and frowns that had been aimed in their direction all afternoon. Their attire certainly wasn’t helping. Since she, understandably, hadn’t packed anything funereal, Janine was wearing one of GamGam’s dresses, a matronly black number that was so baggy she’d had to pull it back in various places with safety pins. Donna didn’t have that excuse, but she’d opted to wear a puffy-shouldered black dress over a pair of torn blue jeans and black Chuck Taylors. They looked like Addams Family rejects.

Janine hadn’t known if Donna would be game to come to Alicia’s funeral, thinking it might be traumatic for her, but Donna had insisted. As they had stood in the back during the incredibly sad service, Janine had snuck glances at her cousin to make sure she was okay. Even though Donna had spent most of the time with that zombie look on her face—a protective instinct, Janine figured—a hint of determination flashed across her face when Rex began to rail against Wayne Whitewood. Janine’s resolve had strengthened too; she recognized allies when she saw them.

Because Rex was right. There seemed to be something ominous under Wayne Whitewood’s smiling, organ-playing exterior.

The interview Donna had done with Janine once they returned to GamGam’s after their dramatic highway encounter had only confirmed that fact.

“They tried to drown me,” Donna had said, eyes aimed squarely at the floor, clearly not enjoying having a camera pointed at her but enduring it for the sake of the greater good.

“Drown you?”

“Well. First they cut me,” Donna said. She held out her right hand to the camera, where a faint scar could still be seen across her palm.

“Are you sure Whitewood was involved?”