Best Laid Plans(143)

Even though his account was deleted, the messages he’d sent to Jess were archived on her page. Reading them, it was clear that they were friends and might have liked each other more, but both talked around it. That would fit with Scott’s shy reputation.

Thursday night, before he left on the camping trip, Scott had sent Jess a message.

S: Why are you mad that I’m going camping with the guys?

J: Since when did Art and Carlos become “the guys”? Art’s a jackass. I told you that last week.

S: It’s not easy for me to make friends. Ian thinks I’m a nerd, and all he talks about is baseball. I played baseball one year, when I was 9. I was the worst player on the team and once, when I tried to catch a fly ball, it hit my forehead and I passed out. I don’t fit in anywhere, and Art is nice to me.

J: Scott, you’ll find your niche. We’re friends, right? Art is only nice because he wants something.

S: It’s just for the weekend. I’ll call you when I get back, okay?

J: Whatever.

Jess was irritated with Scott. She’d followed up that conversation with a message Sunday morning.

Are you around? The weather sucks, call me, I want to make sure you got back okay.

Max scrolled further and found a thread between Art and Jess more than a year ago. She immediately realized that Jess and Art had dated a few times, and Jess called it off.

A: Why are you so mad at me?

J: You’re an *, and if you don’t know why I’m mad, go f*ck yourself.

A: Come on, it was a joke. Can’t you take a joke?

J: It wasn’t a joke to anyone but you and Carlos. I’m done.

A: Well screw you, you have no sense of humor.

Max copied and pasted both threads of messages. She wanted to ask Jess about this, but the girl was still in class. Max checked Tom’s social media hive, and he hadn’t posted anything since she confronted him outside his English class. Mr. Social Animal had gone silent.

More than a little interesting.

She went back to Art’s page and looked through the photos that were posted immediately prior to the camping trip. Scott was in a few, mostly from a party the weekend before. Jess was in a few of the group shots with Scott, and so was Tom.

On the day they left, there were some photos posted to Art’s page via his phone from the interior of Carlos’s four-wheel drive. Another photo of Art, Tom, and Scott at the campsite holding beers. Then nothing else from the trip.

That seemed … odd for someone who documented his life on social media. She went back to Tom’s page, and he hadn’t posted anything after 4 P.M. that day. His last tweet was:

Going camping! Haha. #nointernet #techwithdrawal

If there was no Internet, when had they posted the picture from the campsite?

She looked at the information. It was posted Saturday morning, at 8:35 A.M.

Sometimes, there was a weak cellular connection and it could take an unusually long time to upload a picture, but that should drain the phone battery. They could have brought extra phone batteries or a portable charger. Anything was possible. Still, something seemed … weird. Not that they were drinking at 8:35 A.M., but because that picture, based on the sun and quality of light was obviously taken in the late afternoon. That was confirmed by the tag Art had added:

Me and buds, last camping trip of the season. We have plenty of beer and food! Haha.

She downloaded the picture. There was information embedded in most photos uploaded from a mobile device. She didn’t remember how to access it, but when she got back to the Broadmoor she’d call a friend who would do it for her.

Max packed up, slipped on her coat, which had nearly dried, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and walked outside. The light, steady rain continued. Great. She should have retrieved her umbrella earlier.

She headed straight for Canyon Hall and up to the fourth floor. She listened outside room 412. People were talking inside, though she couldn’t make out specific words. She knocked loudly. A few seconds later, the door opened.

Arthur Cowan was a lot shorter than she’d thought—about her height of five foot ten. He stared at her—first her face, then his eyes dipped down to her breasts, which were covered by her coat, then back to her face. “Hell-o,” he said.

“That’s the reporter,” a voice came from the room. Max couldn’t see Tom Keller, but it sounded like his whine.

“Maxine Revere,” she said, and held out her card.

Art frowned. “We have nothing to say to you.” He started to close the door.

Max put her boot in the opening. “You don’t know my questions.”

“Tom says you’re writing an article about Scott. That you think we lied.”

“Tom,” Max said, pushing open the door and stepping into the dorm room. “That’s not what I said.”

The room was a mess, and she thought about Ian’s comment about not wanting to live with a slob. The main room had two small couches and reeked of stale food and beer. Two open doors led to bedrooms, which were equally messy. There was so much clothing and paper scattered in one room, she couldn’t see the floor.

“Hey,” Art said when she brushed past him. “We didn’t invite you in.”

She said, “What really happened on that camping trip? Don’t you think that Scott’s family deserves the truth?”