The Familiar Dark(57)

“This is stupid,” I said under my breath. What did I think I was doing? What did I actually think I was going to find? Crystal probably wasn’t even right about Cal hanging out with Matt. And there was probably a totally logical explanation for why Cal had lied about him and Land talking to Matt about Izzy. None of it had to mean anything. But what if it does? my mind whispered.

Cal’s place was nicer than mine by objective standards, bigger, slightly more updated. But he used it only as a place to shower and sleep, a way station. He spent most of his time at work or, before Junie died, at my apartment. There wasn’t much that marked this place as Cal’s. No desk with overflowing drawers or shelves of knickknacks perfect for concealment. I started in the kitchen, although it seemed an unlikely spot for anything suspect. It didn’t help that I had no idea what I was looking for. But half the kitchen drawers were empty, and the other half held standard kitchen fare: a spatula, a whisk with the tag still attached, a pot holder Junie had crocheted as a Christmas present a few years ago.

I moved on to Cal’s bedroom, ran my hand over the pale oak headboard and matching dresser I’d helped him pick out when he’d first moved in. He hadn’t cared about what we got, seemed content to sleep with his mattress on the floor and his clothes stored in milk crates, but I wanted him to have something homey, something to help turn this bland beige box of a room into his personal space. But other than the furniture, he’d never done much. No art on the walls. No clutter on the nightstand. Only a single framed picture of Junie and me on top of his dresser, both of us laughing, my arms encircling her from behind. Looking at Cal’s room made me sad in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was too empty, too blank. Like a life that was never fully lived.

I’d always used the space between my mattress and box springs as my hiding place when I was a kid. Not the most ingenious hiding place, but I never had much to hide to begin with. But Cal had always been cleverer. Like me, he hadn’t had much worth squirreling away, but when he did, he went to great lengths to make sure it wouldn’t be found. I checked all the obvious spots, but I didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything there.

Eventually I ended up in his closet, reaching my hands into the corners of his high shelf and then on the floor, running my fingers along the baseboards. I’d about given up when I felt the edge of the carpet pulled away from the floor. I tugged and it came up easily, exposing a square of subfloor that had been cut out at some point and then replaced. I sat back on my heels, heart galloping, sweat slicking my palms. Did I want to lift up that piece of flooring? How badly did I want answers?

“Stop being a chickenshit,” I said, my voice too loud in the stillness. I tried using my bare hands to get the square of plywood up, but had to dig out my keys and use one to pry up an edge enough to slip my finger into the gap. The square came out easily after that, and I peered carefully into the dark space below. I didn’t see anything and I hoped maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was a remnant from the builder. Maybe this hidey-hole had nothing to do with my brother at all.

I reached a hand down, wincing a little in anticipation of bugs or rats, but my fingers butted up against something smooth and cool. I pulled it out. A freezer-sized ziplock bag filled with cash. A sound came out of me, a moaning kind of cry, and I dropped onto my stomach, reached my whole arm into the space. By the time I was done, there were seven bags of cash on the floor next to me. Thousands of dollars. More money than I’d ever seen in my life.

Follow the money. Well, here it was, spread out next to me on Cal’s closet floor, but I couldn’t quite put it together with Junie’s death. Partly because I didn’t see how it fit and partly because I couldn’t stand to click the final pieces together. I was making a low, animal humming sound in the back of my throat, and I forced myself to take deep, even breaths until I stopped. I clicked through possibilities in my mind, trying to find one that slotted into place. Cal and Matt stealing money from Jimmy Ray, maybe? Junie killed as a kind of punishment? But then why would Jimmy Ray point me toward the money, and his own guilt? Maybe Cal was stealing directly from Matt and he went after Junie. Sent someone to deliver the message while he worked at the strip joint hiding behind his alibi.

I sat up, leaned back against Cal’s closet wall. I needed to talk to him, figure out what role he’d played in all this. Because there was no denying now that he was involved, somehow. I leaned forward, reaching to replace the piece of subfloor, and caught a glint of light from the dark hole. Something I’d missed, something shimmering. My brain knew what it was immediately, but my heart refused to believe it until I had it out of the hole, held right up next to my face. A phone. With a pink glitter case and a cracked screen. Izzy’s missing phone. I’d seen her texting on it dozens of times. Izzy’s lost phone hidden away in Cal’s house. There was no explanation for it, no reason he could possibly give for having it that didn’t end with two girls dead in the snow.

I thought about the text Izzy had gotten on her phone that morning, luring her to her death. Jimmy Ray’s black eye from Cal, and my too-quick assumption that he was interrogating Jimmy Ray when maybe he’d really been covering his own ass. The way Cal steered me away from Jimmy Ray’s advice to follow the money, subtle and delicate, but maneuvering me just the same. How fast he’d shown up after Matt’s trailer had blown up, there practically as soon as the explosion lit up the sky. Because he’d been there all along, I realized. Had killed Matt to keep me from finding out what he knew, to keep Land from asking Matt all the right questions.