The Leaving(55)

“Unreal,” Lucas said.

Chambers just shook his head and looked away, letting it go. “Come inside so I can take notes.”

So Lucas followed him in and told him again about Orlean—and no, he didn’t have the book, because he’d given it to Orlean—and went over the whole story of the nursing home and Scarlett’s penny and the security guard.

When they were done, Lucas said, “Why were you asking about Max and the school shooting?”

Chambers seemed to be considering, like deciding on a chess move. His phone rang and he took the call. “Yeah?”

Then, “Okay. Be right there.”

“I have to go,” he said to Lucas. “Something’s come up.”

“Something to do with us?”

“When I can tell you,” Chambers said, “I will.”

“So that’s a yes.”

Chambers let out a loud breath. “That’s a yes.”

“Why were you asking Max’s parents about the shooting?” Lucas repeated. “I was there, you know.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked your brother.”

“Why?”

Chambers tilted his head, annoyed. “What did I just say about letting me do my job?”





AVERY



Again with the landline.

Just ringing and ringing.

Why did they even still have the thing?

She got up from where she was sitting at the kitchen island and picked up: “Hello.”

“Avery?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Detective Chambers.” The dishwasher dinged that it was finished.

“Hi.”

“I need to speak to your father, please.”

“He’s not here.” She opened the dishwasher door, and hot air pushed out into the room.

“I’ve tried his cell ten times,” Chambers said. “I’ve left messages. Do you know where he is? Can you reach him?”

“I can try his cell, too. Or call his assistant.”

“What’s that number?”

She had to go get her phone and look it up to give it to him.

“Okay, thanks.”

“No, wait, you can’t expect—”

He hung up.

“You have GOT to be kidding me!” Avery screamed.

She called her father’s cell, but it went straight to voice mail.

She texted him: CALL CHAMBERS! THEN CALL HOME!

He was no better than her mother, really: She was upstairs, in the bedroom, in bed, watching TV. He was hiding under his own pillow at work. Her phone rang.

“Sorry,” he said. “Meetings.”

“What’s going on?” she said.

“It’s—they got a tip that sounds reliable. But—”

“A tip about what?”

He breathed loudly. “The location of a body.”

“Max’s body?” She nearly screamed it. Then regretted her mother might have heard.

“They don’t know, Avery. A body. That’s all. Do not mention this to your mother yet. Understood?”

Avery said, “Understood.”

“And let’s not jump to conclusions, okay? Let’s just sit tight. I’ll come home as soon as I can.”


Sam came and got her when she texted him the news—I will not call Lucas. I will not text Lucas—and they went to the Love Boat for ice cream because she couldn’t think of anything else to do and neither could he.

As usual, he ordered a flavor she didn’t even want to try.

Pistachio.

Who did that?

Who didn’t at least try to coordinate?

They’d had to wait a long time to get served—the kid in front of them had a peanut allergy and the mom had asked them to use a clean scoop and open a new gallon of whatever flavor the kid wanted—and by the time they got outside, there were no tables worth sitting at. Only two seats at a table where someone had spilled what looked like a combination of chocolate-chip-mint and blue-raspberry sorbet. They’d melted together into a green and purple swirl that she half wanted to take a photo of. She could study it later and decide whether it looked hideous, like a close-up of some aggressive cancer cell, or beautiful, like something the aurora borealis might whip up in the sky. So they headed for the car.

“Have there been any more notes?” Sam asked, and it took her a second to figure out what he was referring to. “Because they can’t really be from Max if . . . Well, you know.”

“There was another one yesterday,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged and took a swipe at her coconut almond fudge with a hard tongue.

“Well, hopefully this will put an end to all that.”

“You mean if it’s Max’s body,” she said.

“Can’t I say anything right?” He shook his head.

“I don’t know, can you?”

He shifted his green cone to his left hand, then reached over and took her hand. “I know this is unbelievably stressful for you. I can’t even imagine.”

“No, you can’t.”

“That’s what I just said!” he shouted.