Two Can Keep a Secret(51)
“Thanks,” I say, feeling a pinprick of shame for manipulating him. “You have no idea how much that helps.”
“Well. You tell your mother I said hello.” He tips his baseball cap and shuffles past Ezra, who brings his hands together in a slow clap once Vance is out of hearing range.
“Well played, El. Although that guy’s never gonna let you live down the loss.”
“I know,” I sigh, digging for another Kleenex to dry my still-damp cheeks. As I watch Vance melt into the crowd, a prickle of excitement works its way up my spine. “Did you hear what he said, though? He told Brooke to pick a lock with paper clips.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So that’s what she was holding in the House of Horrors office, remember? A straightened paper clip. I took it from her. She said something like, This is harder than he said it would be.” My voice climbs with anticipation, and I force it back down. “She was trying to pick a lock right then and there. And we interrupted her.”
“The desk, maybe?” Ezra wonders.
I shake my head. “I get stuff out of that desk all the time. It isn’t locked. But—” Heat floods my face as I remember where Brooke was sitting. “But I think I know what is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Malcolm
Thursday, October 3
By Thursday, search parties for Brooke aren’t limited to school hours anymore. There’s one this afternoon, covering the woods behind the Nilssons’ house. Peter’s a volunteer captain, and when I get home from band practice he’s loading a cardboard box filled with flyers, bottled water, and flashlights into the back of his Range Rover.
“Hello, Malcolm.” He doesn’t look at me as I get out of Mom’s Volvo. Just brushes his palms together as though they’re dusty. I’m sure they aren’t. Peter’s car is as pristine as everything else the Nilssons own. “How was school?”
“Same.” In other words: not good. “When are we leaving?”
Peter crosses his arms, displaying razor-sharp creases in the sleeves of his shirt. “We are leaving in ten minutes,” he says. The emphasis is clear, but when I don’t respond he adds, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come, Malcolm.”
My heart sinks. “Why?” It’s a pointless question. I know why. Officer McNulty has been back twice already to ask me follow-up questions.
Peter’s nostrils flare. “Emotions are running high right now. You’d be a distraction. I’m sorry. I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s the truth, and our first priority is finding Brooke.”
My temper spikes. “I know. I want to help.”
“The best way you can help is to stay here,” Peter says, and my palms itch with an almost irresistible desire to punch the smug look off his face. I’m sure he’s genuinely concerned, and he might even be right. But he gets off on being the hero, too. Always has.
He claps a hand on my shoulder, quickly, like he’s killing a bug. “Why don’t you go inside and see if there’s any more water in the fridge? That would be helpful.”
A vein above my eye starts to throb. “Sure,” I say, swallowing my anger because getting into a pissing match with Peter isn’t going to help Brooke.
When I get inside, I hear the staircase in the foyer creak. I’m hoping for my mother, but it’s Katrin with a heap of red fabric hanging over her arm, followed by Viv. Katrin freezes when she sees me, and Viv almost bumps into her. Both of their faces harden into the mask of dislike I’ve been seeing everywhere since Sunday.
I make an effort to act like I normally would. “What’s that?” I ask, gesturing toward Katrin’s arm.
“My homecoming dress,” she snaps.
I eye the dress with a feeling of mild dread. I’ve been trying to block out the fact that homecoming is Saturday. “It’s weird they’re still having that.” Katrin doesn’t reply, and I add, “What are you doing with your dress?”
“Your mom’s going to have it pressed.” She gives me a wide berth as she makes her way into the kitchen, carefully draping the dress over the back of a chair. It’s nice, I guess, that my mom does stuff like that for Katrin. Peter says Katrin’s own mother hasn’t responded to any of his calls all week, other than to text something about bad cell reception in the South of France. There’s always some excuse.
When she’s finished arranging the dress, Katrin stares at me with glacial blue eyes. “I’d better not see you there.”
Somehow, Katrin doesn’t make me angry like Peter does. Maybe because I know she’s barely eaten or slept since Brooke went missing. Her cheeks are hollow, her lips chapped, her hair in a messy ponytail. “Katrin, come on,” I say, my palms spread wide. The universal gesture of a guy who has nothing to hide. “Can we talk about this? What have I ever done to make you think I’d be capable of hurting Brooke?”
She presses her lips together, nostrils flaring slightly. For a second she looks exactly like Peter. “You were involved with her and you didn’t tell anyone.”
“Jesus.” I rake a hand through my hair, feeling a tug in my chest. “Why do you keep saying that? Because you lost track of her during a sleepover? She was probably in the bathroom.” Katrin and I were never friends, exactly, but I thought she knew me better than this.