Death and the Girl Next Door

“Then why did Cameron try to kill him?” Glitch was angry now, and I had to keep him calm. The last thing I needed was another angry male to contend with. Even a short one.

“That’s exactly what I intend to find out.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re the only one.”

I glanced back at Brooklyn in question. “What do you mean?”

She looked at Glitch, then back at me. “After the cops came roaring through town this afternoon, we went back to the café. We kept trying to call you to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I turned my phone off. I was going to the library.” I fished it out of my pocket and turned it on. The screen was broken. Darned big green delivery truck. My grandmother was going to kill me.

“Well, that reporter was there, the one from the Tourist Channel doing the story on the hotel who kept asking everyone if they’d seen anything. He was sitting at the booth behind us, talking on the phone for-like-ever while we were trying to track you down. He kept going on and on about how this was it, about how he had found what they’d been looking for, and how he had it all on tape.”

I inhaled sharply. “He got it on tape?”

“Not everything,” Glitch said. “I think he was talking to some big-time producer. He said the tape screwed up right when the truck was about to … about to run you down.” His voice faltered, proving the subject upset him. For some bizarre reason, I felt guilty.

“Yeah,” Brooklyn said. “He was so excited, he was shaking, but I could tell the tape thing pissed him off. He argued with one of his technicians, told her to fix it or find another job. He had such an attitude.”

“He did,” Glitch agreed. “And he was saying that after the truck screeched to a halt, he saw this one kid, a blond, drag this other kid through the glass that just happened to shatter for no reason, then through the gravel on the street like he weighed nothing, while this girl, the girl, who should be dead, is following alongside them arguing with the blond guy and fussing over the dark-haired one, and that they were all covered in blood and—”

“In other words,” Brooklyn said, interrupting, “someone else knows and is more than interested in what happened today. He said he would get the evidence, that he just needed more time.”

“He seemed very determined, Lor,” Glitch warned.

I nodded. Whoever he was, he definitely wanted the story. This was getting worse by the minute. “What did he mean, he found what they’d been looking for?”

“I have no idea,” Brooke said. “He was like a dog with a bone.”

“Darn. I’ll just have to figure out this whole thing before Mr. Butthead Reporter does. But this time, I need some help.” Both Brooklyn and Glitch perked up at that thought. “I don’t suppose either of you would be up for an investigation of sorts?”

“Investigation?” Brooklyn asked, her eyes brightening. “I was born for it.”

“And I was born for fame and fortune, but that’s beside the point. I’m in.”

I smiled and felt for the necklace Glitch gave me in memory of my parents. It wasn’t around my neck. “My necklace is gone,” I said, glancing around in alarm.

Brooke and Glitch scanned the room as well before Glitch said, “You know, you were hit by a truck. There’s no telling where it is now.”

My shoulders deflated in disappointment. “I really liked it, Glitch.”

“I can get you another one,” he said with a shrug. “My dad made it for you.”

I pulled in a soft gasp. “Your dad made it?” Now I really felt guilty.

“Yeah, but now he has the mold. It won’t take him any time to make another.”

But I wanted that one. The first one. The one made just for me and my parents. I tried to brush my hair back with my fingers, but they got tangled in the blood-caked mess on my head. Gross. “Okeydokey, it’s definitely shower time.”

HYBRID

“In a million years I never thought I would say this, but … are you sure we should be skipping?”

Brooklyn and I both turned to Glitch, our faces a snapshot of surprise. We were in his sad excuse for a Subaru, heading to the spot where Jared had disappeared. I didn’t know where else to start, so retracing my steps seemed the most logical thing to do.

“Glitch,” I said after the shock of his statement ebbed, “have you gone mad? You skip for any reason under the sun.”

Brooklyn laughed in remembrance. “I especially liked the one where the nightmare about the giant turtles made him too tired to concentrate on his schoolwork, and he felt he would be a distraction to the rest of the class, so in the interest of everyone’s educational experience, he should be allowed to go home.”

I snickered. “That was a good one.”

“Yeah,” Glitch said, “but the sheriff wasn’t looking for me on turtle-nightmare day.”

“And he’s not looking for you today either. He’s looking for me,” I said. I had managed to wiggle out of my talk with the sheriff once again the evening before, complaining to my grandmother that my stomach was upset. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been lying. Though her chicken soup did help. It always helped.

“And when he finds you in my car…”

Brooklyn snorted. “Looks like macho boy’s cool just melted like a Slush Puppie in August.”