All Unquiet Things (8 page)

“Suit yourself. It’s fine, I’ve got all day,” I said, taking off in the direction of the administration building and hoping she didn’t call my bluff. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to Finch. The less attention he paid me, the better.

“Neily,” she called after me. She didn’t sound frazzled or upset, just irritated. I turned and watched as she fished around in her shoulder bag. She pulled out my cell phone and presented it in her palm.

I reached to take it from her, but she yanked it back.

“I’m going to need you to answer a few questions first,” she said.

“You can’t just take something that belongs to me and hold it ransom,” I said, knowing that—of course—she could.

“Can and have. Now, why don’t I give you a ride home and I’ll explain everything on the way.” She slipped my phone into her back pocket, virtually ensuring that I wouldn’t reach in and grab it. Virtually.

“I’m not getting into a car with you. You might drive me down to Tijuana and sell me into white slavery.”

“Yeah, because I’m sure there are a lot of people who would pay good money for you. Come on. It’ll be painless, I promise.”

“Painless?”

She hesitated. “Well, not really. But it’ll be quick. Okay, that’s not true either.”

“You should go into sales or something. Give it to me.”

“Come on, Neily. Aren’t you the least bit interested in what I have to say?”

“You mean, in what you have to ask me? No.” We were playing a game here, and we both knew it. The thing was, since her return to Brighton, Audrey had actually started to interest me. That was unexpected, but sort of exhilarating. I hated to say it-even to think it—but she reminded me, just a little, of Carly.

“You are such a bad liar. You might want to work on that.”

I stood there for a minute, thinking it over. I really didn’t want to take this to Finch—it was such a hassle, even though I was guaranteed to get my property back. I did need a ride home, and how bad could her questions be? And if I didn’t get my phone back then, I’d just call the police on her again.

At that instant, Adam Murray charged between us, knocking Audrey’s books to the ground and smacking me in the shoulder with his backpack. “Out of the way, Think Tank,” he muttered, heading in the direction of his cronies, who were lounging by their cars.

I bent down to help Audrey with her stuff, picking up a red notebook, which she snatched out of my hand.

“Hey, don’t touch that,” she said, righting her things and standing back up.

“What’s that, your diary?” I scoffed. And maybe it was, but I couldn’t have cared less. In saying that, I had just reminded myself of something:
Carly
had kept a diary. I don’t know for
how long, but at least since her mother passed away—it had been one of Harriet’s therapeutic suggestions.

“What?” asked Audrey, noticing the look on my face.

“Nothing,” I said, feeling the possibility like a dull thud in my chest. Carly might have written about me in her journal-things that might illuminate how she had felt about me. If I were just able to read it, at least my lingering questions on that subject would be put to rest. The problem was, the only way I was going to get my hands on it, if it even existed, was through Audrey.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll answer your questions.”

“Fine?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d be harder to convince. Come on, your chariot awaits.”

“Uh, Audrey?”

“Huh?” Then she saw it. Her car, a sweet-sixteen present from her grandparents, was sitting in its spot, smeared with egg and blanketed in toilet paper. A throng of Audrey’s old friends—Adam Murray, Lucy Miller, and her ex-boyfriend Cass among them—were lolling around on the lawn, laughing. Audrey drew a deep breath and squinted. Inside she was boiling, I was sure, but she knew as well as I did that a public display would only make things worse.

She turned to me and smiled. “You think anyone noticed I’m back?”

I stared at the car, suddenly bitter on her behalf. The sense of entitlement, the lack of empathy, the fucking
balls
of Adam and his friends had always pissed me off, and even though I tried to remind myself that Audrey had been one of them once, had stood by and watched them humiliate other people just as
they were humiliating her now, I did feel a little bit sorry for her. “Don’t let them get to you. You have just as much right to be here as they do.”

“I know that.”

“I’ll help you let the air out of Cass’s tires,” I offered.

“Look at you, getting all fraternal.”

“What’s that old saying? An enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

“Touching. But revenge isn’t my style. I just want to clean this up and get out of here.”

“All right. Come on—I know where the janitor keeps the extra paper towels.”

After wiping down the windows, we settled into Audrey’s BMW and went screeching out of the student parking lot like we were trafficking stolen goods.

“Are you kidding? Do you have a death wish?” I snapped as Audrey cut off two cars on her way to the left-hand turn lane.

“Not really. I’m just impatient.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got time, so I’d appreciate it if you delivered me to my house in one piece. Seriously, I feel like I’m in a scene out of
The Italian Job
.”

“I loved that movie.”

“I’m sure you did. So, when do I get my phone back?”

“I told you.”

“Okay, go ahead, ask your questions. Wait. Are we using
Jeopardy!
format?”

She stared straight ahead, watching the road for the first time since I buckled my seat belt. “It’s about Carly.”

I didn’t say anything. I had expected this, of course—giving the bracelet had not been a meaningless gesture, as I had rightly assumed—but all I could think was,
Please, can we just not talk about this?

She sighed. “Can I safely deduce from your silence that you’re not going to do a tuck-and-roll right out of the car?”

“Deduce away,” I said sullenly.

“I did steal your cell phone.”

“Obviously.”

“But I had my reasons.”

“Crazy people always do. Did your neighbor’s dog tell you to do it?”

“Look, after the trial, when the police department released all of Carly’s personal effects, her father gave them to me. He said he couldn’t stand to look at them. That’s how I got the bracelet I gave you yesterday, and that’s how I got
Carly’s
cell phone.”

“Illuminating. So?” I’d put the bracelet in my pocket again this morning. I didn’t really know what to do with it—I certainly didn’t want to just put it away somewhere and forget about it.

“Her last outgoing call was to you.”

“I know that, and so does the rest of the world. Did you miss that day of the trial, or are you just playing dumb?”

“I remember. She left you a message. But they didn’t play the tape in court. I never heard the message itself, just your interpretation of it.”

“Well, believe me, if I was lying the DA would have called me on it. Why do you need to hear it, anyway? Do you get kicks chasing ambulances, too, or do you just fill all your empty hours nowadays playing
Cold Case
with a murder that’s already been solved?”

“I wanted to see if you’d kept the message. Saved it, in your mailbox.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Because you were unhealthily fixated on her?”

“That is not true!” I slammed my fist against the door.

“You seem awfully worked up,” Audrey said. “What’s that quote from
Macbeth?
Something about protesting too much?”

“Shut up, Audrey. So, what, you got me into this car so that you could hassle me about Carly?”

“I don’t recall holding a gun to your head.”

“Look, just give me my cell phone, take me home, and we can each go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist. The last thing anybody needs is a rewind of last year.”

“Why are you being so defensive?” I didn’t answer. She glanced at me and her jaw dropped. “You
did
save the message, didn’t you? What, did you download it onto your computer or something? Forward it to another digital mailbox? What? Neily, I have to hear that message.”

“I did not save it. As soon as the detective had a copy, I deleted it. If you want to hear it, you’ll have to break into the evidence room in the Empire Valley Police Department.” I couldn’t even look at her.

She pressed her lips together and let out a deep breath through her nose. “Fine.” She reached into her pocket and tossed the cell phone at me. “Don’t help.”

“Help with what?” I turned toward the window and watched the woods go past. “Forget it. I don’t care.”

“I don’t think my dad killed Carly. And I would
really
like to prove it.”

I considered my words carefully. Audrey was a bitch, but
her life hadn’t been easy since Carly died. There was quippy, and there was cruel.

“Look, Audrey, I know you don’t want to believe it—”

“Wanting has nothing to do with it. I
don’t
believe it.” She looked at me earnestly. “And I don’t think you do, either.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you don’t really act like someone who’s got all the answers,” she said. “I’ve been watching you, Neily.”

“That’s creepy.”

“And I can tell that behind that weak Holden Caulfield affectation is a spongy, leaking heart desperate for some sort of closure.”

I looked out the window, at the houses whipping past, willing her to stop talking. I had never felt completely comfortable around Audrey, even when we were supposedly friends. This was not a new side to her—she was always trying to get a reaction, like a child poking at a sleeping dog with a stick. It was something she and Carly had in common, but when Audrey pried it was like chipping away at a wall; when Carly had been like this, it was as if she were throwing a stick of dynamite and waiting for the explosion.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to believe it,” Audrey continued. “It’s human nature to go with the solution that suits us, to lock away the threat and try not to think about it ever again. But that’s not
life
. Life is messy.”

“No kidding.”

“I need you to believe me.”

“Why? Why do you care what
I
believe?”

“Because I want you to help me.”

I leaned my head back. “God.”

“What?”

“Look, you do whatever you want, but I think it’s totally stupid to convince yourself that the truth is inconsequential if you don’t like it. So thanks for the invite, but I’m going to take a pass on the amateur sleuthing.”

“You’re honestly telling me that if I’m right, if my dad is innocent and the real killer is out there somewhere, you’d rather my dad rot in prison while someone else gets away with murder?”

I hesitated, my mind a whirlpool of possibilities. “We can’t do this, Audrey. We’re not cops, we’re just kids.”

“I don’t know about you, but I stopped being a kid the night I found out my best friend was dead and my dad was about to go to prison. I’m not playing, Neily. This is not a game to me.” She shook her head. “And if I can’t convince you of that, then I won’t be able to convince anybody.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“I’m disappointed in you. I thought you cared about Carly.”

“I did! I mean, I do.”

“Then why won’t you help me?”

“Because!” I shouted. She jumped, and I strained to keep it together. “Because if you’re right, and your father
is
innocent, and that message Carly left me the night before she died has something to do with it, then that means it’s all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I could’ve answered the phone, I could’ve listened to the message, but I didn’t. Not until it was too late. I was still angry, and I didn’t want anything to do with her. Every day I think about what might have happened if I had answered the phone or called her back right away. Part of me thinks she’d still be alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you, or I, or anyone knows. If we do this, if we dig everything back up again, all we’d be doing is tearing out our own stitches.”

“Don’t you want to know for sure?”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Is this why you’re having nightmares?”

I glared at her. “How do you know about that?”

Audrey averted her eyes. “Harriet stepped out of the office for a minute during our session and I might have caught a glimpse of your file.”

“Audrey, you’re such a bitch! That’s my
private
file. You had no right to look at it.”

“It was sitting right there on her desk—how could I not? If you were me, you would’ve done the exact same thing, and you know it, so don’t give me that judgmental look.”

She had a point. But I had another question.

“Why are you doing this now? If you’re so sure your father’s innocent, why wait a year to start looking into it?”

She pressed her lips together, taking a long pause before answering. “I didn’t believe him at first. As soon as I got over the shock of it all, I bought the DA’s story just like everybody else. But the longer I sat in that courtroom, the less sure I became, and when I went to see him last month I realized that I wasn’t angry at him anymore because I
knew
he hadn’t done it. He tried so hard to convince me, and I tried so hard to resist believing him, but I couldn’t keep it up.”