Get Dirty (2 page)

Kyle started down the ladder. “Isn’t it awesome? Rex’s idea.”

Of course it was.

“We’re hanging them all over campus,” Kyle continued. He dragged the ladder to the other side of the hallway, then took the banner from Olivia’s hand. “Rex is in the leadership room, prepping the flyers. I think he’s . . .” Kyle cleared his throat. “Alone.”

Ew. “I’ll go see if he needs help,” Olivia said quickly, jumping at any excuse for an escape. Not that she would be caught dead alone in a room with Rex Cavanaugh, especially not since he and Amber broke up. That was practically an invitation to get molested. But at least it gave her a reason to bail.

Olivia strolled casually down the hallway toward the leadership room, but as soon as she was out of Kyle’s sight, she broke into a run. If Rex and his ’Maine Men were decorating the entire school, it would only be a matter of time before they reached the hall outside the computer lab where Kitty was waiting. They needed to get in and out of there as quickly as possible. She dashed past her locker and double-timed her way up the stairs like a marine in basic training.

As she reached the top, she stopped midstep, her senses on
alert. She’d heard something, she was positive. Footsteps close behind her.

Olivia swung around and gazed down the staircase. No one was there.

Motionless, she slowly counted to ten. Still, no one appeared in the hallway below. She was being ridiculous, the old paranoia affecting her judgment. No one was following her, and no one knew what they were up to. With a dismissive wave, Olivia turned and hurried to the computer lab.

Kitty paced back and forth across the slick tile floor. It wasn’t a real shocker that Olivia was late, but they were about to take a giant step in the hunt for Christopher Beeman, and the wait was killing her.

She glanced down at a glowing monitor. On the screen, a window was open to an anonymous email account. She’d already plugged in the thumb drive and uploaded the entire DGM dossier on Christopher Beeman: the emails between Christopher and the now-deceased Ronny DeStefano, the link between Christopher and the also-now-deceased Coach Creed. With one click of the mouse, she would send the file hurtling through cyberspace to Sergeant Callahan at the Menlo Park Police Department.

The killer had given them a reprieve after Bree turned herself in, and they needed to use this freedom to end Christopher’s reign of terror once and for all. Sergeant Callahan would have to realize Christopher was the killer and would mobilize the entire police force to find him. Bree would be exonerated, and
Christopher’s killing spree would soon be over.

She hoped.

In the distance, Kitty heard the rapid clickety-clack of impractical footwear hurrying down the hallway, followed by a faint knock on the door: once, a pause, then three quick raps. Kitty whisked open the door and a breathless, pink-faced Olivia rushed inside.

“Sorry!” she panted. “I got caught downstairs by Kyle and Tyler.” Olivia braced herself against the wall. “Have you seen what’s going on?”

“Father Uberti contacted the leadership class about it last night after the school board meeting. Said he wanted to celebrate victory, now that Bree’s been arrested.” Kitty sighed. “Super classy considering two people are dead.”

“Classy is F.U.’s middle name,” Olivia said.

Kitty took a deep breath and sat down at the computer screen. “It’s all good to go.”

Olivia leaned over her shoulder and read the prepared email message out loud. “Attached is some information you might find enlightening in regard to the Bishop DuMaine killings. Christopher Beeman, formerly of Archway Military Academy in Arizona, has connections to the victims, and motives to kill both Ronny DeStefano and Coach Dick Creed. Sincerely, A Friend.” Olivia straightened up. “That’s perfect. This is totally going to work.”

“Ready?” Kitty asked.

Olivia bit her lower lip, scraping most of the iridescent gloss off in the process, then gave a quick, decisive nod. “Ready.”

Kitty clicked the mouse and a window with the words “Your email has been sent” filled the screen. She leaned back in her chair and let out a long sigh. “There it goes. Christopher Beeman will soon be behind bars.”

“You sure about that?” said a familiar voice.

Olivia’s elation turned to anger as she spun around and found Ed the Head’s grinning face in the doorway. “Where have you been?”

“The moon and back, baby,” he said, pumping his eyebrows.

Kitty took a step closer to him. “I’ve called you approximately seven thousand times since Thursday night. Nothing but voice mail. You want to explain that?”

Ed the Head shrugged. “I flushed it. The component pieces of the burner phone formerly belonging to Ed the Head are now floating somewhere in the San Francisco Bay.”

“Why did you flush your phone?” Olivia asked.

“Well, last I checked, I was texting with Margot just a few hours before she was attacked. Every cop in town is probably trying to find that phone.”

Kitty narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like an admission of guilt.”

Ed calmly pulled out a chair and sat down. “Ladies, chill. If I attacked Margot, do you think I’d be here right now talking to you?”

Olivia exchanged a glance with Kitty. He had a point.

“Why
are
you here?” Kitty asked.

Ed the Head slipped a piece of paper from the front pocket of his bag. “I wanted to show you this.”

Kitty snatched the paper from his hand, glancing at it briefly. “It’s a speeding ticket.”

“Highway 101 North,” Olivia read from the carbon copy. “Exit three sixty-seven, Morgan Hill.”

Ed the Head nodded. “Check the date and time.”

Olivia’s eyes zipped to the top of the form. “October seventh, nine thirty pm.”

“Exactly,” Ed said. “And Margot was attacked at approximately nine fifty according to the police report. There’s no way I could’ve made it forty miles in fifteen minutes. I didn’t do it.”

“Then why did you wait three days to tell us?” Kitty asked.

Ed dropped the glib facade, his face suddenly hard. “Because you were the only ones who knew I was supposed to meet Margot that night.”

Olivia stiffened. “What are you trying to say?”

“It might have crossed my mind that you were setting me up to take the fall.”

“You think we tried to kill Margot?” Olivia asked, horrified. “She’s our friend, you little weasel. If you think for a second—”

“Was she really your friend?” Ed jutted out his chin. “I seem to recall some pretty horrific photos of Margot from back in junior high.” He pointed at her accusingly. “Photos you took.”

Olivia’s hands began to shake as the shame of what she’d done to Margot washed over her anew. “Oh yeah?” she said, lashing out. “Well, how do we know you’re not Christopher Beeman?” She wasn’t entirely sure it made sense, but someone had to be Christopher, and they were running out of options.

Instead of denying it, Ed the Head burst out laughing.

“Why is that funny?” Kitty asked.

“If I’m Christopher Beeman,” Ed gasped, “I’ve got bigger problems than a murder rap.”

A creeping sensation spread down Olivia’s spine, as if she’d just backed into a spiderweb. Something about Ed’s tone put her on edge. “What do you mean?”

“That’s what I discovered in Arizona,” he said. “Christopher Beeman is dead.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

THE DAY ROOM AT THE SANTA CLARA COUNTY GIRLS
’
JUVENILE
Detention Center was by far the most depressing place Bree had ever been.

Intended as some kind of free space, the day room was a windowless, color-blocked cell furnished from a cut-rate office supply catalog where inmates were allowed to watch TV, play board games, read, or tackle homework as their privilege level allowed.

The bland atmosphere mirrored the inmates’ moods. Everyone looked worn down and half-dead, like a room full of lobotomy patients. They slogged from table to door to bookcase, eyes aimlessly searching for something new and interesting to break the monotony, and as Bree stared at TV commercials during the overly chipper local morning news, she wondered how long it would be before she felt as beaten down as the rest of the girls in her housing pod.

She could already feel the hopelessness seeping in. It had been a long three days since her arrest after claiming responsibility for
the DGM pranks, during which she’d endured seemingly endless police interrogations about the murders of Ronny DeStefano and Coach Creed. Bree had stonewalled mercilessly, taking great pleasure at Sergeant Callahan’s growing irritation as she refused to answer any of his questions. Then the daily therapy sessions with Dr. Walters, who seemed intent on connecting Bree’s “attention-seeking” behavior to her relationship with her parents. Again, she gave the doctor very little satisfaction. Even in jail, Bree couldn’t help rebelling against authority.

Meanwhile, it had been radio silence from everyone she cared about. Bree had no idea what had happened to Margot, and no clue as to whether or not Christopher had stayed true to his word and left the rest of DGM alone after Bree turned herself in.

Not that she’d expected to hear from Olivia or Kitty. They had work to do. If the killer had been true to his word, then he would have backed off once Bree confessed. She needed Olivia and Kitty to use this truce to find Christopher and get her the hell out of there. They were her only chance at freedom.

Because, as Bree well knew, dear old dad wasn’t going to come to her rescue this time. He’d made that abundantly clear last week when he saved her from expulsion after she punched Rex Cavanaugh in the face.
Next time, you’re on your own
.

And then there was her mom. Bree blinked and stared at the wall, slabs of concrete painted butter yellow and Pepto pink. Had anyone told her? Would she even care?

Bree swallowed and fought back the emotion welling up inside. Despite her bravado, Bree was scared. She felt utterly alone, abandoned by her friends, her family, even John.

I know you didn’t kill them.

No, not John. He would never abandon her. Would he?

Bree clenched her teeth so hard she felt the tendons pop around her jaw. She was a convict now, being held on suspicion of murder. Would he feel the same way about her? Would he forget about her if she spent the next twenty years behind bars? Was she destined to become as forgotten as the rest of these inmates?

“Bree Deringer?”

Bree jumped in her chair at the sound of her name. Dr. Walters stood in the doorway. “Come with me, please.”

Every set of eyes in the room turned to Bree. Some looked combative, as if they resented the new girl being singled out. Others watched her wistfully, wishing they too had been summoned away for reasons unknown just to break the routine.

Dr. Walters was all smiles as she led Bree to her office. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” she said, making small talk.

Apparently Dr. Walters had missed the fact that she’d just retrieved Bree from a windowless room. “Um, yeah.”

Dr. Walters closed her office door behind her. “Well, it’s about to get even better for you.”

Bree had no idea what she was talking about, but took a seat while Dr. Walters shuffled through some papers on her desk.

“Here’s the schedule for the group therapy outpatient sessions,” Dr. Walters said, handing Bree a printout. “It’s the same setup as here—everything we discuss is completely confidential and all the girls are former inmates of the Santa Clara County Girls’ Juvenile Detention Center.”

Bree took the schedule from Dr. Walters’s outstretched hand,
her brain still focused on the word “outpatient.”

“Excuse me,” Bree said, hardly allowing herself to believe it might be true. “Are we being transported somewhere for group therapy?”

Dr. Walters tilted her head to the side. “No, Bree. You’re being released today.”

“What?”

“You’ll be fitted with an anklet at the processing desk, and then remanded to parental custody under house arrest.” Dr. Walters beamed. “Isn’t that exciting?”

Oh, shit. Her dad was going to rip her a new one when he hauled her out of juvie. Maybe he already had a cell reserved for her at that East Coast convent school he kept threatening her with? Bree swallowed, her tongue suddenly two sizes too large for her mouth. “When is my dad coming to get me?”

“He’s not,” Dr. Walters said. “We’re releasing you to your mother.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

KITTY STARED AT ED, DUMBFOUNDED.
“
WHAT DO YOU MEAN
, Christopher Beeman is dead?”

Olivia shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

Ed knew they wouldn’t believe him. “You think I’d make up something like that?” He pulled a folder from his backpack and handed it to them. “Check it.”

With Olivia perched on her arm, Kitty perused the official copy of Christopher Beeman’s death certificate, and Ed watched as a harsh realization dawned on them—for the last few weeks they’d been chasing a ghost.

“How did we not know this?” Kitty asked.

“Like everything else about the mysterious Mr. Beeman,” Ed said, “the internet was totally purged. Someone wanted to erase him.”

Olivia glanced at him sidelong. “Then how did you find out?”

Ed straightened his shoulders, offended. “I’m a professional.”

“What does that mean?” Olivia asked.

Ed shrugged. “It means I bribed the janitor to tell me what he knew about Christopher Beeman.”

“Death by strangulation, ruled a suicide.” Kitty studied the death certificate as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was reading. “This happened last year around the same time that article about Christopher going AWOL was published in the local paper.”

“How did it . . .” Olivia swallowed, her face pale. “I mean, how was the body . . .”

“He hung himself from the overhead pipes in the boiler room below the gym at Archway,” Ed said matter-of-factly. He tried not to imagine how miserable Christopher’s death must have been—cold, dark, and alone.