Far From You

53

NOW (JUNE)

By the time Trev leaves, I feel wrung out. I walk out to my garden but end up lying down in the grass between the two beds, following the sun’s progress as it fades behind the Trinities.

I’m almost dozing when someone bangs on the back gate. My eyes snap open and I struggle to my elbows as Rachel calls, “Sophie, are you here?”

“Hey, coming.” I get to my feet slowly, my back hurting from lying on the ground for so long.

When I finally get the gate unlocked, I pull it back to find Rachel clutching a plastic baggie to her chest. There are smears of dust across her forehead and arms and a scratch on her leg. She charges forward, waving the bag. “I found them!” she says. “It took forever. Kyle had to ditch me for work around two, but I kept at it. Mina hid them in a big box of Barbies stashed in a mountain of junk. I nearly got buried underneath an avalanche of Christmas crap.”

“She hid them in a box of Barbies?”

“Actually, she hid them in Barbie’s car, folded in the little trunk. Mina was tricky. I almost didn’t check there.”

My hands shake as I take the clear plastic baggie from her. Inside, two pieces of white printer paper are folded, so I can’t make the text out. “Did you read them?” I ask. “Touch them? What about fingerprints?”

“Way ahead of you.” Rachel digs in her bag, coming up with a pair of pink dishwashing gloves with daisies on the cuffs. “I used these. I doubt there’s anyone’s fingerprints but Mina’s, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

It takes me a couple of tries to get the gloves on my trembling hands. “Did you show Trev?”

“He still wasn’t back when I found them. I brought them right over.”

“Seriously? He dropped me off, like, an hour ago.”

Rachel shrugs. “He wasn’t there. Maybe he got home right after I left.”

“Probably,” I say as I open the baggie and pull out the first note, folded in quarters. I unfold it square by square, until the black ink, his words of warning, appears:

SNOOP ANY MORE AND YOU’LL GO MISSING TOO.

I read the words over and over, and press my thumb hard into the bottom of the paper—so hard it crumples.

I want to rip it apart.

I want to rip him apart.

I take deep breaths, in and out, in and out, before reaching for the second note. I unfold and smooth it flat next to the first:

FINAL WARNING. IF YOU DON’T WANT ANYONE HURT YOU’LL LEAVE IT ALONE.

I frown when I see four addresses typed below the ­killer’s threat: Trev’s apartment in Chico, the Bishop house on ­Sacramento, Kyle’s house on Girvan Street—and my address, the only one that’s circled over and over in red.

The paper crumples in my hand; I can’t seem to unclench my fist. My fingers are sweating in their pink rubber prison, and my heart beats fast. I turn to look over my shoulder. Dad’s in the kitchen, doing the dishes; I can see the top of his head through the little window above the sink. I can’t help but think about it for a second, about him or Mom having to open the door to the police for the third time.

For the last time.

I don’t want that for them. I’ve put them through as much hell as they’ve heaped on me. Probably more.

But it can’t matter. I can’t let it matter. What matters is finding Mina’s killer.

“Hey, wanna unclench there?” Rachel asks. She shoots a look at the balled-up note in my hand until I relax my fingers. “That’s evidence! Anyway, there’s one more thing.” Rachel gestures at the baggie. I reach inside it and pull out a business card.

MARGARET CHASE

WOMEN’S HEALTH

(531) 555-3421

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” I say. “Did you call it?”

“I was waiting for you,” Rachel says. “But you know, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to make the logical assumption here. You know why girls go to Women’s Health.”

I key the number into my phone. My mind’s racing as it rings and rings. Finally, it clicks over to voice mail. “You’ve reached Margaret Chase, adoption coordinator for Women’s Health. I’m on vacation and will be back at my desk on July eighth. If you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you when I return. Thanks, and have a great day.”

I hang up, staring down at the phone, my suspicion confirmed.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Rachel asks. “Jackie was pregnant.”

“Margaret Chase is an adoption counselor,” I say. “And in Mina’s interview with Matt, she asked about his and Jackie’s sex life. He got all offended.”

“Okay…” Rachel says, sitting down on the edge of one of the raised beds, gesturing for me to join her. I take the bed across from her, sitting on the ground with my back against the wood for support instead of trying to balance. “Let’s think about this. Say Jackie gets pregnant.…”

“And she wants to give the baby up for adoption,” I continue, looking down at Margaret Chase’s card. “She’s got college. She couldn’t play soccer with a baby. So, she tells Matt—and what then?”

“A few possibilities,” Rachel says. “Matt could have wanted her to get an abortion. She refuses, so he kills her. Though that seems kind of extreme, especially if she was gonna give the baby up. But a seventeen-year-old with a burgeoning drug problem probably doesn’t want a baby around. And he’s probably not making the most rational decisions.”

“What if he did want the baby, though?” I look down at the two notes sitting in the baggie in front of me. At the way the most important people in Mina’s life are there in black and white, a threat to the heart of her. The only kind that would’ve gotten her to really back off. “Family’s important. And Matt’s dad walked out on him and Adam. Maybe he freaked at the idea of giving the baby to strangers. Killing Jackie might not have been planned. It could’ve been an accident. They could’ve fought about the baby and things got out of hand. He pushed her and she hit her head or something like that.”

“Is he an angry guy? What was he like today when you talked to him?” Rachel asks.

“He seemed…tired,” I say. “Sad. He said that he believes Jackie’s still alive.”

Rachel raises an eyebrow.

“I wish I’d known all this stuff before I talked to him.” I look down at my phone. It’s almost six thirty.

I think about Matt in his apartment this morning, holding on to the six-month chip like it was a lifeline. David had given me a schedule of Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and I’d reluctantly keyed them into my phone’s calendar. I pull it up. The Wednesday meeting is at the Methodist church—it’ll be ending soon. I bet anything he’s there right now. Even if he’s using again, he might go just to keep up appearances.

“Hey,” I say to Rachel. “Want to take a drive?”

The meeting is letting out when Rachel and I pull into the church parking lot. People walk down the steps, mingling at the bottom, a few pulling out cigarettes as they chat.

“Stay close, okay?” I ask her. I’ll need some backup in case it gets ugly.

“Stick around where I can see you,” Rachel counters.

“Deal. Be right back.”

“Remember: subtlety!” she calls after me.

There’s a tall man with his back to me talking to Matt as I approach. When I get to the steps, I realize it’s his uncle. I remember what Adam had said, about family having to make sure Matt went to meetings. I can’t imagine it, sharing like that, and letting your family listen.

“Sophie.” Coach smiles at me. “Your dad is so happy to have you back. How are you feeling?”

“Hi, Coach, Matt.” I look up at the church. “I’m doing good. Feeling kind of stupid right now—I must’ve misread the meeting time. I thought it said seven.”

“No, it starts at six,” Matt says.

Coach’s cell phone rings. “I’ve got to get that,” he says, squeezing Matt’s shoulder. “Good job today,” he says in an undertone. “Sophie, it was great seeing you. Tell your dad I’ll get back to him about the game next Thursday.”

“I will,” I say as he steps away toward the parking lot to take his call.

Matt smiles down at me. “I’m sorry you missed the meeting, but there’s another one tomorrow at the Elks Lodge.”

If I were Mina, I’d smile back and twirl my hair. I’d ask innocuous questions, make him feel comfortable, lull him into my net.

But my edges are too sharp. I want this done.

“I’m actually not here for a meeting. I’m here to ask you if you got Jackie pregnant.”

Matt’s smile vanishes, along with most of the color in his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Look, I could be all nice like earlier, dodging around the questions, but you’re a tweeker. Lying is what you do. So—you…Jackie. Did you get her pregnant?”

I stare hard at his face, trying to see the answer in it because I know his words won’t tell me. But there’s only fury pulsing off him. He looks over his shoulder, where his uncle is standing just out of hearing distance.

“You need to get the hell out of here.” He steps toward me when he says it, and I hear a car horn blast from the parking lot—Rachel letting me know she has my back.

“Was Detective James right?” I ask, never taking my eyes away from him. He won’t meet them, and his shoulders shake underneath the baggy polo he’s wearing. “Did you do it? Did you take her? Kill her? Was the baby why?”

“You are so out of line,” he says. “Get out of here.”

“Or what?” I ask. “Are you going to hit me in the head with a piece of rebar again? Try to finish me off this time?”

He backs hastily away from me, all the fight suddenly gone. “You’re a crazy bitch,” he says. “And you need to leave me the hell alone.”

He stalks down the steps toward Coach Rob, and I stare at his retreating back, at the line of his shoulders, trying, trying to recognize something from that night—something, anything in the way he walks or sounds. Rachel comes running up to me, breathing hard.

“Are you okay? What happened?” she asks.

I keep staring after Matt until he turns the corner. “I wasn’t subtle,” I say.