Chapter 15
"Okay, let me get this straight…You're saying Dylan murdered someone?" asked Nudge.
I nodded. I looked around to make sure no one listened.
"No offense, honey, but this is starting to get ridiculous. First he attacked me. Now he's a killer. I'm sorry, but Dylan? A murderer? He's, like, the nicest guy I've ever met. When was the last time he forgot to hold open a door for you? Oh, yeah, that's right…never."
Nudge and I were in biology, and Nudge was lying face-up on a table. We were running a lab on blood pressure, and Nudge was supposed to be resting silently for five minutes. Normally I would have worked with the asshole, but Coach had given us a free day, which meant we were free to choose our own partners.
Nudge and I were at the back of the room; Fang was working with a jock I-forgot-his-name at the front of the room.
"He was questioned in a murder investigation," I pointed out. I looked up and saw Coach's eyes glare at me. I stuck my tongue out and saw him turn back to his work. I scribbled a few notes on my lab sheet. Subject is calm and relaxed. Subject has refrained from speaking for three and a half minutes.
"Are you sure it was the same Dylan?" sighed Nudge.
"How many Dylan Taylors do you think there were at Kinghorn in February?"
Nudge strummed her fingers on her stomach. "It just seems really, really hard to believe. And anyway, so what if he was questioned? The important thing is, he was released. They didn't find him guilty."
"Because police found a suicide note written by Sunders."
"Who's Sunders again?"
"The girl who supposedly hanged herself."
"Maybe she did hang herself. I mean, what if one day she said, 'Hey, life sucks,' and strung herself to a tree? It has happened."
"You don't find it a little too coincidental that her apartment showed evidence of a break in when they discovered the suicide note?"
"She lived in Portland. Break ins happen."
"I think someone placed the note. Someone who wanted Dylan off the hook."
"Who would want Dylan off the hook?" Nudge asked.
I gave her my duh look.
Nudge propped herself up with her good elbow. "So you're saying Dylan hauled Miranda up a tree, tied a rope around her neck, pushed her off the limb, then did a breaking and entering job on her apartment and planted evidence pointing to a suicide."
"Why not?"
Nudge returned the duh look. "Because the cops already analyzed everything. If they're ruling it a suicide, so am I."
"How about this," I said. "Just weeks after Dylan was released from questioning, he transferred schools. Why would someone leave Kinghorn Prep to come to CHS?"
"You've got a point there."
"I think he's trying to escape his past. I think it became too uncomfortable attending school on the same campus where he killed Miranda. He has a guilty conscience." I smirked and tapped my pencil against my lip.
"I need to drive out to Kinghorn and ask questions. She just died two months ago; everyone will still be buzzing about it."
"I don't know, Max. I'm getting bad vibes about initiating a spy operation at Kinghorn. I mean, are you going to ask about Dylan specifically? What if he finds out? What's he going to think?"
I looked down at her.
"He only has something to worry about if he's guilty."
"And then he'll kill you to silence you." Nudge grinned like the Cheshire cat. I smirked. "I want to find out who attacked me just as much as you do," she continued on a more serious note, "but I swear on my life it wasn't Dylan. I've replayed the memory, like, a hundred times. It's not a match. Not even close. Trust me."
"Okay, maybe Dylan didn't attack you," I said, trying to appease Nudge but not about to clear Dylan's name. "He still has a lot going against him. He was involved in a murder investigation, for one. And he's almost too nice, for two. It's creepy. And he's friends with Hunter, for three."
Nudge frowned. "Hunter? What's wrong with him?"
"Don't you think it's odd that every time we're with them, Hunter bails?"
"Huh?"
"The night we went to Delphic, Hunter left almost immediately to use the bathroom. Did he ever come back? After I left to buy cotton candy, did Dylan find him?"
"No, but I chalked it up to internal plumbing issues."
"Then, last night, he mysteriously called in sick. He seems to get sick a lot."
"I think you're overanalyzing this. Maybe…maybe he has IBS."
"IBS?"
"Irritable bowel syndrome."
I discarded Nudge's suggestion in favor of mentally stretching for an idea that floated just out of reach.
Kinghorn Prep was easily an hour away by car. If the school was as academically rigorous as Dylan claimed, how did Hunter continually have time to make the drive to Coldwater to visit? I saw him nearly every morning on my way to school at Enzo's Bistro with Dylan. Plus, he gave Dylan a ride home after school. It was almost like Dylan had Hunter in the palm of his hand.
But that wasn't all of it. I scrubbed the eraser more furiously against my nose. What was I missing?
"Why would Dylan kill Miranda?" I wondered out loud. "Maybe she saw him do something illegal, and he killed her to silence her."
Nudge let go of a sigh. "This is starting to drift into the land of This Makes Absolutely No Sense."
"There's something else. Something we're not seeing."
Nudge looked at me like my logic was vacationing in outer space. "Personally, I think you're seeing too much. This feels a lot like a witch hunt."
And then all of a sudden I knew what I was missing. It had been nagging me all day, calling to me from the back of my mind, but I'd been too overwhelmed with everything else to pay attention. Detective Henry had asked me if anything was missing. It just now hit me that something was. I'd set the article about Dylan on top of my dresser last night. But this morning—I consulted my memory to be sure—it was gone. Definitely gone.
"Oh mi gosh," I said. "Dylan broke into my house last night. It was him! He stole the article." Since the article was in plain sight, it was obvious Dylan had torn apart my room to terrorize me—possibly as punishment for finding the article in the first place. He terrorizes me, I do much worse to him.
"Whoa, what?" Nudge said.
"What's wrong?" asked Coach, coming to a stop beside me. I kept my temper under control.
"Yeah, what's wrong?" Nudge chimed in. She pointed and laughed at me from behind Coach's back.
"Um—the subject doesn't appear to have a pulse," I said, giving Nudge's wrist a hard pinch.
While Coach probed for Nudge's pulse, she made swooning motions and fanned herself. Coach flicked his eyes to mine, looking at me over the top of his glasses. "Right here, Max. Beating loud and strong. Are you sure the subject refrained from activity, including talking, for the full five minutes? This pulse isn't as slow as I would have expected."
"The subject struggled with the no talking step," Nudge interjected. "And the subject has a hard time relaxing on a rock hard biology table. The subject would like to propose switching places so Max can be the new subject." Nudge used her right hand to grab me and pull herself upright.
"Don't make me regret allowing you to choose your own partners," Coach told us.
"Don't make me regret coming to school today," I snarled.
Coach shot her a warning look, then picked up my lab sheet, eyes skimming the all but blank page.
"The subject equates biology labs with overdosing on prescription strength sedatives," Nudge said.
Coach chirped his whistle, and all eyes in the class swung our way.
"Fang?" he said. "Mind taking over here? We seem to have run into a partner problem."
"I was so kidding," Nudge said quickly. "Here—I'll do the lab."
"You should have thought of that fifteen minutes ago," Coach said.
"Please forgive me?" she asked, batting her eyelashes angelically.
Coach tucked her notebook under her good arm. "No."
Sorry! Nudge mouthed over her shoulder at me as she walked reluctantly to the front of the room.
A moment later Fang took a seat on the table beside me. He clasped his hands loosely between his knees and kept a steady gaze on me.
"What?" I said, feeling unnerved by the weight of his stare.
He smiled. "I was remembering the skirt. Last night." He reached for a purple strand, but stopped midway when he saw 'my touch me and you'll regret being born' glare.
"How was your night?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral as I attempted to break the ice. My spying adventures still hung uncomfortably between us.
"Interesting. Yours?"
"Not so much."
"Homework was brutal, huh?"
He was making fun of me. "I didn't do homework."
He had the smile of a fox. "Who did you do?"
I was speechless a moment. I stood up from my chair and glared down at him. After a minute I sat back down. "Was that an innuendo?"
"Just curious what my competition is."
"Grow up."
His smile stretched. "Loosen up."
"I'm already walking on thin ice with Coach, so do me a favor and let's concentrate on the lab. I'm not in the mood to play test subject, so if you don't mind…" I looked pointedly at the table.
"Can't," he said. "I don't have a heart."
Of course you don't, I hissed in my mind.
I lowered myself down on the table and stacked my hands on my stomach. "Tell me when five minutes are up." I shut my eyes, preferring not to watch Fang's black eyes examine me.
A few minutes later I opened one eye a slit.
"Time's up," said Fang.
I held one upturned wrist out so he could take my pulse. Fang took my hand, and a jolt of heat shot up my arm and ended with a squeeze in my stomach.
"The subject's pulse increased on contact," he said.
"Write that and you'll be walking out of this class with a broken neck." But I wanted to smile.
"Coach wants us to be thorough."
"What do you want?" I asked him.
Fang's eyes connected with mine. On the inside, he was grinning. I could tell.
"Except, you know, that," I said.
After school I swung by Miss Dwyer's office for our scheduled appointment. At the end of the school day, Dr. H had always kept his door wide open, a nonverbal invitation for students to stop by.
Every time I passed down this stretch of hallway now, Miss Dwyer had the door closed. All the way.
The Do not disturb was implicit.
"Max," she said, opening the door after my knock, "please come in. Have a seat."
Her office was fully unpacked and decorated today. She'd brought in several more plants, and a panel of framed botanical prints hung in a row on the wall above her desk.
Miss Dwyer said, "I've been thinking a lot about what you said last week. I came to the obvious conclusion that our relationship needs to be built on trust and respect. We won't discuss your dad again, unless you specify."
"Okay," I said warily. What were we going to talk about?
"I heard some rather disappointing news," she said. Her smile faded and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. She was holding a pen, and she rolled it between her palms. "I don't mean to pry into your private life, Max, but I thought I made myself perfectly clear concerning your involvement with Fang."
I wasn't quite sure where she was going with this. "I haven't tutored him." And, really, was it any of her business? I didn't care if this turned out ugly…
"Saturday night Fang gave you a ride home from Delphic Seaport. And you invited him inside your house."
I leaned back on my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah and?"
"Part of my job as your school psychologist is to give you guidance," Miss Dwyer said. "Please promise me you'll be very, very careful around him." She looked at me like she was actually waiting for my oath of promise.
"It's kind of complicated," I said. "My ride left me stranded at Delphic. I didn't have a choice. It's not like I seek out opportunities to spend time with Fang." Well, except for last night at the Borderline. In my defense, I honestly hadn't expected to see Fang. He was supposed to have the night off.
"I'm very glad to hear it," Miss Dwyer answered, but she didn't sound fully convinced of my innocence. "With that out of the way, is there anything else you'd like to talk about today? Anything weighing on your mind?"
I wasn't about to tell her that Dylan broke into my house. I didn't trust Miss Dwyer. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about her bothered me. And I didn't like the way she kept hinting that Fang was dangerous but wouldn't tell me why. It was almost like she had an agenda.
I hoisted my backpack off the ground and opened the door. "No," I said.