year.
“So Val was studying with him three nights ago?” I asked.
Jenni nodded. “They study together before every quiz or test or anything. Val is really smart and totally has a crush on Connor. She gives him all the study notes, he memorizes them, then passes with a good enough GPA to stay on the football team.”
Geez, was there anyone at our school not smitten with Connor?
I was beginning to see a pattern. First he’d studied with Quinn, then Val. We knew how the study session with Quinn had ended. Had he made out with Val, too? And how had Sydney taken the news that her boyfriend was not only making out with her best friend and going to homecoming with someone else, but also “studying” with a girl who “totally” had a crush on him? Had she really been as cool with it as Connor seemed to imply?
“How about you?” Sam asked Jenni, breaking into my thoughts. “Where were you three nights ago?”
“At home,” she said, slurping.
“Can anyone verify that?”
Jenni blinked, her eyes going from Sam to me. “My mom, I guess. Why?”
“Nicky Williams was attacked three nights ago.”
Jenni nodded. “Yeah, I know. I got, like, fifteen ‘Nicky’s down’ tweets.”
“We think the same person who hit him also killed Sydney,” Sam explained.
Jenni’s eyes got big and round. “Whoa. So the killer is out there attacking other random people?”
I would hardly call Nicky random.
“Nicky was going to tell Hartley something, and we think the killer was trying to shut him up before he could,” Sam clarified.
Jenni blinked at me. Then looked over both shoulders. “Wow. Maybe it’s not such a hot idea that people can see me talking to you, then.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think the fact that you’re breaking up with Connor is not exactly news to kill over,” I reassured her. I was about to tell her that I didn’t think Connor was going to be that unhappy (considering he’d had the same post-homecoming plan) when a familiar figure walked in the door of the Starbucks. Tall, red-haired, packing a few extra cookies around the middle. Detective Raley.
Oh, frickin’ fowl fluff.
He must have been watching me. Must have followed me here from school to meet with Jenni. Seriously? Couldn’t he conduct an investigation on his own? He had to follow me to solve Sydney’s Twittercide? Well, he could follow all he liked, I wasn’t giving up on this story. Besides, I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I was entitled to talk to my fellow students. I had journalistic rights. What amendment did those fall under again? Fourth? Fifth? Man, I really needed to study more for that American Government test.
I drew myself up as straight as I could, lifted my chin, and rehearsed a very scathing speech to give to Raley about my something-th amendment rights.
Only I didn’t get to give it.
Instead of walking toward our table and giving me the leave-this-to-the-real-cops lecture I was so familiar with, Raley looked right past me, his eyes lighting up, his mouth curving into a grin that created little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Then he made a beeline…
… straight toward Mom’s table.
Dude! Detective Raley was my mom’s date?
Chapter Eighteen
I FELT SICK AS I WATCHED RALEY LEAN DOWN AND GIVE Mom a peck on the cheek. This was the guy she’d been IM’ing with last night? Giggling, grinning, acting like a fool over? Ugh. Suddenly Mr. Candlelit Dinners didn’t sound so bad after all.
“Whoa. Isn’t that Detective Raley kissing your mom?” Sam asked.
I had to get out of there before I lost my latte. I grabbed Sam by the arm and made for the door, purposely not looking in Mom’s direction again.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with that same ball of nausea in my stomach, torn between the urge to shake some sense into Mom or stick my head in the sand ostrich-style until she came to her senses. Considering Raley had a gun and I was just the teeniest bit scared of him, I went for option number two. Denial, ostrich-style.
Which worked fabulously until I spied Mom’s minivan parked at the curb after school. The second I slipped into the passenger seat, Mom turned to me.
“Hartley, I think we should talk about me starting to date again.”
“I really think we shouldn’t.”
“I know this is new. And I can see that it’s upsetting to you.”
“Totally not upset at all,” I lied, holding on to denial with all my might. “I’m cool with it.”
“Detective Raley and I got to talking the other day when he brought you home, and we realized we had a lot in common.”
“You don’t need to explain, Mom. I’m fine.”
“I know you just see me as ‘Mom,’ Hartley, but I’m a woman, too.”
“Mom, really. We can totally not discuss this.”
“Women have certain feelings. Emotional needs. Other needs.”
“Know what? Let’s listen to some Steven Tyler. Really loudly, ’kay?” I begged, reaching for her radio.
Mom sighed. “Okay. But I just want you to know we can talk about this. When you’re ready.”
I heaved a sigh of relief as embarrassing classic rock filled the car. Discussing Mom’s needs being fulfilled by Raley was enough to make me throw myself into a pool with a charging laptop.
Thankfully, I was able to avoid Mom the rest of the afternoon, hiding out in my room as I did my homework. I even got her to agree to lift the lockdown enough to let me go to the football game the following night with Sam and Kyle by (A) pointing out that there would be plenty of teachers around and (B) telling her that I had a need to socialize with people my own age, too. (Not to mention a need to be as far away from my mom’s nightly, giggling IM sessions as possible.)
So the next day after Sam and I took our dreaded American Government midterm, I went home with her to rummage in her closet for the perfect game-day outfits. Of course, Sam had to call Kyle no less than four times to make sure their outfits coordinated. I wasn’t sure if it was cute or weird, but I decided to stay out of it, borrowing a hot pink sweater and a pair of black leggings that looked great with Sam’s suede calf boots with the fur lining. Sam ended up in a pair of skinny jeans, her I Like Boys shirt, and a red Stanford jacket (one of several her father had purchased for her).
Kyle met up with us at the hot dog cart, where we found him wearing his Boy shirt, per Sam’s orders, and shoving half a wiener in his mouth. “Hey!” He waved, wiping a glob of yellow mustard from the corner of his mouth.
“Hey,” I greeted him back. Sam gave him a kiss on the cheek (the one without mustard).
“Have you seen Connor Crane?” I asked, standing on tiptoe to see over the heads of our classmates crowding into the stadium.
Kyle shook his head. “I’m sure he’s here, though. He’s the starting QB. Why?” he asked.
“I have a few questions for him,” I answered.
With all the not thinking about Mom I’d been doing, I’d had ample time to think about our list of suspects. And I kept coming back to Connor. He’d been the closest to Sydney, and if I’d learned anything from watching cop shows on TV, it was that the boyfriend was always the prime suspect. Was Connor experiencing survivor’s guilt, as Jenni had suggested? Or was it something more sinister… like killer’s guilt?
I told Kyle and Sam my suspicions as Kyle wolfed down the rest of his hot dog. When I was done, Sam nodded.
“I agree,” she said. “He’s got the shakiest alibi and the biggest motive. Love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”
Then, as if to illustrate her point, Sam reached up and wiped another glob of mustard from Kyle’s cheek. He
