I let out a whoosh of air, putting my hands on my hips. My eyebrows slammed together in one of those
“Not really. And I know even less of who she was a year ago, just after one of her closest mates was found murdered.”
I knew, intellectually, what Will was saying made sense, but I was having a hard time believing it.
“But—”
“But she’s a teenage girl, Sophie. Who you’re accusing of killing her best friend.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not saying she killed her, I’m saying that Fallon may have had more to do with it than you think.”
“And I’m saying she may have had less to do with it than
“You don’t know teenage girls, Will. You don’t know what they’re like.”
Will took a step back from me, his eyes raking over me in a way that made me feel exposed. “Those are your demons, love. Not hers.”
I stood, silent, dumbfounded, wounded—and not wanting to admit that Will was right.
“Are you two okay up there?” Julia was standing at the base of the stairs, one hand wrapped around the wrought-iron bannister, one foot on the bottom stair. She pressed her toes into the carpet, and I could see the muscle flick in her arm as she seemed to toy with whether or not she would take a step.
“You can’t miss her door,” she said, a slight catch in her voice. She turned and disappeared around the corner before we had a chance to answer.
Julia was right: there was no missing Cathy’s door. It was the only one closed, the only one with any semblance of life—a big, glittery C nailed to it, a heap of hairbands choked around the knob. Will pushed the door open and sauntered inside, but I hung back in the hallway.
“Come on, then. What are you waiting for?”
I bit my bottom lip and Will turned on a sigh. “Sorry about the demons crack, love. I just meant—”
“No.” I held up a hand. “You were right.” I eyed Cathy’s door. “It just seems—wrong.”
Will opened his legs slightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His eyes staring down at me. Whether the stance was his version of alpha male or Sigmund Freud I wasn’t sure. “Why do you think it’s wrong? We’re investigators, remember?” There was the slightest hint of play in his voice. “We’re investigating.”
I toed the carpeted threshold. “I feel like we’re violating Cathy’s privacy. Her last bit of respite.”
Before I could recoil, Will reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room. “With all due reverence for the dearly departed, we’ve got business to tend to and a rapidly pressing time line.”
“Right. Yeah, sorry.” I shook myself and did a three-sixty, my eyes sweeping the sweet-pea pink walls. Most of the paint was covered over with posters, photographs of smiling, beautiful teens, and glossy cutouts of sunken- cheeked models stomping down runways. Cathy’s desk was cluttered with papers, makeup pots, and all manner of girlie tchotchkes—all except one thirteen-inch rectangle.
“What do you think went there?”
I brushed my hand over the blank spot. “A laptop.”
“Was that mentioned in the evidence collection?”
I tapped a finger against my bottom lip. “Her backpack, I think two textbooks, a pencil case, and a notebook. Spiral not viral.”
“We’ll want to ask Julia about that. Are you just going to stand there or help me look for some clues?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Why, Will Sherman, when did you become a detective?”
He held up an admonishing finger. “Private investigator. Angel Boy is the detective.”
“Noted,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s even a little telling that Fallon was friends with both the girls who went missing?”
“Well, there are four-hundred-eighty girls in the entire high school. Everyone was pretty much friends with everyone, right?”
I snatched a picture of Cathy and someone who must have been Kristy or Kelly from Cathy’s corkboard. Though she was shadowed in the background of the shot, I could still make out Fallon’s low brows, the menacing purse of her lips. “Everyone may have known each other, but everyone definitely wasn’t friends.”
Will slugged an arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him, ruffling my hair and kissing me gruffly on the top of my head. “Aw, like a wounded bird.”
I rolled my eyes and in my attempt to shove Will and his lame attempt at comforting me, I dropped the photo. It wafted to the ground, fluttering just under Cathy’s dust ruffle. I groaned, then dropped to hands and knees. I could feel Will move behind me.
“Did I ever mention—”
I swung my head and glared at him. “If you’re going to finish that sentence with ‘how much I love America,’ I’ve heard it. You seem to become incredibly patriotic whenever my ass is in the air.”
“Not just your ass, love.”
“Even better. Hey.” I swiped at the photo, then slid out the wooden box stashed behind it. “What’s this?”
It was a plain rectangular box about the size of a jewelry box but with absolutely no adornment. I flipped it open and sucked in a breath.
“Oh. Well, that casts a bit of new light, don’t you think?” Will said, pointing at the cluster of herbs in a plastic baggie. I picked up the bag, gave it a sniff, and frowned. “It smells like Thanksgiving.”
Will took the baggie from me, squinted, then sniffed. “It’s sage.”
“You know about herbs?”
“Don’t look so completely surprised. I can cook, you know.”
“You store your cleats in your oven.”
Will shrugged. “I said I
I took the sage back. “No. Sage is used—especially bunched like this—to cleanse evil spirits from a room.” I put the baggie aside and picked out a few other trinkets—another grouping of dried herbs with flowers mixed in, two orange votive candles burned down to the tin, and a quarter-sized charm hanging from a length of black satin cording.
“What is that?” Will said, taking the amulet end of the necklace in his hand. I chewed the inside of my cheek, my heartbeat starting to thud. “It’s the symbol that was carved into the desk.” I turned the amulet around and showed it to Will.
“Another girl who thought she needed protection.”
Will pulled the last item from the box—a thin, fabric-bound book.
“That’s the same book Miranda had,” I said, taking it from him. “It’s a book of protection spells. The exact same one Miranda had.” I flipped it over, looking for some kind of discernible marking. “I wonder if it was from the same place.” I could feel myself starting to chew on the inside of my cheek again and I shook myself. “Do you think Cathy knew what was going to happen to her? And if so, does that mean Miranda is next?”
Will took the necklace and the book from me, slipping them both in his pocket and slipping the box back under Cathy’s bed. “Only one way to find out.” He stood and opened the bedroom door. “Coming?”
“We can’t just take that,” I hissed. “It’s Cathy’s property. Shouldn’t we at least tell her mother?”
“I think Julia has enough to deal with already,” Will said without turning around.
It was nearly seven o’clock when Will and I left Cathy’s house. I dialed Alyssa’s home number, my stomach doing flip-flops with each ring. Finally, the voice mail kicked on.
“I guess we’re out of the luck for the day, huh?” Will asked as we crested the Mercy High driveway.
I pinched my bottom lip, held up an index finger, and dove into my shoulder bag.
“What’s that?” Will asked, gesturing with his chin at the thin book I pulled out.
I slapped on the overhead dome light.
“Hey! Careful! Nigella is a collector’s item, remember?”
“A trash collector’s item,” I grumbled, trying to make anything out in the dim light. “Aha.” I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the number. “It’s the high school directory,” I whispered to Will as I let the phone ring. “I’m calling Miranda.”
