As soon as they learned about the attack, Cooper and all his friends had admitted to what they’d done at the time, pranking Emma, but none of them had seen anything. They’d left before the attack happened. They were all, to a one, full of rage over what had befallen Emma, and had expected quick answers and justice. Some sick, pervert needed to be caught and thrown behind bars.
But then the investigation had stalled.
And then it became clear that Emma wasn’t going to recover completely.
Cooper was consumed with guilt. His friends, not so much. They were all just relieved they weren’t considered persons of interest. For his part, Cooper haunted the police department. It killed him, what had happened to Emma. That her attacker had gotten away was a travesty. Somebody needed to do something. But there was no evidence, he learned much later, when he was in a position to view the case from a professional angle. No weapon. No witnesses. Nothing. If not for the knife wound, the case could have been ruled a complete accident.
No one at River Glen PD believed Emma’s attack had anything to do with the two babysitters’ deaths in Vancouver and Gresham. The prevailing theory was that it was a burglar or druggie looking for items to steal. That Emma, after the boys finished their scaring, had settled down and turned off the lights, that maybe she hadn’t quite closed the front door, because there was no sign of forced entry, even though the boys assured the authorities she had, or maybe it had been the creaking window that had allowed access . . . that whoever had come in had been surprised at finding Emma, who might have believed it was one of her classmates and foolishly decided to confront them . . .
His uncomfortable thoughts brought him back to the present and where he was and what had precipitated that uncomfortable trip down memory lane. Jamie Whelan. Emma’s sister. She looked a lot more like Emma than his ex-wife did. It annoyed him that Howie could be right: he clearly had a type.
“What’s wrong?” a girl’s voice asked. She walked through the media room door to stand beside him in the hallway.
He was about to tell her that once she left, she couldn’t go back in—the rules were specific and strict—when he saw it was Jamie’s daughter, Harley. He started to warn her not to venture into the hall through his door when the vice principal, Adam Wellesley, was suddenly there. “Miss? Miss? Are you leaving?”
Harley turned to give Wellesley a hard look. Something about her, too, reminded him of Emma. Not the Emma of the past, who was bold but polite to adults, but the Emma of today, at least the last time he’d seen her, with her lack of affect and inability to pick up social cues.
“I was talking to Mr. Haynes, who brought me to this event,” Harley said in a careful tone.
There was a warning in there, which Wellesley chose to ignore, or was too obtuse himself to give it any credit. “Well, get back inside. Otherwise you have to go,” Wellesley sniped.
Harley looked at Cooper. “What’s wrong?” she asked again.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“You’re glowering. Or you were. Did something happen?”
“Miss?” Wellesley wasn’t giving up.
“Let’s step back in,” Cooper said, and Harley looked at Wellesley and jumped back inside while Cooper stepped into the semidarkened room lit only with the current DJ’s black lights.
The rumor that the school had a drug problem was one shared by more parents than just Laura. The teachers and administrators were on high alert as well. Cooper had been told to watch all the students carefully. Cooper didn’t doubt that drugs were around, but so far, he hadn’t seen any blatant users, nor had he smelled the skunky scent of marijuana. If anyone asked him, his guess would be alcohol as the substance of choice of the high schoolers, though he hadn’t seen anyone in particular he thought might be inebriated. It was just more his own history that clued him in. When he was in school, it was damn near a rite of passage.
As if belatedly realizing her friend wasn’t with her, Marissa came charging over. “What happened?” she asked Harley. “Come on. We’re all still talking with . . . uh . . . well, just come on.”
“I thought it might be better to . . . y’know . . . stay out of the line of fire.”
Marissa half-laughed. “Maybe he just likes you,” she said, jerking her head to get Harley to come back into the center of the crowd.
Harley followed after her a bit reluctantly. Cooper wondered exactly what had happened, but then one of the parent volunteers, a woman named Caroline, hovered by him, initiating conversation. She’d been hovering all night, as a matter of fact. Cooper wasn’t dense. She was interested.
You should ask her out. Forget your unhealthy obsession with Emma Whelan and her sister, which is based on fantasy. Get out there. Make a move.
He made a point of making direct eye contact while he smiled. Caroline’s own smile widened into joy and disbelief.
Cooper looked over the crowd of heads, trying to pick out Harley and Marissa, and then saw that they were on the stage.
“Want a popcorn ball?” Caroline asked him, holding out an orange one.
“No, I—”
A collective shriek suddenly ripped through the crowd, so loud it drowned out the music.
Cooper glanced over to see Harley teetering at the edge the stage, arms pinwheeling, a guy in a Michael Myers mask with his hands around her neck.
Before Cooper could move, she was falling backward off the stage.
Chapter Nine
Cooper
