CHAPTER 6

Aidan finished his shopping fifteen minutes ago and took off to run another errand, so now I’m stuck roaming the aisles with my new school buddy. I’ve never spent lengthy amounts of time in a grocery store, so I really don’t know what it is I’m supposed to do. Miles seems to, though. He lifts the largest package of toilet paper off the shelf and drops it into the cart.

“Planning a digestive malfunction?” I ask.

“You know what else I hate?” Miles rolls the cart forward, his attention now on bulk paper-towel packages. “People who comment on other people’s groceries.”

I flash him a smile. “You really should have kept that to yourself, buddy.”

He finally chooses his paper towels—twenty rolls—and moves on to the freezer aisles, where he stocks up on frozen peas. It’s hard to tell if he’s really into reading labels or making a big effort to ignore me. Regardless, I break the silence by questioning each item dropped into his cart.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the store-brand cereal? It’s half price today.”

He stares at me and moves on, putting three dozen eggs in the cart. Before I can open my mouth, he says, “They don’t really expire in two weeks. You can keep them for months.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” I tell him. “I’m impressed that you actually know how to cook eggs.”

“Eggs and tuna casserole.” He grips a gallon of milk in each hand. “That’s all I know how to make.”

“Tuna casserole…” I have no idea what that is exactly, but there’s something about it that sounds homey and warm. Stable. Something a stay-at-home mom would cook. Maybe I do get where Harper is coming from with the cooking stuff.

But I’m too distracted by the voices on the other side of the aisle to bug Miles about tuna casserole. I peer through a space in the tall, long freezers and see Chantel Maloney and Justice Kimura. Two girls who are front and center in Bret and Dominic’s circle. Chantel supposedly dated Bret for most of ninth grade, and another one of their friends, Gwen, dated Bret last year.

“Dominic said he’s staying on his yacht this weekend while his parents are in China,” Chantel says. “Want to blow off SAT prep class?”

“You’re the one who’s gonna be murdered if you don’t get a fourteen hundred. You can’t cheat off Fat Matt on the SAT,” Justice says. “Plus I have field hockey tryouts.”

My back is pressed against the freezer now, and Miles has stopped shopping and is watching me spy on our classmates. One of his eyebrows shoots up. Before he can speak, I grab his arm and yank him close enough to put a hand over his mouth. Then I feel Miles’s lips against my palm, and this impulsive move takes on new meaning. My stomach flips over; my heart quickens.

“Ooooh, field hockey. I know who the assistant coach is this year,” Chantel teases.

“Shut the fuck up,” Justice says, and they both laugh. “I need the ECs for college. It has nothing to do with Bret volunteering to coach.”

“Right. We’ve all had our turn with Bret. Except you.” Chantel laughs again, this birdlike chirp that echoes through the store. I imagine her flipping her blond hair over one shoulder. “So, Dominic’s yacht? Saturday?”

“I’m in,” Justice tells her. “But maybe we should invite Fat Matt. He was totally drooling over your ass in U.S. history today.”

“God, gross. Holden really needs higher standards for applicants. The geek population is growing too fast.”

Now I see how Justice and Chantel single-handedly sent fourteen freshman girls into the bathroom crying last year.

Miles peels my hand from his mouth and gives me this look like I’d better not do that again. I mean, I wasn’t planning on it. I grab his cart and push it quickly down the aisle. He jogs to catch up with me. “What the hell was that?”

“Oh, you know…girl stuff,” I say, and then sigh when I see his face. Not buying it. “Fine. If you must know, it’s about Bret and Dominic. I’m into them.”

His forehead wrinkles. “Both of them?”

Oh, right. Guess I have to pick one. Otherwise that would be weird. “Bret. I meant Bret.” I nod in the girls’ direction. “Apparently I have competition.”

Miles shakes his head. “Maybe you should challenge her to a field hockey duel.”

I stop and spin to face him. “That’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“It was a joke,” he says, his jaw tense. “And Bret…he’s the douche with the red Mustang who nearly ran a girl over this morning?”

Forgot we witnessed that together from the school bus window. Bret’s handshake with Senator Gilbert and planting drugs on an unknowing Cody Smith had quickly shifted my focus. “He has a really great car. And drugs. You know how I’m into drugs.”

“He’s not your type,” Miles states. Then he takes the cart from me. Control freak.

“He’s not, huh? Because you know me so well.” I place my hands on his shoulders, stopping him. “Think about it, Miles… You’ve been on the school bus. You might be out of here after a semester, but I’ve got nearly two more years of that. I’d be stupid not to put on a tight dress, as you so crudely pointed out, and get myself a rich boyfriend with a car. Not to mention his father being CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Hello, letters of recommendation.”

The poker face returns, and then Miles pushes past me. “Good luck with that.”

I stand there watching the back of his head, and I feel this tiny twinge of something…something new. I don’t like that he might have believed me. But wasn’t that the point? And now I’m jogging to catch up with him. I don’t like that, either.

“Tell me what you’re really thinking,” I demand.

Miles looks away from me. “What I really think?”

I cross my arms and nod.

“If you wanted drugs, you wouldn’t have flushed a bag full of them. And if you wanted someone like Bret, you’d already have him. You’re not the new kid anymore. So why him? And why now?”

“It’s that easy?” I scoff. He’s smarter than I expected. “Even if I can’t afford a boob job like the rest of my competition?”

For the tiniest fraction of a second, Miles’s gaze drops to my chest. He shifts his focus up quickly. I point a finger at him. “So you are into boobs. I was starting to wonder. Especially after you left the topless lady hanging the other morning.”

“Why do you care what I’m into?” He can’t look at me now. Thirty seconds later, he mumbles, “Sorry.”

At the check-out counter, Miles pulls an envelope from his wallet. It’s labeled: food money. Based on the stack of twenties I spot, he’s got at least five hundred bucks in that envelope.

“Guess your uncle is gonna be out of town for a while, huh?”

Miles eyes the envelope as if putting this together for the first time. “Guess so. But I’m not surprised.”

After Miles loads up his many bags in the trunk of the car, we’re stuck leaning against it, waiting for Aidan. It takes me a few seconds to notice Aidan and his boss, Jack, are standing in the parking lot, just two rows away. Jack, short for his last name, Jakowski, is speaking almost loud enough for me to hear.

I glance at Miles and nod toward Aidan and Jack. “I’m gonna go tell him we’re done.”

My feet slow while I’m still a good distance from them.

“The parking lot surveillance from June fifteenth shows Ellie getting out of his car,” I hear Jack say.

June fifteenth. The night of the spring formal. The night Simon died.

“I can’t believe they’re going back to Ellie after all this time, after closing the case,” Aidan says.

My whole body turns to ice. Months ago, I was told those video files were corrupted. Like several other Holden Prep students, I went through hours of questioning with the FBI.

“No one is accusing Ellie; her alibi checked out fine,” Jack assures him, but lines of worry crease his forehead. He rubs the dark scruff on his cheeks.

“What about the Thomas kid? They’ll see him on the footage, and that doesn’t check out with his story.”

Both of them must have felt my presence. They turn suddenly. My heart is off on a sprint, but I keep my face cool and calm.

Aidan forces a tight smile. His buff arms fold over his chest, showing how much bigger he is than his boss. “All done?”

“Yep.” I nod toward Miles. “Hope you don’t need to buy any toilet paper. They’re probably sold out.”

They both walk nearer, closing the gap between us, and then Jack offers me a high five. “How’s the algebra going? No more tantrums, I hope.”

“I did not throw a tantrum.”

Aidan laughs, but turns it into a cough when I glare at him. Okay, so maybe throwing a textbook and a graphing calculator at my bedroom wall might constitute a tantrum. But I was frustrated. Enter Jack. Someone who obviously left the shooting range long enough to learn some math.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Jack says, then he turns to Aidan. “Meet me in my office tonight. I’ll get you that stuff you needed.”

He heads for his car, and with Jack gone, I’m desperate to ask Aidan what the hell is going on. But I can feel Miles looking at me. I try to ignore him while we walk to Aidan’s car and climb inside, but it eventually gets to me and I snap around to face him in the backseat. “What?”

“Nothing. Just excited. That I found your weakness.”

“My weakness?” And yeah, I panic a little. Even Aidan seems caught off guard by the comment, because he glances at Miles through the rearview mirror.

“Algebra,” he says.

I laugh, trying not to sound surprised. How did he hear that from twenty feet away? “Obviously you haven’t seen me play field hockey yet.”

“Field hockey?” Aidan turns out of the parking lot and onto the road, then he looks at me to see if I’m serious.

“Ellie’s trying to impress a guy with her aerial pass,” Miles says, all calm.

“What guy?” Aidan says at the same time I say, “What the hell is an aerial pass?”

I nod toward Miles. “No guy. Don’t listen to him.”

Yeah, that’s my defense tactics. My head is somewhere else. Probably trying to figure out how this video footage suddenly surfaced. Does this mean they’ll be investigating me again? Especially since I was the last person to see Simon. Except now there’s another Holden Prep student in the mix, if Jack is right about Bret Thomas being in the parking lot that night. At least my story checks out.

I spot a Honda Accord pulled to the side of the road, its owner struggling to change a tire, and take it as a sign. “Look!” I shout as I point out the windshield, causing Aidan to slam on his breaks. Hard.

“Sorry,” I say to Aidan when he gives me the death glare. “I just thought he might need some help. Two strong guys ready to help…”

Aidan rolls his eyes but pulls to the side of the road, in front of the Honda. “Miles, coming?”

“Sure,” he says, flinging open his door. He’s Mr. Polite again.

When they’re out of sight, greeting the guy trying to remove a lug nut, I grab Aidan’s cell from the console between us and quickly type in his password. He knows I know it and still hasn’t changed it. What’s wrong with him?

He trusts me. That’s what.

Guilt hits me but doesn’t stop my fingers from typing. My cousin Denny showed me how to set a phone to forward a copy of new incoming texts and emails to another number. I’m almost done when the car door to the backseat opens. I cancel out the setting and drop the phone back onto the console.

It’s just Miles, not Aidan, but still my heart is up in my throat. What the hell am I doing? Aidan trusts me. It can’t be his privacy I invade. Anyone but Aidan.

I sink back into my seat, relieved that I didn’t go through with it and ashamed that the idea had gone all the way to putting my fingers in motion.

When Aidan slides back into the driver’s seat, I look him over. He’s got a grease stain on his shirt. “Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yep, he’s all set.” He turns on the radio as he steers the car back onto the road and then immediately flips to my favorite radio station. His least favorite.

God, I’m horrible.

Back at home, after Miles carts his gallons of milk and toilet paper to his apartment, Aidan stops me before we go inside, where my sister is probably waiting for us with a pizza she expertly ordered.

“You heard me and Jack,” Aidan states, not a question.

I hesitate but eventually nod. “Is everything okay? Is the case reopening?”

“It’s not,” Aidan says right away.

To my expert ears, it’s clear he’s not lying, but the tiniest hint of deception hides beneath the truth. Maybe he’s unsure, or maybe he’s just worried it might reopen. “And there’s video footage of me getting out of Simon’s car?”

“It’s not completely clear that it’s you,” Aidan admits. “But there isn’t any reason Simon and some other girl would be in our parking lot. It fits the story you told to the police, the one Harper corroborated when she stated what time you arrived home that night.”

“And where does Bret Thomas fit into this story?”

Aidan’s eyebrows lift, and then a crease forms between his eyes. “I was hoping maybe you could tell me?”

“No idea.” But the wheels are already spinning quickly inside my head, recalling everything I do know about Simon’s death. “Any chance I can see that video?”

He’s conflicted, obviously debating this from every angle. But finally Aidan nods. “Once. And only once. Jack would kill me if he knew I showed you this.”

We head over to the table near the pool, and Aidan messes with his phone for a minute and then hands it to me. I watch the dark parking lot pop up on the screen, and eventually Simon’s black Audi pulls into the one empty space. It’s obvious that the passenger is wearing heels and a dress but not obvious what color dress or hair or anything really.

“Where is Bret?” I ask.

Aidan leans toward me and points to a car only partially visible, hovering far off to the side. “It’s just his front plate.”

“You can’t see Simon.” The video ends, and I hand Aidan back his phone. “We don’t even know if it’s Simon driving Simon’s car.”

Of course I know because I was there, but from an investigator’s perspective, it’s not seamless. Especially if the investigator is someone searching for the truth, not just a simple way to fit a bunch of puzzle pieces together.

“Who else would be driving Simon’s car?” Aidan presses.

I lift my hands, frustrated. “I don’t know, a murderer.”

“Ellie,” Aidan says so gently I’m sure he’s about to dive into another “here is why it has to be suicide” lecture, and I don’t want or need to hear it again.

“Okay, I get it.”

“Still no idea why the Thomas kid was there?” Aidan prompts. “It’s like he’s popping up everywhere now, three months in the past.”

Everywhere? What else has surfaced and why does it seem like Aidan and Jack are working to cover up some of the evidence? They wouldn’t do that, would they?

“Still no idea,” I confirm. “But I’m gonna find out.”

I abandon Aidan and head for my room. I snatch the first notebook I see piled on my desk.

THINGS I KNOW ABOUT SIMON’S DEATH

1) He dropped me off in the parking lot of our complex at 11:36 p.m. on June fifteenth

2) He went home to an empty house; his parents were at a fund-raiser

3) Around 2 a.m., Senator Gilbert and his wife found Simon dead in their sunroom

4) A gun was involved. More specifically, a gun killed Simon.

And now I can add one more detail.

5) Bret Thomas’s car was in the parking lot at the same time Simon dropped me off.

I don’t know if Simon left a note, if he went anywhere besides home after dropping me off. I assumed I was the last one to see him, since he went home to an empty house, but what if I wasn’t? That would change everything. What if Bret followed him and they pulled over and got into a fight or, I don’t know…could be a million scenarios to fill the space between 11:36 p.m. and 2:00 a.m. when his parents found him. That preppy privileged asswipe is clearly hiding something.

A million possibilities, but now one very logical place to start: Bret Thomas.