There’s nothing to say mistakes can’t happen in a crime lab. They can and do. But before there were crime labs and DNA tests, literally hundreds of people were wrongly sent to jail and there was no way to prove their innocence.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
Victor gestures for us to get up. “Time for a tour. Come on. Up, up.” He leads us into the classroom area. “This will be your new, state-of-the-art classroom with me as your teacher.”
I wander over and inspect the lab tables. Lysa heads for the storage cabinets and Spam tests the water in the sinks. “It’s gorgeous,” I say.
“You can thank your bio teacher. She did all the heavy lifting. This part is basically done, we just need to finish out the storage room and paint.”
He leads us back into the unfinished room and his table piled with papers. “But here’s the exciting part.” Victor begins moving papers around on the table. “Chuck and I spent all morning hammering out the details.”
I curtail a snort. More bro-mance.
Victor gestures to the large set of drawings covering the table. “These are plans for a fully functional crime scene lab and evidence storage facility. They are for the most part on point. With a few modifications, we can have this all up and running in a few weeks.”
He moves that page to the side and produces two more. “The school paid for the classroom, and the PD is forking over the cash for the lab.” He adds a third page. “I can scrounge the NIJ and probably get most of the necessary equipment donated.”
My eyebrows creep higher.
Victor glances up. “The National Institute of Justice. They’re extremely generous with grants and donations to small communities for exactly things like this and I don’t mind working with last year’s model.”
“This is an amazing opportunity.” I’m very nearly breathless imagining all the things I can do in here.
“Hold your horses. I’m not even to the part about you yet.” The way Victor reads my mind is uncanny. He continues to flop pages this way and that, apparently digging for one more page. He finds it and slaps it on top of the stack, pinning me with a steely gaze.
“Now, here’s where you girls come in.” He adds a wink. “It’s going to be kind of last minute, since summer is basically upon us. But if we can pull off a six-week, forensics-style summer camp and get a minimum of twenty kids to sign up, we will qualify for a government grant that will cover the cost of all of our educational materials for an entire year and pay for two full-time camp counselors.”
He gestures, arms out wide, big Victor grin plastered across his face. “What do you say, Erin? Do you and one of your friends want a job for about six weeks this summer?”
“As camp counselors?”
Victor holds up a finger. “Not just camp counselors … CSI camp counselors.”
A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. It does sound fun.
“Admit it. You love the idea,” Victor teases. “This is like me saying, Come here, little fox, I have a job for you in the hen house.”
I break into a full smile.
He looks to Lysa and Spam. “How about it, girls? Is one of you up for a summer job? You could both do it and job-share if you wanted.”
Spam raises her hand. “Lysa should take it. I work at my dad’s computer store in the summer.”
He swivels his gaze to Lysa. “What do you say?”
She’s all smiles. “I’d be honored. I needed a summer job, too. No job, no car.”
Spam and I smirk and side-eye. Honored. Lysa is so PC—parentally correct.
Victor shuffles all the papers back into a stack and rolls the plans up into a tube. “Okay, Chuck, it’s settled. Let’s do this.” He glances at Journey. “You can start right away helping me get the lab built out and acquire all the equipment.”
“Stoked,” Journey says. “But I’ll have to give notice at my job first.”
Suddenly, the sour cloud that had been hanging over me all day is back.
“Wait, what’s Journey doing?” I know I sound like a petulant child, but I can’t help it. Ever since we solved the murders—actually, to be 100 percent accurate, I solved the murders—okay, Spam and I, but by the time I dragged her into it I already knew Principal Roberts had Journey and Victor. Anyway, ever since all that, Journey and Victor have practically been joined at the hip.
No one answers me.
“What’s Journey going to be doing … at the camp?”
Journey’s gaze shifts from me to Victor and back to me. There’s a distinct “deer in headlights” look. He says nothing, which actually says a whole lot of something.
Victor stands and slides a fatherly arm around Journey’s shoulders. “Your boyfriend won’t be working at the camp, per se. Instead, he has accepted the offer to be my intern and right-hand butt monkey.”
Journey laughs.
I frown.
“Wait. He gets to be your intern?” I can’t help it. The words just blurt out. Shock and disappointment have flattened me. Heat creeps up the back of my neck. My face flames in blotchy patches. I leap to my feet, itching to bolt. It’s humiliating to suddenly have to struggle to control my emotions. I was always the girl who could bury her pain and trauma behind a cool, no-caring exterior, but these last few months …
I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I don’t like it. The only thing that holds me back is Victor. His praise and respect is all-important to me and I know that charging out of here like a baby won’t get me that. But I’m panicking. Right this second, I sense a confrontation and I don’t know how to handle that.
“Journey’s a college boy now. Or, he’s going to be. And he’s majoring in criminal science,” Victor says, slapping Journey on the back.
“Wait, what?” My mouth literally drops open. Devastation is all over my face. “You got accepted?”
He waves his phone. “Oh yeah. Sorry. With the accident and everything, I forgot to tell you. OSU.” He raises his arms in a mini-cheer. “My mom texted me an hour ago. Cool, huh?” Judging by the way he shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, he knows how badly all this is landing on me.
I nod stiffly. It’s as if my jaw has been wired shut. “That’s great. Really great. I’m happy for you.” And I am. It’s just weird to find out about my boyfriend’s important news in such an offhand way. Spam is closest to me so I grab her sleeve and pull her to her feet.
“Well, everything is super great.” My voice is freakishly shrill and I try to lower it. “But we need to go. Right, Spam?”
She nods. “Yeah. My … uh, dad is probably wondering where I am.”
“I have to go too,” Lysa says, grabbing my other arm and following us as we edge toward the door. I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I need out of here before I completely come apart.
I head for the stairs.
“Wait,” Journey calls after me. I stop and look back. “I have to be at work in twenty minutes, but I can still drop you off.”
I wave my hand over my head. “No need. I’ll ride with Spam, but you have a good night.” My voice is set to cherry-candy sweet.
Victor, abnormally clueless, waves happily. “See you at dinner.”
If Journey wanted to say anything back, I drowned him out with the machine-gun-style sound of my rapid steps up the stairs.
Screw him … screw all of them.