eight

THE NEXT MORNING, FRIDAY, IT HAPPENED just like my fantasy. Second period Algebra II. Except it was the vice principal. She pulled Mrs. Havens, our teacher, out into the hall, and I could see them looking at me as they whispered.

“Rory,” Mrs. Havens waved me over. “Get your books.”

My heart had already started to pound. And then I saw the goateed guy with his sleeves rolled up and the gun at his hip.

“Theodore Callahan?” the vice principal asked.

“Yes?” I felt dizzy. I kept staring at the guy’s gun.

“This is Detective Addison from the police department. He’d like to ask you some questions about your friend Tallulah Monroe.”

That big slamming noise that made everybody in the class stand up was all 280 pounds of me hitting the hallway when I fainted.

“AM I A SUSPECT?”

“We’re just trying to piece together a timeline,” Detective Addison answered without answering. There was something about him I didn’t like, and I realized that it was because he reminded me of Krycek, the double agent on The X-Files. I sat back. My chair squeaked. I was sitting at the table in the faculty conference room with an icepack on the side of my head where I had hit the ground. The principal and vice principal were there, along with my mom, sitting on one side of me, and, sitting on the other side, Mrs. Lidell. Addison held a gold pen in his hand, tapping it against his fingers.

“When was the last time you saw your friend Tallulah, son?”

“Last night. Around ten or so. Maybe ten thirty.”

“Ten p.m.?”

“Yeah. She came over . . .” I hesitated. I didn’t want to say anything about Andy. My head was killing me, and I felt nauseated. “We were supposed to study for midterms. But I forgot. I was—I stayed late at work. To help with inventory.”

“Where do you work?”

“Andy’s Books & Coffee.”

“Can your boss corroborate your story?”

Corroborate my story? Jesus.

“Yes.” I licked my lips. My mouth was dry. “Yes, sir.”

“How long did she stay at your house that night?”

“Not long. Like five minutes, maybe ten. She was . . . upset that I forgot.” My voice broke. Mrs. Lidell reached over and took my hand.

“You and Miss Monroe argued?” Addison asked.

“Yes, sir. But it didn’t seem like . . . anything serious.”

“Mrs. Callahan, were you at home when this fight was going on?”

“I was—ahm,” my mother cleared her throat. “I was out with some colleagues from work.”

“You’re acquainted with Tallulah Monroe?”

“She’s been over to the house before. She seemed like a sweet girl. And Teddy’s not the type that would do anything—he wouldn’t have done anything to hurt her. I know he’s a big guy, but he’s a sweetheart, he really is.” She was bleary as usual, but at least she stood up for me. I looked at my mom for some sign of how she really felt. Was she angry with me? Did she think this whole thing was all a big joke? Impossible to tell. Her face was blank.

Addison looked at my mother, then back at me.

“Son, what was the exact nature of your relationship with Tallulah Monroe?”

“She’s my best friend.”

Addison clicked his pen.

“Theodore, was your relationship with Tallulah Monroe one of a sexual nature?”

“No, sir.” My face was burning. Mrs. Lidell squeezed my hand.

“I know it might be embarrassing. There might have been things going on between you and Miss Monroe that you don’t want to talk about in front of your mother. But we need you to tell us everything about the relationship you and Tallulah had. Because anything you remember, any little detail, no matter how small, might help us to bring her home safe.”

“Yes, sir,” I nodded.

“Now, she told her grandparents she was leaving to go to your house at around eight p.m. You say you didn’t see her until between ten and ten thirty. Any idea where she might have gone in the interim?”

“No, sir.”

“And did she say she was going somewhere else, after she left your house?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you make plans to reschedule the study session you’d missed?”

“No, sir.”

“Was there another boy she was close to, or someone she might have gone off with to make you mad? To get revenge for standing her up?”

Revenge.

“No, sir. Not that I know of.”

“Did she have any other . . . any girlfriends? Anyone she might have gone to spend the night with?”

“She used to hang out with Jenny . . . um. Jenny Walsh. But she goes to boarding school now. I think it’s in Vermont or someplace.”

Addison nodded. He paced back and forth.

“So you can’t think of any other place she might have gone, any other person in this whole town she could be with?”

“Her mother.”

“What?”

“Her mother. She might have gone to find her mom.”