The good news was the dance was still on.
The bad news was Stacey was still acting weird a few weeks after the murder in the girl’s bathroom.
I went over to her house one afternoon after school since she had left early that day because she said she wasn’t feeling well. She had a history of asthma as a kid so that meant she could be genuinely sick.
But I didn’t believe it. Not with her sketchy behavior of late.
But when I arrived at her house, there was a police cruiser parked outside.
The feeling of dread filled my stomach like a stone in water. They could just be trying to talk to her after she refused earlier. I had to find out anyway. Curiosity got the better of me. And that curiosity was going to get me killed.
My father had always said I was like a cat that way, and curiosity often killed cats.
But I was also stealthy like a cat. I snuck up to the window at the side of the house. If they had a formal chat, they would probably be in the kitchen or the sitting room in the middle of the house. Stacey’s mother was your stereotypical pastor’s wife and mother. She volunteered for everything at school and church, and when they had visitors over, she always made cookies and hot tea.
Stacey’s mother had gone from wife of a raging, abusive drunk mechanic in our old town to the wife of the town’s pastor in Summervale. Their image had gone from nothing to one of the most popular families in town. No wonder Stacey had bagged Ashton Striker.
It was a significant change for both of them.
But now she was in trouble. I had to find out what was going on.
I heard voices through the open window at the side of the two-level home. It was a cute, Hampton's style weatherboard house painting in idyllic blue and white.
“Miss Miller, are you sure that’s all you can remember about that day?” asked one of the officers.
“Yes. I’m sure,” replied Stacey.
“Please, Officer, my daughter has told you everything she knows.”
“Frankly, ma’am, I don’t feel she has told me the whole story yet.”
“I have. As I said, I walked into the bathroom, and she was already dead on the floor. I found her. I didn’t do it.”
“I don’t believe you,” said the officer. Ouch. He was harsh.
“Officer Evans, please. That’s enough now. my daughter is tired, and we won’t be saying anymore without my husband or our lawyer present.”
The officer let out a frustrated breath. “Fine. If you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.” I peeked through the window and saw the officer hand Mrs. Miller a business card before she showed him out of the house. Stacey was sitting on the floral couch in the sitting room, staring off into space. She was also chewing on her fingernails, something I hadn’t seen her do since childhood after her dad and mom would fight, or he had abused one of them.
I had to find a way to get through to her somehow.
A stick crunched behind me, and I ducked and gasped, jumping down from the window.
One of the police officers was standing behind right me.
For about a minute, we both stared at each other, standing off, neither keen to make the first move.
But finally, he did.
And his words chilled me to the bone.
“You know what they say about cats, Miss Ryder. I wouldn’t go sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. It might get you killed. Look how it ended for the first few girls. Have a good day,” he said in a warning, albeit slightly threatening tone, before walking toward his cruiser.
I stayed pinned against the side of the house until he drove away.