“Well then,” my uncle says. “Okay.” He glances at the TV and says, “Let’s watch the end of this movie, then I’ll catch some of the news before I go to bed.”
It turns out the movie only has five minutes left, but by the time I click the remote to switch to the news, Uncle Bill is asleep and snoring in the armchair. Normally, I’d head upstairs, but this time I don’t, staying on the couch as the news program plays its dramatic theme song. Instead of watching, I sip my ginger ale and stare at my uncle sleeping, wondering how long he’s been wanting to talk to me like this, and how I’ve shut him down every time he mentioned my father.
I’m about to put the remote on the table next to him and go to bed when something in the news broadcast catches my attention. “…is still missing,” the newscaster is saying.
Someone is missing? My eyes on the screen, I sit back down on the couch.
“The Carlson High School junior,” the newscaster continues, “was last seen leaving at the end of school last Thursday afternoon.”
Thursday. The same afternoon I followed Greg to Miller’s Park, where he argued with Amy. A photo of Amy appears on the screen, her bright red hair standing out. She’s even wearing the same blue jacket she was wearing that day.
What’s going on?
The picture shrinks to the left corner of the screen as a video shows a crying woman standing next to a tearful man who has his arm around her, the woman saying, “If someone knows where our daughter is, I beg you to call us. You don’t have to give us your name. We just want our daughter back safe and sound.” Below the two people is a caption that reads, “Theresa and James Beaumont, parents of the missing Alycia Beaumont.” Now the Carlson police chief is saying something. Then the photo fills up the screen again, the name Alycia Beaumont clearly under it, and I study it closely. The newscaster is speaking again. “She was last seen wearing a white blouse, blue jeans, and the same blue jacket she is seen wearing in this picture.”
The girl in the picture isn’t Amy, but she looks a lot like her. She has the same bright red hair, a similar complexion. The jacket is even the same shade of blue.
“Again, a special tip line has been set up for anyone with information at 800—”
I don’t hear the rest of the number as I tear up the stairs to my room where I yank out the bag from my closet.
On foot, the Carlson and Milton high schools are forty-five minutes to an hour apart. I pull up Google Maps and check Miller’s Park in relation to Carlson and Milton. It’s what I thought. Miller’s Park is halfway between the two high schools. So the walk to the park would be about the same from Carlson High as it had been for me following Greg from Milton.
I pull out the backpack. Could this be Alycia Beaumont’s blood, not Amy’s? How would I know? Why would Greg have been meeting a girl from another high school? Then I remember something Charlie said. A rumor she’d heard that Greg was cheating on Amy. She’d said there was nothing to it.
Except maybe there was. If Greg had been seeing Alycia behind Amy’s back, maybe Alycia had wanted to meet up with Greg to make him choose. Her or Amy? Or maybe she’d told Greg at Miller’s Park that if he didn’t break up with Amy, Alycia was going to tell her about them. That’s why he killed her.
As I think back, I realize there are more differences between the two girls than similarities. Standing next to each other, I’d have no problem telling them apart. But at a distance—the distance from where I’d been hiding to where Greg and the girl had been talking—it would have been very possible to mistake Alycia Beaumont for Amy Sloan.
Maybe Greg killed Alycia. But how do I prove it?
A good investigator takes yet another fresh look at the evidence when needed.
I start with Greg’s clothing. All of it is clearly his. Not sure what I’m looking for, I check the pockets of the jeans and jacket. Nothing. Next is the silver cross necklace. Clearly, it’s Amy’s. It has her name on it. So why did Greg have it? My fingers glide over the broken clasp like I’m trying to read braille. Maybe Greg told Amy he’d get it fixed for her. Then he lost it at the field while killing Alycia and moving her body. Makes sense.
That leaves the backpack. I hoist it up and study it more thoroughly, not that there’s much to see. Except for the blood, and maybe a little wear and tear, it looks pretty much the way I remember it from Greg bringing it to school every day. I check the outside pockets again, then run my fingers inside the main part of the bag. Nothing. Frustrated, I yank out my hand.
Something gives, and I freeze. I peer into the backpack and see nothing. Feeling around again, I discover a gap at the very bottom of the backpack. Maybe I accidentally ripped it, but there doesn’t seem to be any frayed edges. I work my fingers into the gap as deeply as I can. The gap widens enough for me to get half of my hand in. It’s not a rip, it’s like somebody cut it to make an extra pocket, then covered it with a fake cardboard bottom. I push further, the hidden pocket widening, my fingers stretching. Finally, it pops open.
Bingo! I pull out a yellowish envelope held closed with a clasp. New evidence? My hands shake a little as I open the clasp and pull up the flap. Reaching in, I pull out a black cell phone. Frowning, I flip it around in my hands. Finding the power button, I push it and the phone turns on. Hmmm. So Greg had what I assume is a second cell. That’s not good. It usually means secrets, the kind that always mean trouble. The irony doesn’t escape me, Greg and me both using burner phones to hide secrets.
The cell is pretty basic, with no access to the internet or to email. Just calling and texting.
My chest is fluttering as I check the address book. The only phone number listed is for Greg Matthes. So this isn’t Greg’s phone. It’s Alycia Beaumont’s. And he was the only one she called on this phone? This is confirmed by the phone log. Each incoming and outgoing call is from or to the same number. I check text messages next. The only thread of messages is labeled Greg. There are a lot of them. Back and forth. Unfortunately, none of them are of the romantic kind. They are mostly messages with times, dates, and abbreviations for what are clearly locations, places for them to meet. Even though these texts were set up to be seen only by each other, they were still being cautious. Or maybe Greg insisted on it because of Amy. I don’t know if Alycia Beaumont had a boyfriend she was cheating on.
Between sports practices and all the time he spent with Amy, when did Greg have the time to meet up with Alycia for romantic interludes? It looks like they were getting together about once a week. Based on the texts, the week when I was following Greg, if I’d stayed on him one more day, I would’ve seen something. Come to think of it, how do I know for sure that these meetings were romantic, though what else could they be? There aren’t even any heart emojis or anything. I have a sudden thought and quickly scroll to the end of the thread. There it is! Alycia’s last text to Greg has them meeting this past Thursday at Miller’s Park. After school. Unlike all the other messages, for this one she adds, “I must see you.”
What about pictures? I click on the photo gallery, and only one picture pops up. It has both Alycia and Greg in a selfie taken by her. Judging by the expression on his face, he wasn’t expecting it. Okay, so at least I’ve got something that definitely shows them together.
There doesn’t seem to be anything more to check. Then I notice a stray icon. When I click on it a request for a password pops up. Interesting. I think about it, then type in Greg, but it doesn’t work. I try GregandAlycia. I try abbreviating his name, then abbreviating his and hers together, shortening them each time, mixing in an ampersand. Once I have it down to a simple G&A, six pictures pop up.
Whoa.
I click one by one on the first five pictures, and each one shows Alycia and Greg together. The first one shows them kissing. Looks like Alycia used a selfie stick to take the picture. Same with the next few, only with these they had their hands around and all over each other while dressed in only their underwear.
In the sixth and last picture, they’re lying in bed. The photo is not completely revealing, but it shows just enough to indicate they’re not wearing underwear. They’re not wearing anything at all.
I stab the power button, and the cell phone powers off. I slowly put the phone down on a table. From downstairs, I still hear Uncle Bill snoring. He could wake up any minute and drag himself upstairs to his bedroom. Moving quickly, almost frantically, I place the incriminating cell phone back into the backpack that I’m now sure has Alycia Beaumont’s blood on it. Then I return the backpack to the larger bag and put the bag back deep into the corner of my closet. No way am I going to get rid of this stuff now. I need time to think.
I should call Charlie. I grab my cell, pull up her name. Then I stop myself. I shouldn’t hit her with this new evidence just before she’s about to go to sleep. I’ll call her tomorrow morning before school.
I hear Uncle Bill moving downstairs, and by the time he’s up, I’m in bed, with the lights off, pretending to sleep.
I’ve got him, I keep telling myself. Greg Matthes killed Alycia Beaumont.
And I can prove it!