KALYN

HONESTLY, I’M RELIEVED when Phil ditches us. Not because he’s weirding me out. Not because I’m becoming a soggy dishrag as Officer Newton waxes nice about Dad.

I can’t be puzzling out Phil when I’m trying to puzzle out why the school secretary has come to our rescue. And there’d be pretty much no room for Phil’s scrawny skeleton in this car, what with me and the dog-monster crammed back here.

“Watch out for Angus.” Ms. Patrick catches my eye in the rearview. She’s driving a stick shift, and she’s already stolen the best-driver title. “He might phlegm on you.”

“It’s cool.” What harm can slobber do? I already look like the plague. “Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Patrick.”

“Again, hon, it’s Ms. Haven’t been a Mrs. since the divorce. Hell, I don’t think I was a Mrs. during the marriage. Never let a man pretend to own you, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“And don’t let any old broads tell you how to live,” she adds, winking.

I’m grinning, despite everything, despite hell and the puddle of drool Angus has just dribbled onto my lap. “What if they’re the only cool person in the school, though?”

“That’s a whole nother story.”

“Yeah, and not the story I need right now. Why are you helpin’ us?”

“Well, that’s a long—”

“If you’re gonna say ‘long story,’ don’t. Give me the abridged version, but talk.”

She makes another turn. “Guess most people don’t do you that kindness, huh?”

“They don’t.” I’m staring out the window, cracking my knuckles. “Except Gus and Mom. Dad didn’t even bother calling last night.”

“Whatever you’re feeling, he must be feeling it times ten million.”

“Is he feeling innocent, though?” I wipe my hand off on Angus’s furry back. Big mistake. He thinks I’m petting him and responds by breathing putrid air up my nostrils.

“Gary never struck me as the kind to complain. Not that I knew him like you do. But he was real quiet, real serious sometimes. Back in those days, I was teaching. Life Skills. Your dad didn’t even crack a smirk during the condom demonstration, and that’s a doozy for most kids. If I remember right, you snickered like a damn buffoon, Earl.”

“It’s true,” Officer Newton admits. “I was a real turd sometimes.”

“Life Skills . . .” Something slides into place: the dog pictures on her desk, her tears in the office. Gus’s clues and the part about Kathy Sturluson, the woman who—­

“When I found James, I thought he was a dummy. Isn’t that ridiculous? I mean, I was looking for him. But I didn’t think he’d be dead. I felt guilty about creeping around Spence Salvage that day.”

“Then why did you?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because Spences are guilty scum.”

“Kalyn, if you keep telling people what you are without giving them the benefit of the doubt, you’re helping those names stick.”

There’s nothing I can say to that.

“I got on just fine with your family. Used to take my car there for oil changes. That day I went to Spence Salvage to talk to James’s best friend.”

“Best friend,” I echo.

“It was pretty common knowledge. Wouldn’t you say, Earl?”

Officer Newton doesn’t say a thing.

“If it was common knowledge, how come me and Gus never knew that? How come no one ever testified saying so?”

“Someone wanted it that way,” she says. “An old man who’s kept his dirty hands just out of reach for long enough, if you ask me.”

I look out the window. It’s so dark that I only see my own reflection.

“I knocked on the door and no one answered. Me and Spook walked around a bit, thinking they might be doing an oil change, and that’s when I caught a whiff of that trunk. Mostly I was thinking ‘it can’t be,’ but maybe I did suspect. This was a story I felt like I’d read before, you know?”

Yeah, I do know.

“We’re four mastiffs on since then, but I remember what it felt like when I opened that trunk in the snow and saw him. You know what they don’t tell you in the papers? Someone set him up, closed his eyes, tucked a fleece blanket around him like he was sleeping. You don’t do that for someone you don’t care about. James Ellis was missing for days. There were a thousand other places your dad could have put that body.”

“Unless he cared too much to let him go,” I breathe.

“Or,” Officer Newton adds, “maybe Gary didn’t know the body was there.”

We let that one hang for a second.

“I think a lot about that day, Kalyn,” Ms. Patrick says. “I wish I hadn’t run to my car and called the police the minute I got home. I wish I’d spoken to your dad. I wish I hadn’t listened to Mortimer Ellis. You see a body and you don’t think straight.”

“Most people would say you did exactly the right thing.”

“So why do I regret it?” She’s slowed the car to a halt in front of a gated driveway. There’s no telling if she means to stop or if she’s just overwhelmed.

She tells us to wait in the car.

She’s in the wrong gang for that. Me and Officer Newton get out—although it takes a minute to shove Angus off my lap. The temperature’s dropped again.

Newton glares at me, but neither of us pretend I’m gonna get back in that car.

The gate is twice my height, black and forbidding. Funny how rich people are so scared about their privacy when they don’t seem to recognize the existence of anyone else’s. Ms. Patrick rings the buzzer, but I think it’s pretty clear no one will answer. You don’t put yourself in a mansion on a hill because you wanna associate with commoners.

“I’m pretty sure I can climb it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s trespassing. You aren’t doing that while I’m watching.”

“Turn around, then, Ocifer,” I grab the cold bars—­

Ms. Patrick gasps. “Someone’s coming.”

“I don’t hear an engine.” Officer Newton draws his baton.

“No, they’re walking.”

“Are there bears in Kentucky?” I squint at the shadows. “Or do you think Mr. Ellis is coming to say hello?”

“The bear’s more likely,” Ms. Patrick says.

“Get back, Spence,” Officer Newton warns.

But I’d recognize that gait anywhere.

“Gus!” I holler, and then he’s wincing in the headlights’ glare.

He looks more tired than ever, too tired to cover his eyes, but so far as I can see he’s not hurt. When he hears me hollerin’ he picks up his pace, leaving the other figure—his mom—behind.

“Kalyn!” he breathes at the gate, twisting his fingers around the metal.

“Behind bars at last,” I joke. Gus laughs like he’s been dying to. It kills me. “Tell you what, Gus, it’s not much of a rescue if you’ve already escaped.”

“We’ll call it a jailbreak.” Gus lets go of the bars and takes my hand instead. “Hopefully your dad’ll be next.”

And I realize something beautiful and horrible: Gus believes Dad isn’t guilty.

So why can’t I believe it yet? Why can’t I let Dad be good? Let us be good?

“Sorry I let you go, Gus.”

“Don’t. And actually . . .” Those saucers widen. “I learned some things.”

“Me too.” We’ll be editing his notes. “Think we might actually solve this thing?”

“Not sure it’s the sort of thing that can be solved.” I want to ask why he looks so sad and scared, but he changes the subject. “Where’s Phil?”

I can’t think how to answer that with Officer Newton looming behind us, and the image of Phil going apeshit looming inside me.

We’re interrupted by the sound of Gus’s mom losing her ever-loving shit: “Open the damn gate, or I will call the police and tell them everything, you hear me? I’ll tell them about the bribes and the blackmail, and I’ll tell them about jury members who’ve been living rich ever since they sent Gary Spence to prison, jury members who suspiciously donate to your causes! And if you’ve bought out the local police, well, I’ll call national papers and I’ll contact my publishers and I will put the truth out there!”

The gate clicks and eases open. I have a feeling she’s still got more to say, because she looks almost mad about not having to scream anymore.

Gus and I don’t fling ourselves on each other, because both of us would probably fall over, and as much as it sucks, I think both of us will always worry about whether people are watching us. But once that gate opens and Gus hobbles through, he loops his arm around my shoulders and that’s enough.

Ms. Patrick glares at Mrs. Peake. “Beth.”

“Mrs. Sturluson,” she replies, just as stiffly.

“It’s Patrick now,” I say.

“And it’s Ms.,” Gus adds, because of course Gus noticed that.

“When you call the papers,” Ms. Patrick says, “will you tell the whole story?”

“I will,” Mrs. Peake replies, looking at Gus. “I’ll tell them everything. But first, I’ll tell all of you.”

“Well, shit.” My heart deflates. “Isn’t that just too easy?”

I’m not really complaining. It doesn’t feel easy. Me and Gus? We don’t know the meaning of the word.