Touching them, like it was easy. Like it didn’t faze him at all.
Maybe I’d been wrong. I shut the photo inside my textbook. Maybe we weren’t the same person at all.
Mona was stirring behind the closed door of her bedroom when I pushed open the trailer door later. I set the laundry basket on the table and pulled a fry pan from the rack inside the oven. The pat of butter slid slowly across the pan while it warmed, and I mixed up some milk and eggs with sugar and set two slices of bread in the bowl to soak. While the bread swelled and softened, I found the kitten mug I’d given her on Mother’s Day, and heated water for coffee. Mona liked it strong, with one packet of artificial sweetener, and I left it for her, steaming at her place at the table.
Her door opened and she ambled to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. They were bright green and ringed in old mascara. The whites were bloodshot, making her olive skin look sallow. She pulled her robe shut and smoothed her long, unruly hair—the only thing we had in common—back from her face.
Inhaling deeply, she reached for her coffee and sipped. “Do I smell French toast?” She raised a suspicious brow, but behind the mug she hid the hint of a smile. “What’s the occasion?”
I scooped the toast onto a plate and set it in front of her place at the table. “No occasion.”
Mona eased into her seat, looking at me skeptically while I washed the pan. “Something you want to talk about?”
“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. She took another slow sip of her coffee, still watching me. “Okay, maybe there’s this one thing.”
Mona nodded knowingly, lip curled as she cut into her toast sideways with her fork. She took a bite and watched me dig around in my backpack. “Ace another trig test?”
I pulled out the photo of the Belle Green Poker Club and set it on the table. Mona stopped chewing. “Where did you get this?” she asked, and set down her fork.
“Jeremy’s house,” I said. There was no need to go into the details of how he found it. I didn’t think she was even listening. She didn’t acknowledge me, lost somewhere in her own head. After a minute, she snapped the photo down against the tabletop and slid it back to me. She stuffed another forkful in her mouth, chewing and blinking away the wetness in her eyes.
“Who took this picture?” I asked, trying not to let her hear the urgency in my voice. She knew this picture. She’d seen it before. I was certain of it. She glanced at it bitterly.
“Jenna Fowler,” she answered quietly.
I took a moment to process what she’d just said. Jeremy’s mother had taken this photo. And the only way my mother would know that is because she was there. I looked again at the smiling faces in the photo, the men arm in arm wearing matching team shirts. These were my parents’ friends. Which meant she should remember the man whose face was missing. If he was close to my father then, maybe this man would know where to find him now. Maybe they were still connected.
“Who is that man Dad’s holding? The one whose face is torn away?”
My mother scraped her plate absently. I reached for her hand to make her look at me. She dropped the fork with a clatter and stood up, pulling her hand away. But not before I felt it. The grief, and loss, and shame. She clutched her robe and looked down at the table. “Get that picture out of my house,” she said, low and angry. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”
22
After the final bell rang on Monday, the chem lab was empty, and uncomfortably quiet. Rankin leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee with a frown. Then he got up and shut the classroom door.
“Your mentees seem to be disappearing,” he said, returning to his desk and perching on the edge of it. His salt-andpepper eyebrows arched over his mug, waiting for an answer. I didn’t have one. And he wasn’t asking me anything I hadn’t already asked myself. I’d spent the entire weekend trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all. Why me? Why my students? And who might be next?
“With Emily, Marcia, and now Posie no longer in need of your services—and with Mr. Whelan on suspension until Thursday—I daresay this will put you several hours behind in your community service. With less than three weeks until finals, I might add.”
A bubble of panic rose through me. It was only a matter of time before the police began connecting the same dots Rankin already had. All three victims had been connected to me. I closed my eyes and dropped into the chair behind me.
“I can see this bothers you as much as it concerns me.” He tapped his fingers on the side of his mug. “Therefore, I’ve come up with a solution.”
A desperate and almost hysterical giggle slipped out. “A solution?” He made it sound so simple, as if it was only a scholarship at risk.
“You can make up the hours sorting, cleaning, and taking inventory of the lab equipment. You may start immediately.” He looked at me expectantly. I sat motionless, anxiety chipping away at my blank expression. “Unless you have more important things to do?”
I shook my head.
Rankin handed me a stack of inventory forms. “You may start with those boxes.” He gestured to a mountain of cardboard with his mug. “I’m going to the teacher’s lounge for more coffee. I’ll be back in a few minutes should you have any questions.” He paused in the open door, then turned hesitantly and said, “Principal Romero called a rather interesting meeting. With the Fairfax County police. They appear unable to connect Emily, Marcia, and Posie in any way that might shed light on what happened, though they seem quite certain they are indeed connected. They’re interviewing faculty this afternoon, to uncover any missing link between them. I suppose, since you are no longer their tutor, I have no reason to mention it. I’m quite confident that information would only serve to disrupt your studies and waste their valuable time.” He raised an eyebrow. “I do hope you agree?” I nodded, looking at the stack of boxes, feeling both surprised and grateful.
When I raised my eyes to thank him, Oleksa stood in his place.
“What are you doing here?” I looked past his shoulder down the empty hall. My heart skipped a beat. How long had he been standing there, and how much had he overheard?
He slid into his usual seat. “Detention,” he said flatly. If he had overheard my conversation with Rankin, he didn’t seem concerned. “We seem to find trouble together.”
“I’m not here for detention.” The implication burrowed under my skin. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but this whole lab-cleaning business felt like a punishment. And he was right. It wasn’t the first time Oleksa and I had been together like this. The police department, the park, and now here.
He smirked and opened a deck of cards, then shuffled them, whisper quiet. He laid a card face-up on the table. “You run with Reece, and soon it will be more than just detention.”
“And Lonny Johnson’s a saint? Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge.” I glared at him as he spread the rest of his hand facedown, so fast I could barely see his fingers.
“There are things you don’t know about him.” He snapped a card against the table. “And there are things he doesn’t know about you.” His clear gray eyes found mine as he threw down an ace, and I knew he’d heard everything.