“Not always. Just lately. I mean, going back to when we were kids, she wanted to have her way, but not like this.”
This struck Peter as a hint, but he didn’t want to pursue it too directly. “You have to be a nut to do what she did. Doesn’t seem to be any point in looking for reasons, does there?”
“Exactly. What’s the point? She’s probably going to die anyway, so what does it matter what happened? She’s dead and Kat’s dead-and I wish I were dead.”
It occurred to Peter that he could kiss Josie just now. People did things like that in the face of loss-made connections to show they were still alive. And if he kissed her, she might come to trust him and tell him more. How to do it? He should just swoop in fast, get down on his knees in front of her, do a real Hollywood kiss. But what about her foot, propped up on the footstool? How could he maneuver around the foot? It probably hurt her a lot if she had to have it elevated like that. Too bad, because suddenly he wanted to kiss her, and not just to win her confidence. He wanted to kiss her for the very reasons he had outlined to himself as reasonable pretexts for kissing. He was alive and she was alive, and that was worth remembering.
Instead he said, “I don’t think Kat’s dad is ever going to get over this.”
“Why?” Josie’s voice seemed shrill and fearful.
“Because parents don’t. That’s what my mom said. It goes against the natural order of things.”
“I suppose so.”
“I mean, it’s like Mr. Hartigan needs to understand what happened to get past it. The why of it, you know? It’s not enough for him to say Perri was crazy and just walk away. He needs to know the reason.”
Her computer beeped again, but Josie didn’t even turn her head toward the screen. She was staring at Peter, her eyes cold and hard again. He had lost her. The moment he had mentioned Mr. Hartigan, she had shut down.
Still, he persisted.
“So there wasn’t, right?”
“What?”
“A reason. I mean, there’s nothing more to say, right? Perri just came in and started shooting, and that’s all there is to know.”
“No reason.”
“And it was just the three of you, the way it always was?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just that there are these rumors. About maybe someone else being there.”
It is a cliché that acting is reacting, that the best actors know how to listen, but Peter had been well trained over the past four years, his parents had gotten their money’s worth from NYU, and he did know how to listen, pay attention. Josie was in turmoil, eaten up by whatever she knew, so close to wanting the relief of sharing it.
“People are saying that?” she asked at last. “Lots of people?”
“Some.” One.
“But you don’t even know people at Glendale anymore.”
“I knew their older brothers and sisters.”
“Like who? Who did you talk to, exactly?”
“Kevin-Shawn Weaver’s little brother.” He had talked to him at the funeral. But one name seemed a bit thin, so he pulled out the name that Kevin had whispered when he pointed out the girl in the low-cut top, the blow-job queen. “And Eve Muhly.”
“She’s, like, a pathological liar. She loves to say she knows stuff when she doesn’t.”
“Yeah, but she’s not the only one, in this case.” He was almost indignant, totally caught up in his stories as he spun them. Okay, so neither Kevin nor Eve had spoken about a fourth girl to him. Okay, so he had never actually spoken to this girl, Eve. But Mr. Hartigan said the police thought there might be a fourth girl or that Josie and Perri had conspired in some way. That’s why Josie got nervous when Mr. Hartigan’s name came up.
Josie’s chin trembled, and she looked as if she might cry again. But her voice was measured when she spoke, exceedingly calm.
“I did lie.”
“Yes?” Now she was going to tell him, now he was going to find out what she was hiding from the police and everyone else. Mr. Hartigan would be so pleased to learn that Peter Lasko had done so quickly and easily what no one else could do.
“You didn’t really break Kat’s heart,” she said. “I mean, she dated Seth Raskin after you, and he was much handsomer. And then he died in that car crash last spring. He’s the one that Kat can’t get over.”
He understood that this, too, was a lie, a punishment for his trying to get her to open up. The surprising part was how effective it was.
“Well, I guess I should go. You’ve got a lot going on this week, with graduation and everything. Is Senior Ramble still a big deal?”
“Yes, but…” She indicated her bandaged foot. “Not for me. I’ll be going to the ceremony, then coming straight home.”
He left on that and she didn’t even say good-bye.
From the hall, with its scarred walls and framed art posters, he could hear Josie typing furiously, pounding away at her computer without pausing, in a cadence that marked the rhythm of an IM conversation, or maybe e-mail. Whatever it was, Peter was pretty sure it wasn’t a girl telling her mother what she wanted for dinner.
Dale Hartigan was in a meeting when his cell phone vibrated-he never had it on ring, a point of pride with him-and the caller ID showed it was Peter Lasko. Given how dreary the meeting was-the usual cranky homeowners, convinced that a mixed-retail space would be the death of their neighborhood, especially if the restaurant had a liquor license-he would have taken any call, even one from Chloe or his father. This interruption not only saved him, it filled him with hope. Certainly the boy wouldn’t call unless he had something vital to report.
“Right back,” he mouthed to Susannah, who was running the show, trying to make everyone happy. The great smoother-over, as Dale thought of her.
“Yes?” he snapped into the cell phone as soon as he cleared the room.
“Josie didn’t have much to say.”
“And I needed to know that right now because…?”
“Because the way she didn’t say it was kind of striking. Like she’s hiding something.”
If Peter had been his employee, Dale would have been sharp with him. Not unkind or abusive, for Dale did not ape his father in that way. But he disliked people who talked just to talk, the eager young ones-and they were almost always young-who manufactured excuses for face time with the boss, not realizing they were wasting the boss’s time.
“That was always my supposition, Peter. And while it’s nice to know you agree, it doesn’t really seem to advance things.”
“Yeah. Yeah. But it did give me an idea. You know the Senior Ramble?”
Dale did. He had one of his rare quarrels with Kat over this very subject not two weeks ago, saying he didn’t care what other Glendale parents did, he was not going to suspend Kat’s curfew on graduation night just so she could increase her chances of dying in a traffic accident. When Kat had protested that the Ramble was zero tolerance, with students signing pledges to serve as designated drivers, parents agreeing to chaperone official parties in their homes, and public places staying open late so the graduates could congregate safely, Dale had not been moved. “Exhaustion alone is enough to get kids in trouble,” he had said. “Your curfew stands, and I’m going to tell the Patels as much, so don’t think you can get around it by spending the night with Josie, playing by their more lax rules.”