Hunt a Killer, page 9
The mug of tea fell to the floor, shattering to pieces, and hot liquid splashed onto my legs.
“Ow!” I flinched, trying to wipe away the sting from my legs.
Within a second, Dad was at my side. “Jolene? We can get some cold water—”
“No. You said you would talk to her.” I pulled away and tossed the whiteboard back in my closet before grabbing the USB off the desk. “This is me! I’m not going to magically wake up and not care about others around me, people who need someone to be their voice. Mr. Medina needs me. No one else is taking this seriously. You two obviously aren’t.” Anger burned over every inch of being, my body on fire. I wasn’t going to be able to come down from this. If I didn’t leave now, I would burst. I can’t do this. Not with her. Not now.
I pushed past the two of them. “I’m spending the night at Bri’s.”
Mom reached out for me. “Jolene …”
No. She didn’t get to turn on the sweet voice.
I left my parents to stand alone in my room and didn’t look back.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Sabrina sat next to me at the bottom of her bed, wrapped up in her hot pink throw. I gripped her comforter, letting out slow breaths. I’d recapped everything, only for the anger to come flooding back through open gates I needed to weld shut. I focused on what surrounded us: posters of models, runway shows, and a corkboard full of fabric swatches.
Frankie sat at the top of the bed, his legs spread as he patted the space between them for me to sit. I joined him, leaning my back to his front as he pulled me into a hug. He squeezed tight, knowing the pressure was what I needed to breathe. He and I had known each other the longest. We used to stage weddings and play house in his backyard, and it almost felt inevitable we would go from childhood friends to something more, until puberty hit. He started to notice girls, and I noticed no one in particular. I didn’t have physical attractions, at least not the way other kids our age did. I only wanted the emotional tugs that came with friendship. Needed it. Relationships with family and friends meant everything to me, and this thing with my mom tore at my heart. He understood that. I just wanted her to understand me.
He pressed his lips to my temple. “Your mom’s going to open her eyes one day and see how amazing you are at this. She’s just scared with what happened to her old man and your uncle when they were on the force. How things ended for them. Parents always want their kids to go one step further in life than they did themselves.”
I turned around. “And when did you get so wise?”
Frankie smiled. “A few years back, my pops started reading all these self-help books for bonding with your kids. He’d leave them in the bathroom as reading material.”
Sabrina scrunched her nose. “TMI.”
I let out a laugh and moved back beside her. “Okay. I forwarded you the email with the report. Did you guys have a chance to read it?”
“Not so fast.” Frankie scooted up behind me. “You’re doing that thing where you put your emotions in a box.”
I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. I didn’t have time for this. Real detectives didn’t let their personal life get in the way of their cases. I had to take this seriously.
“Have you tried talking to your mom about other things you are into?” Sabrina offered.
“Like what?”
“Well, these cases are our first love, but I have fashion. My mom doesn’t have an ounce of style, but she lets me sew her new scrubs for work. She wants to catch the eyes of a certain doctor.” She waggled her brows. “And Frankie has that hacking stuff his dad’s teaching him.”
“My mom’s a public defender,” I countered. “Cases should be an easy topic.”
“But you know she wants more for you. You just gotta show her there is more to you. That you won’t let it consume you. I think that’s what this is about.”
I locked eyes with Sabrina. “Do you think I’ve let it consume me?”
She turned to share that look with Frankie.
I threw up my hands. “I’m over this. Let’s move on. Did you guys read the report or not?”
Frankie broke his eyes away from Sabrina. “Yeah, we read it.” Giving up on the previous topic, he walked over to Sabrina’s craft table, where there was a stack of grilled cheeses and three bowls of tomato basil soup. Her mom had a double shift tonight, which meant dinner was fend for yourself. Lucky for us, Sabrina could work a panini press and spice up some Campbell’s.
“I’m liking the chief for this,” said Frankie, mouth full. “He had means and opportunity. Strong enough to push Mr. Medina, smart enough to stay out of the cameras, and we know he was there.”
“Maddie’s dad is a good lead, but we haven’t crossed off any of the students as suspects,” I reminded him.
Sabrina frowned. “But could a student really do this?”
“You’ve met Maddie, right? I don’t even want to know what she’s capable of in the heat of the moment. And Julius definitely knows something about what’s going on.”
“You have a point. But we need to at least put together a plan for how to get everyone’s alibis. Then we can create suspect profiles on whoever’s left.” Sabrina tapped her chin in thought. “Tell me about Emile again.”
I rehashed the story of my failed attempt to grab a look at the attendance records. Sabrina popped up with a smile spread wide, her cheeks pinching those electric-blue eyes of hers. “I’ve got an idea.”
Within a couple of hours, we had a plan, and it was time for Frankie to leave.
He tugged at my sleeve as he stood up. “Walk me out.”
I followed him down the worn carpeted steps to the front door. Pulling on his coat and gloves, he sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m worried about you.”
Rocking back on my heels, I tucked my hands into the pajama pants I’d borrowed from Sabrina. “I know.” I avoided his gaze. “You and my mom are a lot alike.”
“Hey, I gave up on trying to convince you to put a New York school on your list and agreed to add Northwestern to stay local as long as you do the same.” He chuckled. “But I was thinking about how you’re at North Shore alone. You haven’t tried to make friends.”
“I don’t need new friends—”
“There’s a bit more to it.” He took in a breath. “Promise me you’ll pace yourself with this case. And you won’t do anything else without telling me or Bri.”
I frowned up at him.
“You went to Alderman Corben’s office by yourself yesterday. If you had been right about the affair, that could have ended badly. You admitted you had no idea what you were doing.”
“Oh. Right.” I stood still, staring at the frayed carpet underneath our feet. He wasn’t wrong. We always approached witnesses together in case something went sideways. But this wasn’t the same. The two of them aren’t around anymore, not the way they used to be. I had to learn to do things by myself.
“I know you haven’t worked through your emotions surrounding Mr. Medina. It’s causing you to try to steamroll through this case. But don’t shut us out. You’re very set in your ways, and when someone disagrees with you, you push away.” He reached out to lift my gaze.
I nodded, choosing not to respond to the first part of what he said. “I promise.”
“And relax a little. Go do facials and girly things. I told Bri to give you a manicure because those nails are looking jagged—”
“Bye, Frankie!” Opening the door, I shoved him outside and shut it behind him.
I looked down at my nails and frowned. They weren’t that bad.
“Relax a little.” Open my mind to new things. Everyone wanted me to do everything but solve Mr. Medina’s murder.
“I can relax after the case,” I muttered.
Wednesday, March 2, 10:42 a.m.
THE NEXT TIME I found myself standing in front of Emile’s desk, I was prepared.
“And what does my little truant need today? Did you fill out the form and get a parent or guardian’s signature?”
“Nope. Here for something else. I noticed the Vogue Paris on your desk. Do you know much about the fashion and textiles humanities focus North Shore has here?”
The blank stare of his beady eyes told me that was a dumb question. You would think working the front desk, Emile would have better people skills.
“My friend Sabrina, she’s really into fashion. I thought I could see about getting her a tour. Maybe she could even shadow me so she can see some of the classes.”
“That’s a question for admissions.” He waved me off and went back to typing.
“Yes, but Mrs. Medina will need to see a portfolio, right? I don’t want to get Bri’s hopes up if she doesn’t have what the school is looking for.”
He stopped typing. “And you thought to ask me?” His brow quirked up.
Now I had his attention.
“Well, honestly, you’re much more approachable than some of the teachers in that department, and you obviously have an eye for it. I can arrange the visit with Mrs. Medina when she gets back next week.”
He straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back. “Well? Do you have her portfolio?”
“Yes.” I flipped to the photo album in my phone Sabrina shared with me last night. “And the last one is the dress she made for her homecoming. The theme was Roaring Twenties.”
“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Definitely inspired by the greats. Oh, twenties Dior. Very Daisy Buchanan.” He met my eyes, looked back at the photo, and then handed my phone back. “It would be a shame if you didn’t have her shadow you for a day. You know, this school feeds into FIT, Parsons, SCAD—if she’s into southern hospitality.”
“That sounds great. Thanks, Emile.”
I stepped back, slowly turning away, waiting for the words I needed to hear.
“And do bring her by. I’d love to meet her.”
Oh, I definitely plan to.
I let out a breath once I made it back into the hallway.
“I take it that went well.”
Startled, I almost dropped my phone but managed an impressive juggling act to catch it before it reached the floor. This phone was not insured. “So, you do wait in dark corners for me to appear,” I huffed out.
“Something like that,” Julius replied. He handed me one of the two coffee tumblers in his hands. “Grabbed us some fuel from the teachers’ lounge before third period.”
I stiffened. Coffee? “Is this you flirting?”
He grinned. “That’s your reaction to a kind gesture? This is me, trying to be your friend. That’s all I’m looking for. Dating isn’t really my thing.”
“Oh.” I let my shoulders relax. Friends. I could do that. Use it to my advantage.
I stared down at the drink and dared a taste, the dark roast warmed my body, notes of hazelnut and— “Irish cream? How did you know?”
“I didn’t. Just seemed appropriate for Kelley Green Eyes. What’s the case you’re working?”
I almost choked on the next sip. “What makes you think I’m working—” I stopped after seeing his face. “Oookay. My friends and I, we research cold cases. We have one from 1989 with an off-Broadway star,” I rattled off. Always good to keep lies as close to the truth as possible.
He raised a brow, interest piqued. “Why cold cases?”
“Because others have already given up on them, but not us. We’re the voice to the voiceless.”
He let out a low laugh as we turned the corner to the English wing. “You sound like Mr. Medina. He told me that was why he got into counseling.”
I looked Julius over out the corner of my eye. He seemed genuine enough. He was still a suspect, though.
“How did you two meet?” I asked. “Besides the mandatory check-in. It seems like you were close to him?” I pried.
“Well, he has a soft spot for scholarship kids from the South Side. I think it’s just me and you here.”
“I guess.” I tapped my fingers against the tumbler, thinking of how to get him to open up more. Give a little, get a little. “A stray bullet grazed my best friend’s little brother when I was ten, and I had to go to counseling for it. Mr. Medina had board games in his office. Old ones from like the eighties and nineties. We played a lot of Clue and Guess Who? After a while, he asked if I liked to read.” I took another long sip. Tension seeped from my neck. For the first time in a while, it felt good to talk about Mr. Medina. Not as painful.
Julius nodded quietly. “My mom died from breast cancer last Labor Day, two weeks before I turned eighteen. My dad has another family out west, but he wanted me to finish school here. He sends checks but …” He paused, scrunched his brows, and then shook off whatever emotion had just crossed his face. “The Medinas took me and my little sister in for a few weeks and helped with the papers to name me her legal guardian and keep her out of the system. I was close to Mr. Medina before, but that solidified it.”
“Wow, he never mentioned that.”
“Well, it’s not necessarily something I wanted broadcast over the PA speakers. A bunch of rich kids learning that my mom died, my dad had all but abandoned me, and now I had a little sister to parent? Nah. No one needed to know that.”
“He was like a father figure for you,” I said.
He nodded again, and we fell in step together, turning another corner. That was telling. If he thought Mr. Medina betrayed him and the scandal came to light, he could lose custody of his sister. That’s motive—a pretty strong one. Still, something made me hesitate.
“You know, you don’t have to walk me to class. Won’t you be late?”
He chuckled. “You’ve honestly never noticed me in your Gothic literature class?”
I frowned. “The kid who sleeps with his coat hood over his head?”
“At your service.” He bowed. “It’s a boring class, but I want to go into screenwriting. Most movies and shows are just new takes on classics. We wouldn’t have Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire without Bram Stoker’s Dracula. And millennials wouldn’t have their strange obsession with Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight without Anne Rice.”
“Twilight’s not just for millennials. My friend loves those movies.”
“Uh-huh. Is she into vampires or werewolves?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s into Kristen Stewart.”
Julius grinned. “That’s a legit team I can root for.”
“Mm-hmm.” I stopped outside the classroom door.
The sub stood at their desk fumbling with papers. There was a new replacement every week, and I couldn’t keep up with them. This sub had added their pronouns next to their name on the chalkboard: she/they. “Do you know what happened to Mr. Callahan?”
It was quick, but it almost looked like Julius fought off a pained expression. Regret. He knew something. “Remember what I said about this place? Backstabbing and all? It wasn’t his type of thing, and honestly it was above his pay grade. He teaches English to students in Okinawa now.”
“Okinawa, Japan?” I asked, stepping inside as the late bell rang. So that’s what happened to the first proctor.
“Yep.”
“Who took over proctoring the SAT exams after he left?” I asked casually before he could walk over to his usual desk in the corner.
“Ms. Taylor.” He answered without thinking but furrowed his brows after a beat. “Why do you need to know that?”
The sub cleared their throat.
Julius walked to his seat, leaving me to head to my own. For the next hour I sat in the back of class, wondering what to do with this new information. The proctor was a dead end, and Ms. Taylor had been teaching the AP Calc class I was skipping that morning. That alibied her.
I stole glances at Julius, wondering if I should ask more, but that last question of mine might have been too obvious. Digging deeper could shut him down, and I needed him to keep talking. Texting Frankie and Sabrina for advice got me nowhere.
Frankie:
Don’t offer up anything to let him know what we know.
Sabrina:
It couldn’t hurt? He seems nice enough from what Jo’s said.
Frankie:
Bri, he’s a suspect. He was at the memorial and he found Jo outside Mr. Medina’s office. Classic inserting himself into the investigation. Killers do it all the time.
Frankie:
AND Jo said she saw a candle at the platform. Then the same candle in front of Mr. Medina’s office. Sign of remorse. Guilt.
Sabrina:
Or grief.
Frankie:
Jo?
I bounced my leg, thinking. Frankie had a point. I’d already entertained the thought that Julius could be using me to see what I know about Mr. Medina’s death, the same way I was using him.
Jolene:
If he’s inserting himself, he knows something. He might slip up and say something we can use. I can be subtle.
Frankie:
Subtle isn’t your strong suit.
Jolene:
But is that a no?
A few minutes passed as I waited on Frankie. The bell rang and students got up from their seats to leave class. Julius stood and stretched.
Frankie:
Be careful. And don’t go anywhere alone with him.
“Hey, wait up.” I packed up my books and hurried after Julius. He stood outside the door next to one of the school’s newspaper stands. Picking up a paper off the stack, he handed it to me before starting out for his next period—lunch, I assumed, since he was pulling a bottle of pop out of his bag, along with salt-and-vinegar chips.
I looked down at the paper to see Maddie looking up at me.
I jogged up to catch him. “You know her well?”
“Four years together at North Shore.”
“Did she really fill Whitney Russell’s water bottle with vodka to get her suspended before homecoming queen nominations?”
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