Her mother glanced at the table. “That salad looks terrific.” She reached into the cupboard for two glasses. “I’ll pour us some iced tea.”
Jenna finished stirring the strawberries into the yogurt. When she turned to set the bowl on the table, she realized her mother was still standing in front of the refrigerator. The glasses sat empty on the counter.
“Mom?”
Meredith Ward was staring at something on the refrigerator door. She lifted her hand as if it were made of concrete and pressed it against a sheet of paper.
Jenna looked over her mother’s shoulder. The door was plastered with photos, dentist and doctor appointment cards, lists, cartoons, and various clutter all held in place by an assortment of magnets. She saw that her mother’s hand was resting on a sheet of lined notepaper. Jenna recognized her father’s “Honey Do” list.
“Who crossed this off?” Her mother’s voice was barely audible.
“Crossed what off?” But Jenna knew she was talking about the first item on the list: PATCH LEAK IN ROOF. She wanted to snatch the paper from the door and tear it into a thousand pieces.
A deep, gut-wrenching moan came from her mother. It was so sudden and so startling that Jenna could only close her eyes and press her lips tightly together. And for one agonizing moment the cry felt as if it were coming from her own body.
When she opened her eyes, she saw her mother standing with her forehead against the refrigerator door, her hand still on the list, shaking with convulsive sobs. Jenna put her arms around her and led her to a chair.
Then, because she needed to be doing something, she poured two glasses of iced tea and set one in front of her mother along with a box of Kleenex.
Meredith had stopped crying. She grabbed a handful of tissues and blew her nose. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That list has been there for weeks. I’ve been in and out of the refrigerator a hundred times since that day, but I never even noticed. Then, suddenly, there it is, staring me right in the face.”
Jenna wished she had thrown the list away that same morning she had crossed off the first chore. “I’ll clean off the fridge for you, okay? There’s a lot of old junk stuck up there.”
“Sometimes these things just catch me off guard.” Her mother wiped her eyes with the wad of tissues. “The other day I was rummaging in the medicine cabinet for the Visine—I hate going around with my eyes all red—and there was this stuff that was supposed to make his hair grow … he was so worried about losing his hair. I just stood there holding that bottle, and suddenly I burst into tears.”
Jenna shifted uneasily in her chair.
“I guess that phone call this afternoon set me off,” her mother said.
“What phone call?”
Her mother didn’t answer. Instead she reached for another handful of tissues. Then she picked up her glass of iced tea, lifted it in the direction of the sliding glass doors that led to the deck, and said, “Let’s go outside for a while, okay? We need to talk.”
Jenna glanced at the clock. It was only five-thirty. There would still be enough time to eat and take a shower before Jason came. But something in the way her mother had said “We need to talk” had put her on guard. In the days before her father’s death, that usually meant Jenna was in some kind of trouble.
Still, her instincts told her this was far more serious. So she followed her mother onto the deck and sat across from her. Her suspicions were confirmed when her mother leaned forward, gently rested her hand on Jenna’s arm, and said that Chief Zelenski had called her at work that afternoon.
8
every muscle in Jenna’s body felt cemented in place. She did not dare move or breathe. Had the police found her father’s killer? For whenever she tried to picture the person behind that lethal trigger, she could only think of him as a murderer. A cold-blooded killer. It did not matter that the shooting had been an accident. It would never matter. “Well, what did he say? Did they find the person who did it?”
Her mother shook her head. “No. But he says the ballistics team traced the path of the bullet to within a four-block area.”
Four blocks. Somewhere within a mere four blocks the killer might be sitting in his home. Maybe watching television, or eating dinner. Normal stuff. Jenna noticed her hands had begun to shake, and she set her glass of iced tea on the arm of the chair. “So now what?”
“Well, Dave says the local police have been going door-to-door asking questions. They’re trying to find out who has a gun that matches the bullet.”
An aborted laugh stuck in Jenna’s throat. “You’re serious, right? They really think, with all the publicity about the accident, that anybody’s going to admit they even own a gun?”
Her mother unwrapped the towel from her head, wiped her swollen eyes with it, then began to rub her wet hair. “They have records,” she said. “Handguns have to be registered. They know who owns what.”
“What if it wasn’t a handgun?”
Her mother’s eyes met hers, and Jenna could almost feel her disappointment. “You mean maybe it was a rifle?”
Jenna shrugged. “Why not?”
“I’m not sure rifles have to be registered.” Her mother combed the wet strands of hair with her fingers and stared out at the woods behind the house. “If it was a rifle, then it might be harder for them to track down.” Her mother’s words came slowly.
“Or what if it’s an illegal handgun?” Jenna said. “Not everybody plays by the rules, Mom.”
Her mother looked upset. Jenna knew just how she felt. They had been waiting for three weeks for news, hoping that by now the police had found something, anything, to give them both a little peace of mind.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to leave it up to them.” Meredith Ward stood up and headed toward the sliding glass door. “In the meantime, let’s go enjoy that lovely dinner you made.”
“I’m not very hungry,” Jenna told her. “You go ahead.”
Meredith nodded as if she understood. “I have to admit, I don’t have much of an appetite myself.”
Jenna couldn’t say why, but she had an eerie sense that Chief Zelenski hadn’t told them everything. Maybe her mother was willing to leave it all up to the police, but Jenna couldn’t bear the thought of just sitting back and doing nothing.
as soon as her mother went inside, Jenna raced down the steps and headed for town. If Chief Zelenski was holding out on them, she wanted to know why. She ran the whole way to the police station, and when she came bursting through the front door, the officer at the desk, an overweight man with a red jowly face, merely stared at her with tired, indifferent eyes. Jenna recognized him as Doug Boyle, the officer all the kids called the Hangman, although she had no idea why.
“I need to see Chief Zelenski,” she told him, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her arm.
“You’re that Ward kid, right?”
Jenna nodded.
Officer Boyle was eyeing her suspiciously. “Is this an emergency?”
“It’s important.”
“Yeah, but is it an emergency?”
Jenna was growing angrier by the minute. Apparently her reputation for making daily phone calls to the station was well known. “No. But I need to talk to him.”
“Well, he just stepped out.” Doug Boyle jerked his thumb in the direction of the clock on the wall. “He’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”
Jenna looked around, saw a row of brown plastic chairs by the wall near the front door, and said she’d wait.
Boyle shrugged. “Suit yourself. He’s gonna be tied up for a while when he gets back. Probably won’t be able to see you right away.”
If an ax had been handy, Jenna thought, she would have hacked the man’s desk into splinters. She had an overwhelming need to smash her fist into something—a window, a door, Boyle’s face, something she could damage.
Doug Boyle probably already knew the major suspects in the case. He had information that she, Jenna, had every right to. But she knew he wasn’t ab
out to give it out. She forced her body to move toward the chairs, took a seat, and tried to calm herself down. She couldn’t let Chief Zelenski see her like this. He would think she was just some irrational teenage girl. And maybe, in that moment, she was. Because for the first time since her father’s death, she felt a passionate desire for revenge.
the police chief was no more help than Doug Boyle. But at least he took the time to talk to her when he got back, although all he did was confirm that they were in the process of questioning people from the area the ballistics team had outlined.
“Which is where?” Jenna asked.
“You don’t need to know that,” he said. The wire-rimmed glasses slid down his nose, just as they had on that first morning.
Jenna shrugged. “It’s probably all over town by now, anyway. I’ll just ask Mrs. Rico.” Annie Rico worked behind the cosmetics counter at her husband’s pharmacy and was always delighted to share what she knew, which was just about everything that was going on in town.
Chief Zelenski pulled at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re right. Annie Rico probably does know.” Then he laughed. “I should talk to her. I bet she knows more about this case than I do.”
Jenna was not amused. She left the police station feeling as if nobody really cared, although Dave Zelenski had been very nice about it all, including her steady stream of daily phone calls.
Not surprisingly, Mrs. Rico did know which area the police were investigating. She leaned over the cosmetics counter conspiratorially—so far over, in fact, that Jenna could clearly see the half inch of dark roots at the base of her bright yellow hair—and whispered with her Listermint breath that the cops were bound to nail the killer any day now. Then she told Jenna that the four-block area was on the other side of town, between Maple and Elm streets, west of Main Street.
Jenna felt humiliated at having to ask the town gossip for information she believed should have come from the police, but she was desperate to know, and Mrs. Rico was her only source.
Once she stepped outside the pharmacy, however, Jenna had no idea where to begin. What was she going to do? Go from door to door herself? The police were already doing that. Disappointed, she headed back home, only to find Jason sitting in the living room drinking a Pepsi and talking to her mother.
Jenna’s hand went instinctively to her hair, which clung to her sweating face and neck in clumps. She shoved her damp hair behind her ears, mortified. She must have looked a fright. Even worse, she had completely forgotten their date.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, trying to act as if she hadn’t really forgotten about him at all. “I had something I needed to do.”
Her mother and Jason were staring at her openly.
“No problem,” Jason said. “I just got here.”
“Give me a minute to change my clothes, okay? I’ll be right back.” Then, without waiting for a response, she darted upstairs.
on the bus on the way to the mall, Jason said, “Your mom told me what the ballistics team found out. That’s good news.”
“Yeah, it is.” She hadn’t felt this awkward around Jason since seventh grade. But at least she wasn’t having those weird panicky feelings that she’d had earlier. “How’s your science project?” she asked, because she had no idea what else to talk about.
“Okay. Vacation set me back, but I’m coming up to speed.”
“So you think it’ll be ready for Westinghouse?” Jason was working on an electronic device of some sort that could draw energy from the sun to power space vehicles. He planned to enter it in the Westinghouse Science Talent Search when it was ready. Jason’s passion for science was one of the things she loved best about him.
He nodded, then began talking about a problem he’d run into with the experiment. Jenna settled back in her seat and relaxed. She knew he’d be going on about the project for the rest of the bus ride.
When they reached the theater, Jenna was relieved to see that the coming attractions had already begun, which meant she wouldn’t have to talk. Not until the movie was over, anyway.
Jason offered her some popcorn, then wedged the container between his knees. If he sensed anything was wrong between them, he didn’t let on.
He had asked her to choose the movie, and she had tried to pick something they would both enjoy, finally deciding on a comedy that a lot of their friends had been talking about. But Jenna found it difficult to concentrate. She couldn’t stop thinking about the investigation. What was even worse, the film was one of those buddy-cop movies.
Her attention began to wander, coming to rest on a girl who sat in the section across the aisle. She had taken the last seat in her row. Something about the way the girl’s body was turned, her back partially pressed against the wall, made her seem on guard. Most of the seats on that side of the room were empty, including all the seats in the row where the girl sat. The majority of people, like Jason and Jenna, had chosen to sit in the middle section.
Jenna wondered if the girl was alone. She couldn’t imagine coming to a movie without a friend or a date. It struck her as an incredibly brave thing to do. That was when she suddenly realized that the person she had been staring at all this time was Amy Ruggerio. Jenna’s shoulders twitched involuntarily. Amy Ruggerio was two years ahead of her in school. Jenna didn’t know her personally but, like everyone else, knew her reputation.
So she wasn’t at all surprised to see some guy casually slip in next to her, put his arm around her as if she were his exclusive property, and let his hand slide along her thigh. She wondered if this was Amy’s date. Did boys actually date Amy Ruggerio? But then she saw Amy stiffen, jerk her leg away from the boy’s grasp, and press herself even closer to the wall.
She would have kept watching them, Amy and this boy, who were far more interesting than the movie, if Jason hadn’t set the empty popcorn container on the sticky floor and slipped his arm around her shoulders. Loud music blasted out at them from the speakers, followed by an onslaught of gunshots. The screen was ablaze with action. Jenna felt Jason’s grip on her shoulder tighten. And that was when her heart began to race all over again.
She would have expected her heart to pound wildly when he touched her, just as it always did. But not like this. This was … She stumbled around for the word she wanted. Fear. Yes, that was it: fear. Was it possible that her feelings for Jason, a major part of her life for so long, had changed? And changed drastically? She was so stunned by this betrayal, she did not know what to think.
This was a horrible feeling, a feeling so suffocating that she thought she might pass out. Slowly she rose to her feet, mumbled something about the rest room, and stumbled up the aisle, terrified that she might faint in front of all these people.
Once in the rest room, she grabbed hold of the countertop that surrounded the row of sinks and tried to focus on her breathing. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. But it wasn’t working. She couldn’t seem to get control of her body. She felt dizzy. The room was too bright. She glanced up at the fluorescent light overhead. It hurt her eyes.
Then the light seemed to be moving, swirling, in a kind of black-and-white whirlpool. Her knees could no longer hold her. She was going down, sinking. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
The hands on her shoulders were strong and competent but somehow gentle, too. They guided her body into a seat, rolling her shoulders forward so that her head was between her knees.
A voice floated above her. “Keep your head down, okay? Try to take a deep breath.”
The hands were still on her shoulders, gently working the tight muscles. “Try to relax.”
When she dared to open her eyes, Jenna realized she was staring upside down at the porcelain base of a toilet. Stunned, she bolted upright, coming face-to-face with Amy Ruggerio.
“There aren’t any paper bags in here. This’ll have to do.” She handed Jenna a paper towel bunched up with a small opening at one end. “Breathe into this. You need to inhale and exhale in deep breaths
.”
Jenna did as Amy had instructed, and gradually she began to feel less light-headed.
“You were hyperventilating,” Amy told her. “You almost fainted.”
Jenna blinked, trying to get her bearings.
Amy stared down at the toilet and shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the only place in here where you can sit.”
Jenna nodded. “It’s okay.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Thanks.”
Amy smiled. She soaked a paper towel with cold water and put it on the back of Jenna’s neck. “See if this helps.”
The cool water felt good on her skin, which only minutes earlier had prickled with sweat.
“I’ll be okay,” Jenna told her. “You should get back to your date.”
Amy frowned, as if she wasn’t at all sure what Jenna was talking about. “I came to the movie alone.”
“But that guy …” Jenna squeezed her eyes closed. How could she be so stupid? Now Amy would know she’d been watching them.
But Amy didn’t seem to notice. She rummaged through her enormous shoulder bag and pulled out a compact. “That guy,” she informed Jenna, turning to face the mirror, “is not my date. He’s a creep.” She began to smooth powder over her shiny forehead. “They get these ideas, you know? They hear things and then they think …” Amy tossed her free hand in the air, shrugged, and shook her head, as if that said it all.
Jenna watched her pull a lip liner from her bag and go to work on her lips. She wanted to ask Amy if this sort of thing happened to her a lot. But she didn’t dare. She had no business prying into Amy’s personal life. “I guess I’d better get back.”
“Are you sure you feel all right?” Amy turned to look at her; her dark eyes were full of concern.