Call Me Grim (15 page)

But in seven days, I won’t be able to pick up and drive wherever I want anymore. In seven days, it will be all Carroll Falls, all the time.

My insides churn, and I lift my foot off the gas slightly. Can I do this? Will I really be able to stay in this town, year after year, for eternity, or at least until another teen dies? Looking at the worn, red-brick buildings in the center of town, I think it’s impossible. I can sort of understand why Aaron is so ready to hand the hood and scythe over to me. Forty years stuck in this shit-town must’ve been miserable for him.

I parallel park in front of Foster’s and check the clock on the dashboard. It’s 3:10. If I really wanted to, I could change my mind. Right now. Aaron said if I change my mind within these seven days of training, even just a little bit, I will die the next time 3:12 p.m. rolls around, and right now it’s only two minutes away.

Something flutters in my peripheral vision and I glance up from the clock. Kyle sits at a high-top table at the window inside Foster’s by himself. One of his hands grips the glass dish of a half-eaten chocolate sundae, while the other hand gestures for me to come in and join him.

I guess there was a part of me that hoped the mark would be gone when I saw him again. Maybe I thought whatever had caused it would resolve on its own in the hours between our argument and now, but I was wrong. The mark is still there, displaying that mucky blackness across his face like a war wound.

I smile and wave.

“Hurry,” he mouths as he jabs his thumb toward the back of the restaurant, “Haley’s in the bathroom.”

I don’t know why I was thinking I could change my mind. I can’t. Not now. I have a puzzle to solve and a suicide to prevent. What kind of a friend would I be if I took the easy way out and just died?

I gather my phone and my purse, paste the smile back on my face, and head into the ice cream shop.

“Hey,” I say as I pull back a chair and sit next to him.

“Good of you to show up.” He glares at me from either side of his bubbling mark.

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“You don’t have to tell me, Libs.” He holds a hand up to stop me. “I don’t care. But before she gets back,” he leans over and whispers to me. His wavy, blond locks swing into his eyes, covering part of his mark. “Haley is pissed. I’ve never seen her this mad before. She doesn’t know you’re here. I had to lie to get her to come.”

“Aw, really?” I slap my hand against my forehead. “She’s that mad? I didn’t know that stupid history test meant so much to her.”

“Well,” he says as he picks at a callous on his thumb. “It’s not just the test.”

“It’s not? What else did I do? Is it about missing the Battle of the Bands?” I say, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer. Haley barrels across the crowded restaurant and snatches her bag off the table in front of me, like I’m going to steal it or something.

“What is
she
doing here?” Her eyes focus on Kyle, not even glancing in my direction.

“Hi, Haley,” I say to the back of her head, and she twists around to look at me, as if she’s just noticing me. Her usually pink, bowed lips press together and her eyes bore into mine. She’s more than angry, she’s hurt, and I can’t think of anything I could have done to hurt her this bad.

“I’m not talking to you,” she says. “I’m talking to him.”

“Look, I’m sorry about the test. I tried to fix it with Winkler, but you know him. He’s an asshole.”

“Do you really think this is about that stupid test?” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I already talked to Mr. Winkler. He gave me an A.”

“He gave you an A?” I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice. She’s always the teacher’s pet. “That’s not fair. I deserve an A, too. I studied hard for that test.”

“Well, he was sure you cheated for your A. And he has a good track record of As with me.”

I take a breath in through my nose and let it out slowly. I’m not going to get mad about this. The test doesn’t matter. Passing history doesn’t matter. Not even placing in the art show matters. I’m a walking dead girl. What matters is Haley. But if she got an A, then why does she look like she could tear my head off with her teeth and feed it to starving puppies?

“If it’s not about the test, then what’s wrong?”

“If you don’t know, then I’m not telling you. You can figure it out.” She looks back at Kyle. “I’ll see you later, Kyle. I’m not going to stay here with her. I’m walking home.” She whips around and her curly ponytail bounces as she stomps away.

“What is her problem?” I say to Kyle. He twirls his spoon in his hand and starts to say something, but Haley spins around and charges back to the table.

“And, one more thing…” Her hands are shaking balled fists at her sides. “I thought we were best friends. I thought we told each other everything. I told you everything…everything.” She gives me a look, and I know exactly what she means by “everything.” “How could you not tell me, Libbi?”

“Tell you what?” I really don’t know what “everything” of mine I should have told her, but if she thinks it’s the “everything” she shared with me, I haven’t even come close.

“You know what.” She takes off again, and this time she storms out the door.

Six months ago, Haley lost her virginity to her boyfriend, Mike. He ended up dumping her two months later, but that night she texted me almost as soon as it happened and then came right over to my house. We ignored Max’s incessant knocks at my door and stayed up all night, stuffing our faces with ice cream and chips, while she filled me in on every disgusting, but exciting, detail. She never told Kyle any of it. She said he would find Mike and kill him if he knew. I’d laughed at that then, but now, with that gaping mark across Kyle’s face, I sort of wonder if she was right.

I don’t know what she heard, but if Haley’s pissed because she thinks I lost my virginity without telling her about it, she got some seriously bad info. I couldn’t even think about kissing Aaron without feeling like I was going to throw up.

“Do you know what she’s talking about?” I ask Kyle. He shakes his head and then stands up. His drumsticks are in his hand before I even notice him reaching for them. “Yes, you do. She’s your twin sister. You have to know.”

“I know she’s mad about something other than the test,” he says without meeting my eyes. He taps a quick rhythm on the table. “I should go after her. I don’t want her walking home alone. There are crazy people out there.”

Travis and Scott pop into my mind and I shake my head to get rid of the terrible image. Kyle’s right. Haley shouldn’t walk home alone. Not with people like that around.

“Wait, I’ll come with you,” I say as I throw my purse over my shoulder.

“No, Libbi.” He places a hand on my arm and pushes me back in my seat. The black stuff inside of his mark bubbles like it did when he was angry with me. Maybe he still is. “Let me handle it. She needs time to cool down. If you come, you’ll just make it worse.”

“Okay,” I say. What else can I say? Haley doesn’t even want to tell me why she’s mad. “I’ll text you later. Okay?”

“If you remember,” he says, and then he pushes through the crowded store. The front door bangs against the wall when he barrels through it. And I’m alone.

What the hell was that? I almost follow him anyway, despite the warning to give Haley some space, but decide not to. It might make him angrier than he already is. The more pissed they are at me, the lower my chances are of fixing Kyle’s mark. I only have seven days to figure all of this out. I can’t afford to make things more difficult for myself than they already are.

I weave my way through the tables to the counter. I planned on eating a Chocolate Decadence sundae this afternoon when I thought I was going to die. Even though it won’t be my last meal, I still want that sundae. Screw the carbs. I order a large Chocolate Decadence sundae with extra hot fudge, to go.

As I turn, bag and change in hand, I glimpse Mrs. Lutz strolling by the front window of the ice cream shop. Her broad shoulders sag with the weight of the bags dangling from her hands. Her round face drips with sweat, but I can still see the thin, black line of the mark cutting through her soul.

Aaron said she was marked when she unknowingly helped someone change the Death Plan. It doesn’t seem fair for her to get a mark when she didn’t even know what she was doing. It’s almost as unfair as marking someone for committing suicide.

Who makes these stupid rules, anyway? Is it that guy Abaddon Aaron keeps talking about? It’s obviously not Aaron. He was almost in tears when he talked about Mrs. Lutz and her mark.

Wait. Before her perfume forced me to leave the computer lab, Mrs. Lutz said she knew Aaron before he disappeared. She said he would never do what they say he did. But Aaron admitted to me at Jumpers’ Bridge that he’s a murderer.

Did Mrs. Lutz help Aaron kill someone without realizing it? Is that why she’s marked? If so, no wonder he got all defensive when I asked him about her. He’s the reason she’s marked. He’s the reason Mrs. Lutz may be doomed to Hell.

I have to talk to her.

I sprint across the shop to the front door and slam it open, almost smacking a little boy with the metal handle.

“Mrs. Lutz!” I call as I run down the street after her. She stops. The bags in her hands swing when she spins around to see who’s called her name.

“Mrs. Lutz,” I say again and wave. “Wait a minute.”

She transfers her bags to one hand, shades her eyes with the other, and squints. When I’m close enough for her to see me, she drops her hand from her forehead and smiles. Though I probably shouldn’t call it a smile, it’s more of a grimace.

“Libbi?” She takes a few steps toward me. The breeze lifts her heavily hair-sprayed bangs in one stiff piece.

“Hi, Mrs. Lutz.” I clear my throat. “Are you in a hurry?”

“I was on my way home, actually.” Her eyebrows wrinkle together in the middle. “Why? Wasn’t one joke enough?”

“What?” I say, but then I remember. When I first asked her about Aaron, she thought I was messing with her. “I wasn’t joking the other day. I really do want to know about Aaron. Do you have a minute to talk?”

She studies me for a few seconds and then purses her lips.

“I really need to get home,” she says. “Maybe another time.”

“Please?” I dangle my Foster’s bag in front of her. “I’ll buy you ice cream…”

Her dark brown eyes narrow as she considers my offer. “Tempting, but honestly, I don’t know what I could tell you.” Her gaze slips from me to the sidewalk at her feet. “I don’t know much.”

“Maybe. But you knew him, right?”

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Then that’s all I need.”

“And this isn’t some strange joke?”

“I wouldn’t know how to joke about this, Mrs. Lutz. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Then why did you run out of the computer lab the other day?” She tilts her head knowingly. “Running off to tell your friends how you pulled one over on me, I imagine.”

“No. That’s not it.” How can I explain my reaction to her perfume without hurting her feelings? “It was my asthma. I wasn’t running from you. I swear.” I hold my hand up in front of me in a pledge. “Please, come back to Foster’s with me. I promise, I’m not messing with you.”

She scrutinizes me for what feels like forever and I think she’s about to refuse again, but she surprises me.

“Oh, all right. I guess I could use a scoop of mint chocolate chip. I’ve had a rough day.” She relaxes her shoulders and her face softens into a real smile, not the grimace she gave me before. For someone about as old as my grandma, she’s actually quite pretty when she smiles.

“So, why are you so interested in Aaron Shepherd?” Mrs. Lutz asks as she settles into the same window seat Kyle had occupied.

I take a bite of my sundae. I have to think fast. If I say something wrong, she’ll probably grab her ice cream—glass and all—and bolt out the door faster than Max bolts from a dark room.

“A girl mentioned his name in class,” I say after the ice cream in my mouth melts and I have no choice but to swallow and answer. “I asked who she was talking about and the teacher told me to look it up.”

“Did you find anything?”

“I found an article in the library about him, but that asthma attack made it impossible for me to stay in there and read it. Dust allergy…” Mrs. Lutz doesn’t need to know it was her perfume that set it off. “Um…that’s why I came into the computer lab. I wanted to Google him. But the asthma wouldn’t settle down and I had to get outside. So I still don’t know anything about him. But I thought, since you knew him, you might have more information than Google or an old newspaper anyway.”

That sounds good to me. It must sound good to Mrs. Lutz too, because she nods and digs her spoon into her ice cream. Her soul shimmers around her like glowing cellophane, but the thin black line of her mark still cuts her face in two. What did she do to deserve that? I wish I could just ask her, but I can’t. It will take finesse to get that info out of her.

“You’re right.” She talks around the glob of green ice cream in her mouth. “Those newspapers are full of lies. Which article did you find?”

“I only read the headline, but it said something like ‘Teen Murderer Disappears’.”

Mrs. Lutz drops her spoon, and it clinks against the glass dish. “See? Lies. I know for a fact Aaron didn’t kill anyone.”

I would disagree with her, given the confession Aaron gave me a few hours ago, but it’s probably best if I keep that to myself.

“Really?” I say instead. I lean in and fold my hands on the table in front of me. “What do you know about it?”

“I just know he didn’t do it.” Fear flashes across her face, and then her lips form a thin, determined line. I can almost see the curtains behind her eyes swinging closed. Stupid. I knew coming at her directly wouldn’t work. She’s too guarded. I need a different approach. Now. Before I lose her.

“Okay, Aaron didn’t do it. But who was he accused of killing?”

Mrs. Lutz props her elbows on the table and leans toward me. I take a bite of my Chocolate Decadence sundae and gooey, hot-fudge goodness coats my mouth.

“He was
accused
of killing his mother and stepfather,” she says. “The town gossips say he bludgeoned them to death in front of his little sister. They say that witnessing the murders drove poor Sara insane. More lies, of course.”