Jex Malone (30 page)

“
Yoo-hoo.
Got a few goodies for you off the veggie tray,” says the infuriating Sandy, who waltzes into my father's kitchen without an invitation. How can my father the cop leave the back door unlocked? Then I realize that he never would leave anything to chance. Obviously, their relationship has escalated to the “she has a key” stage.

“Just be there,” I whisper to Deva before hanging up on her.

“Sweetie, I heard all about it!” Sandy chirps. “I used to fight like crazy with my daddy and I was grounded all the time. Now don't tell your father, but I'm just going to hang out here with you all night tonight like a little girls' night in, focus on bonding with a capital
B
.”

“The truth does not set you free.”

—Rachel Walling,
The Narrows

By 8:30
P.M.
, I might stand in the middle of my den and scream at the top of my lungs. For what seems like countless hours, Sandy has gone on and on about what a “special guy” my dad is and how strong and sensitive he really is—
get a clue, honey
—and what a great protector he is.
Blah. Blah. Blah.

She all but says she wants to marry him someday—which of course would be the ultimate curse on my existence. And then we actually watch
Pretty Woman
together, which Sandy says is a story that touches her heart—except for the part about the Julia Roberts character being a prostitute. That she disapproves of because it's clearly not part of Career Day at her high school.

Then a miracle happens thanks to a quick text to Nat. Sandy's cell phone rings—and I stifle a smile. “Oh my God,” Sandy shouts into it. “The water heater flooded the entire first floor. That was my super's girlfriend,” To me, she mouths, “Baby, I've got to jog home. My living room is now a lap pool.”

I give her a three-minute head start and then race to the den and grab my backpack. Carefully, I roll up the drawings, which I'm keeping under the couch now. When I'm sure the coast, or the driveway, is clear, I quietly slip out the front door into the darkness and oppressive night heat.

It's one of those evenings where clouds obscure the moon and the darkness feels like a heavy blanket suffocating your every breath.

I'm careful not to walk too quickly because there must be 200 people milling around the streets at the block party. Off in the distance, there are faint hints of lightning, and I stop for a minute to take a deep breath. You can almost smell the storm coming.

I can't find Deva, Nat, and Cissy, who tell me later that they were eating hot dogs just a block away and waiting for me, wondering how I was going to escape from my Dad-imposed prison. In fact, my so-called father does spy them and nods at them. Then he walks away.

It's a miracle our paths don't cross.

Small groups of neighbors mingle and laugh in the streets. I see plates filled with food and smell greasy ribs and spicy chicken cooking on grills. No one appears to be too worried about the rumbling thunder in the distance and everyone acts as if they don't even hear it. A shaft of very bright light at the end of the block suddenly catches my attention.

No freakin' way!

Katt Kaetan is broadcasting live from the party as part of her anniversary segment on Patty's disappearance. Why didn't it dawn on me that she might be here tonight? Regardless, I can't let her see me, so I reach into my backpack and pull out a Yankees ball cap and pull it low over my eyes.

All I can do is duck and weave, head down and feet eating up the concrete. Rounding the corner, I notice no one is gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Matthews or Foster homes. In the dark, humid night air, both dwellings look like the most uninviting places on earth because neither house has a single light on and both look a little bit haunted.

For the umpteenth time this summer, I'm a little scared, but this seems worse. I'm alone now.

No Nat.

No Cissy.

No Deva.

I'm so absorbed in looking at Mr. Foster's dark front porch where I stood with Nat and the credit card that I literally bounce back when a solid wall of something blocks my path.

I say a silent prayer that it isn't my father.

Strong, muscular arms wrap themselves tightly around me.

“Earth to Jex,” Cooper says, laughing and giving me a little hug, which I feel from my head to my toes. “I've been calling your name for like two minutes and it's like you're in some weird mental trance. Are you drinking the Kool-Aid?”

I'm not sure why, but I do the unthinkable and hug him back. Cooper stands there holding me for an extraordinary long minute, and it feels so good to have that solid wall of him supporting me that I wish this could go on forever, but it can't. And it shouldn't.

That's why he pushes me back a bit and reality interrupts. His smile quickly fades into a look of true concern.

“Hey, what's the matter?” he says. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Cooper!” I cry and what follows is one long run-on emotion. “I need to talk to you. I mean, I really need to talk to you and what time is it because we need to talk right now.”

“What time is it?” Cooper repeats, glancing at his watch. “It's about ten to nine. And why are you freaking? Did something happen today—or yesterday? Sorry I didn't call, but the week before the block party always wigs Ricki out.”

Taking a minute to breathe, I shake my head yes and then shake it no. Then I grab his warm, sun-kissed arm and guide him a few houses away from his own and his demented neighbor's death den.

“There is no privacy because of the party, but this is as quiet a spot as we can find. I have to talk to you. It's really important,” I repeat.

“Jex, calm down,” Cooper says, suddenly more than a little worried because obviously he's not used to dealing with frantic young women.

“You're breathing so hard that you're going to pass out.

“Was it Mr. Foster?” Cooper asks, and before I can answer I can feel the rage emanating from his body. “Did he do something to you? You know what? I saw you girls running out of his yard the other night.

“Did you eat a big plate of crazy?” Cooper scolds. “You really need to stay away from him. Don't prank his house. He could be dangerous.”

“He is dangerous!” I shout back. “And he did do something—something to your sister.”

For a minute, the earth stops rotating and everything goes quiet. I can read Cooper's thoughts.
His sister. Why was it always about his missing sister?

“We only have a few minutes. I'm grounded, which I know sounds ridiculous, but I have to get back to my house,” I ramble. “But you need to know something—right now. And I want to be the one who tells it to you,” I finish.

Cooper starts to listen, so I plunge right in. “It was thirteen years ago when your sister disappeared at this same party. It was a night like tonight with a lot of people milling around. Crowds were everywhere. But she was gone by morning,” I begin.

“What the hell … why are you doing this?” Cooper demands, his voice suddenly loud and harsh. He holds his ground while taking some kind of internal step backward at the same time.

“Despite what I told you the other night, I don't want to talk about my sister. Not now. Not ever!”

“Just listen to me because you might seriously hate me when I get done. But listen right now,” I interrupt. “Nat, Deva, Cissy and I have been looking into what happened to your sister. It started out as just something to do this summer. We were curious—and I'm stuck here with my father. We didn't mean to get so far into it. I know, it's stupid,” I try to explain.

“We figured that maybe the cops missed clues. So we started looking into what happened. I found my dad's case files and the more we read, the more we wanted to try to figure out why your sister was never found. That's why we really came to your house that day,” I continue in one long gush of words.

Cooper remains stony silent and now his hands are at his sides.

“Cooper, I'm almost done,” I insist. “I can't explain this, but we started to really
like
your sister. It was almost like she was our friend and, as time passed, we came to feel like it was our duty to find out what really happened to her.

“And now we've found out,” I finish in a quiet voice, my eyes locked on his tormented face.

Lightning flashes above and I start to shake. The wind kicks up and suddenly, dust is swirling around. In the distance, I hear the neighbors quickly packing up the food and yelling to get in the houses. Cooper and I stand in the street oblivious to it all.

“You did what? My sister is not your friend! You didn't even know her! I barely knew her!” Cooper screams in my face.

“You're just like everyone else in this town. Bored! So you butt into our family business like it's some horror movie. But it's not a movie. This happened to us. It happened to me!”

In the next minute, Cooper's eyes fall to the pavement and he looks suddenly exhausted. I know he just wants it to go away forever, but part of him knows he can never rest until he knows the truth. That question mark has been the biggest part of him and it eats away at him every single day.

“What did you find out? You might as well finish it! Finish it NOW!” Cooper screams even louder, his low voice causing as many booms as the thunder above.

I take a deep breath and let it all pour out.

“What we found out is in my backpack. It's the proof. It's the clue the cops never found,” I begin, gulping some heavy, humid air. By now, the lightning is getting closer and the thunder sounds like some heavy metal drum solo.

Cooper grabs me by my shoulders and looks hard into my face. “Just tell me!” he demands as big fat raindrops are launched down from the black night sky. They're so heavy and fast that they sting when they slap my tender skin.

Suddenly, I burst into heart-heavy sobbing tears and can barely speak.

“M … Mr. … Fos-ter. He did it. He killed your sister. We know this for, for sure,” I cry. “He dr … drew a pic-picture of where he bur-buried her and other girls, probably, too. He's a monster. A killer!”

“Kids disappear all the time.”

—Candy Bliss,
The Deep End of the Ocean

“There are pictures? Give them to me,” Cooper says with a newfound calmness that shocks me. By now both of us are halfway to being soaking wet. I have no choice but to take off my backpack and shove it hard at Cooper's midsection.

“They're in there. But don't take them out now. You'll ruin the evidence,” I say weakly.

Cooper grabs the backpack, turns around in the downpour, and starts walking in the opposite direction. I'm still standing in the street looking like a wet, crying fool.

He doesn't get far. Cooper runs smack into Nat, Deva, and Cissy, who take one look at me now sobbing hysterically and immediately rush to my side. A protective Cissy puts an arm around me while Deva blocks Cooper's path.

“What did you do to her?” Deva demands. “Because if you did something, you will be real sorry.”

I just cry harder while Cooper clutches the backpack and sidesteps Deva with ease. He walks with purpose down the street and for a horrifying instant, I think he might go to Mr. Foster's house and kill him right now to get it over with … once and for all.

I try to stop crying, attempt to catch my breath, and look at Nat. With all the calmness I can muster, I say, “We have to follow him, no matter what.

“He knows,” I shout. “And he's going to kill Mr. Foster.”

Without warning, Cooper breaks into a slow run and doesn't notice the four of us running a few steps behind him as the rain turns into a steady faucet of liquid falling from high above us. But Cooper doesn't run to Mr. Foster's house. Instead, he opens his own gate and with one wet hand lifts a warped wooden garage door.