Sketchy Behavior (14 page)

“Have you always liked art?” one man with something of an afro asked.

“I assume that a career as a criminal sketch artist is in your future?” a lady wearing a suit that looked like it was from the eighties said.

“Anything you’d care to say to John X?”

The last question was from a man in the back. He was tall, blond, and had the prettiest chocolate-brown eyes I’d ever seen. He’d introduced himself as Rick Litchfield from a southern St. Louis station.

If I lived in St. Louis, I would definitely be watching his news station.

I wasn’t a huge fan of his questioning skills though.

I thought about it, looking at the big green
x
in the EXIT sign hanging over the conference room’s closed doors.

If I had anything to say to John X …

I would want to know why. Why did he kill those four innocent women? They hadn’t done anything to him, he didn’t know them from anywhere. They were just moms, wives, girlfriends minding their own business, going about their own day. Not causing any harm to anyone.

I would want to know if he was sorry. Judging from the one picture I’d seen of him in prison, I would guess no, but it never hurt to ask.

I would want to know how many people he had working for him. He had at least one friend who liked to wear a hooded sweatshirt. How many more?

I leaned forward to the microphone. “I’d say enjoy that prison pot roast.”

The reporters all started laughing. Rick Litchfield in the back smiled.

“Good answer,” he said.

“That does it for today,” Deputy Slalom said gruffly. “Thank you for coming to the press conference, enjoy your day.”

Both he and Detective Masterson stood, and I followed suit. We stepped off the risers and they escorted me, Mom, and Dad into Deputy Slalom’s office.

“Great job, honey,” Mom said, giving me a hug. “You looked beautiful up there.”

“Did you really have to end with a threat to John X?” Dad asked, face tight. “Come on, Kate.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t a threat.” I looked at Detective Masterson. “Did it sound like a threat?”

He looked at me and my dad and chose his words carefully. “It was a, uh, tease,” he said. “But you managed to end on a light note and for that, I’m grateful. Coffee, anyone? Tea? Coke?”

“Coke,” I said. Deputy Slalom was nodding to the chairs in front of his desk, so I sat.

“Nothing, thanks,” Dad said, sitting down next to me. Mom asked for a bottle of water and then sat on the other side of me.

Detective Masterson went to go get the drinks, and Deputy Slalom sat behind his desk, knitted his fingers together, and laid his fists on the desk.

“So, we’ll just hang out in here for a bit, just so they all leave.” He looked out his window where several of the news people were now giving reports in the parking lot. He sighed. “Might be awhile.”

Detective Masterson came back with my Coke, a bottle of water for Mom, and two Snapple Peach Teas. He handed one to the deputy and kept the other for himself.

“Anyway, good job, Kate. I thought you did very well handling yourself,” Deputy Slalom said in his gruff voice after a long swig of peach tea.

“Thanks.”

“Professional and short answers. I like that.”

I nodded. “Did anything turn up at that grocery store in Ballwin?” I asked.

He took another long sip of his tea. “Not yet, Kate. Give it time. We’ve got a team down there, but phone tips can take weeks, if not months, to turn up anything.”

“You guys got John X awfully quick,” I said.

“That was completely a matter of being at the right place and at the right time with the right photograph,” he said. “I heard you aren’t going to school anymore.” He looked at Dad as he said it.

“Yes, sir. And it’s completely my decision,” I said, taking the blame away from my dad. “The parents of the other kids at school were starting to keep their kids home so they wouldn’t have to worry about them standing in the same hallway as me and getting shot.”

Deputy Slalom rolled his eyes. “It’s those panicky people that make my job so much harder than it really is,” he said. “The last thing this guy or John X wants is another murder other than yours to chalk up to his name. He’s already facing the death penalty. Committing a crime against a minor isn’t going to help his case.”

I popped the top on my Coke. “Still, that’s the way it is at South Woodhaven Falls High.”

“Okay. Well, hopefully, something will turn up on this shooter in Ballwin. In the meantime, keep up with your studies. And, Kate,” he said, his voice getting softer, “did you get a chance to consider my offer from last time?”

I shook my head in mid-swallow. “No, sir. Not yet.”

“No worries,” he said. “Take your time.”

Mom and Dad were looking at me curiously, but I did my best to ignore them and finish my Coke.

There would be plenty of time for questions later.

S
UNDAY MORNING AND MOM DECIDED WE WERE ALL GOING
to church again. “I don’t know what’s going on here right now, but I know that we can’t handle this by ourselves,” she said last night at dinner. “Now, DJ and Kent will be along with us to watch out for Kate’s safety, so we have no excuses,” she said, cutting off my dad before he even got a word out of his open mouth.

I was pretty sure that Dad wasn’t too excited about it.

But we all piled into the Tahoe at ten o’clock on Sunday morning. I was wearing a pair of jeans and a nicer top. Detective Masterson had dressed up in khakis and a button-down. Mom was wearing one of her business suits minus the jacket.

The first service was just leaving at South Woodhaven Falls First Baptist Church when we got there. I saw Sister Elizabeth Parker talking animatedly with the man who stood on the stage asking for amens last week.

“Kate!” someone yelled.

I looked around and Justin Walters was waving at me, leaving his group of friends to come say hi.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, smiling. “You’re just getting here, right?”

I nodded, noticing Detective Masterson not-so-subtly grin at DJ. “Yes, we just got here,” I said loudly, moving so the two cops weren’t behind me. Hopefully, Justin didn’t notice them.

He grinned wider. “Great! You guys can sit with my family. Come on in.” He waved to his group of friends and led us into the big meeting room.

It looked a lot different from last week. The organ was still on the stage, but it was buried behind a set of drums. Three guitars, a bass, lots of microphones, and a few skinny, punked-out guys were up there. The guys were milling around, adjusting their girl pants and swiping their longish hair out of their eyes.

I glanced over at Dad, who was already shaking his head. I don’t think Dad liked the hymns last week, but he really hates men in women’s clothing or hairstyles. Dad believes that all guys should have buzz cuts and wear pants that fit relaxed in the rear and legs.

Justin had a buzz cut. And was wearing simple, straight-cut jeans.

“Guys, this is my mom and dad,” he said, pointing to one pew where a blonde woman and a gray-haired man sat. “Lucinda and Jason,” he said.

My parents introduced themselves, and I shook their hands as well. We introduced DJ and the detective as old family friends.

Lucinda clasped my hand tightly. “How are you, dear? We’ve been praying so hard for you!”

“Uh, good. Thanks.” Her hand was squeezing my first and fourth knuckles together. It kind of hurt.

“Yes, we have!” Justin’s dad boomed. “And Dale, if you need anything, you just holler, okay?” He clapped my dad’s shoulder.

Dad just nodded.

Someone plucked a couple of strings on a guitar, and the lights immediately dimmed everywhere except for the stage. We all filed into the pew, except for DJ, who was going to stand in the back. He whispered some lame excuse about having a bad back to Lucinda when she protested that there was plenty of room in the pew.

I knew he was back there to keep an eye on things. I sat between Dad and Detective Masterson and looked up at the stage.

“Hi,” one of the girly looking guys said. “My name is Shaun, and welcome to SWF First Baptist. Let’s worship, shall we?”

He strummed down his electric guitar, and the drummer and other two guitarists and bass player picked up the beat.

Shaun started to sing and the words suddenly appeared behind him on a big screen that I hadn’t noticed last week.

The weird, flamboyant monk outfits were nowhere to be seen. Everyone around us immediately stood and started singing, raising their hands and moving to the beat of the music.

I felt like I was at a concert. Only, a weird, sing-along concert.

It sounded like the detective knew all the words. I could hear Mom trying to sing along as well. Dad just stood and stared at the stage.

I tried to sing. There was no mention of Zion or dost or thou or any of those weird words that I wasn’t sure what they meant.

“We are hungry, we are hungry,” the lead guy sang. He really had a great voice. And while the song was actually making me hungry, I did enjoy listening to it.

I peeked around Dad and Mom and saw Justin singing with his eyes closed and his right hand lifted about waist high.

I didn’t get the raising hands thing. It was like half the people here were calling that it was their turn to sing next or saying they had a question.

I had a question. If we were so hungry, why were they only serving the tiniest fragments of crackers and the smallest glasses of grape juice I’d ever seen to wash it down with? It was like what I imagined you gave an infant for their first meal.

The same man who talked last Sunday got back on the stage. Only now he wasn’t wearing a suit coat or a tie or even nice pants. He’d pulled the tail of his button-down shirt out and had changed into straight-cut jeans.

“Thanks, Shaun,” he said into his wireless lapel microphone. No more standing behind a lectern, he just carried a worn Bible and carried a stool over to the middle of the stage.

“Good morning,” he said warmly, sitting on the stool and opening his Bible. He taught for about thirty minutes, and he didn’t once say the word “amen” except at the end of a prayer.

No one said it in the audience either. And after he finished teaching, the band came back up and did one more chorus from one of the songs they’d sung earlier.

Afterward, the people around me exploded out of their seats.

“Hi!” one very exuberant boy about the age of ten or so said, popping up behind me. “You’re Kate Carter!”

I nodded. “What’s your name?”

“James,” he said, grinning, two dimples appearing on both of his cheeks.

Justin stood and leaned around Mom and Dad. “This is my little brother.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, nice to meet you, James.”

A bunch of people came over then to talk to the new family, I guess, but I noticed that Detective Masterson was looking more and more anxious about the growing crowd.

“Wow, Kate Carter!” one high school–aged boy said, coming over. “I’m Sam Lawry, and can I say that you are one of the bravest girls I’ve ever heard of?” He stuck out his hand to me. “I’ve always hoped we’d meet at school, but the grade difference probably prevents it.”

I squinted at him.
Sam Lawry
was ringing bells and I wasn’t sure why. “Have we met already?” I asked, and even though it sounded like a horrendous pickup line, I really thought we’d already met.

“I play on the football team,” he said, grinning one of those “I’m important” smiles at me. “Defensive end.”

He could have told me the name of the part of the car that makes it go forward for all I understood about his last sentence. “Cool,” I said like I knew what he meant.

“We should get together and talk or something,” he said.

Right then, three squealing girls ran over.

“WE SAW YOU ON TV!” they screamed.

“Oh my gosh, that was
so
cool,” another guy chimed in.

Soon, it was a loud madhouse. I couldn’t see my parents anymore. Somehow, I’d gotten sucked into this circle of kids who were all going crazy.

Detective Masterson reached into the mob, grabbed my forearm, and hustled me toward the door. “No more teenage hormones,” he mumbled as he yanked me outside.

DJ was also looking concerned as he hurried over to help get Mom and Dad, and the two cops rushed us to the Tahoe.

“Okay,” Detective Masterson sighed when we were all in the car. “Kate, no offense to your social life, but I liked it better when no one wanted to talk to you.”

Mom frowned her disapproval of his comment but refrained from making one herself.

Dad was shaking his head. “Did you see the pants on that singer guy?”

I had to smile.

We got home and piled out of the Tahoe. The day was beautiful. I sniffed. Something smelled really good. One of our neighbors must be barbecuing.

I walked to the front door and stopped.

Instead of the usual assortment of flowers, there was a pan covered in aluminum foil sitting right in front of the door.

Detective Masterson joined me, saw the pan, and immediately moved into police mode. He called for DJ to come help him and together they slowly approached the pan. One of them reached down and pulled a white card off the top of it.

In the process, they nudged the foil, and the savory scent of roasting beef was even stronger.

I froze.

“What is it?” Mom asked, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She squinted at the foil-covered meat and nodded. “See? People
should always send food instead of flowers. I wish this idea had caught on a long time ago.”

I stayed rooted where I was on the porch. Detective Masterson’s chin was set so hard, I worried about his back molars.

DJ exchanged a look first with the detective and then with me.

“What is it?” Dad asked, echoing Mom behind me.

It was a pot roast.

Barely ten minutes passed by before our yard was swimming with cops. Uniforms were everywhere — in the house, in the bushes, combing the neighbors’ yard.

The fabulous-smelling pot roast had gotten shipped off to the police station for testing, but not before I’d seen the note.

I’m nothing if not generous
,
Kate.

It wasn’t signed, but we all knew who it was from. He had nice handwriting, that friend of John X’s.

I was watching out the front window. A forensics team was scouring the front yard for footprints, hair, anything that might lead them to the shooter from the parade.

DJ came back inside then, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses off his face. He looked over at me. “You doing okay, Kate?”

I nodded. I was kneeling on the couch, holding the curtain back with one hand, my chin balanced on the back of my other hand, which was on the back of the couch.

I watched as two policemen bagged just about everything in our front yard except for Mom’s frog garden decoration that sat in the front flower pot. But sod, dirt, leaves — you name it, and it got stuck in a bag with a label on it.

“Look at it this way, Kate. It was a pot roast. It wasn’t a gun, it wasn’t someone waiting for us when we got home. It was just a harmless pot roast.”

Harmless to everyone except the cow, I guess.

I nodded again, though, because I knew that was what DJ wanted me to do. “Okay,” I said.

He gave me a sad smile and went into the kitchen, where Detective Masterson and a few other cops were having a powwow around our kitchen table.

Mom and Dad were sitting on the other couch. Dad hadn’t said anything else about the pot roast comment I’d made, but I knew he was thinking it.

I felt bad. If I’d just brushed off the reporter’s question, our house wouldn’t have become the newest branch of the South Woodhaven Falls police department.

I should’ve just said that I didn’t have anything to say to John X.

I let the drape fall back down and turned to look at Mom and Dad. They were watching the news. All media vans had been blocked at the top of the street, so they were reporting from the corner.

“And I’m getting another report, hang on a second,” Candace Olstrom, the peppy, blonde reporter, squealed to the camera. She turned to a guy I didn’t recognize who wasn’t from the police department, because he wasn’t in uniform, and talked to him quietly for a minute. Then she turned back to the camera.

“Well, it seems that authorities are still busy trying to find out who left a mysterious package on heroine Kate Carter’s doorstep earlier this afternoon.”

Shocking report. I stood and went to my room.

I sat down at my desk and tried to think about my homework. It was Sunday, after all. Justin was going to drop by tomorrow morning on his way to school to pick up my completed assignments.

Or at least he was before this fiasco.

I’d finished my math and science homework. I had a take-home quiz in English, but that wouldn’t take me more than about half an hour to do.

I pulled over my sketchpad. Miss Yeager had wanted us to draw
something that was an example of what we wanted to do in an art-centered career.

I closed my eyes for a minute.

John X’s face had been replaced in my brain by the parade shooter. I’d already drawn him though.

I started just sketching whatever came to mind.

I could still smell the remnants of pot roast in the house. My stomach began growling, and I remembered that I’d never eaten lunch.

The sketch started to have a face.

Medium-spaced brown eyes framed by thick, whiteish-blond eyelashes. Freckles stood out along the cheekbones. A straight, red-haired buzz cut with a nice hairline.

I worked on it for about an hour and then went into the kitchen, hoping the police had found a new meeting spot.

But they were all still there. Maps were spread on the table and people were talking softly, using words like “perpetrator.”

I tried my best to sneak in so I could just quickly make a sandwich and leave. I had the bread out of the pantry when Detective Masterson looked over and saw me.

“Kate,” he said, and everyone stopped talking and looked over at me.

Now I felt like I was stealing bread from my own house. “I was just making a sandwich,” I said quickly.

He smiled then. “You aren’t in trouble. Are you okay?” He stood from the table and came over, leaning against the counter while I grabbed a package of deli turkey meat, mustard, swiss cheese, and lettuce from the fridge.

The other people around the table started talking again.

I shrugged. “I’m fine,” I said, pulling my standard facing-the-doctor answer out for him. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m just getting lunch.”

He looked at the clock on the oven and sighed. “It’s late for lunch. I’m so sorry about all this, Kate.”

Another shrug. “I’m the one who had to make the pot roast reference at the press conference.”

“If it’s any consolation, it was a really funny reference,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

I spread a thin layer of mustard on the bread and stacked on the turkey, lettuce, and cheese. “I thought so too.”