15
Bryan
Callie looked around nervously as we stood on the doorstep. She was dwarfed by a huge bouquet in her arms, the long fronds and lavish flowers protruding this way and that, causing her to bend awkwardly as she rang the bell.
Out pealed a melodious chime and the three of us were silent, seeing if we could hear any movement inside, our ears alert and aware. The Adams had just lost their only son, and it was totally possible that they wouldn’t be answering their door, instead letting visitors come and go without acknowledgment.
So we stood in silence, waiting quietly but also in awe of the gorgeous surroundings. The white colonial was a mansion, the gleaming clapboard surrounded by a manicured garden. And there had to be someone inside because the Jag in the driveway had just been driven, judging from the slight drip of motor oil staining the drive way.
But it’s okay. Sometimes people don’t want visitors and we’d give the Adams a pass given the tragedy they’d experienced. The three of us were turning to go when suddenly the door cracked open slightly, a pair of faded blue eyes peering out at us.
“Oh Callie,” said an old lady. “It’s you. Thank you for coming,” she said as she opened the door wider. And I could see this was a woman in the throes of grief. Her clothes were rumpled and stained, and her grey hair matted, as if it hadn’t been combed in months.
“Mrs. Adams,” said Callie sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry about Brian. Here, I- I- wanted to bring you these,” she said awkwardly, thrusting the bouquet towards the older woman. “We don’t have to come in or anything, I just wanted you to know that we’re thinking of you. Me and Bryan and Blake,” she clarified, gesturing to my brother and I. “Bryan and Blake are new students at Canterdale.”
Mrs. Adams’ eyes filled up with tears again.
“Canterdale High,” she said faintly. “I can barely even think about Canterdale now that my poor Brian’s gone. You know how much he loved that school, he was so into school spirit and the sports teams,” she said softly.
“Of course I remember,” said Callie. “Brian was the star of the football team.”
Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. From our investigation, we knew that the Adams kid had been a decent second-string player, not a stand-out. But why shame the dead? Only speak good of those who can no longer speak for themselves.
Callie continued. “Is there anything we can help with? You and Mr. Adams have always done so much for me, it’s the least I can do.”
Mrs. Adams breathed in deeply and closed her eyes for a moment.
“We’ve always had a commitment to the school and that’s not going to end because of our son’s death,” she said, resolutely lifting her chin. “Come in Callie, please sit and have some tea.”
Our girl’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you Mrs. Adams, I’d love to,” she said, and we stepped over the threshold into the imposing mansion.
16
Blake
Callie doesn’t know it, but my brother and I have our suspicions about Jane and John Adams. On the surface, they’re a perfect family. Generous donors to Canterdale, even sponsoring a scholarship for needy students, with a perfect, athletic son who was Harvard-bound.
But often it’s those who appear immaculate on the outside who have secrets to hide. And we’d been tipped off by an unexpected source … Valerie, Chrissy’s sister.
The tip had been unexpected. Bryan and I had been at the library, ostensibly studying but really trying to get to know some of the honors students who had palled around with Brian Adams and Tyler Needham. After two hours of uninterrupted reading, a bunch of kids decided to step outside for a break, a few surreptitiously lighting cigarettes.
It was here that a girl with bleached blonde hair, slightly overweight but still attractive, approached the group.
“Oh great,” groaned Amy, a fussbudget. “The former prom queen is back.”
That was interesting. Why would someone who’d already graduated stop by study hall?
The girl sauntered over.
“Hey,” she said directly to us. “I’m Val. You’re Blake and Bryan, right? The new guys?”
It was strange that she knew our names. But okay, we’d roll with it.
“Yeah, I’m Bryan, this is Blake,” drawled my brother. “Can we help you?”
“Not here,” she said, her nose wrinkling, looking around like there was a bad smell. “This isn’t exactly where I’m most comfortable, if you get what I mean,” she said, eyeing the honors students with suspicion.
And they were eyeing her back with just as much distaste. I could see why. Val was dressed in wildly clashing leggings and a fur vest with heavy make-up, while the kids we were with were straight shooters, wearing button-down shirts with carefully pressed jeans.
“Val, just leave them alone,” said Amy, the bossy girl. “Your time at Canterdale is over, seriously just go,” she said, rolling her eyes.