Anonymous Encounters(40)

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.

Valerie assumed a nasty expression.

"Shut up," she spat. "You know nothing about me and besides, I never  graduated. Maybe I'll re-enroll and make your life hell," she  threatened.

"Oh god," said another unnamed girl. "Spare us, please."

But we wanted to hear what the girl had to say. So I stubbed out my cigarette and turned to Amy.

"Be back in five. Come on Bryan," I said. "Let's go to the bodega around  the corner, I could use a coffee." High school kids were always there,  buying sandwiches and drinks and whatnot. We wouldn't stand out.

And at the bodega, Val was shameless.

"Buy me a hot dog?" she said, a dog already in her hand.

Bryan snorted. "We're not exactly millionaires," he said darkly. "We live in a trailer."

"Oh I know," the blonde wheedled. "But I could use a hot dog to relax, you know loosen up a little."

"Fine," said my brother gracelessly, plunking another five on the counter. I knew he'd bill this to the SFPD.

The girl began gobbling up the hot dog as I tapped my foot impatiently.

"So what did you have to tell us?" I asked. There was work to be done, and I didn't want to waste time.         

     



 

"I was just wondering," she said through gobbled mouthfuls of food. "Didn't you guys do a make-up for biology recently?"

That caused us to stop short. Yeah, we'd made-up the missed class and  that's where we discovered the cat with balloons of cocaine inside. The  techs at the station had since confirmed that it was pure 100% Colombian  shit. Quality product, not your usual street-level powder cut with  detergent and wood pulp.

"Yeah," tossed off my brother nonchalantly. "What of it?"

"Well," said Valerie, still chewing. "I'd talk to the Adams about it."

What the fuck? Did she mean the John and Jane Adams, the parents of the dead boy? Upstanding citizens and all that?

As if reading my mind, the chubby girl nodded, still chewing. "Yep, those Adams," she confirmed.

"Why?" I asked harshly. "And what does this have to do with us? We're just transfers at Canterdale."

That made the girl snort, almost spurting hot dog from her nose.

"Please," she laughed, the first time we'd heard a genuine sound leave  her mouth. "You're not senior transfers at all. Who transfers during  their senior year, months before graduation? And who looks like you when  they transfer?" she asked, pointedly gazing at our masculine physiques.  "You're athletes, real athletes, not seventeen year-old boys pretending  to play football."

And she had a point there. I guess people are willing to suspend  disbelief, but only when they want to. This mess of a girl, Valerie, had  caught on immediately that something wasn't right.

"Listen," I said. There was no point beating around the bush. We only  had a week left before the Cap had to report to City Hall, and  desperately needed to break the case. "What do you know?"

But Valerie was done. "See for yourself," she said ominously. "Go and  face the Adams  …  and be prepared," she warned, before turning to leave  the bodega. "They're no joke."

I had no idea what she meant by that, but her comments had led us to  this mansion, the setting a chintzy living room with an elderly,  grieving mother and our best girl trying to make awkward conversation

"Mrs. Adams," said Callie softly, a teacup balanced on her knee, "I'm so  sorry for your loss. I'm sorry that I didn't come earlier to visit,"  she said, hanging her head. "I should have, I know."

The older woman stroked the brunette's curls, her withered hand trembling slightly.

"Don't worry honey," she said softly. "We've all had a lot going on  lately. John and I  …  we've fallen apart in the worst possible way."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Callie hopefully, her eyes wide. "You know I'd do anything."

This made the older woman pause.

"Well, we need some help sorting through Brian's things," she said, her  voice trailing off. "We put them in the basement after his passing but  it can't stay there forever."

I could see Callie go green at the thought of touching the dead boy's  possessions. First the cat, now this. Our girl hadn't had a lot of luck  getting plum assignments recently.

But my brother and I were more than happy to step in.

"We've got it under control, Mrs. Adams, just tell us where to look and we'll bring the boxes up," said Blake, standing up.

"Oh thank you," said Jane. "There are some plastic bins just to the left  of the entrance. If you could haul them up the stairs, I'd be so  grateful."

And so my brother and I got up to make ourselves useful. The basement  was accessible through a narrow, dark stairway, and I admit, we were  intent on snooping around down there. After what Valerie had told us,  we'd be idiots not to at least look.

It was damned dark downstairs, and Bryan felt around for a light switch,  clicking on a single harsh, bare bulb. Nope, nothing looked out of  place, just your usual storage space jam-packed full with an assortment  of athletic equipment, a washer-dryer, that kind of thing.

"You take the left, I'll take the right," whispered Bryan, indicating  the rows of bins on either side. We'd poke around a bit, see if anything  interesting came up.         

     



 

But that was when the door to the basement slammed shut, the bulb simultaneously snapping off to plunge us into darkness.

Instead of screaming or shouting, our police training immediately kicked  in. I could sense Bryan reaching for his gun and I did the same. Yes,  we were wearing concealed weapons, and rightfully so given that this  mansion was a place of suspicion.

"You take the left, I'll take the right," muttered Bryan again, repeating his phrase from before.

Because we were prepared  …  to fight or die.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Callie




The tea was slightly rancid, but I didn't say anything. I was here for  more important things, mainly consoling my benefactors, Mr. and Mrs.  Adams.

"Please let me know if there's anything else I can do," I said,  tentatively biting into a cookie as we waited for Bryan and Blake to  come up from the basement. "I'm not sure exactly how I can be helpful,  but really anything, just ask."

Just then, a door slammed shut loudly, jarring in the quiet.

"What was that, my dear?" asked Mrs. Adams, perking up a bit. "What were you saying?"

Was it my imagination or had the older woman just dropped ten years from  her appearance? She was already sitting up straighter, looking  healthier, more vigorous.

"I was just saying that I'd be happy to help you out with anything you might need. You've been so kind to me over the years."

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Adams, taking a big gulp of tea. Okay, it definitely  wasn't my imagination. Just two minutes earlier she hadn't been able to  drink anything, the grief overwhelming, and now here she was guzzling  like a hungry bear.

"Mrs. Adams?" I said, as the woman looked around the living room. "You were saying?" I asked, perplexed.

"Oh honey," said the older lady, her voice strong and assured. "You have no idea of the big favor you've done."

I was really confused now.

"But I haven't done anything," I murmured, looking around. Was she  referring to the flowers? "I mean, we haven't sorted through your son's  stuff yet, not that I don't want to, I'm just saying that I haven't done  anything of value."