“You might get nominated too, Viv,” Katrin says graciously. Even though I just met her, I can tell she doesn’t actually believe there’s a chance in hell of that happening.
Viv shudders delicately. “No thank you. I don’t want to be on the radar of some murderous creep who’s decided to strike again.”
“Do you really think that’s what this is about?” I ask, curious. Viv nods, and I lean forward eagerly. I’ve been thinking about the vandalism almost nonstop for the past couple of days, and I’m dying to share theories. Even with Viv. “Interesting. Maybe. I mean, it’s definitely what the person who’s doing it wants us to think. And that’s disturbing on its own. But I keep wondering—even if you were brazen enough to get away with murder and then brag about doing it again five years later, the MO’s are completely different.”
Katrin’s face is a total blank. “MO?” she asks.
“Modus operandi,” I say, warming to the topic. It’s one where I’m perfectly confident. “You know, the method somebody uses to commit a crime? Lacey was strangled. That’s a very personal and violent way to kill someone, and not likely to be premeditated. But these threats are public, and they require planning. Plus they’re much less, well, direct. To me, it feels more like a copycat. Which isn’t to say that person isn’t dangerous. But maybe they’re dangerous in a different way.”
There’s a moment of silence at the table, until Katrin says, “Huh,” and bites into an orange slice. She chews carefully, her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere over my shoulder. There it is, I think. She just mentally dismissed me from the popular crowd. That didn’t take long.
If Ezra’s told me once, he’s told me a hundred times. Nobody wants to hear your murder theories, Ellery. Too bad he bailed on me for lunch.
Then a new expression crosses Katrin’s face, one that’s sort of irritated and indulgent at the same time. “You’re going to get kicked out of school one day for wearing that shirt,” she calls to someone.
I turn to see Malcolm Kelly in a faded gray T-shirt with “KCUF” written across the front in block letters. “Hasn’t happened yet,” he replies. In the bright fluorescent lights of the Echo Ridge High cafeteria, I get a much better look at him than I did at the cultural center. He’s wearing a backward baseball cap over unruly brown hair, framing an angular face and wide-set eyes. They meet mine and flicker with recognition. He waves, and the movement jars his tray enough that he almost drops the whole thing. It’s totally awkward and also, weirdly, kind of cute.
“I’m sorry,” Viv says as Malcolm turns away, in the least apologetic tone I’ve ever heard. “But I find it super sketch that the first person to see both threats is Declan Kelly’s weirdo brother.” She shakes her head emphatically. “Uh-uh. Something’s off there.”
“Oh, Viv,” Katrin sighs, like they’ve had some variation on this conversation at least a dozen times before. “Malcolm’s all right. Kind of nerdy, but all right.”
“I don’t think he’s a nerd.” Brooke’s been quiet for so long that her sudden pronouncement startles everyone. “Maybe he used to be, but he’s gotten cute lately. Not as cute as Declan, but still.” Then she drops her head again and starts playing listlessly with her spoon, as if contributing to the conversation sapped whatever small reserves of energy she had.
Katrin gives her a speculative look. “Didn’t realize you’d noticed, Brooke.”
My head swivels, looking for Malcolm, and I spot him sitting with that girl Mia from the hallway, and my brother. I’m not surprised; Ezra has a knack for inserting himself into whatever social group he’s decided to join. At least I’ll have another lunch option when I don’t get invited back to Katrin’s table.
Viv snorts. “Cute, my ass,” she says flatly. “Declan should be in jail.”
“You think he killed Lacey Kilduff?” I ask, and she nods.
Katrin cocks her head, confused. “But weren’t you just saying that whoever killed Lacey is leaving those threats around town?” she asks. “Declan lives in another state.”
Viv leans an elbow on the table, staring at her friend, eyes wide. “You live with the Kellys and you seriously don’t know?”
Katrin frowns. “Know what?”
Viv waits a few beats for maximum impact, then smirks. “Declan Kelly is back in town.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Malcolm
Monday, September 9
Echo Ridge has one bar, which technically is only half in town because it sits right on the border of neighboring Solsbury. Unlike most Echo Ridge businesses, Bukowski’s Tavern has a reputation for leaving people alone. They won’t serve minors, but they don’t card at the door. So that’s where I meet Declan on Monday afternoon, after spending the first day back at school pretending that yeah, sure, I knew my brother was around.
Bukowski’s doesn’t look like it belongs in Echo Ridge. It’s small and dark, with a long bar at the front, a few scarred tables scattered around the room, and a dartboard and pool table in the back. The only thing on the walls is a neon Budweiser sign with a flickering w. There’s nothing cute or quaint about it.
“You couldn’t give me a heads-up you were in town?” I ask when I slide into a seat across from Declan. I mean to say it like a joke, but it doesn’t come out that way.
“Hello to you too, little brother,” Declan says. I saw him less than a week ago, but he looks bigger here than he did in Aunt Lynne’s basement apartment. Maybe because Declan was always larger than life in Echo Ridge. Not that the two of us ever hung out at Bukowski’s before. Or anywhere, really. Back in grade school, when my dad was trying to make me and football happen, Declan would occasionally deign to play with me. He’d get bored fast, though, and the more I missed, the harder he’d throw. After a while I’d give up trying to catch the ball and just put my hands up to protect my head. What’s your problem? he’d complain. I’m not trying to hit you. Trust me, would you?
He’d say that as if he’d ever done anything to earn it.
“You want something to drink?” Declan asks.
“Coke, I guess.”
Declan raises his hand to an elderly waitress in a faded red T-shirt cleaning beer taps behind the bar. “Two Cokes, please,” he says when she arrives at our table. She nods without much interest.
I wait until she leaves to ask, “What are you doing here?”
A muscle twitches in Declan’s jaw. “You say it like I’m violating some kind of restraining order. It’s a free country.”