“There are candles in the linen closet by the bathroom in case the flashlight runs out of batteries,” she told me, pausing at the front door. “Just be careful, ’kay? Make sure they’re out and let the fire die down before you go to bed tonight.”
“I won’t burn the house down on top of this.”
“At least we could collect insurance money.”
“Mom . . .”
“I’m joking, Riley.” She stopped me before I could say anything serious, then gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’m worried about you. Don’t burn yourself down, okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
After the door closed, I went up and scavenged some candles, planning to do my homework by the fire, since it was the only warm place in the house. I’d just gotten my calc book out and open to the assigned page when the doorbell rang.
I figured my mom had forgotten her house keys along with whatever she’d come back for, but when I swung the door open, my crack about senility faded, because it wasn’t my mom.
It was Sarah.
CHAPTER 24
SHE WAS BACKLIT BY THE streetlamp between our house and the McGintys’, the mist making the air behind her foggy and ethereal. It was on her skin too, a fine sheen of moisture.
“Can I come in?” she finally asked, when it became obvious I had no manners.
“Of course. I’m sorry.” I stepped aside to let her pass, my heart racing. “I thought you were my mom.”
“I didn’t realize we looked so much alike.”
“No. I mean, she just left for work, and—”
I saw Sarah looking at the fire and the candles. She turned back to me, eyebrows raised. “Am I interrupting something?” She glanced past me, down the hall. “Do you have company?” Her smile faltered. “I had no idea—”
“No one’s here,” I said. “Or coming over.”
“Oh.” Her smile faded a little. “Well, I, uh—I hope it’s okay that I stopped by.” She paused a second, suddenly nervous. “I had a thought.”
“If you were Tannis, I’d say congratulations.”
Sarah smiled, looking around for the light switch. She crossed, flipped it before I could tell her not to bother.
Nothing happened, of course.
“It doesn’t work,” she said.
“Not at the moment.”
It only took her a few seconds. “Your electricity was shut off.”
I nodded.
“Because you couldn’t pay the bill.” Her voice was gentle. I had never, ever talked about my financial situation with Sarah, but she wasn’t stupid.
“It’ll be back on soon.”
Sarah swallowed hard. “God, Ri,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m sorry.”
I wanted to tell her it wasn’t a big deal—my own stupid decision—but I didn’t want to explain the whole thing.
I saw her eyes sweep the living room. I never minded it much. It was comfortable enough, but to her the water stain on the ceiling and the peeling paint by the mantel must have looked very different. She turned back to me, her jaw set. “How much is the bill?”
“Not much,” I said, glancing away from those searching eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”
Sarah reached out, touched my arm so I’d look at her. My skin tingled with the feel of her hand. “Riley.” Her eyes, deep and dark, held mine. “How much?”
“Eighty-three dollars,” I said hoarsely.
“Let me float you the cash.”
“No,” I said instantly. “I mean, thank you. That’s really, really nice, but—”
“Look, I’m not going to tell anyone,” she said.
“I know.” I took a breath, not wanting to say it but knowing it was better than having her pity me. “My mom’s getting the money tomorrow.” From her boyfriend. Who just happens to be my best friend’s married dad.
Sarah’s eyes darted around the room again. “Okay,” she said hesitantly.
“So . . . you wanted to talk?” I smiled wryly. “Before we were so rudely interrupted by my lack of electricity.”
Sarah smiled. “I’ve been thinking about Galen and who might have framed him.”
“So have I,” I told her. I watched her for a second, deciding to come clean. “I found something at the trailer.”
Her eyes went wide, then sharpened. “On the floor,” she said. “Just before we left, right?” I nodded. “What was it?”
“A lighter,” I said. “It’s Moose’s.”
“Who?”
“Moose Martin. I work with him. He’s in our class.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I checked the yearbook.”
“No, you dope.” Sarah swatted me. “That it’s his lighter.”
“I just know,” I told her. “The way it’s worn down . . .”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure. It’s upstairs.” I turned, not expecting her to follow, but she did, pausing just inside my room while I crossed to the dresser. She shined the flashlight around the small space.
“I like your room,” she said. “It’s very ‘you.’”
I glanced at the walls, blank except for an old Fenway Park poster; my dresser and shelves, stacked with books; the quilt my grammy had made. “Nerdy?” I smiled.
She grinned back. “No. Basic. Solid. The things you need and nothing more.”
“Uh-huh.” I liked that she thought of me that way. I pulled out the baggie I’d sealed the lighter into. I’d been careful not to smear or touch it but should have left it at the scene, I knew. It was probably worthless as evidence like this.
She studied it, nodding, clearly seeing what I meant about it being recognizable, just like his car.
“I saw him drive by the trailer the day we went up with Nat,” I told her. “I’m wondering now if maybe he’d heard the cops had released the crime scene. Maybe he was going back for this.”
“But . . . wouldn’t the cops have found it?”
“I guess not.”
“Did he know Nat’s dad?’ she asked.
We sat then, Sarah at one end of the moonlit bed and me carefully at the other, and I told her everything. About the time I’d gone up there with him, how I’d told the police at the restaurant and how pissed Moose had been. About how he’d admitted going there the day Nat’s dad was killed.