Page 18

SIXTEEN

The cop slowed down just enough to eyeball the intersection for oncoming traffic, ran the red light, and raced on.

I slumped in my seat. “Oh my God, my father was asleep when I left the house. He’d kill me if I got a DWI.”

“My father was sitting in the living room, watching TV, and drinking himself to death,” Misty said. “I had to go all Ferris Bueller on him to sneak out. I put some pillows under my covers, climbed out the window, and met Melissa four blocks from my house.”

More sirens. I turned around as two more cop cars came barreling toward us.

But they whizzed right past. “One local, one state,” I said. “I wonder what’s going on?”

“And they may wonder what a couple of teenage girls are doing riding around at two in the morning. If they stop us, we’re definitely spending the night in jail. Maybe you should park the car, and we can walk home.”

“Fantastic idea,” I said. “But I’m too drunk to walk.” The light turned green. “But you can get out. I won’t be mad. I swear.”

“Maggie, you are the single worst person I could be driving around with,” Misty said. “But you’re still the best thing that’s happened to me all day. I’m not going anywhere, asshole. Just drive super careful and try to stay awake.”

I put the AC on max and pointed the vents in my face. I shook my head as clear as I could get it, and I moved forward at just below the speed limit. We both kept our eyes peeled for cops, but Main Street was deserted, and three-quarters of a mile later, we got to Crystal Avenue.

I made the final left turn of the long ride and breathed a sigh of relief. “Home sweet ho?—”

Three blocks away, the street in front of my house was filled with emergency vehicles, their red, white, and blue flashers lighting up the night.

“Just park it anywhere and get out before the cops see us,” Misty said.

I pulled to the nearest curb, hopped it, and knocked over a garbage can. I didn’t care. I killed the engine. We jumped out of the car and started running, or whatever it is you call the forward motion of two drunks on a mission.

Up and down Crystal Avenue, lights were on, and people were coming out of their houses. The police had cordoned off the road, so Misty and I cut over to the sidewalk, only to run into a cluster of cops.

“Hold on there, ladies,” a female cop said, stretching her arms out and blocking our path. She was local, but I didn’t know her. Her name tag said Pemberton. “Get back there behind the barricades.”

“We don’t live behind the barricades,” I shouted. I pointed at my house less than fifty feet away. “I live at 811. She lives across the street—822.”

Officer Pemberton, who had been treating us like we were just a couple of nuisances who had interrupted her gabfest with the other cops, turned and pointed at Misty. “You—822,” she said. “What’s your name?”

Misty said her name, but the vodka had taken its toll, and it came out Mishty Shinclair.

“Misty Sinclair?” the cop said, articulating every syllable.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pemberton turned to me. “And you?”

“Maggie McCormick. I live right over?—”

Pemberton cut me off. “Stay right here—both of you,” she said, pulling out her radio. “Lieutenant, I’ve got the girl from eight-two-two.”

“Hold her,” the voice crackled back.

“Officer Pemberton,” I said, an angry drunk trying to sound sober and respectful. “Can you please tell us what’s going on? Is anybody hurt? I want to go home.”

“You will,” she said. “Just wait.”

Misty grabbed my hand. “Maggie, did you hear what she said? What did she mean about ‘the girl from eight-two-two’? Why is she talking about my house and not yours?”

“I don’t know,” I said, squeezing her hand tighter.

“Detectives, she’s over here,” Pemberton called, pointing at Misty.

A man and a woman, both wearing a badge on a chain around their necks, walked up to us. “Misty Sinclair?” the woman said.

Misty nodded. “What’s going on?” she said.

“I’m Detective Singleton, and this is Detective Kirk. We need to talk to you.” She looked at me. “Alone.”

“She’s my friend,” Misty said. “Can’t she come?”

“She’s going to wait right here for you with the officer. We won’t be long.” The detective put her arm on Misty’s shoulder and walked her behind the knot of uniformed cops on the sidewalk.

I was exhausted. “Can I at least sit down?” I asked my new babysitter. I didn’t wait for an answer. I dropped down on the curb, put my chin in my hands, and stared at the people on the other side of the barricade—men in shorts and T-shirts, women in robes, one holding a baby in her arms.

And then I saw him. His back was to me, but the bright green 2XL McCormick’s T-shirt was all I needed.

I jumped up and screamed, “Daaaaaaad!”

He was standing with two cops, and he had his arm around my sister. He wheeled around, looking left, looking right. I screamed again.

“Maggie,” he bellowed, spotting me. He came running. Lizzie was right behind him.

I bolted for the barricade, but Pemberton grabbed my arm.

“That’s my daughter,” he yelled. “Let her go.”

Officer Pemberton wasn’t taking orders from civilians. She tightened her grip.

The cops who had been with my father caught up with him. One of them was Dad’s old classmate, Kip Montgomery. He held up both hands. “It’s okay, Monica. I know her. I’ll take her from here.”

“The detectives want to talk to her.” Pemberton shot back.

“Tell them she’s with me.”

Pemberton let go. I scrambled under the barricade and threw myself into my father’s arms.

“Maggie, are you okay? I thought you were upstairs sleeping. Jesus H. Christ, you smell like a goddam distillery. Where the hell were you?”

“I had a bad day, okay?” I snapped, pulling away from him. “After you went to sleep, I snuck out and went to the quarry. I had a few drinks. Same thing you and Mom did when you were seventeen. What’s going on here? I was with Misty, but the detectives took her away.”

“Misty’s okay?” my father said.

“Stupid drunk,” I said, “but yeah.”

“Thank God. We were... we were worried. I’m glad she’s safe.”

“Please tell me what’s going on,” I said, my eyes tearing up.

“It was late. I was watching TV, and I hear bang-bang ,” Dad said. “Two gunshots coming from outside. No question.”

“Oh my God,” I said. Lizzie put a hand on my shoulder, and I pulled her close to me.

“I called nine-one-one, and I slipped onto the porch to see if anyone was wandering the street with a gun. Ten seconds later, there were two more shots, only this time I could see the muzzle flashes in the second-floor bedroom window of Arnie Sinclair’s house.”

I put my hands to my mouth. In my head, I could hear Officer Pemberton on her radio. I’ve got the girl from eight-two-two.

“I ran back inside, grabbed my gun, and just as I came out, there were two more shots. The lights were on in Arnie’s house, so I ran across the street. I tried the front door, and it was unlocked, so I pushed it open, and yelled out, ‘Arnie, Lois, it’s Finn. Are you okay?’ And Arnie yells back from upstairs, ‘Go away, Finn.’

“I figured some maniac must have broken in, and I think maybe I can scare him off, so I yell, ‘I called 911. Help is coming.’ But Arnie screams, ‘It’s too late for help. Don’t come up. Go away.’ And then I can hear the sirens. They get closer and closer.

“And then...” His big chest was heaving as he spoke. “And then... Arnie yells, ‘God forgive me,’ and bang—one more shotgun blast. I called upstairs to Arnie, but there’s no answer. I start to put the pieces together in my head, and I backed out to the street. Thirty seconds later the cops got there.”

“Mr. Sinclair shot himself?” I said, half deduction, half question.

My father looked at the two cops at his side.

“As far as we can make out, Mr. Sinclair took his own life,” Officer Montgomery said.

“What about Mrs. Sinclair and Charlie?” I asked. I was trembling, and Lizzie held me tight.

“I’m sorry to tell you this Maggie,” Officer Montgomery said, “but they were both shot. They’re gone.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “If Misty had been home...”

“She’s a very lucky girl,” my father said. “I didn’t go in there, but Kip did. Arnie’s body was on the floor in Misty’s room. The pillows that were under her sheets were blown apart.”

I collapsed into his arms, buried my head in his chest, and sobbed.

And then I heard the piercing wail cutting through the night as the two detectives finally broke the news to Misty.