The Competition - [46]

“Who just happened to be in the library at exactly the right time to be killed and set up to look like one of the shooters?”

“Might’ve just been a lucky break for them.” Awfully lucky, I had to admit. But stranger things have happened.

“Whatever.” Bailey sighed. “We’ve got to notify his parents.”

And we wouldn’t even be able to give them the comfort of knowing their son was in the clear. “You want me to set it up?”

“Yeah. And I’ll try to think of something better to say than ‘I’ve got bad news and…bad news.’”

I left a message for the Barneys asking if we could come by in the early evening. When I ended the call, I tried to focus on what little bright side we had. “We still have Logan. And he looks solid.” I mentally went through the to-do list we’d put together for the unis. “Did anyone report in on his bank account yet?”

“No, but I can goose them. And I’ll get unis to go talk to those other salesclerks at the shoe store.” Bailey pulled out her phone and punched a number.

“I want to go back to Logan’s buddies, Caleb and Evan-”

Bailey gestured to the phone. While she spoke, I remembered the other person I wanted to see.

Bailey ended the call. “We should get the info on Logan’s financial empire by the end of the day.”

“I want to get out to Logan’s brother too. The sooner, the better.”

“He’s in Oxnard. I vote we get the local police to help us set that up before we run out there.”

Oxnard was an hour and a half north of us, and if we hit traffic, it could easily be double that. We couldn’t afford to spend hours in travel only to find out the brother was in the wind. “Okay, then let’s hit up Evan and Caleb again.” I looked at my watch. It was after three. School would be out by now. “I’d like to get them somewhere quiet.”

“How about their cribs? We can tell the parents we need to talk to them privately.”

We went to Caleb’s house first. It looked similar to Logan’s. Two stories, but with a brick-and-white, wood-trimmed front. Caleb answered the door in his socks. He looked less than thrilled to see us. “Oh, hi.”

We said we had a few more questions for him, and he reluctantly stood aside, then gestured for us to follow him. Lucky for us, his parents weren’t home. He led us to the kitchen. “I’m just having a sandwich. My mom hates it when I eat in the living room. You, uh, want something?”

“No thanks, Caleb,” I said. His ham and Swiss on rye looked pretty tempting though. We sat at the breakfast table, and Caleb took a man-sized bite. His cheeks bulged as he chewed.

“Did you see Logan at all on the day of the shooting?” Bailey asked. “Maybe on the way to school? At a gas station?”

Caleb swallowed and shook his head. “The last time I saw him was when I told you. A couple of weeks before in the parking lot. When Otis was hanging around.”

He took another bite of his sandwich. I let him swallow before I jumped in. “Do you drive?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you drive to school that day?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Did you happen to notice Logan’s car in the parking lot?” I asked.

Caleb picked up his sandwich, stared at it for a long moment, then shook his head. “I can’t remember. It’s not something I would’ve been looking for, you know?”

I nodded. He took another bite. “Remind me where you were during the shooting,” I said.

Caleb put down his sandwich and stared at the table. “I was in one of the lower rows, close to the floor. By the time I turned to see what everyone was screaming about, they had started shooting. I dropped to the ground and hid under the seat.”

“Did you hear what the shooters were saying?” I asked.

“I thought I heard them yelling things when they were up at the top of the bleachers, but I couldn’t make it out. I was pretty far down and then I got under the seat. And everyone was screaming and…” He looked away.

I felt guilty about making him relive it, but I couldn’t risk missing anything. “Did you hear either of the shooters laugh?”

“No. I’ve already told you everything. Really, it was all just a blur. I’m sorry.”

We left Caleb to his sandwich. He didn’t seem as interested in it anymore.

28

Evan’s house was a single-story ranch. It was smaller than Caleb’s, but it was nicely maintained, and there were multicolored ice poppies lining the front of the house. Evan’s mother answered the door. She was petite and dressed in a spandex workout outfit that showed off a well-toned body. Her blonde hair was gathered up in a tight ponytail. Her makeup was subtle and flawless. If not for the crow’s-feet and a few laugh lines I’d have thought she was in high school herself. Bailey made the introductions.

She dipped her head. “I’m Mikayla, please come in.” We followed her into the living room, which was sparsely furnished in beige and cream. The room was immaculate. There was very little in the way of ornamentation. No flowers, no framed photos. One silver Nambé-style bowl sat precisely in the center of the coffee table, and two matching beige ceramic lamps on the side tables-that was it. We sat on the couch. Mikayla perched on one of the loungers, feet together, hands on her knees.