Smoke by Catherine McKenzie

Author:Catherine McKenzie
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781503947214
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2015-10-20T07:00:00+00:00

Deputy Clark and I spend the next two hours in fruitless conversations with sixteen-year-olds, accompanied by their parents. At the end of it, what we can piece together is that: (a) Tucker and his friends did regularly hang out in John Phillips’s backyard. Tucker had a “hard-on” for Phillips, as one of the chattier boys told us, but nobody really knew why; (b) Angus Mitchell was sometimes with them and sometimes not, and nobody really understood why he hung around with those jerks because Angus was a nice kid and they treated him like crap; (c) Tucker had a thing for Willow and was angry she seemed to prefer Angus over him, but that (d) there was a rumor she’d finally made out with Tucker on Monday night, and maybe Angus had been there too, though that was unconfirmed.

Before tackling Tucker, our last interview of the day, I suggest a break to Deputy Clark, and I go seek out Ben.

I find him in the teacher’s lounge, grading papers. He has a steaming mug of tea by his right elbow, and a smudge of pen on the bridge of his nose. I want to wet my finger and rub it off, but Ben always hates it when I do that sort of thing, especially in public.

“Hey,” I say, sitting across from him. “I need your help.”

“Oh?”

“Could you stop that for a second?”

He puts his pen down. “I thought I couldn’t be involved.”

“Not in the interviews, but . . . Look, we’ve got Tucker up next and we’ve hit a roadblock.”

“What do you need me for?”

“I was wondering if there’s maybe something I could use that would give me an edge. Make him feel like I know something about him I shouldn’t.”

The door opens and closes behind us. A teacher I don’t know walks in, gives Ben a wave, and then retreats to the corner where the mail cubbies are.

“What kind of thing?”

“Has he ever said anything to you about Angus? Or about hanging out on John Phillips’s property? Maybe something that seemed innocent at the time?”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, and the pen mark gets worse.

“Nothing comes to mind. Maybe you should just ask Tucker what you want to know. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“You think that’s likely?”

“No. I do not.”

There’s a coughing sound near us, and I look up. The teacher who came in—twenty-five, fresh-faced, blonde hair in a bouncing ponytail—is standing at the end of our table.

“Hi,” she says, holding out her hand. “You must be Elizabeth.”

Her hand is slim and delicate in mine, which is still calloused and rough from my years working with heavy equipment.

“I am. And you are?”

“Stephanie. I teach English.”

I don’t look at Ben. I’ve never heard him mention anyone named Stephanie.

“How long have you been teaching here?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Three years now? Yeah, this is my third year.”

“And you teach with Ben?”

“Sure do. He’s been great at showing me the ropes.”

“Has he?”

“Couldn’t have made it without him. Say, were you two talking about Tucker Wells? Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing.

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