Now it’s my turn to look between them, my reporter brain racing. I may need to talk to them separately next time. And Summer is not crazy for thinking that. Soon enough we’ll all be talking to detectives, both in Miami and in Natchitoches. A lawyer may not be the worst idea.
We sit for a few seconds in silence; then I say, “On another note, have either of your parents mentioned someone possibly hanging around their houses, watching them?”
Kat shakes her head.
Summer’s brow crinkles. “No. Why?”
“Just curious.”
I detect movement in the corner of the room, near the kitchen. I glance in that direction, and Martha Lee is standing in the doorway, watching our table.
“Are you going to work on this story?” Summer says.
I look back to them. “I’m not sure,” I say. When I glance toward the kitchen again, Martha is gone.
“No way you can work on it,” Kat says. “Right? I mean. You could be a suspect.”
Summer chokes on her next sip.
“Excuse me?” I say.
“I’m just kidding,” Kat says. “Lighten up.”
It’s like we’ve picked back up where we left off. Kat throwing bombs, then acting surprised when they go off.
“Well, I think whatever we talk about should be off the record,” Summer says.
“Agreed,” Kat says, looking at me. “I’d think you of all people would agree.”
Suddenly the giggles from the back room are too loud. And our waitress, who has stopped to refill my water, too attentive.
“We’re good,” I say to our server in a clipped voice as she is mid-pour. She fumbles, spills a little, apologizes, and walks away.
“What do you mean by that?” I say to Kat.
“You know what I mean. You were the one yelling first about seeing Johnny in the woods that night.”
“I don’t remember it that way.” My palms are starting to sweat, so I wipe them on my pants under the table.
“Yeah, you probably don’t remember,” Kat says. “You were so wasted you passed out on top of the picnic table.”
We’d been in our usual spot earlier that night, in the back of the school. Kat lying flat on the table, Summer and I lying flat on the benches on either side, below her. Kat and I passing a joint between us and singing “Goody Two Shoes” to Summer for not joining us. An empty bottle of Taaka vodka resting on Kat’s flat stomach. We were talking about how messed up it was we had to spend Thanksgiving at the school. Then, at some point, I was alone. And then I saw Heatherrunning for the woods, her red coat standing out against the dark woods. Then I saw Johnny.
“We were all on the picnic table,” I say to them.
“Yeah,” Kat says.
“But you two left me out there alone at one point,” I say.
“I don’t think so,” Kat says. “And look, Johnny was always creeping around in those woods. You were just the only one who saw him that night.”
Summer is looking between us like she’s watching a tennis match.
I turn to her. “Is that right?”
Summer nods.
Now my hands aren’t the only things sweating. I want to take off my jacket and fan my face, but I don’t want to show my discomfort. I need to stay composed. Stay calm, I tell myself, but my central nervous system is blatantly ignoring me and sending signals to my brain that I’m in danger. I work to keep my foot from tapping again.
