Exposure Point: A gripping small town mystery. (The Candidates Book 1) Page 10

  As I’d approached, she’d stopped jogging to drain the last of a supersized energy drink. “What do you want, Callie?” she said with only the smallest of smiles, then resumed jogging on the spot. She pointed to the track. “I need to get going again.”

  “Nikki, you, uh—”

  She’d eyed me defiantly, and I could almost see the wall going up.

  “How’s training going?” I’d asked instead of what I really wanted to say—that she didn’t look good. That she’d lost too much weight, too quickly; that her cheekbones were sticking out and she had bags under her eyes. I wanted to ask how she could be training when she looked too thin to support herself.

  “I’m making my best times ever.”

  “Um, Nikki—”

  “I gotta go.” She’d cut me off and jogged down the track, her already small figure growing tiny in the distance. I’d watched her go, my chest tight with worry.

  Eventually, I’d turned to carry on to the office when a movement in the trees next to the track had grabbed my attention. I’d flinched when the shape turned into someone I knew.

  Randall.

  He’d totally been hiding in the bushes. I’d stepped back, uncertain. What if he had a knife again?

  “Hello, Callieee.”

  The way he said my name gave me the shivers.

  “Randall, uh, w-what are you doing here?”

  Instead of answering, he’d stared at me, unblinking. His eyes had bored into mine until I had to look away. Finally, speaking in his slow, careful way, he said, “She’s training pretty hard, isn’t she?”

  I swallowed. He was seriously creeping me out. I tried to sidestep him to get past, but he lurched in front of me and grabbed my arm.

  “She keeps training like that, she’ll hurt herself.”

  “Get off,” I’d cried, shrugging out of his grip and hurrying away. He was right about Nikki, but the way he said it was like a threat.

  Even with Randall’s creepiness, it was the image of stick–thin Nikki that had haunted me last night. I’d barely slept.

  With a sigh, I finished my coffee and lumbered back up the stairs to get dressed. The moonboot was becoming a drag. I was so tired of thinking about it, but I still had no clue what to do. Should I have a guidance session with Mrs. Pemberton? While I wasn’t sure about her handle on the modern world, at least she wasn’t a stranger. And even though she’d probably just say I should tell Mom, talking about it might help. But as soon as I got inside the office, before I’d even put my bag down, Mrs. Pemberton was scuttling away in a cloud of perfume. “Meeting,” she called, wiggling her fingers as she disappeared around the corner. I sighed and collapsed into her chair. I guess I’d talk to her later.

  The phone rang. I sat up a little, put on my best phone voice, and answered. “Montrose High administration office.”

  “I’m calling about the blood samples that were donated,” a woman barked at me.

  “Um, okay?”

  “The blood from Montrose High was delivered in non-standard-issue bags,” she said, her irritation obvious.

  “Um….”

  “Did you not receive the ones we sent?”

  “No, we did. I’m sure of it, because I took them over to the health centre myself.”

  “Why weren’t they used, then?”

  She seemed to be getting more annoyed by the second.

  “I have no clue,” I said honestly.

  “We can’t use donations that arrive in non-standard-issue bags. We had to immediately dispose of the donations. It’s a biohazard.”

  “I’m sorry. I, uh—”

  “What a fiasco,” she muttered and hung up.

  I took in a lungful of air and slowly let it out. Logan had been in charge of the blood donation. How could he make a mistake like using the wrong bags?

  ***

  When Mrs. Pemberton came back an hour later, I jumped up. “Should I take the health centre mail over?”

  One of my options was to tell Mrs. Pemberton about the donation screw-up, but she wasn’t interested in hearing anything bad about Logan; she’d already made that clear. She’d probably just brush it off as a mistake and go back to her cookies. No, it was up to me to go over there and find out for myself.

  “Good idea, Calliope. Look at you, taking the initiative.”

  “Um, yeah. Initiative. Back in a sec.”

  I didn’t know what I expected to find just by going over there, but it seemed like the only thing I could do. Cole was working today—I’d seen his car—so maybe he would know something. Or maybe I could go for it and just ask Logan myself. I had so much nervous energy buzzing through me right now, I just might have the guts to do that.

  The doors slid open soundlessly to let me inside. Cole stood near the back right next to the filing cabinet, his head down, reading something. For a moment, I watched him, admiring the way his shirt clung to his shoulders and tapered down to his waist. Then, starting to feel like a total creeper, I cleared my throat. “Um, Hi.”

  His head jerked up, and he quickly shut what I could now see was a patient file. He lurched backward, almost hitting the edge of the metal cabinet. It was the first awkward thing I had ever seen him do. He now had the file behind his back, and he couldn’t have looked guiltier if he tried.

  “Calliope. You surprised me.”

  “What are you doing?” I blurted.

  “Nothing,” he said. His eyes flickered. “Did you need something?”

  “Just to drop this off.” I put the mail on the counter.

  “Okay,” he said, his hands still behind his back.

  “Oh, um… and the blood centre called. The wrong bags were used for the donation?”

  A deep line appeared between Cole’s eyebrows. “They were? I’ll, uh”—he glanced behind him—“I’ll let Logan know. He’s on an important call and said he couldn’t be disturbed, but when he’s done….” He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened.”

  I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.

  The moment hung, got awkward.

  “Okay, then.” I took a step backward and another, and then I was out the door.

  Outside, I paused. That was super weird. I was pretty sure I’d caught Cole doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing—but what and why? He’d seemed genuinely clueless about the donation error, but there was so much sketchiness going on at the health centre, I couldn’t let it go.

  Instead of going back to the office, I glanced to the left and right—no one was around—then crept around the side of the centre. It was a boxy building, with only two windows on each side. I paused briefly at the spot where I thought I’d seen Kade, then shook my head and carried on, creeping slowly around the entire building, stopping just before I got to the sliding doors at the front, and then retraced my steps to go around the back again. I hoped no one was watching, because I was officially in full creeper mode.

  As I passed under the window on the left side of the building, I finally heard something. Logan talking. I crouched down and pressed my ear against the wall. His voice was too muffled, so I moved to the side a little and stood on the ball of my left foot, balancing my moonboot against the drainpipe running down the length of the wall. From here, with the window open a little, I could see Logan sitting at his desk. His back was mostly to me with his phone against his ear.

  “Blood samples, analyzed immediately… Uh-huh… Yes… We need to know how much of it is in their blood… Yes, precise quantities. It’s the only way to be sure. We’ll run regressions.” A long pause. “That isn’t my fault. I know he needs supplies, but do I really—”

  He stopped talking, and suddenly his head turned slightly in my direction. I froze. Did he know I was here?

  “What?” he continued. “Athletics is next week but there’s a game this afternoon. I’ll be able to see for myself.”

  Logan had to be talking about the ice hockey game after school. What would he “see for himself” at a school hockey game
?

  “And if not, we can do it again.”

  His chair squeaked loudly, as if he was standing up.

  I dropped down into a crouch. Time to get out of here. Keeping low, I ran as quickly and as quietly as I could back to the admin office.

  As soon as Mrs. Pemberton was distracted making phone calls to the PTA, I opened a search engine and typed in “regression”. According to the internet, it was a statistical test you did to assess the relationship between variables.

  If I’d heard correctly, Logan was planning to run some sort of analysis on the blood samples. He’d needed to know how much of something was in the blood. But what relationships between what variables was he looking for?

  And what did he mean by “do it again”?

  12

  The Montrose High Magpies were destroying the Baxter High Badgers, and I wouldn’t have believed it except I was right here watching it, third-wheeling it with Gabby and Taylor. I felt lame, gatecrashing their date, but Gabby didn’t seem to mind, and I needed to know why Logan was interested in this game.

  I’d been keeping one eye on the stands—I hadn’t spotted Logan yet—and another on the game itself. Our normally pretty average team was skating circles around the Badgers, normally the best team on the circuit. And it wasn’t that the Badgers were messing up—the Magpies were playing like hockey rock stars.

  I watched Mitchell slam into one of the defensemen as Justin skated past to shoot the puck past the terrified-looking goaltender. The back of the goal net ripped with the force of the puck, and a huge cheer erupted from the Montrose side of the stands.

  “They totally got busted mid-hookup. In public. Can you believe it?” Gabby, sitting beside me, squealed.

  “What about Steph? Didn’t she nearly get hit by a car or something?” Taylor said.

  “What?” I pulled my attention away from the stands. “Steph Blackburn?”

  “Yeah. It was intense,” Gabby said. “She rode her bike down the north face of Craddock Hill the other night, if you can believe it—and, of course, I totally can. It’s Steph, after all. She kind of lost control near the end and ended up on the road. She only swerved out of the car’s way at the last minute. It was kind of incredible.”

  “Did you see Nikki at school today?” Taylor said. “I’m super worried about her. She is so skinny right now, and I saw her wash her hands a million times the other day. She knew I was watching, but she couldn’t control it.”

  “Yeah. Liam dumped her. I don’t think she’s dealing. ‘Cos Brooke kinda ditched her too. She’s besties with Amanda now.”

  “Did you see the fight at The Hill, though?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. They’re still tight.”

  “They’re out of control. They made Theo cry at the mall the other day. In front of everyone.”

  “And what about Mitchell? He got into a fight with a couple of Baxter kids, and it took four guys to restrain him. What is up with him?” Gabby paused to gesture to the rink just as Mitchell slammed another player into the side with a brutal crunch. “Is he on steroids or something?”

  “Yeah… I heard the whole hockey team is taking steroids.”

  I sat up. Holy crap.

  Steroids.

  “OMG, and did you hear how straight-edge Bella, like, stole her mom’s credit card and ran up a massive shopping bill?”

  “No way.”

  I scanned the crowds again for Logan. It was getting kind of difficult trying to keep up with the game, the gossip, and the surveillance.

  “Hey.” Dean appeared, blocking my view for a moment. “How’s the game so far?” He took a seat next to me at the end of the row.

  “Hey, Dean.” Gabby gave him a big smile, then leaned in to whisper in my ear, “I invited him for you.”

  “You did? Why?” I said under my breath.

  “I’m pretty sure Cole is dating Danielle.”

  I eyed Gabby with panic. Had I been that obvious? Did everyone at school know I thought about Cole… in that way?

  “Danielle is Brooke’s older sister,” she continued, oblivious to my distress. “They know each other from college.”

  Why did it feel as if everything I did was being broadcast on a big screen for everyone to see?

  Gabby nudged me and smiled conspiratorially, tilting her head at Dean.

  “Hey, I’m having a party later this weekend,” Dean said. “I’ll post about it tomorrow, but are you guys in?”

  “Sure.” Gabby turned to Taylor, who nodded and said, “Sounds good.”

  “Uh, maybe,” I said, breaking my gaze from the crowd. “Didn’t you have a party last week?”

  Dean shrugged and smiled as if he couldn’t help what a party animal he was. Which was true, at least according to Insta; he’d been out every night this week.

  “How do you have time?” I asked, genuinely interested.

  Dean’s grin widened. “I find time. But you gotta find time to have fun too, you know?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You should work on that, Callie. Chill out and have fun. You normally look kind of tense.”

  “Sure, yeah,” I said, not meaning it. There was way too much going on right now for anything to be fun.

  We all turned back to the game to watch Justin and Liam rip up the rink on the offensive. Baxter’s attempts to get past Mitchell to score goals were almost laughable. Our team looked elegant and skilled as they zipped and whooshed around the ice. But their graceful movements kept being ruined by a vicious body checks. And when you looked a little closer, you could see the violent tension in their bodies. They looked mean. Hungry. Angry. Blood was smeared over four sections of the plastic around the rink. Were they always like this? Were they always so… brutal? It was starting to look less like a hockey game and more like a fight on skates. The ref had to keep breaking the players up, and even the coach had to help haul our players off the ice. I knew that was normal for hockey, but this seemed next level.

  Finally, the game ended and the Baxter players skated off the rink, confused and despondent. Our team slapped each other’s backs and turned to the crowd, arms held high with triumph. The stands were going crazy.

  I looked around at the raucous sea of movement, amazed that no one else seemed bothered by the level of violence.

  That was when I saw him across the rink. Cole. Like me, he was eyeing the crowd with a frown knitted across his brows instead of yelling and cheering. His eyes latched on something, and I followed the direction of his gaze. Not something, someone. Logan Kerry. He was here. Tucked away to one side, next to the stands, almost out of sight. Suddenly, Cole turned in my direction and his eyes connected with mine. He frowned and shook his head, then abruptly turned and made his way to the exit.

  No smile, no wave, nothing even close to friendly. I jerked back as if someone had pushed me.

  I’d been such an idiot, fussing over whether Cole would be working when I went over to the health centre. My existence probably barely registered with him. I was just some girl who delivered his mail. And other people were noticing me noticing Cole. Embarrassing. I turned back to look at Logan, who now had his head down, doing something on his phone.

  The person I should have been obsessing over was Logan Kerry, because all the pieces of information swirling around my head finally landed and settled in my brain.

  Stun guns in parking lots.

  Dead pharmaceutical reps.

  Discarded blood samples.

  Crazily aggressive students and insane hockey games.

  Steroids.

  Logan must have known they would test the blood that was donated, so did he sabotage the samples because he was worried about them finding something in the blood that shouldn’t be there?

  13

  I threw down the wad of papers and glared at the fluorescent office lights bearing down from above. Tension was turning my shoulders into concrete blocks. I took a breath and exhaled slowly, trying to tell myself everything was okay. I’d just
been online and seen that Emily still hadn’t woken up. Her parents must have realized by now that they put too much pressure on her. And what about me? If I didn’t sort out my own pressure-cooker situation soon, was I on my way to breakdown city too? I still hadn’t told Mom about my foot and my decision, and I still didn’t know what to do about Logan.

  “Mrs. Pemberton.” I turned to face her. “I need… I need to get out of my own head. Can you distract me with something?”

  She took an excited breath. “Well—”

  “Something other than Coronation Street?”

  Mrs. Pemberton looked uncertain for a moment, as if finally realizing I maybe wasn’t super interested in hearing about her favourite TV show, then leaned forward. “Did you hear about the second victim?” she said.

  “Victim of what?”

  “A jogger, like the other one, and also out running late. Too late, if you ask me.”

  I hadn’t even been aware of the first one, but then there’d been a lot of other stuff on my mind.

  “Two joggers were mugged? In Montrose?”

  She shook her head. “That’s the strange thing. Neither of them had anything taken, they were just beaten up. Isn’t it awful?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Awful.”

  “And do you remember Susan? The photographer who took the class photo? She had a nervous breakdown.”

  “She did? That’s a shame,” I said absent-mindedly. Maybe I should have specified I wanted gossip about people I actually knew.

  “There was that incident at Drew’s, and then the next day, she drove her car into a lamp post.”

  “Wait, what incident at Drew’s?”

  Mrs. Pemberton blushed. “She was arrested for indecent exposure.”

  I stared at her, slack-jawed. Susan was the woman dancing in her underwear. I’d never gotten a good look at her face.

  “But you know that’s not even the worst of it.” She shook her head. “There’s so much going on with the students at the moment.” She paused, looking thoughtful, and in the silence a phone rang.

  Not the office phone and not Mrs. Pemberton’s cell, sitting on the desk in front of us. I looked around. It rang again. It was coming from Mrs. Pemberton’s handbag, on the floor by her feet.