Exposure Point: A gripping small town mystery. (The Candidates Book 1) Read online

  I knocked and opened the door. Mr. Ellison was seated in front of his laptop with headphones on. He didn’t look up. The room was larger than I expected, almost like two offices joined together. In one corner was a two-seater sofa with a little kitchenette, and against the other wall was a second desk, a couple of filing cabinets, and a bookshelf containing nothing but a few loose pieces of paper. There was the distinct whiff of unsuccessful private investigator in here.

  “Mr. Ellison?” I said loudly. “Sorry, are you busy?”

  He looked up with a start and removed his headphones. “Calliope.” He looked almost shocked. “What on earth—”

  “I have to tell you something. It’s about Logan Kerry.”

  “Calliope, we’ve been through this.”

  “It’s different this time. He—”

  “I’m aware of the issues between yourself and—”

  “No, but—”

  “We already discussed this.”

  “Mr. Ellison, please. You have to listen to me. It’s important. He’s up to something… and I have proof.”

  I shoved my file into his hands.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, I exhaled, shifting from leg to leg. The silence in the room pounded at my temples. Mr. Ellison was taking his sweet time going through my file. And why wasn’t he saying anything?

  “I guess for this to make more sense,” I blurted, “I should tell you I’m not a patient at the health centre.”

  Mr. Ellison looked up. “You didn’t get this blood work done for health reasons?”

  “I didn’t ask for any blood work, at all, and I’m, like, not even a patient there. And they have files like this on the whole grade twelve class.”

  He gestured for me to sit down and went back to reading the file, frowning as he flipped through the pages. Finally, he looked up.

  “Calliope, I owe you an apology.”

  “You do?”

  “I thought it might be your overactive teenage imagination, but this?” He tapped the results. “You were right to be suspicious.” Nodding, he adjusted his glasses. “First of all, we know they tested you for the substance the truck crash released, which I imagine is what this DcH result refers to.” He paused, and I was about to explain the other DcH test results I saw but he held up one finger. “But these other tests simply do not make sense.” Mr. Ellison shook his head. “To do this number of tests, you need a proper blood sample. Not the tiny drop of blood you would get from a pinprick test.” He leaned forward, his eyes locking with mine.

  “A blood sample?” I repeated, also leaning forward. “Like the one I gave at the blood drive? Because the blood donation centre called and said the wrong bags were used for the donation. They sent out official ones, but Logan sent back the donated blood in different ones.”

  “If you didn’t go into the health centre and have blood taken for tests, or donate blood some other way,” Mr. Ellison said, slowly nodding, “then yes, the only logical assumption is that, for some unknown reason, some of the blood you donated at the blood drive was used.”

  I knew Logan was up to something with those blood samples. I still didn’t quite know what, but still. I stood up. “Mr. Ellison, we can’t let him get away with this!”

  “I agree, Calliope,” he said, raising an appeasing hand. I sat back down. “However, there may be more going on here than misused blood samples.”

  “Totally, because what I was going to say before was even though my test for DcH was zero, I saw three other files, and they weren’t. Emily collapsed and Mitchell died, Mr. Ellison.”

  Mr. Ellison’s face had gone grey. “Yes. It’s extremely concerning, Calliope. I just….” He sighed. “I imagine you’ve already conducted an internet search on DcH?”

  “Yeah, and we didn’t find anything.”

  “We?”

  “I visited Isaac over the weekend and told him all about it.”

  Mr. Ellison looked thoughtful, then opened the drawer and pulled out a leather-bound diary. He flicked through the pages and then scribbled something on his notepad. “We need to call the police.”

  “I already tried the police.”

  “You did?”

  “Detective Radowski. He was more interested in what I’d done wrong, but that’s probably because Logan had already made a complaint against me. Maybe they’ll believe you, though.”

  He nodded. “I’ll try. And I can also reach out to some contacts I have at the university. I’ll put in some calls tonight, see what I can find.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But—”

  “Calliope. Listen to me. This is serious. Whatever’s going on here….”

  I waited, my stomach and jaw clenched.

  “It’s probably dangerous.”

  23

  I left his office with his warning ringing in my ears, but I couldn’t help but feel a little better because he’d actually believed me. I felt as if I might be getting somewhere.

  I took a seat on the bus stop bench, my good mood starting to fizzle as I wondered whether Mom would figure out I’d disobeyed her instructions.

  “Calliope.”

  I startled and looked up. “Cole?”

  He jogged across the road to join me on the bench. He was wearing jeans and a shirt that hung perfectly from his shoulders. “Hey.” Backlit in the sun, he was surrounded by a warm glow, even though it was cold. He turned to face me. “No bike today?”

  “I thought I’d be less visible on the bus,” I said. “I’m trying to avoid Mom,” I added.

  He frowned. “Why do you—”

  “Did you hear about Mitchell?”

  “Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about how we saw him at The Hill and he—” He broke off, studying my face. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Honestly? I’m not sure. There’s a lot going on.” My hands twisted in my lap. I didn’t think I could tell him I’d been fired, not yet. And what could I say about everything else?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I shook my head and leaned back on the bench, acutely aware of the wooden slats pressing into my back as I stared up at the sky.

  “Hey, is there anything you need to talk about? Are you okay?” he repeated.

  A voice cut into the moment. “Is she bothering you, Cole?”

  Amanda strode up the street toward us. She looked stylish in a knee-length coat and expensive-looking boots, and she carried two shopping bags, which no doubt contained more clothes. When she raised a hand to adjust her hair, I noticed her nails were a different colour. Deep blood red. Freshly painted. She got out of school early because her classmate died, and she used the time to go shopping and get her nails done.

  “You could get a restraining order against her.” Her mouth twisted into a disdainful smirk as she got closer.

  I stood up. “Against me?” I said. “Why?”

  Cole stood too.

  Amanda took two more steps toward me, narrowing her eyes. “Who do you think you are?” she hissed. “Lying to the school, to everyone, using your fake injury to get attention. You obviously know you aren’t interesting enough without creating some sort of drama.”

  “Amanda. Cut it out,” Cole said.

  “What’s your problem with me?” I said boldly, feeling brave with Cole next to me. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “I don’t know, how about lying to everyone? You’re such an attention whore.” Her features twisted into an ugly sneer as she moved closer toward me.

  “Amanda. Stop.” Cole stepped in between us. He turned to her, positioning his body so he was shielding me. “Hassling Calliope like this isn’t cool. Actually, it’s kind of pathetic.”

  Amanda balled her fists as her eyes widened with anger. “What do you see in her, anyway?” Her knuckles were turning white.

  I gulped and took a step backward, but peeked at Cole, curious as to his answer.

  “Calliope is kind, t
alented, and smart,” he said, keeping his eyes on Amanda. “You? You’re just mean.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits and she went to say something, but suddenly her expression transformed. The sneer disappeared and a slow smile crept across her face.

  That was not the reaction I’d been expecting.

  “I just got it.” She threw her head back and cackled. “I just figured it out.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cole sounded annoyed.

  “You get off on this stuff. On being, like, her defender. You’re the champion of the underdog, right, Cole? That’s your deal.” She laughed again. “No wonder. I’ve been wasting my time. You two are both losers.”

  Calling Cole a loser was, like, the dumbest thing ever, but a bloom of colour flushed on his cheeks. “Get a life, Amanda. Seriously.”

  “I’ve already got one, and it doesn’t involve either of you.”

  She turned and strode off in the direction she’d come.

  I watched her go, an unsettled feeling washing over me. Was Amanda right? Did Cole just like defending me?

  “She’s a piece of work,” Cole muttered, then turned to me. “Don’t let her bother you.”

  “I’ll try not to.” I shook my head. The upside was that Amanda may have just lost interest in tormenting me.

  “Hey, uh, I’d better go,” I said. The more time I spent hanging out in downtown Montrose, the more likely it was that Mom would see me or hear about it.

  “Can I give you a ride?”

  “I don’t want to put you out.”

  Who was I kidding? I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t even care that Amanda’s comment might be true, because being with Cole was intoxicating. My body was awash with that feeling in between excitement and nervousness, and I wanted more.

  “But technically I’m grounded at the moment,” I admitted. “I should get home.”

  “Come on. I’m parked just there.” He pointed to his car.

  “Thanks.”

  We waited at the kerb for the little green man to give us permission to cross the road. Cole smiled. “Grounded, huh? What did you do?”

  “I didn’t show up to dance rehearsal and went to the city to see my best friend instead.”

  “So, you haven’t talked to your mom yet? About not being a dancer?”

  I shook my head. “She wants it so bad. And now she’s mad because I lied to her about my foot being healed.” I could feel the weight of Cole’s gaze on me, waiting for me to keep talking, but I was done. I was exhausted by that whole mess.

  “Here we are,” Cole said, unlocking the car. “Straight home?” he asked once we were both inside. I nodded and leaned back against the headrest. After a while, even with everything going on, I started to smile. It didn’t matter what Amanda said, Cole thought I was kind and talented and smart. My smile widened to a grin, and then my jaw began to ache. I felt as if I was showing an unnatural amount of teeth.

  Cole pulled up outside my house, switched off the engine, and turned to me. “I gotta say, Calliope, this”—Cole gestured at my grinning face—“suits you.” But out of nowhere, his smile vanished and the atmosphere in the car changed. “But there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “What is it?”

  Just then, Mom’s car swung around us and pulled into the drive. I hurriedly unbuckled my seat belt. “I have to go.”

  “Calliope, I really need—”

  “Tomorrow, okay? I promise.” I lurched out and ducked down along the hedges at the front, slipping into the front gate as Mom pulled groceries out of the back of the car. I just managed to slip into the front of the house as she opened the kitchen door.

  That was close.

  ***

  After an almost silent dinner with Mom, I went upstairs to my room. I took a seat in my windowsill and stared at Isaac’s dark and shuttered window. I wished it was six months ago, when Isaac was across the driveway, when I could still stomach the idea of being a professional dancer, and when I hadn’t found out my classmates had been exposed to some secret toxic chemical. But staring at his dark window and wishing I had a time machine was pointless. I was exhausted, and I needed to sleep. I was about to shut my window and close the blinds when a flash of headlights brought my attention down the street. A dark blue sedan pulled away from the curb. As it drove away, the driver’s face was briefly illuminated by a street lamp, and I almost fell out of the window with shock.

  It was Logan Kerry. He’d been outside my house.

  Watching me.

  harvey

  Harvey ducked his chin and lifted his guitar to his chest, idly strumming the bridge from his latest song. As his fingers danced across the frets, he smiled. He’d written that song in one night, and he was in love. He fell in love with all his songs, but this one felt special.

  A demo had already been sent to the studio, and the label loved it too. The sound technicians in the studio had freaked out over his skill and the precision and speed of his playing, and there was already industry buzz about him. He just had to come up with a name for this song. But maybe he’d let someone else do that. To him, a title could never properly capture how he felt about the collection of notes, the lyrics, the melody, the soul of the music.

  He leaned back into the leather cushion of his sofa and continued to play while he looked up at the ceiling. He moved on to one of his other works in progress, messing with the tempo a little until he heard something he liked. He grabbed his phone and recorded the song, then sent the file to his manager. He set down his guitar, went over to the mini-fridge, and pulled out an energy drink. He probably didn’t need it, but so what? He liked the feeling of being on edge. Raw, almost. Pushing toward something… even if he didn’t know what. He craved the feeling. He’d once tried to talk about it with the other members of OZ, but they’d just looked at him with confused expressions, so he’d stopped.

  It was so hard to describe. It was as if his hunger made him feel more alive. Closer to… something

  Euphoria?

  The truth?

  He’d never gotten interested in drugs because he could make highs all on his own. And he’d never felt as high, as on top of the world, as he did now. Whatever had changed recently, whatever thing had happened to him, he wasn’t complaining.

  24

  When I got downstairs the next morning, there was a note on the table from Mom. She’d see me tonight at the studio for a meeting with Ms. Spencer. She underlined tonight and studio three times each.

  Yeah, I got it Mom, thanks. Awesome, should be a fun evening.

  God, I was so over them telling me what to do. I threw away the note and turned my attention to breakfast, but poached eggs on toast turned out to be a stupid choice since I was barely able to concentrate and ended up with two rubbery lumps on rye. I sat down and tried to eat it anyway.

  What was Logan doing at my house last night? If Mom hadn’t been home, would he have tried to come inside? I shuddered.

  There was a bang outside the kitchen door.

  I jolted upright, fear swirling through my stomach, pressing on my shoulders. Had Logan come back? Had he waited until he saw Mom leave and knew I’d be on my own?

  Oh God. Why hadn’t I thought of that possibility until just now?

  The door started to swing open. I clutched my fork. Should I run, or should I hide? Could I duck under the table fast enough? No. Eyes wide, my heart pounding in my chest, I lifted the fork as a figure emerged through the door.

  Isaac.

  I dropped the fork and hurled myself into his arms. “It’s you.”

  “What’s wrong?” he said, pulling back to look at me. “Your face looks weird.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got some stuff to tell you.”

  “Coffee?” Isaac said hopefully. He drained his takeout cup and dropped it into the bin.

  “Good idea.” I crossed the kitchen to start a fresh batch.

  “Mr. Ellison called this morning.”

  “Already?”<
br />
  “We’re to go see him today.”

  “I’ll make this coffee to go.”

  ***

  Mr. Ellison beamed at Isaac, the return of his protégé.

  “So nice to see you, Isaac. Although it’s a shame it’s under these circumstances.”

  Isaac plopped himself down on the sofa, casting his eyes around Mr. Ellison’s rented office. “Why here, Mr. E?” he said, wrinkling his nose, ever the diplomat.

  Mr. Ellison started to reply but I held up my hand. “We don’t have a lot of time. What’s the news?” I asked.

  “For one, Detective Radowski does not seem to be interested in pursuing this at all. I have a horrible feeling it isn’t just laziness on his part.”

  “You mean…?”

  “He may be involved. Or at least paid to look the other way.”

  “Conspiracy,” Isaac breathed.

  “You brought your file?”

  I handed it to Mr. Ellison, who flicked through the pages. “I’ve put a few feelers out, keeping things vague, to see if anyone has heard of this or anything like it. We’ll have to wait a few days to give them a chance to get back to me.”

  Isaac looked disappointed. “We have to wait?”

  “At this stage, Isaac, yes,” Mr. Ellison said. “All we have is circumstantial indicators that there is some sort of cover-up going on. That the truck crash released toxic chemicals and Logan Kerry, for some reason, is involved.” Mr. Ellison stopped on a page and held up the Post-it note that said Missing Data.

  “I don’t know why that’s there,” I said.

  “Data means information, so this would suggest there should be another page of results, perhaps?” Mr. Ellison answered.

  “You didn’t see something in the other files that wasn’t in yours?” Isaac added.

  I shook my head. “I only got a really quick look, but I’m pretty sure the other files didn’t have more blood test results than I had.”