several minutes. I rocked back and forth, trying to think of something reassuring to say, but I could come up with nothing.
Jack spoke first. “Whatever. I did what I could to warn everyone. I’m done trying. The next dead body is going to be on their heads. Not mine.”
I shuddered at his complete lack of hyperbole. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“It’s a little too late to worry about what’s extreme. This whole town can go to hell for all I care.” He pushed himself to his feet and staggered into the woods.
“Don’t you want a ride?” I called out to him.
“Just stay away from me,” he said, leaving me alone on the bloodstained ground.
23
WITNESS
Big Mo’s Pizzeria was short on tables. Fifteen people hovered around the hostess station waiting for diners to clear out. Twice in the last five minutes our waitress had stopped to ask if there was anything more she could get us, and although there was nothing, we didn’t give any sign that we were ready to leave. The bill still lay turned over on the table and half the pizza remained on the round, aluminum disc. The cheese had solidified minutes ago, and pools of grease lay like millponds on the crusted pepperoni.
Jack sat across the table from Gabby and me and chewed on his straw. Mr. Pettit was making Gabby keep tabs on her brother, so Gabby insisted I come along. It had been two days since I’d found Jack bound and bleeding outside Marsden’s barn, and neither he nor I had spoken of it. In fact, we hadn’t said much of anything at all. I stayed true to my promise, and Gabby was still in the dark. She attributed my silence to not wanting to be seen with Jack in public. She got that; she’d written the book on it.
I picked at my half-eaten slice and peeled off the cheese like the sole from a leather shoe.
“So,” Gabby said. Neither I nor Jack expected her to say anything more, and we didn’t do anything to help the conversation along.
In the booth behind me and Gabby, a young family was finally seated. They corralled the littlest kid into a wooden high-chair and sighed in exasperation at the other two. “No,” said the mom. “For the last time, we’re not going swimming today.”
“But it’s hot,” whined one of the kids.
Gabby reached over me and picked up the bill. She dug in her purse and said, “Seven bucks each, cough it up.”
“Too dangerous,” said the dad behind me, and Jack and I made eye contact for the first time that day.
I pushed my plate to the edge of the table as the waitress came over to check on us again. My phone vibrated. It was Jules.
JULES: Guess what?
I threw a five and eight quarters on the table and texted: What?
JULES: Phillip’s uncle has a cabin on Madeline Island.
LILY: And?
The mom behind me responded, “Rip currents, honey. There’s been another drowning. A big boy. And if it’s too dangerous for big boys, it’s too dangerous for you.”
I watched Jack as the two conversations enfolded around me. His eyes hardened, glistening in the ambient light. For a second, I thought he was going to cry in public, and I desperately hoped he wouldn’t because that would send Gabby over the edge, but then I realized I misread him. When the dad whispered to the mom, but loud enough for us to hear, “Rip currents, my ass,” the corners of Jack’s mouth twitched, and he guzzled back the rest of his Mountain Dew.
JULES: He’s letting us use the cabin for a week. We’re coming up to visit you!
I hastily texted back to Jules: Who is we?
When the waitress returned to collect our pile of money, I asked her if she’d heard anything about another drowning.
“Yeah,” she said, lowering her voice. “Didn’t you?”
Jack leaned across the table toward me. “Told you,” he said, then to the waitress, “Tourist?”
“What’s this?” Gabby asked.
“Did you know Brady Peterman?” the waitress asked solemnly. “A little kid found his body in the rocks under the fishing pier this morning.”
I looked at Jack, and his face was ashen.
“The police are calling it an accident, but a lot of people are talking like they’re not so sure,” said the waitress.
JULES: All of us. Me Rob Phillip Zach Colleen Scott. I got a new suit!!!
I tried to swallow, but my throat was too tight. It would be hard to muster up tears for Brady. A little malicious corner