Read Online Amelia Anne Is Dead and Gone by Kat Rosenfield - Free Book Online Page B

James fishtailed through the rough gravel, brick-colored dust that had scattered itself over the road in tiny, hastily rolled dice. I barely noticed. Moments earlier, I had reached into the glove compartment, looking for cigarettes, and instead pulled out a filthy bandanna stained with what looked like blood.
    “What the fu—” I’d started, then yelped as James’s hand suddenly slammed the compartment closed. “Hey!”
    “What were you doing?”
    “I wanted to
smoke
,” I said, exasperated. I held up the bandanna. “What the hell is this? Is this yours?”
    He looked at me for a long time—too long—then sighed and refocused his gaze on the road.
    “James?”
    “It’s mine,” he said.
    I waited for an explanation, but none came. I watched James grinding his teeth and realized that the scenery outside had blurred, that the truck was beginning to rattle as his foot grew heavier on the pedal.
    “I’m not proud of it, okay. But that night, after . . .” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then swallowed and spat out the words, “I punched out a window.”
    “What?” Disbelief made my voice rise in a sharp-pitched crescendo. “What the hell? Why would you do that?”
    The discomfort deepened; he squirmed in his seat and wouldn’t look at me.
    “I was . . . I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking very clearly, you know? I just felt angry and I wanted to break something.”
    I shook my head. “Apart from my heart, you mean.”
    He looked wounded; I felt simultaneously stupid and helpless. I couldn’t seem to stop bringing up that night, tossing it out like a grenade whenever things started to feel normal again. As though he needed reminding of what he’d done.
    “Sorry,” I muttered. “Shitty joke.”
    He stayed quiet for a long time.
    “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said, finally. “I wish . . . I wish you
couldn’t
. I wish I could go back and make everything about that night disappear.”
    The truck swerved around another turn, hugging the road this time. James’s mouth kept twitching, little creases forming and unforming at the corners where cheek met lip.
    “So I guess they have a suspect or something,” I said, finally, changing the subject. “For the mystery girl? My dad was saying something about some guy, and a warrant.”
    James shook his head too quickly, a dismissive motion that never failed to set my teeth on edge.
    “It’s not a suspect.”
    “Oh yeah? How can you be so sure?”
    He coughed.
    “Because it’s Craig.”
    My jaw dropped.
    “What?! They think he—”
    “It’s not like that,” he interrupted. “That space, just back from the road, that’s his property. Or his grandmother’s. But he’s the one there, so . . . I don’t know, the cops just wanted to search it for evidence, like, if something blew over there—”
    “And he wouldn’t let them,” I finished. “That’s what my dad was saying. He told them to go get a warrant.”
    James shrugged. “He’s allowed.”
    “He’s
allowed
?” I cried. “He’s an asshole! What if there was something there, evidence or something? And,” I added, suddenly remembering, “I heard someone saying that the cops think the scene was tampered with.”
    James stiffened in the driver’s seat.
    “You heard
who
saying that?”
    “Um . . .” I looked down at the floor and muttered, “Tom.”
    “What?”
    “Tom,”
I said, exasperated. “At the restaurant.”
    His posture relaxed again. “Okay, and what does Tom know about anything?”
    “I don’t know. The cops go in there, all the time. I’m sure he hears things.”
    He looked at me, sidelong and with skepticism, emphasizing each word to make it sound ridiculous. “He. Hears. Things.”
    “Stop being a jerk. Just tell me, really—they’re investigating Craig?”
    “No,” he said slowly, as though talking to a toddler. “They’re investigating Craig’s
yard
.”
    “Oh my God.”
    “What?”
    I folded my arms, stewing, and