Read Online Snitch (The Bea Catcher Chronicles) by Olivia Samms - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Olivia Samms
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away from me.” He cowers in the corner.
“Okay, okay, I get it.” I feel the insides of my stomach coming up, and I
so
don’t want to hurl. I manage to pull the hat off my head and turn it around.
Immediately, I hear a jangling of keys, the sound of heavy boots clomping down the hallway.
“Please, please don’t say nothin’.” Junior whimpers, mops up tears with his sleeve.
I crumple up the drawing of the claw, stuff it in my sweatshirt pocket. “I won’t. I promise you, Junior,” I whisper back.
He looks up at me. “Wait. How d’you know my name?”
The sergeant approaches my cell, a tough expression firmly in place. “We have a few more questions for you.” He unlocks the cage, pulls me out, cuffs my hands again, and drags me down the hall.
I glance back at Junior, see his dark eyes wide, like pools of black, thick ink, weighed down with . . .
Secrets and lies.
I lie on Daniels’s office couch, take a sip of water, then place the cold plastic bottle on my forehead.
He pushes his desk chair over and sits. “How are you feeling?”
“My head still hurts, but not as bad.” I roll over on my side and face him. “Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything out of him.”
“You didn’t see anything? Nothing at all?”
I finger the bear claw sketch—stuff it down a little deeper in my sweatshirt pocket.
I’ve got to keep him safe—off the streets.
“No. He wouldn’t make eye contact. I don’t know; I’m not so sure he’s innocent anymore.”
“What? Why do you think that?”
“He’s just meaner than I thought. Cold son of a bitch.”
“But I saw you talking with him—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupt. “I tried to get him to talk, but he clammed up.”
The lights in the room dim for a second, with a crack of lightning.
“Huh.” Sergeant Daniels crosses over to the window . . . peers outside at the sudden rainstorm.
“What’s going to happen to him now?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t have much to work with—no murder weapon, no witnesses.”
I sit up. “But the drugs . . . you found the pot on him, that has to be something.”
“Yeah. Possession on school grounds, suspicion of distributing—a misdemeanor at best. We’ll schedule a court hearing,” he says, sifting through papers. He picks up the drawing of the tennis balls.
“Oh, that. . . . I’d forget about that sketch.” I force a laugh. “Crazy, right? I bet it doesn’t mean anything. I think it was because of my headache. There were, like, spots in my vision. I’ve been getting them with the migraines.”
He walks toward me. “I shouldn’t have had you down there. You sure you’re okay?”
I wave him off. “I’m fine. No biggie. Just sorry I couldn’t get you what you wanted. I better get home now. . . . Don’t want to wig my parents out.”
“I’ll escort you out the back door.”
“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll see myself out.” I hitch up my jeans, roll them at the cuff. Pull off the sweatshirt. “Without my hat and hoodie I look kind of boring, don’t you think? No one will notice me.”
“Bea, you could never look boring.”
I would savor that last comment if it weren’t for the guilt I feel for fudging the truth. But the kid is petrified—no way Ican ignore that. He knows something . . . a lot of something. Tennis balls, a bear claw.
What do they mean?
I have to find out, and without anyone knowing it came from Junior.
Without them thinking that he snitched.
6 days
6 hours
35 minutes
I see Willa’s car parked in Zac’s driveway when I get home. She used to stop by my house, to say
hi
at least, when she came to see him, but now it’s all about her obsession with him. I’m totally out of the picture.
Zac’s little brother, a sophomore at Packard, hangs a huge banner along their fence in the rain. It reads: CORNELL (in big red letters). CONGRATULATIONS, ZACHARY! Jeremy’s hair is soaked—stuck flat on his head—and he looks totally
“Okay, okay, I get it.” I feel the insides of my stomach coming up, and I
so
don’t want to hurl. I manage to pull the hat off my head and turn it around.
Immediately, I hear a jangling of keys, the sound of heavy boots clomping down the hallway.
“Please, please don’t say nothin’.” Junior whimpers, mops up tears with his sleeve.
I crumple up the drawing of the claw, stuff it in my sweatshirt pocket. “I won’t. I promise you, Junior,” I whisper back.
He looks up at me. “Wait. How d’you know my name?”
The sergeant approaches my cell, a tough expression firmly in place. “We have a few more questions for you.” He unlocks the cage, pulls me out, cuffs my hands again, and drags me down the hall.
I glance back at Junior, see his dark eyes wide, like pools of black, thick ink, weighed down with . . .
Secrets and lies.
I lie on Daniels’s office couch, take a sip of water, then place the cold plastic bottle on my forehead.
He pushes his desk chair over and sits. “How are you feeling?”
“My head still hurts, but not as bad.” I roll over on my side and face him. “Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything out of him.”
“You didn’t see anything? Nothing at all?”
I finger the bear claw sketch—stuff it down a little deeper in my sweatshirt pocket.
I’ve got to keep him safe—off the streets.
“No. He wouldn’t make eye contact. I don’t know; I’m not so sure he’s innocent anymore.”
“What? Why do you think that?”
“He’s just meaner than I thought. Cold son of a bitch.”
“But I saw you talking with him—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupt. “I tried to get him to talk, but he clammed up.”
The lights in the room dim for a second, with a crack of lightning.
“Huh.” Sergeant Daniels crosses over to the window . . . peers outside at the sudden rainstorm.
“What’s going to happen to him now?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t have much to work with—no murder weapon, no witnesses.”
I sit up. “But the drugs . . . you found the pot on him, that has to be something.”
“Yeah. Possession on school grounds, suspicion of distributing—a misdemeanor at best. We’ll schedule a court hearing,” he says, sifting through papers. He picks up the drawing of the tennis balls.
“Oh, that. . . . I’d forget about that sketch.” I force a laugh. “Crazy, right? I bet it doesn’t mean anything. I think it was because of my headache. There were, like, spots in my vision. I’ve been getting them with the migraines.”
He walks toward me. “I shouldn’t have had you down there. You sure you’re okay?”
I wave him off. “I’m fine. No biggie. Just sorry I couldn’t get you what you wanted. I better get home now. . . . Don’t want to wig my parents out.”
“I’ll escort you out the back door.”
“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll see myself out.” I hitch up my jeans, roll them at the cuff. Pull off the sweatshirt. “Without my hat and hoodie I look kind of boring, don’t you think? No one will notice me.”
“Bea, you could never look boring.”
I would savor that last comment if it weren’t for the guilt I feel for fudging the truth. But the kid is petrified—no way Ican ignore that. He knows something . . . a lot of something. Tennis balls, a bear claw.
What do they mean?
I have to find out, and without anyone knowing it came from Junior.
Without them thinking that he snitched.
6 days
6 hours
35 minutes
I see Willa’s car parked in Zac’s driveway when I get home. She used to stop by my house, to say
hi
at least, when she came to see him, but now it’s all about her obsession with him. I’m totally out of the picture.
Zac’s little brother, a sophomore at Packard, hangs a huge banner along their fence in the rain. It reads: CORNELL (in big red letters). CONGRATULATIONS, ZACHARY! Jeremy’s hair is soaked—stuck flat on his head—and he looks totally
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