What kind of favor?
Lia gestured to the binder. If youre going to read those, she said, dont say anything about them to Dean.
Enjoying a bit of light reading?
I looked up to see a man around my dads age. He had a five-oclock shadow and a friendly smile on his face.
I shifted so that my arm covered my reading material in case he decided to look. Something like that.
You looked pretty absorbed.
Then why did you interrupt me? I wanted to ask. Either hed sought me out specifically, or he was the kind of person who didnt see the contradiction in interrupting someones reading to tell her she looked absorbed in the text.
You live at Judds place, right? he said. He and I go way back.
I relaxed slightly, but still had no intention of getting sucked into a conversation about my reading materialor anything else. Its nice to meet you, I said in my best waitress voice, hoping hed sense a false note under the cheerfulness in my voice and leave me to my own devices.
Enjoying the weather? he asked me.
Something like that.
I cant take you anywhere. Michael appeared on my other side and eased himself onto the ground next to me. Shes too gregarious for her own good, he told the man standing next to us. Always chatting up complete strangers. Frankly, I think she over-shares. Its embarrassing.
I put the heel of my hand on Michaels shoulder and shoved, but couldnt push down the stab of gratitude I felt that I was no longer suffering through Small Town Talk Time alone.
Well, the man said. I didnt mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say hello.
Michael nodded austerely. How do you do?
I waited until our visitor was out of earshot before I turned to him. How do you do? I repeated incredulously.
Michael shrugged. Sometimes, he said, when Im in a social pickle, I like to ask myself, WWJAD? I raised an eyebrow, and he explained. What Would Jane Austen Do?
If Michael read Jane Austen, I was the heir to the British throne.
What are you doing here? I asked him.
Rescuing you, he answered blithely. What are you doing here?
I gestured to the binder. Reading.
And avoiding me? he asked.
I repositioned my body and hoped the glare from the sun would compromise his view of my face. Im not avoiding anyone. I just wanted to be alone.
Michael brought his hand up to his face to shield it from the sun. You wanted to be alone, he repeated. To read.
Thats why Im here, I said defensively. Thats why were all here. To learn.
Not to obsess over the fact that Ive kissed more boys in the past week than I have in my entire life ,
I added silently. To my surprise, Michael didnt comment on the emotions I had to be broadcasting. He just reclined next to me and held up some reading material of his own.
Jane Austen, I said, disbelieving.
Michael gestured toward my binder. Carry on.
For fifteen or twenty minutes, the two of us read in silence. I finished interview twenty-seven and started in on number twenty-eight.
REDDING, DANIEL
JANUARY 1518, 2007
VIRGINIA STATE PENITENTIARY, RICHMOND, VA
I almost missed it, would have missed it had the name not been printed over and over again, documenting this particular serial killers every word.
Redding .
Redding .
Redding .
The interviewer was Agent Briggs. The subjects name was Redding, and hed been incarcerated in Virginia. I stopped breathing. My mouth went suddenly dry. I flipped through the pages, faster and faster, skimming at warp speed until Daniel Redding asked Briggs a question about his son.
Dean.
CHAPTER 20
And Dean had never said a word to me: not when we were working our way through Lockes puzzles and bouncing ideas off each other; not when he caught me swimming in the pool that first time; not after wed kissed. Hed told me that spending time inside the minds of killers would ruin me, but hadnt breathed a word about his past.
Suddenly, everything fell into place. The tone in Lias voice when shed said the pictures on the stairwell were there for Deans benefit. The fact that Agent Briggs had gone to Dean for help on a case when he was twelve . Michael introducing Dean by telling me that he knew more about the ways that killers thought than just about anyone. Lia asking me, as a favor, not to say anything about these interviews to Dean. The Bad Seed .
I stood up and shoved the binder back into my bag. Michael said my name, but I ignored him. I was halfway back to the house before Id even registered the fact that I was running.
What was I doing?
I didnt have an answer to that question. And yet, I couldnt turn around. I kept going until I reached the house. I climbed the stairs, heading for my room, but Dean was waiting for me at the top, like hed known today would be the day.
Youve been reading the interviews, he said.
Yeah, I replied softly. I have.
Did you start with Friedman? Dean asked.
I nodded, waiting for him to name the awful unspoken something that hung in the air between us.
Thats the guy with the panty hose, right? Did you get to the part where he talks about watching his older sister get dressed? Or what about that bit with the neighbors dog?