I was driving Delia home from Amber’s house. I had to click the radio off because Delia was talking so quietly, and even though she was sitting in the passenger seat right next to me in my mom’s tiny Civic, I had trouble hearing her.
“You’re in a weird mood,” I said, slowing for a stop sign, then turning right onto Harvest Street. It was late and there were few cars.
Why do I have to live in a town that shuts down at eight o’clock?
Delia said something in reply. But the words seemed to dribble down her chin, and I couldn’t hear them.
She kept her eyes straight ahead, staring out the windshield. I saw that her phone was gripped tightly in her hand. Her other hand teased a ringlet of her dark hair.
“First you came late,” I said. “And then you barely said a word. Didn’t you like Amber’s new puppy? I thought he was adorable. And he certainly had a thing for you.”
Delia frowned. “I couldn’t get him off my leg.”
I laughed. “That’s what I meant.”
“What kind of dog is that?” Delia asked.
“It’s half Cavalier and half poodle. That’s what Amber said. It’s called a Cavapoo.”
“Disgusting name,” Delia muttered. “Couldn’t they think of something better?”
“What’s your problem tonight?” I demanded. Of course, I knew her problem had to be Winks. What other problem could she have? “How come you were so late getting to Amber’s?”
She was silent for a long moment. “I was trying to reach Winks,” she said finally. She rolled the phone in her hand. “He didn’t answer any of my texts.”
“Well, it’s Thursday night,” I said. I slowed for a red light. “You know he babysits his cousin on Thursday.”
“I know,” Delia said. “But he always answers my texts. And he always calls me when Spencer goes to sleep.”
I knew what was going on. That pig Winks was trying to show Delia that he really didn’t care much about her anymore. Instead of being straight with her, he was being a big baby and letting her hang in the wind.
An SUV with its brights on moved toward us. I was blinded by the light for a moment, so I hit the brake and waited for the SUV to pass.
“Delia, you’re not really worried about Winks, are you?” I asked. I still had the white circles of light in my eyes.
She twisted the phone in her hand. “Well, actually, yes. I don’t understand—”
“If you’re really worried,” I said, “let’s stop at his aunt’s house.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Why not? I’ve known Marie and Art for a long time,” I said. “Winks’s uncle Art worked with my dad for a while before he started his own IT company.”
I made a right and headed into the Valley Acres section of Linden, where Art and Marie lived. Valley Acres is the rich part of town, and they have a big house with a pool and a three-car garage, and a glass greenhouse in the back where they grow orchids.
A few minutes later, I reached the house and pulled to the curb behind another car parked there. It took me a few seconds to recognize Winks’s mother’s Camry. “His car is still here,” I said.
Delia hesitated. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the ringlets into place. She peered up at the house. “Weird. Why are all the lights on?”
I climbed out of the car. The air was cool and smelled like pine. I stretched my arms above my head. Delia was right. It appeared that every light in the house was on.
We crunched our way up the gravel drive. I heard voices from the back of the house. Art and Marie were shouting. I heard Spencer’s voice, too. Why was he up so late?
I knocked on the kitchen door, and Winks’s uncle Art pulled it open immediately. His blond hair was standing up, pushed to one side, as if it had been blown by the wind. His eyes were watery and wide, and his cheeks were bright red. “Julie? Have you seen Winks?” he demanded without saying hello or anything.
“Huh?” The question took me by surprise. I heard Delia gasp behind me.
I stepped into the house. Marie stood at the hallway door. She still had her denim jacket on. I guessed they had just returned home. She had her hands clenched down at her sides. Her expression was angry.
“This is Delia,” I said, motioning toward her.
Delia offered an awkward hello. But Winks’s aunt and uncle didn’t seem to hear it or even to see her.
“Where is Winks?” Art repeated, his eyes questioning me, kind of pleading.
“Do you girls know?” Marie said in a harsh whisper. “He left Spencer all alone. When Art and I got home, the front door was wide-open. And no sign of Winks. We were terrified.”
“Thank God Spencer is okay,” Art said. “When we saw the front door open like that, and the blood by the couch, we . . . we . . . didn’t know what to think.”
I walked over to the couch. There was the tiniest trickle of blood staining the white carpet. It might have been evidence of a paper cut, but not much more.
“This is crazy,” I said. “Winks would never leave Spencer.”
“Yes, he did!” Spencer cried. He stepped out from behind his hiding place, his mother. He was in a pair of Star Wars pajamas. “I shouted for Winks. But he was gone.”
“I’ve been texting him,” Delia said in a tiny voice, holding up her phone as if for evidence. “But he never answered.”
Marie gritted her teeth. She jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. “I don’t believe this. I really don’t. How could he be so irresponsible?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “His car is still here.” I motioned toward the front of the house. “It’s still at the curb. He wouldn’t leave without his car.”
Art shook his head. He grabbed the back of a kitchen stool, as if he needed support to hold himself up. “It doesn’t make sense. He has never left before.”
Spencer tugged at the front of his pajama shirt. “A girl came,” he told his mother.
Marie blinked. “A girl?”
Spencer nodded. “A girl came and they had a fight.”
Marie hunched down and brought her face close to Spencer’s. “A girl? Are you sure?”
“Yes. They had a fight. Then they left.”
“You heard that from your room?” Art asked him.
Spencer hesitated. “Maybe I peeked a little.”
“You saw the girl?” Delia demanded. “What did she look like?”
Spencer thought about it. “I don’t remember.”
“What color hair did she have?” Delia asked him.
He thought again. “I don’t remember.”
I could see that Delia was desperate to know who visited Winks. But Spencer wasn’t being very helpful.
“Maybe I didn’t see her,” he admitted. “Maybe I only heared her.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” I said again. “You know that Winks is crazy about Spencer. He loves coming here every week. He told me. So . . . he wouldn’t just run away with some girl. And leave his car behind.”
“Then how do you explain it?” Marie asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
Delia raised her phone. “I’ll try calling him again.”
We all stared as she punched Winks’s number. After a few seconds, she lowered the phone from her ear and sighed. “It went right to voice mail.”
“I tried calling his mother,” Art said. “First thing I did when I couldn’t find him. I woke her up. She didn’t have a clue.”
“Probably too trashed to even recognize Winks,” Marie muttered.
“Marie!” Art snapped. “Don’t talk like that in front of Spencer.”
“Don’t tell me how to talk,” Marie shot back.
Spencer laughed. “Too trashed.”
Art placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say that, Spencer.”
“Too trashed?” He laughed. “Too trashed? What does that mean?”
“Let’s get you back in bed,” Art said, giving Spencer a little push toward the door.
“No. I want to see Winks.”
Art and Spencer started arguing about getting Spencer to bed.
“Maybe we should call the police,” Delia said. “Maybe something has happened to Winks.”
“He left with a girl,” Marie said. “That’s what happened.”
“But he wouldn’t leave his car,” I insisted. I started toward the kitchen door. “Maybe he and the girl went outside for a moment to talk. Maybe he’s nearby.”
Delia grabbed my arm. “What girl?” she whispered. “Who was it?”
“How should I know?” I snapped. Of course, I knew it had to be Morgan Marks. But why get Delia even more upset?
Did Winks really leave with her? I wondered. Sure, she’s hot and everything. And sure, Winks is an idiot when it comes to a seriously pretty girl.
But even Winks couldn’t be so irresponsible to abandon his cousin on an impulse, just to be with Morgan.
Maybe he and Morgan stepped outside so they wouldn’t wake Spencer up, I thought. But he wouldn’t leave the front door wide-open. And they both would have seen Art and Marie’s car pull up the driveway.
It didn’t make sense. My head was spinning and my cheeks were burning hot, even in the cool night air. A bright half-moon made everything appear silvery and unreal. The shrubs, the lawn, the trees all shimmered, as if in a dream.
Delia and I made our way down the driveway, our shoes crunching on the gravel, along the tall hedge that separates Art and Marie’s yard from their neighbors.
Without thinking, we both began to shout Winks’s name. Our voices rang out through the silent night. A dog began barking somewhere down the block. But no reply from Winks.
We were near the street when Delia stopped suddenly. She grabbed my wrist tightly. “Is that . . . ? Is that . . . ?”
I followed her gaze. At first, I thought someone had piled some shoes and old clothes at the bottom of the hedge. But then I saw an arm. And the figure sprawled on his side in the grass beside the hedge came into focus.
Delia lurched across the driveway and dropped down beside him. “Winks? Winks? Winks?” Her shouts rose until they became a frightened shriek.
She grabbed his shoulder with both hands. She shook him hard.
My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to join her but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.
“Winks? Winks? Winks?”
Still holding on to his shoulder with both hands, Delia turned to me. “He’s dead. He’s dead, Julie,” she cried. “Winks is dead.”
