I shift the heavy basket from one hand to the other and then turn to find Ian Freaking Dave standing in the kitchen waiting for us. Speak of the devil.
My mouth drops open, and I damn near drop the basket of eggs.
“What … what are you doing in here?” I choke out, because it's only Saturday, and Dad said Mr. Dave wouldn't be back until Monday. Looking at him now, you'd never know that Church Montague helped him remove a hunting knife from his body just a few weeks ago.
“Mr. Carson, Mr. Hargrove,” he says as Spencer grits his teeth for a moment, making a split-second decision. We could run, or we could stay here and see what the big, gruff man who just so happens to be dating my mother has to say. One of the kitchen staff members comes forward and collects our baskets, just before we hear a shout from the storeroom, and I realize with a small sigh of relief that we're not alone in here with Mr. Dave.
Even if he is one of the killers, he can't get us right now.
Spencer steps forward, letting the exterior door slam shut behind him, his gaze wholly focused on Ian Dave, the perfect shot at the shooting range, the asshole, the enigma who didn't like me snooping around in the library.
“What happened between you and Church?” is the first question Spencer asks, and I raise an eyebrow. I've made the decision to trust the mysterious, stoic amber-haired boy who put a ring on my finger, but I also haven't forgotten what the twins said in Disneyland, how Church was missing the week prior to my attack at Santa Cruz High. There's something going on with him, regardless of whether it has to do with Adam or the murders.
“Jesus,” Mr. Dave grumbles, sneering like only a villain would. “You kids are idiots, you know that?”
“Church removed the knife for you,” I say, repeating the story as I've heard it, waiting for surprise or shock to register on Mr. Dave's face. Instead, he just glares back at me with dark eyes and sighs, reaching up to run fingers through his thick head of hair. I imagine he's closer to Mom's age than Dad is. No thinning hair here. “Not a great medical decision, by the way, but I trust you had your reasons.” I cough into my hand. “But who actually stabbed you?”
“Yes, Mr. Montague helped to remove the knife. I'm not at liberty to discuss who attacked me in the first place, but I have mentioned to Headmaster Carson on numerous occasions that letting you all traipse around campus like amateur detectives is a terrible idea.”
“If you hadn't noticed, we're on chicken and garden duty,” I snap back as Spencer reaches over and plucks a feather from my hair. “And if we are ‘traipsing’”—I make snarky little quotes with my fingers—“it's only because the police and the administration are useless. Nobody believes us about what we saw in the woods.”
“Just like they don't believe Eugene and Jenica were murdered,” Mr. Dave says with a long sigh. He looks so goddamn tired, I'm surprised he didn't ask for a few more days off. Spencer and I exchange a look before glancing back in his direction. “But I do. I believe you.”
“You do?” Spencer blurts out, backpedaling a bit, like he's drowning in disbelief. I mean, after all the crap we've gotten from the adults around us lately, I'm not surprised. I turn back to Mr. Dave, surprising myself with my own inner calm. I'm not usually like this, you know, calm. It's a foreign thing for me.
“Yes, I do,” Mr. Dave says, moving several steps closer to us and lowering his voice. “And that's why I'm asking you to stay out of it. Keep your heads low, stick together, and let me handle this.”
“Like a librarian is anymore qualified to deal with this shit than we are,” Spencer scoffs, folding his hands together behind his head while looking Mr. Dave over like he doesn't believe a word coming out of his mouth. “You're probably one of the masked creeps we saw in the woods. Like, seriously, we're supposed to believe you just happened on Charlotte's mom in the middle of Los Angeles?”
Mr. Dave closes his eyes for a moment, nostrils flaring, as his big, meaty hands work themselves in and out of fists. He's very clearly frustrated with us, but there's something going on between him, Mr. Murphy, and my dad. I'm sure of it.
“My relationship with Eloise is none of your business. I truly care about her, and I promise you, our ongoing communication has nothing to do with this case.”
“This case? Um, like that's not at all creepy,” Spencer says, putting a protective arm around my waist. A little thrill chases through me as I run my finger over the engagement ring again. For whatever reason, it's become a symbol of the whole Student Council, and not just Church. “Dude, you're just digging yourself an even deeper hole. Come on, Chuck.”
