Free The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die by April Henry

can protect Katie and figure out what happened.”
    Maybe James is right. In daylight, yesterday seems crazy.
    I nod at the clock on the wall. It’s 7:17. “What about school?”
    Ty doesn’t meet my eyes. “I decided I’m staying home today.”
    â€œWhat will that do to your grades, young man?” James asks. He turns to me. “Somebody’s got to play mom around here. And speaking of moms, how do you want your eggs? Over easy or scrambled?”
    â€œScrambled, please.”
    â€œWhat about you?” He looks at Ty.
    â€œThe same.” We all head back to the kitchen. As James takes a carton from the refrigerator, I wonder if the eggs are only making an appearance because I’m here. Maybe Trix is really their normal breakfast, and the eggs are a little bit of a show. And what about me? How do I normally begin my days? With scrambled eggs, Trix, or a handful of colored pills doled out by a nurse?
    James starts cracking eggs into a white ceramic bowl. “I know you told Ty some of it, but could you maybe start from the top and tell me exactly what happened to you?”
    â€œSure.” Some feeling I can’t name twists inside me, like I’ve swallowed a piece of glass and it’s slowly moving through my gut. But I start with waking up on the floor with my fingernails on the table. They ask an occasional question, like whether I ever saw more of the other man than just his shoes. I don’t leave out any of it, not even how Michael Brenner hit his head on the rock.
    While I’m talking, James finishes the eggs and splits them between Ty and me. He’s mixed in some shredded cheddar cheese, and it’s so good. My tooth doesn’t feel as loose as it did yesterday, so I can chew on both sides of my mouth. In between huge bites, I describe how I drove off and met Officer Dillow, the phone call he got, and how I locked him in his own security car and took his gun.
    â€œIt sounds like this Dr. Nowell—if that’s his real name—used a spoof card,” James says.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Ty asks.
    â€œOnce you buy the card, you call a special phone number, enter a PIN, and then you put in the name and number you want to show up on the caller ID. So your guy Nowell could have called from any place in the world, but when this Officer Dillow answered the phone, it would have said Sagebrush Mental Hospital.”
    â€œWait, Katie,” Ty says. “Going back to what you said earlier. How do you know this other guy’s name? This Brenner?”
    I explain about Brenner’s wallet, which Officer Dillow took. “I still have his phone though.” I push back my empty plate, get the phone from Ty’s room, then turn it on. “The battery says it’s at seven percent. Do you guys have a charger for this kind of phone?” They look at the bottom and shake their heads.
    â€œHere,” Ty says, “let me see what’s on it.” He starts to hold out his hand, then pulls it back. “Maybe I shouldn’t touch it. It’s got that guy’s fingerprints on it.”
    â€œToo late for that. I’ve already touched it all over.” I hand it to him.
    He grabs a piece of paper and a pen and starts scrolling back through the phone with one hand and writing down numbers with the other. “I’m making a list of all the numbers he called and that called him.” After he’s written about eight numbers, he pushes some more buttons, holds the phone up to listen to it, shakes his head, and lowers it. He looks at us. “There’s nine messages in the voicemail box, but it wants a password.” He presses some more buttons. “Lots of text messages. The most recent one says, ‘Call me ASAP.’ The one before that says, ‘Where are you?’ And before that it was, ‘Have you taken care of things?’ They’re all from Nowell.”
    Nowell, the doctor who