Free The Deadsong by Brandon Hardy Page B

sack.
    Hurry! He’s coming, you idiot!
    Quickly, she zipped up the bag and saw a piece of paper jutting out from the side pocket. She snatched it and stuffed it down in her bra without thinking.
    The door opened. “What are you wrestling around in here for?” Jared asked, handing her the sack. He closed the door and they were enveloped in silence.
    “I got hot and tried to turn on the AC but––”
    “Well, that would be a little tricky,” he said. “This car didn’t come with air conditioning.”
    “No big deal. I’m starving.” Gina unwrapped her cheeseburger and bit into it. She chewed as long as she could to avoid conversation. She wanted to get home to read the note.
    “I was thinking we could park out near Goodman’s Branch and––”
    “Not tonight, sorry.” She tried to look regrettably apologetic and for her sake, it was working.
    “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I… Nevermind,” Jared said and shifted into Drive.
    The lights were still on in the house when they arrived. Her mother would be on the couch watching the news, Dylan in his room listening to music and doing homework.
    The note.
    “Call you tomorrow?” Jared asked, his eyes tired but forgiving.
    “Sure.” Gina put her hand on his and squeezed. It was warm and calloused, the hand of a hard worker––a good man. There was something about Jared Kemper that made her entertain the possibility of actually finding someone who was genuine, someone who liked her for all her endearing qualities and had no reservations.
    She wanted to know this boy, but if he had secrets, she wanted to know them as well.
    And so she ducked through the rain and jumped the porch steps. She turned and waved, watching his tail lights fade into the night as the Charger groaned away.
    She pulled out the note. It was wet and the ink had begun to smear. But she could make out some of it: LUBBOCK and MIDNIGHT and…
    A capital letter P signed at the bottom. It was underlined with a tail squiggle at the end, and she knew only one person who signed their initial like this. She had seen it countless times on her economics tests when she was a freshman.
    Mr. Ellis Pearson.
    Duke said Jared had come to class with a note and had been dismissed. Was this the same note? But it had LUBBOCK written at the top, as in Susan Lubbock, and now she was dead…
    Her thoughts sped on shaky rails, sending her head on into further whimsical speculation that warranted further attention. She wanted answers, but had no intentions of playing Nancy Drew. She would need dirt on Pearson…
    Who could  give her some?
    She jammed the note into her pocket and went inside. Her mother was indeed watching the news, feet propped up, a glass of Merlot in her left hand.
    “I’m surprised you didn’t decide to stay out all night,” Linda said.
    “Where’s the phonebook, Mom?”
    “Phonebook?” Linda put down her glass and walked into the kitchen. Gina listened as her mother began pulling  out drawers and pushing them back in.
    “Here it is.” Linda handed it her.
    Gina thanked her and went up the stairs. Her mother cleared her throat.
    “Sorry, Mom. Good night,” Gina said.
    “Good night.”
    Gina closed the door and scanned through the thousands of names printed in tight block columns.
    Who would know something… Who…
    Her finger stopped at WIGGINS, FLOYD.
    Ah yes. The gossip king of Arlo County. Floyd’s practically ancient, overflowing with hearsay and dirty little secrets. He’d be in bed by now. Don’t wake him over this, Gina. Let it go.
    She picked up the phone and dialed, crossing her nervous fingers in hopes that Floyd would meet her tomorrow at Avery’s for a little shit-shooting.
    A strained voice said hello, but her mind had already broken off into another tangent, wondering who, if anyone, would die tonight.
     

CHAPTER THREE : FLOYD WIGGINS
    1
    She walked into Avery’s and looked around for Floyd Wiggins. The smell of stale cigarettes and cooking grease filled the