Shine - Lauren Myracle [91]
“Okay. And?”
“So . . . Patrick really looked up to him. And more than that, obviously. But then things changed, and Patrick was constantly on Beef’s case, and then finally Beef just . . .”
My stomach turned over as I substituted Robert for Patrick. Being gay didn’t make a person dangerous. Being lonely and depressed enough to groom a little kid into worshipping him was a different story. Add meth to the picture, and Beef’s mood swings and Robert’s absolute inability to tone himself down when toning down was called for . . .
Jason dug his phone out of his pocket. “Call her. Call Bailee-Ann.”
“I could be wrong,” I said.
“Or you could be right,” Jason said. With only one hand on the wheel, he took another curve too fast, this time coming perilously close to flying off the side of the road. Five feet to my right, the mountain dropped sharply off.
“Oh God,” I whimpered. “I’m really bad with heights.”
“Sorry,” Jason said. He tried to be less lurchy. “Tell her about Beef. If you’re wrong, no harm done. But if you are right . . .”
I accepted the phone and felt its slimness in my hand. Bailee-Ann’s cell phone number was in Jason’s call history from when I’d borrowed her phone to ask him to come get me. I called it, but it went to voicemail.
“Bailee-Ann, this is Cat,” I said. “Um, we need to talk, okay? It’s about—“
I was cut off by a high-pitched electronic whine, followed by a nonexistent woman saying, “If you’re satisfied with your message, hit one. If you are finished with your call, hit zero, or simply hang up.”
Aaag. Cheap throwaway cell phone.
Her home number still lived in memory and probably would forever, since in middle school we called each other ten times a day. I punched the buttons and put the phone to my ear.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chanted under my breath.
“Tell her to keep Robert away from Beef, no matter what,” Jason coached.
I got their answering machine. I groaned. I didn’t want to leave a message, but as I listened to Bailee-Ann’s mother’s prerecorded voice, I decided I better, just in case. If Bailee-Ann wasn’t the first to hear it, well, the news would be out soon anyway.
At the beep, “Bailee-Ann, it’s Cat. So, listen. Those matches you gave me? You were right about where they were from. And the thing is, I think Beef is that same way. As Patrick.”
I gripped the phone, knowing I had to do better. “I think Beef and Patrick were . . . more than friends . . . and I think he’s the one who attacked Patrick at the Come ’n’ Go. I hope I’m wrong. I really hope I’m wrong, but keep clear of him, okay? He’s not himself. And keep Robert away from him, too. Don’t let Robert go off with him. Don’t let—“
Beep. My time was up. I lowered Jason’s phone, feeling sure I had totally screwed up. And yet, I was glad I had done it.
“Was that okay?” I asked Jason. “Do you think she’ll understand? Do you think she’ll listen?” I hit my knee. “Aghh. I should have left your number. I didn’t leave your number.”
“Caller ID,” Jason said.
I shook my head.
“Oh yeah,” Jason said, because we weren’t talking about the newish landlines at Toomsboro Community College. Bailee-Ann lived in Black Creek, and unlike most of the the rest of the country, people in Black Creek didn’t have caller ID.
“She’ll have it on her cell,” he said.
“If she thinks to check,” I said. “I’m going to leave it anyway.”
I redialed her home number. Again, the answering machine picked up, and I said, “Me again. I’m on a friend’s phone if you want to call me. His number is—“
Jason started to supply it for me, but I said it without his help, making his eyebrows rise. I blushed and pretended not to notice and said to Bailee-Ann, “So call me as soon as you get this, okay? And don’t let Robert go off with Beef. Don’t tell him why, just—“
I was interrupted by scratchiness and a squeal of feedback. Someone had picked up.
“Hey, Cat,” Robert said.
“Robert!” I said, relief making me feel weightless. “Is Bailee-Ann there? Or your mother?”
“The phone’s never for me, so that’s why I didn’t pick up the first time,” he