The O’Connells 7 - 9

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“Look, I have no idea what the hell happened,” Owen said to Marcus, his brother, the sheriff, as he took in the scene at the school. “I was called to a plumbing emergency. There was water everywhere.”

He’d pulled out his phone and called Marcus after making the discovery, which had brought in what seemed like everyone. Tessa was talking with one of the crime scene techs, and Harold, his brother’s lead deputy and Suzanne’s partner, was speaking with Rita Mae. He took in the body, which had been photographed and was now in a body bag, being wheeled away. Another deputy, Lonnie, was in the bathroom, and the kid deputy, Colby, was directing the emergency workers to move the body down the stairs.

Owen was still having a hard time shaking the fact that he’d found a kid in a closet, dead. It was surreal, the entire scene.

“Any idea who the kid is?” Owen said. His arms were crossed, and he glanced around, taking in everyone. Tessa ran her hand over the back of her neck, strong and confident but shaken as all hell. He could see it only because he knew her better than he was comfortable with. Tessa had a difficult independent personality, and anyone else would’ve had to look real hard to see it.

“Jackson Moore,” Marcus said. “You know the Moore family? He’s one of Susan’s four kids. A hard call that’ll be.”

Owen winced. The Moores had been in Livingston as long as his family had—longer, maybe. He could see this was the part of the job his brother didn’t like. Who would want to face parents and tell them their kid was dead? This was the kind of thing that just didn’t happen in their town.

“You said the water’s off?” Marcus said. “We’re going to have to shut this down for now, so you won’t be fixing anything for a bit. We need to investigate, find out what happened. With all the kids and everyone in the school, it’s going to be like finding a needle in a haystack—or we could get lucky.”

From the way his brother said it, he knew that was wishful thinking. But then, someone had to have seen something.

“Fine, I get it,” Owen said. “School will be out too, then. I’ll fix it when you give the all clear. How old was Jackson, anyway?” He didn’t know why he needed to ask. It was irrelevant now, but he just wanted to know.

“Pretty sure he’s Alison’s age,” Marcus said. “What a waste. He never even had a chance at life, at screwing up or choosing something or creating something… s**t!”

The door was still open, and Owen took in the small closet, how dark it would’ve been, still filled with cleaning supplies, brooms, mops, and janitorial equipment. He didn’t know what to think.

“So was he murdered?” Owen said. He knew he’d never get the sightless eyes of the young man out of his mind. It was never supposed to happen this way—a wasted life. What the hell had happened?

The look from Marcus was one he knew well. “You know I can’t talk about that. It’s too early, anyway. Coroner will need to figure it out. Couldn’t see anything, any visible marks to give us a clue. How the hell did he get into that closet? Why was he there?”

There was a lot to figure out. He looked around, seeing how upset Rita Mae was. Harold was walking over toward them, calm, collected, together, one of his brother’s best deputies. Marcus reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’ll have someone grab your tools, but this is a crime scene now. Let me know if you hear of something. Keep your ear to the ground, and let me know if you think of anything that could help.”

He watched as his brother moved away with Harold, discussing crime-scene things that he knew had nothing to do with him. He took in Tessa, for the first time realizing she was completely out of sorts. It took her another second before she realized he was walking right toward her. He could hear Rita Mae crying, but he kept walking.

“You okay?” was all he said as he stopped in front of Tessa, whose shirt was still damp and indecent. He gestured helplessly. He didn’t even have a jacket to give her.

“Sure. Seriously? Of course I’m not. That was Jackson Moore. He was one of my students. How is it possible that he’s dead? It’s wrong, so wrong that this could happen. What the hell was he doing in that closet, anyways?” She lifted her hands and then let them fall helplessly to her sides. “Any idea what happened, how he died?”

The more he looked, the more he saw something in her blue eyes that made him not want to walk away. She didn’t show this side of herself to just anyone. There was just something about her. He sensed her vulnerability.

He shook his head. He knew she was asking the same questions he was. “Where’re your things?” he said. “We should grab them and then go.”

She lifted her hand in a gesture and started to one of the classrooms down the hall. Inside, he took in the empty desks, the old chalkboard, the same as when he’d gone to school. She opened a drawer and pulled out her purse, then tucked a laptop from the desk into a case. He took in the cream-colored sweater looped around the back of the chair and reached for it.

“Here, put this on,” he said, holding it up, taking in those blue eyes that seemed to connect with him for just a second. Would she argue? “Tessa, your shirt. Come on, you have to be cold. You’re still wet.”

She must’ve known, as she slipped her arms into her sweater, and he rested his hands over her shoulders, feeling her tension and the stress of the moment. He let his hands linger. Of course she was upset. He could feel it.

There was something about her hair, that fine blond hair. He ran his fingers over the strands that fell here and there from her bun, then tucked a few strands behind her ear and let his hand fall away. He made himself step back.

She didn’t pull her questioning gaze. For a moment, he was positive she was fighting the urge to lean closer. He could see it. At the same time, she wouldn’t let herself. He gestured to the door behind him and then ran his hand over her shoulder again and around her back to steer her there.

“We should go,” he said. “I’ll walk you out.”

She was about to shake her head. He could just tell when a woman wanted something even though she denied it, but Tessa was a master of control, of making sure she would never have the one thing she wanted. She didn’t give in, and he was well aware he was as stubborn as she was.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “I’m a big girl, Owen. I can look after myself. Been doing it for years.”

At any other time, he’d have said fine and walked away, but something about the situation had him digging his heels in. “No,” he said. “I’m sure you’re capable of looking after yourself, Tessa, but seriously, a kid just died. Don’t be so damn stubborn. You’re upset, I’m upset. Be human for a second. This isn’t about that. Let’s go. I’ll walk you out.”

He could sense without her saying a word that she was happy he was insisting. Her hand was on her computer bag, and he reached for it and took it from her. He didn’t know how he did it, but he had her walking out of the room. He took in the cops, the crime scene, and Marcus, who was talking to one of them but gave Owen a look. Something passed between them as he led Tessa out to the stairs, where water was still running down in a thin stream.

“Careful on the stairs,” he said. “It’ll be slippery.” He just couldn’t help himself. He let her go first as she held the rail.

“You know, Owen, you don’t have to walk me out. I already told you…”

“You’ve said that already, Tessa. Just stop it, okay? This isn’t the time to be so stubborn.”

She stepped down off the last step and looked up to him, and for a moment, he could see she might be having trouble with something.

“Any idea of what happened?” she said. “I mean, Jackson was kind of a loner. He had a few friends in class, but he kept his head down. Why would he have been in that closet?” She lifted her hands, adjusting her purse over her shoulder. She was struggling and wasn’t about to leave it alone. Could he blame her? Hell, he needed a shot of something after this.

He somehow maneuvered her around and had her walking to the front door again. The questions kept circling in his mind, too. “Rita Mae said something about a prank, about how she was waiting for something. Know anything about that?”

“You mean the grad pranks from the seniors that happen every year around this time?” She was so close to him as she walked, and he opened the front door and gestured for Tessa to go first. She did, but she seemed to linger a bit as if waiting for him, then fell in beside him again, walking down the steps.

He took in the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. She gestured to a light blue compact in the parking lot not far from his plumbing van.

“Yeah, those ones,” he said.

She sighed as she kept walking, and he pressed his hand to her lower back because he just couldn’t keep from touching her. “Honestly, I don’t know, Owen. With the deserted halls and the flooding, that was honestly my first thought, too. It seems as if someone knew something…”

She stopped at her car and let out a sigh, then reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. He watched the way she clutched them, then hesitated, looking over the roof of her car as if thinking some heavy thoughts.

“You good to drive? I can follow you home,” he added.

She gave him everything again. “What happened between us, Owen?”

There it was, the million-dollar question. He was too stubborn, and so was she. “Life, everything…nothing,” he said, then shrugged, knowing it wasn’t an answer. He didn’t know when it was that his feelings for her had changed, which single moment had had him walking away. She didn’t pull her gaze from him, and Owen didn’t step back.

He found himself nodding. “You want to grab a drink?”

She said nothing for a second, giving him everything. Her eyes, the blueness… No one could compete with her. He expected a no, hell no, but instead she clutched her keys and seemed to consider it. “Yeah, a drink seems appropriate. So where?”

“Pop your things in your car, and I’ll drive. The Lighthouse?”

She held her keys up, and he saw that part of her that never went quietly as she said, “The Lighthouse sounds great, but I’ll drive.”