Life Is Short and Then You Die_First Encounters With Murder From Mystery Writers of America Read online

  “Kylie!” Landon calls, putting down his window. “Come back. Let’s talk.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” I stride past the front of his car. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

  He opens his door and gets out. “No, I haven’t. I screwed up, as usual. I just … I want to talk. I care about you. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  I snort and hurry up the front steps. He says something else, but I don’t listen, just slam the front door shut and jam the bolt into place.

  * * *

  I’m in the kitchen, fixing a plate of hummus and crackers as I Snapchat with Elijah while he works on a History project with Mia. Elijah and I have known each other since we were toddlers. He used to live next door until his parents split and his mom got a townhouse a few blocks away.

  I don’t tell Elijah what happened with Landon. I want to forget it. Brush it under the carpet and hope it goes away. It might. Landon gets his moods. Something brings him down, and it spills over into our relationship. We’ve broken up twice because of it—he gets into a funk where he decides we aren’t working out, and I deserve better, and he’s going to set me free … I roll my eyes just thinking about it.

  The front door opens. Footsteps slap the mat. Shoes hit the wall, kicked off, possibly even landing close to the mat. Socks whisper over the hardwood. A stair creaks.

  “Will?” I call.

  He grunts in response. My brother acts like he’s been assigned the role of stereotypical fourteen-year-old and is determined to win an Oscar for his performance. When he’s home, he’s holed up in his bedroom playing video games. If forced to interact with the family, he makes Landon look positively cheerful. When he was little, I called him Will the Pill because he was so annoying, always on my heels, always bugging me to play. Now, I’m lucky if I get a full sentence out of him.

  “So how was school?” I call. Then I continue as if he’s answered. “Really? That’s great. Got any homework tonight?” Another pause. “Okay. It’s been good talking to you.”

  I expect to hear him thump upstairs as he usually does. Instead, he says, “Got your text.”

  I carry my snack plate into the hall. “Excellent. So we’re on for Star Wars. You and me—”

  “Can’t. Going with Justin and a few of the guys.”

  I stop walking. “I bought—”

  “So did Justin’s mom.”

  “But it’s tradition. We always go.”

  “Twice, Kylie. We did it twice. That’s not tradition. Take Landon.”

  “He hates Star Wars.”

  He grumbles under his breath. Like Elijah, my brother is not a Landon fan. Unlike Elijah, he doesn’t seem to have anything against Landon—he just doesn’t think we make a good couple. We don’t “fit.”

  “Then take Eli,” Will says. “Or Mia. Just not me.”

  He continues up the stairs without even looking my way.

  “I’m cooking dinner for Mom and Dad,” I call after him. “Can I get you to make a salad?”

  He keeps walking.

  “Set the table?”

  He disappears into the upstairs hall.

  “Show up and smile? Join the conversation? Crazy talk, I know but—”

  His bedroom door shuts, and I sigh as I carry my snack into the living room.

  * * *

  We eat dinner early. Mom has to return to the station. She’s deep in a case, which is always tough because you know something’s bugging her, and you can’t ask what it is. She eats with her gaze fixed straight ahead, her fork tapping against the plate when it misses the food.

  Dad and I exchange a look and continue our conversation about his day—as much as he can share without breaching patient confidentiality. Yep, having a doctor and a cop for parents means a lot of weirdly fractured dinner conversations, which might be why we end up with some equally weird—and apparently inappropriate—dinner discussions.

  As a kid, I’d get annoyed with my parents for refusing to discuss the “cool stuff” when I had friends over. They said that what passed for Matheson dinner conversation could bother others. I thought they were full of crap, so the next time I had Mia over, I started talking about an article I’d read on flesh-eating bacteria and … and it was a long time before I could convince her to have dinner with us again.

  Tonight, Dad’s telling me how they saved the foot of a diabetic patient with gangrene. Will sits in front of an empty plate, his earbuds in, music loud enough for me to hear the thump-thump of the bass. He’d rather scarf down his food and race back to his room, but Mom and Dad make him stay until we’ve finished eating. They’ve allowed this one concession to their “screen-free” table rule—he can listen to music. It also saves us from his grumbling and sighing and muttering about the injustice of life for the entire fifteen minutes he’s forced to sit with us.

  Dad’s midway through explaining the procedure when Mom cuts him off with, “Kylie?” obviously not realizing Dad was talking.

  “Yes?” I say.

  “Have any of the girls at school had problems lately with stalker strangers?”

  Coming from a detective mom, this question is as normal as “What’d you do at school today?” I don’t ask what she means by “stalker stranger” either. Stalkers can be the rando lurking in the bushes … or they can be the guy you broke up with last week.

  “Not that I know of,” I say. “Do you want me to ask around?”

  She shakes her head. “Just let me know if you hear anything.” A pause. “And it’s nothing to worry about. Just a theory for … a case.”

  Dad starts clearing the table. “Are we still on for tonight’s excursion, Kylie?”

  “Definitely.” I need to catch frogs for an experiment—a behavioral study, nothing invasive.

  “Will,” Dad says as my brother rises.

  Will freezes, hands gripping the table edge, poised like a cat burglar hearing the homeowners return and wondering whether he still has time to escape. He reluctantly pulls out one earbud.

  “Why don’t you come to the lake with us?” Dad asks.

  “I have homework.”

  “And you’re actually going to do it? Awesome. However, it’s six o’clock Friday night, and you have all weekend.”

  “I…”

  “I think you can go to the lake, Will,” Mom says.

  That’s not a suggestion, and my brother knows it. Still, he tries with, “I have a lot of homework.”

  “Take it and do it at the lake,” Mom says. “Your dad would be happy to help. He might even take you for ice cream after.”

  Will gives his “How old do you think I am?” eye roll, which turns into full-blown muttering when I say, “Ooh, yes. Milkshakes! I’m in.” And yeah, I kinda do that to annoy him, but that’s what big sisters are for. He shoots me a death glare and stalks off to his room.

  “Will?” Mom calls.

  “Text me when you’re ready to go,” he says. “And no ice cream. I have an online match at eight.”

  * * *

  I’m back in the hospital basement with my family and friends, as if I never left, the memories relived in a blink.

  So I had gone to the lake.

  Had Dad or Will…?

  No. The woman said that my killer had let me die, let me drown. I will not believe it was either of them.

  Mom had asked me about a stalker. Had someone been stalking teen girls? Is that what happened to me?

  The woman had seemed to say my killer was one of my family or friends, yet she hadn’t been clear on that. She’d just waved down the hall, which could mean my killer was somewhere in the hospital. Someone on staff or even a new patient, injured when I fought back.

  I did fight back, didn’t I?

  I take a deep breath. Going to the lake. Focus on that. I’d gone to the lake and …

  * * *

  I’m crouched by a creek, looking for frogs. I don’t know where my brother is. He stomped off with his pail an hour ago. I called after him, saying he
didn’t need to help. He pretended not to hear me.

  Dad’s gone, too. We’d barely arrived before he got a text from work. He had to run back and handle something. He promised Will he’d get us home in time for that eight P.M. match, ’cause those things are important. He also promised me a milkshake.

  I only have one frog so far. I’m so much better at collecting dead things. I already found a skeletonized critter that I identified as a possum … which may have something to do with the fact that I only have one frog so far.

  I’m walking along the creek when I spot something that makes me smile. It’s a raft, tied to a tree stump. Every kid in West Mayfield knows it’s here, along with the oars tucked under a dead tree.

  One summer, Mia and Elijah and I took it out onto the lake almost every day. We’d been twelve, too old for day camp and too young for summer jobs. So we rode our bikes to the lake and paddled the raft out and lay on it, staring up at the clouds as we talked.

  That ended when Mom found me at the lake and insisted if I ever went on the raft again, I had to wear a life jacket. That was too embarrassing to contemplate. Years of swim lessons had left me able to dog-paddle across the deep end of a pool and nothing more.

  Today, I crouch by the raft, running my hands over the worn wood and smiling with the memories. Then mud squelches. A shadow falls over me, and I twist so fast I nearly lose my balance and tumble into the creek. Will plunks his pail down beside me.

  “Good?” he grunts.

  I look in to see a half dozen frogs of various sizes and types. Exactly what I told Dad I was looking for. I rise and throw open my arms, and he falls back as if I’m going to do something crazy, like hug him.

  “Best brother evah!” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m done. I’ll be over at the beach.”

  As he turns to go, I catch a flash of movement in the trees.

  “Hello?” I call.

  The spot has gone dark, the figure having vanished into lengthening shadows. Will mutters, thinking I’m addressing him. He keeps walking. I grab his arm. He goes to shove me off and then sees my face.

  He mouths, “What?”

  “I thought I saw someone.”

  He squints in the direction I’m looking. Then he marches that way. When I scramble after him, I slip on the wet ground.

  “Will!” I stage-whisper.

  He waves me away and keeps walking. Then he stops and peers into the forest.

  Someone taps my shoulder. I spin, shrieking. Dad’s laugh turns to wide-eyed horror when he sees my expression. He pulls me into a hug.

  “Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to startle you. Well, yes, I did, but not that way. I was just goofing around.”

  “Smooth move, Dad,” Will says as he tramps back. “Mom mentions a stalker, and you decide this is a good time to sneak up on your kids.”

  Dad winces. “I forgot about that. Sorry. Again.”

  Will grabs the bucket from me and heads toward the parking lot.

  “Hey,” I call. “How’d you know what Mom said when you had your earbuds in? Does this mean you were actually listening to our conversation?”

  He shakes his head and keeps walking.

  * * *

  I get my milkshake. Will breaks down and accepts a sundae, but only because if we must stop, he might as well get something. It’s not just a sundae, either. It’s the banana split for two, which he eats all by himself. Boys.

  We’re on the road again when Mia texts. She’s stuck home alone and looking for company. She also has something to show me. Ur gonna love it, she says with a string of emojis and exclamation marks. That makes me smile. She probably found another dead fox in the field behind their place. Mia knows me well.

  We’ll be driving right by her subdivision, so I ask Dad to drop me off. Will squawks about his match—it’s a quarter to eight already. I tell Dad to let me out on her corner. The sun is falling, but her street is well lit and it’s a warm night, plenty of people still outside.

  I text Mia to say I’ll be there in five minutes. She tells me to come around back and to be quiet so I don’t spoil the surprise. Is it a live animal? As fond as I am of dissection, I’d enjoy watching a live fox more than picking apart a dead one.

  I jog down the sidewalk. As expected, her driveway is empty, her parents gone. When I slip around back, I hear voices. Mia is talking. A guy answers. I grin on hearing a male voice. Mia hasn’t dated yet—she says she hasn’t found the right person. This must be my surprise. Look, Kylie! I’m talking to a real, live teenage boy!

  His voice is too low to make out words until I’m halfway around the house. Then I still can’t hear what he’s saying, but I recognize the voice. Landon.

  I stop and grimace. I hadn’t told Mia about our fight yet. Did Landon reach out to her? I know they talk. Did she invite us over so we can hash it out? That would explain why she told me to come around the house quietly. Don’t let Landon know I’m there. Don’t give him a chance to bolt.

  I consider leaving this intervention, but I know she means well. Mia always has my back. Elijah and I might have grown up together, but my best friend is Mia. We met on the first day of kindergarten. Two girls weren’t letting her play with the blocks, so we played together, and then I showed her a dead roach I’d found in the corner, and she didn’t say, “Eww” and run away. Best friends forever.

  I continue around the house. Their voices come clearer now. They’re talking about me. Great …

  “Kylie just … She’s not listening. I tried talking to her, and she stomped off.”

  “I know,” Mia said.

  “I don’t want to hurt her. She deserves better. She deserves the best.”

  “She does.” Mia’s voice is barely above a whisper, and there’s a note in it that sounds like sadness.

  They say something I don’t catch, a brief exchange drowned out by the scuff of my shoes on the walkway. I reach the back of the house, and I can see them by the pool, sitting together on a lounge chair.

  Landon puts his arm around her shoulders, and she falls against him, and he gives her a one-armed hug. Then he twists. He reaches for her chin, pulls her face up to his and kisses her.

  My heart stops. I swear it just stops.

  I start to charge in and ask what the hell he’s doing. Mia is upset—clearly upset—and he’s taking advantage of it? Elijah’s right. Landon really is a jerk. A complete and total—

  Then I realize Mia isn’t pushing him away. He kisses her, and she doesn’t shove him off in shock and horror. She’s kissing him back.

  My boyfriend is kissing my best friend. And she’s kissing him back.

  I stare. It’s all I can do for at least ten seconds. Then I turn, and I run as fast as I can.

  * * *

  I’m in the hospital again. My heart pounds now, so hard I can barely breathe. I hear Mia’s voice, and I spin toward it with a surge of hate and rage.

  You and Landon?

  You were my best friend. My best friend. The person I trusted more than anyone else.

  Did you do this? Did you kill me?

  I remember her swimming pool. I’ve read cases where someone drowns in a pool or tub and gets dumped in a lake, so it’ll seem they’ve drowned there. It never works. The water in their lungs will be different. I know that. Mia wouldn’t. Neither would Landon.

  Had I gone back to confront Mia? Had we fought, and had I fallen in and hit my head? Did they watch me drown and then take my body to the lake?

  I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on that moment in my memory, as I fled from Mia’s house, running until …

  * * *

  My phone buzzes with a message. I’m racing down Mia’s street, and I ignore it until I reach the end. Then I yank it out, certain it’s her. Certain she knows I saw them—she wanted me to see them. She sent that text asking me to come over and see something I was going to love.

  The thought hits me so hard bile rises, and I have to choke it back.

  The Snapchat message is f
rom Elijah. He has the truck, and he just dropped his sister off around the corner from my place. Do I mind if he stops by? Hangs out?

  My hands grip the phone as tears splash onto the screen.

  I send back:

  Elijah:

  No, everything is not okay, and it might never be okay again. I lost Landon, and sure, that hurts, but it’s nothing compared to losing Mia. Over this. Over a guy.

  I send a simple yes, and then I run again. I’m a block from my place when I see a familiar pickup. It’s Elijah, heading home.

  There’s no place to run. No chance to duck and hide. He spots me, and he slows. He’s out of the truck in a flash, running to the sidewalk, where he catches me up in a hug. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He sees, and he hugs me, and I collapse against him.

  Elijah is here for me. He has always been here for me. And I’ve been … I’ve been a bitch. There’s no easier way to put it. We grew older, and we grew apart, and that was on me.

  When he finally asks what’s happened, I shake my head and look up into his green eyes and say, “Not here. Let’s … let’s go somewhere.”

  “Sure. Just tell me where.”

  The idea comes in a heartbeat. I tell him.

  * * *

  I lie on my stomach, watching ripples in the lake, the wood of the raft smooth under my fingers. The moon’s reflection floats along on the current. Behind me, Elijah pushes the raft with the oar, launching it from the creek into the lake.

  I’ve told him what happened. He didn’t say, “I told you so.” He had every right to. He warned me against Landon from the beginning. I think the part about Mia has shocked him to silence. Now he pushes us along, and I watch the night sky shimmer on the lake as my tears slide into the water.

  They’re tears of grief and hurt and humiliation, but also wistful longing. I’m here, where I’d been so many times with Elijah and Mia, back in simpler times. Maybe that sounds silly—a sixteen-year-old talking about “simpler times,” but that’s what they felt like. Just the three of us, friends, no complications, no angst. I wish I could go back there right now. Be a kid again, floating on the current with my two best friends.