“We told you kids she ran away, but that wasn’t true. We just didn’t want to upset you,” Mrs. Hanley said, her typically warm eyes narrow.
Rose clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in dawning horror. “Oh no—what happened?”
Mrs. Hanley frowned, pursing her lips. “His parents found her inside a camping cooler in their garage. He’d piled paint cans on top so she couldn’t get out. Poor thing suffocated to death.”
Rose’s stomach clenched queasily, and a glance at Justin told her he was having a similar reaction. She met his eyes, and he raised an eyebrow. She assumed they were both having the same thought: if the kid was capable of killing a cat, he was probably more than capable of burning down a garage. Living next door would have given him ample opportunity.
And if he’d killed a cat and burned down the garage, who was to say he wouldn’t burn down the school?
Together, they headed over to the neighboring house, where a tired-looking blonde woman balanced paper grocery bags in her arms as she kicked her car door shut with a maroon high heel. “Robbie,” she called to a bored-looking preteen standing in the driveway, bouncing a grotesque rubber ball that looked like a human head. “Can you get the mail?”
He rolled his eyes but caught the ball. “Fine,” he grumbled, dragging himself toward the end of the driveway.
“Oh damn,” Justin whispered as they approached. “I know that kid.”
Rose gave him an incredulous look. “How?”
“I mean, I don’t know know him, but I’ve seen him before. That’s one of the kids that was beating up Karl outside the post office.”
Rose added violent bullying to her quickly growing mental list of evidence suggesting the Tiddlywinks-murdering Robbie would turn out to be their arsonist. She pasted a smile on her face, forcing herself not to stare daggers at the kid. “Excuse me,” she called to his mom. “Do you have a minute to answer a couple questions? It’s for a school project.”
“Here, let me help you with those,” Justin offered, stepping forward to relieve her of the grocery bags. She readily accepted his assistance, tucking a permed curl behind her ear as she thanked him. Rose found herself hit by a sudden wave of frustration at the memory of Noah getting met with hostility for trying to take a similar action, just a few days earlier.
Rose launched into the same rehearsed speech she’d given so many times that afternoon, but when she asked about Star Wars action figures, Robbie—who had moved most of the way toward the front door of the house with the mail—spun toward them. “I did have an awesome set of action figures,” he said, interrupting his mother’s polite answer, “until some asshole stole some of them.”
His mom shook his head, her gaze lifting to the sky for a second as if searching for strength from above. “Honey, we’ve been over this. You probably just left them at—”
“I told you, I didn’t bring them to the fucking birthday party,” Robbie screeched.
“Robbie!” his mother hissed, casting Rose and Justin an apologetic look. “He lost some of his favorites over the summer,” she offered by way of explanation, “and he thinks—”
“I don’t think; I know,” Robbie interjected again. “Someone was in my room and took them, and now they’re probably gone forever because you wouldn’t take it seriously—”
“Sweetheart, I wasn’t going to call the police about your toys—”
“They’re not toys; it was a collectible Han Solo and Boba Fett!”
“—when they had a much bigger problem to deal with next door.”
“Let the fire department deal with her stupid fire; I was fucking robbed.”
“Now, honey, you seem like you’re getting a little upset,” his mother said. “How about you go inside and cool down, and I’ll finish up out here?”
Robbie rolled his eyes, then stomped into the house, slamming the front door behind him. Rose watched incredulously, trying to imagine what her parents would do if she ever talked like that to either of them. The crater left by the force of their rage would be visible from the moon. But Robbie didn’t strike her as a kid who’d ever been held accountable for much of anything.
“I’m so sorry,” his mother said to Rose, her expression sheepish. “There was a fire at the neighbor’s house the day his toys went missing, but of course, you know how kids are. Everything is an emergency!” She threw up her hands with a what-can-you-do gesture.
“Well, we’ll let you go,” Rose said, her heart pounding with what they’d just learned. “Thanks for your time.”
Justin walked her groceries inside, then joined Rose in the driveway. They rushed back to Mrs. Hanley’s, keeping silent until they were sure they were out of earshot of Robbie and his mother.
Back by the garage, Justin turned to Rose, his eyes wide. “Holy shit.”
She nodded breathlessly. “He said it was a Han Solo, right?”
“Yeah. And on the day of the fire.”
“But why would he make such a big deal about them being stolen if he set the fire? Wouldn’t that just draw more attention to him?”
“Who knows how that little psychopath thinks?” A grin spread across his face, and without warning, he threw his arms around her and scooped her up. She let out an involuntary squeal as he spun her in a circle before setting her back on her feet. His blue eyes sparkled as they locked on hers. “Rose, we solved it!”
Rose ran a hand through her hair, feeling her face flush. She knew she was supposed to be mad at him, but she couldn’t help the giddy flutters in her stomach. Still, they needed to focus on what they’d just learned. She cleared her throat. “Okay, so assuming it’s him, what do we do next? Is there a way to prove he did it? Can we give the action figure to the police?”
Justin shook his head. “Mrs. Hanley won’t go for it. And even if she did, Robbie will just keep claiming it was stolen. No way would they hold him through Saturday night.”
“Right.” Rose chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking. “Okay, how about this? We know he’s been bullying Karl. What if we turned him in to the school? They could contact his parents and maybe—”
Justin laughed. “You saw his mom, right? That kid wouldn’t get grounded if he murdered Karl on his front lawn.”
“Well, then what’s your bright idea?”
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a kid, right? Maybe we just, like . . . tie him up until Saturday night?”
“Justin, that is kidnapping.”
“We’d let him go eventually.”
“No.”
He sighed. “Well, we know where he lives. And we know when the fire starts. Maybe we just . . . keep an eye on him on Saturday? We can meet here in the morning and just watch the house until he leaves, and stop him if he tries to go to the school.”
“And if we’re wrong and he doesn’t go to the school?”
“Then we can head to the school before the fire starts and wait for someone to show up. But I mean, really—this kid kills a cat, he’s basically a playground terrorist, and he just so happens to be missing the exact action figure that was found at the scene of the fire, which he lost on the day of the fire? Come on. Tell me that’s a coincidence.”