Sometimes Stevie could see thoughts in her head—like little blocks, objects that arranged themselves, stuck themselves together. The words that Susan had said were moving around in a more or less orderly fashion, but one thing was trying to wriggle free. What was it . . . ?
“On another note,” David said, “you know, in September . . .”
“Huh?”
“September.”
“What about September?” she said. All the thoughts vanished into the corners of her mind, like mice scurrying away when a person turned on the light and came into the room. She frowned in annoyance.
“What?” he said. “Why are you making that face?”
“What about September? What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that in September, it’ll be, you know, school.”
Stevie waited for clarification on this scintillating fact. She had been so close to placing her thought. Why did he have to start talking about school? School was far in the distance.
“Well,” he said, noting her irritation and responding with his infuriating smile, “you’ll be back on the mountaintop, and . . .”
Stevie turned her focus back to the street they were walking down. Sleepy, sunny Barlow Corners. Everything here was so snug in this town center. There was the library, sitting proudly on the green, with its stupid statue. There was the Sunshine Bakery and the Dairy Duchess. . . . There was the cute little store full of household novelties and gifts, like funny socks and mugs with inspirational sayings. . . . There was Dr. Penhale’s veterinary office . . . the drugstore . . . the dentist’s office, and Shawn Greenvale stepping out of the door. . . .
Shawn Greenvale.
“。 . . and you’ll be busy, I don’t know, maybe murdering someone in the woods, and . . .”
David was still going on about school. Stevie grabbed his arm and tugged it.
“Up there,” she said. “That guy. The one in the blue shirt walking toward the truck. That’s Shawn Greenvale.”
“Shawn . . .”
“Sabrina Abbott’s ex-boyfriend,” Stevie said, already quickening her pace. Shawn had been on her list. Here was her moment. She race-walked along, trying not to draw attention to herself while making sure that Shawn did not get away before she caught up to him. She had to run the last half block.
“Excuse me!” She was out of breath way too quickly. Susan Marks, former phys ed teacher, would not have been impressed with her lung capacity. “Shawn?”
The man looked up at the blond, sweating girl dressed in all black who hurried up to him and was now pressing her palms into the hood of his truck and the lanky boy who followed behind her.
“My name is Stevie Bell and . . .”
“I know who you are.” His tone wasn’t warm or inviting.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you.”
“About what?” he asked.
“About what happened here. In 1978. I just spoke to Susan Marks and . . .”
He reached into his car and took the silver sun blocker off the windshield, folded it, and threw it into the back seat.
“No,” he said.
“I . . .”
“No,” he said again.
Stevie bit her top lip, silencing herself. Shawn began to get into the truck. He was going to go away, and her chance would be gone. She had to try. She maneuvered herself a bit closer to the opening of the door, so it would be harder to shut it without swiping her.
“I don’t want to bother you,” she said quickly.