Murders at Westfield High

Chapter 2

Julia and I met at our lockers and walked out of school together after the last period. A cool breeze made us move a bit faster and forced Julia to put on a cashmere sweater. Most of the students had gone home, but there were always a few stragglers gathered into groups, yacking about their first day at school.

“Where do you live?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“I live with my mother in an apartment above a flower shop on Main Street.”

“I have a car. Would you care for a lift?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Sure.” She added a nice smile for emphasis.

We walked to the student parking lot off the south end of the school.

“Nice car,” she said, her eyes scanning it several times before looking back at me.

“I had to save for quite a while to get it. It belonged to my uncle. He sold it to me for a bargain price, but I had to do a lot of work on it to get it in this shape.”

I helped her into the passenger’s side and closed the door. I climbed in behind the wheel and inserted the key. After the 4.8 L eight 4-barrel engine hooked to dual exhausts roared to life, I pulled out of the parking lot and drove down West Boulevard toward the center of Westfield.

“How are the kids at Westfield High?” I asked.

“They’re not bad. There are the usual cliques, but most of the students are okay.”

“How’s the staff?”

She looked away and I could sense a tightening in her facial muscles. “I suppose they’re adequate. Mrs. Wells, the principal, is a tough disciplinarian. She believes in the old adage: sparing the rod will spoil the child.”

“I’m surprised. Most schools have resorted to using detention as a punishment. Have you ever been disciplined?”

She blew out a disgusted breath. “No . . . but I know some girls who have.”

I decided to drop the subject. We arrived at her apartment and she seemed anxious to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as she was getting out.

She hesitated just long enough to throw a smile back. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem,” I said, trying to sound cool.

She closed the passenger door and ran off to enter a doorway next to the flower shop.

I drove to the A&P grocery store on Second Street and parked in their lot away from the locations that customers usually park in.

“It’s about time!” Vinnie, the manager yelled. Vinnie was stout and in his fifties. He tended to shout a lot.

“I had a late class,” I said as I put on an apron and prepared for work.

He waved a hand at me. “Yeah, yeah.”

I went to the back storage area and began hauling boxes of groceries out to stock the shelves. I had to work around a few customers, but I wasn’t in a hurry.

That’s when I saw Neil. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I thought I would check this place out,” he said. “I wanted to know if you’d like to come to my place this evening.”

“I don’t get done until eight. Where do you live?”

“Out on Route 4 on the corner of Taylor Road.”

“That’s not too far from where I live.”

He grinned. “Okay then, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling back.

At the end of my shift and after I had finished cleaning up, I drove to Neil’s. He lives in an older farmhouse set back off Taylor road. I drove up the gravel driveway and pulled alongside a 38 Ford pickup parked in a side area.

“Hey!” Neil yelled at me as he came out of a large four-car garage.

I walked up to him and smiled. “Nice place.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” He gestured to the garage. “I’m working on my Olds.”

I went into the garage and saw that he had his car up on a lift. “Must be nice.”

Neil gave me a confused look. “What?”

“Having a lift. Makes working on the undercarriage a lot easier.”

“It’s one of my dad’s old units. You’re right. It sure comes in handy.”

I ducked under his car and looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“I had to replace a break line. I must have picked up a rock ding and it caused a leak.” He looked at me. “How’d your first day go?”

“Okay. I met this girl. Her locker is next to mine.”

“Boy, you don’t mess around. First day at a new school and you’ve already scored.”

I chuckled. “I’m not even to first base with her. I’m surprised that she even talked to me.”

“You ought to be able to get a lot of girls with that ride of yours.”

“I don’t know about that. This scar scares chicks away.” I inadvertently touched a four-inch scar on my left cheek.

He gave me a serious look. “How’d you get that?”

“I got it in a knife fight. I’m lucky I didn’t get killed.”

“Damn! You must hang around some tough dudes.”

“Actually, It was a misunderstanding about a girl.”

“Yeah, chicks can be a problem. That’s why I prefer cars. They don’t give me any lip.”

I wanted to laugh, but I thought better of it. “I know what you mean.” I didn’t, but I felt it was the diplomatic thing to say. I’ve always had trouble making friends. Part of the reason for that is my attitude, or at least people’s perception of it. They label me as a rebel, which I’m not. It tends to get me into trouble. Oh well, that’s life.