Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jules: Age Seventeen
Connecticut
They’d war-gamed this scenario endlessly back in the summer house, with Jules making sure that, whatever happened, Sadie would feel as safe and as confident as possible as she baited Suspect X, aka Trent from Ottersfield.
The plan was for her to arrive at the party, for her and Rod to clash—and in this case it had been a full-on physical fight that had produced the perfect result: Trent and Sadie sitting off to the side of the party as she very literally cried on his shoulder.
As Hobbit had said earlier: Vulnerable.
Check.
But it had occurred to Jules that Sadie had to not just be vulnerable. She had to make it clear that she was not going to drown her sorrows by having sex with Trent in the back of his car.
And although it was possible that Trent got off on drugging girls regardless of their apparent willingness to have sex with him, Jules didn’t want to bank on that.
So he’d prepped Sadie to be weepy and let Trent get handsy, but then to back off. Which she was doing right now.
As they watched from the thicket, video camera on and recording, Sadie turned her head at the exact moment Trent leaned in to kiss her.
His mouth bounced off the side of her face, at which point she acted surprised and then, as if realizing just how close he was sitting, she scooched away, putting quite a few inches between them, and then even climbing down from the table and standing up.
Trent stood, too, pretending it was okay. They were both facing away from the house and Jules could read his lips. I’m so sorry. Again, his demeanor was calm and even kind. A little embarrassed and even bashful.
“I just think you’re so pretty and smart, he just told her,” Shelly whispered as Sadie pretended to like Trent’s compliment. The smile she gave him, though, was far more Yeah, I’d go to the movies with you than Let’s get busy in the back of your car.
“What’s your battery level, Shel?” Jules asked.
“We’re at eighty percent,” she whispered back.
“Good,” because if something was going to happen, it was going to happen soon, as yes, Sadie pointed toward the house and said something about bathroom.
But before she walked toward the house, she reached for her cup of beer and pretended to take a sip, putting it back on the table.
She said something to Trent, probably a variation on the I really need more wine tonight line that she’d planned to tell him, and Jules caught the word losers.
“Losers didn’t get any wine tonight,” Shel translated, “so this will have to do to take the edge off.”
Trent laughed as Sadie again smiled at him, but then, clutching his jacket more tightly around her, she crossed the patio toward the house.
He didn’t follow her, thank God, and Jules let out the breath he was holding, as yes, Rod was paying attention, good man. He managed to hot foot it up the stairs and through the kitchen door ahead of Sadie. Like Jules had done for Belle, he’d stay in the kitchen until she went back outside.
“Motherfucker,” Hobbit whispered, and Jules realized that Trent had sat back down at the table, but this time, instead of sitting on the table top and facing the house, he was on the bench that faced the backyard’s expanse of lawn, directly in front of the solo cup that Sadie had put back on the table.
Trent’s back was to both the house and the rest of the partygoers on the patio, clustered around the keg and the kitchen steps.
He was, however, directly facing Jules and his crew—and the video camera.
“Shelly,” Jules whispered.
“I’m getting it,” she whispered back. “I’m in on him, close.”
Because, using his body as a shield to keep his actions clandestine to everyone who wasn’t hidden in the bushes, Trent took something—a small paper envelope, or maybe it was just a piece of paper, folded up—and opened it, dumping some kind of powder into Sadie’s beer.
“Oh, I got that,” Shelly whispered. “Motherfucker.”
“Premeditated,” Hobbit whispered. “He ground that shit up in advance.”
“Yeah,” Jules said.
“We got him,” Belle elated, but then immediately questioned herself, “Did we? Is that enough?”
“Not quite. Meg, you ready with the jar?” Jules asked.
“I am,” she whispered.
Shelly had cleaned and even sterilized both an old jelly jar and its lid because Jules was pretty certain they’d need as much evidence as they could get in order to successfully prosecute Trent. And preserving a sample of the beer he’d spiked to bring to a lab to test it for flunitrazepam was key.
At the table, Trent slightly swirled the beer in Sadie’s cup. Mixing it in well. Motherfucker, indeed.
“Remember, our primary goal is to get that beer in the jar, lid on tight,” Jules whispered. Because it would be much too easy for Trent to destroy the evidence, simply by dumping it out or knocking it over.
“We should also grab that piece of paper or envelope or whatever it was,” Tom said, as Trent stuck it back into the right front pocket of his jeans.
Jules nodded. “Good idea. Traces of the drug might still be on it.”
“Here she comes,” Hobbit warned, and indeed, Sadie came back out of the house. Rod was just a few beats behind her, but instead of crossing the patio toward Trent, he went to the keg.
“Oh, I hope Trent hands that cup to Sadie,” Jules whispered, because really, wouldn’t that say it all? Being able to show, on video, Trent putting the powdered substance into the beer and then placing the cup directly into the hands of his targeted victim...
“Here we go,” Shelly said and yup, this was it. Trent swiveled on the bench, putting his left leg over on the other side, essentially straddling it as he heard Sadie approaching. He held out the cup—yay!—and Sadie took it from him with a big smile, because she, too, knew this was a big win.
“Thanks,” she told Trent, but then, instead of sitting down beside him, she went around the table. Moving faster but clearly being careful not to spill the beer, she booked it across the lawn, directly toward the brush where they all were hidden.
“Let’s do this, let’s go,” Jules said, pushing himself up and leading the way out of their hiding place. Hobbit was right behind him. “Meg’s got the jar,” he shouted to Sadie, who nodded and headed for the girl, who was scrambling to her feet.
Trent had at first been bemused but it turned now to full alarm as he saw them—including Shel with the video camera. She had it held up to her eye as she backed away a little to include Trent in her shot, too.
Her main focus was Sadie, who was now pouring the beer from that red solo cup into Meg’s jar. Shel’s job was to keep that cup in the center of her frame at all times—from the moment Trent had poured that powder into the beer.
Trent was running toward them now, clearly with the intention of blasting himself into Sadie and Meg, to knock them over and spill that spiked beer.
Jules saw Rod, also running toward them, but there was no way he could catch Trent before he made contact. So Jules did the only thing he could—which was throw himself between Trent and the girls.
Trent was bigger than he was—nearly everyone was—but Mr. H had been adamant about the fact that that would mean little in a fight, as long as Jules was properly prepared.
And oh, he was.
He used himself as a missile, aiming low and striking Trent hard, his shoulder hitting the kid at his beltline, low enough to throw off Trent’s balance and knock his legs out from beneath him.
Holy shit, it worked.
The impact also knocked Jules down, too, but he tried to aim his body at Trent, to keep the other boy from bouncing back up and going for the girls, but shit, he missed, instead face-planting on the lawn.
But Hobbit and Belle were right behind Jules and they flopped themselves down atop Trent, with Rod launching himself up and over Jules, piling on.
Together they held Trent down while Jules rolled closer, reaching into the kid’s right front pocket and grabbing that wad of paper he’d used to transport his drugs.
As Trent realized what Jules was doing, he fought back with renewed fury.
Jules rolled as best as he could out of flail range, to find Tom ready and waiting for the handoff.
“Guard the evidence!” Jules reminded him of his extremely important job—keeping safe that jelly jar of spiked beer—rolling even further away from Trent’s kicking legs, even as Sadie and Meg both shouted, “Beer’s secure!”
“Oh, I’m on it,” Tom promised, even as he spoke directly into Shelly’s video camera lens, holding up the scrap of paper. “Exhibit B, used by the suspect to contain the crushed flunitrazepam, taken from suspect’s front pocket by Jules Cassidy, and handed to Tom McCall for safe-keeping.”
Meanwhile, the pile of chaos that was Rod, Belle, and Hobbit atop Trent thrashed and quaked.
As Jules clambered to his feet, Trent’s flailing landed him two very lucky blows, one right after the other.
An elbow connected hard with Rod’s head, which was surely a star-exploding, bell-clanging hit that pushed the bigger boy back and down—and allowed Trent an equally powerful kick to Hobbit’s balls.
Belle tried her best to hang on while Hobbit howled and Rod attempted and failed to shake his brain back into place, but Trent scrambled free, pushing himself up and sidestepping around Jules to book it, double-time, across Carter’s yard.
Soccer player, soccer player! Trent was both fast and nimble, but Jules launched himself after him, determined to grab him by the back of his shirt and slow him down enough for Rod and other others to catch up.
He followed Trent around the side of the house and out into the front yard. He was heading for the street and, no doubt, his car.
Ugh, tackling him on the asphalt was going to suck for both of them, and Jules put on a burst of speed, hoping to bring him down on the front lawn instead.