Page 64 of Broken Things

“He walks around town when he’s bored,” Owen jumps in. “Point number three.”

I frown. “That could beanyone.”

“He used to live in a desert,” Wade adds. “Don’t forget that.”

“It’s still not a lot to go on,” I say.

“It’s more than we knew before,” Abby says.

“Sure, but it doesn’t actually get us anywhere.” Owen slumps backward on the couch. His hair loses steam too, and falls over one eye.

“Read number two again,” Mia puts in, before we can keep fighting. The way she’s sitting, ramrod straight, like she’s a split second away from leaping into a ballet routine, makes me think she’s heard something specific. Even her voice sounds like it wants to leap—like she’s keeping down some excitement. “About the city.”

Wade repeats the bit about the city and the arch, and this time I hear it too.

“A city with an arch,” I say slowly. “St. Louis?”

“St. Louis,” Mia repeats. And then, unexpectedly, she begins to sing: “Meet me in St. Louis, meet me at the fair...”

All of a sudden I feel like I’ve been punted in the stomach. “Holy shit.” My throat burns with the taste of acid. Too muchcoffee. Too much. “Mr. Haggard.”

“Mr.Who?” Abby and Wade say together.

Mia turns to them. “Haggard.” Now the excitement has broken through. She practically squeaks the words instead of saying them. “Our bus driver. He used to sing to us every day. Show tunes, you know.Les Misérablesand stuff. But one of his favorites wasMeet Me in St. Louis.”

“Hesang,” I say. “Maybe he plays piano, too.”

“Did he seem lonely?” Wade asks.

“Of course he’s lonely,” I say. “He’s a bus driver.”

“That’s mean,” Owen says, but I ignore him.

Mr. Haggard. I close my eyes, remembering the sheen of his scalp through thinning hair, the way he used to grin when he saw us. “All aboard,” he would say, and give a toot of an invisible horn. Like we were still first graders. His sad pit-stained shirts and the way he gargled out the same songs as he rumbled off to school.... I open my eyes again. “He was at Summer’s memorial,” I say, remembering now how I spotted him in the crowd, standing there in a badly fitting suit. Did he look guilty? “He came to watch.”

“Half the town came,” Owen points out.

“Read number three again,” Mia says to Wade, and he does, obediently. “Street to street? That could be a bus route.”

“That’s a stretch,” Owen says, and Mia turns to look at him—mouth screwed up, like she’s preparing to spit.

“Why are you protecting him?” Mia says.

“I’m not protecting him,” Owen says. “We’re talking aboutmurder. We have to be sure.”

I try to imagine Mr. Haggard stomping through the woods, taking a rock to the back of Summer’s head, dragging her across the long field, and can’t. And Summer was horrible to Mr. Haggard. Was that all for show? Did she secretly meet with him to work onReturn to Lovelorn? I can’t picture it. Why would she open up to him, of all people?

Still: it’s the only lead we’ve got.

Abby’s consulting the list again. “What about the desert? Did he ever live in the desert?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” I say, and everyone turns to me now, even Abby, light winking from her glasses. I take a deep breath. “We ask.”

Summer was nervous as she waited in the arena for the Shadow to appear again. Why had she agreed to come? Why hadn’t she at least told Brynn and Mia? But she knew why: because they would have told her it was a bad idea.

Maybe, she thought, the Shadow wouldn’t show. But even as she thought it, she heard a light step behind her and turned around quickly.

“You’re scared,” the Shadow said. “Don’t be scared.”

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