River of Bones by Dan Padavona (psychology books to read .TXT) 📗

forum you were jawing about earlier?”

“The unofficial Wolf Lake alumni forum, yes.”

He scooted his chair forward and scanned the thread topics.

“Ten bucks says this is more Tinder than Facebook.”

“Couples looking to hook up and live out their high school days?”

“Bet.”

She entered Skye Feron’s name into the search bar and pressed the return key. LeVar squinted at the screen.

“Only four results,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“Ah. I see the problem. The default settings only go back three months. We’ll change that.”

Scout clicked on the advanced search settings and changed the duration to six years. After she clicked the mouse, the results filled seven pages.

“That’s more like it. What do the messages say?”

Scout clicked a message, in which a woman named Jessica prayed for Skye’s safe return. Other messages offered theories about the girl’s disappearance.

“These posters watch Murder, She Wrote too often.”

“What the hell is Murder, She Wrote? That on HBO?”

“Never mind.” Scout brushed the hair off her forehead and changed tactics. Typing Paige Sutton’s name into the search bar, she scrutinized the results. “Lots of topics. Tell me if you notice her screen name.”

“I don’t see her. It’s like she didn’t create an account.”

In a second browser window, Scout typed the web address for the Wolf Lake Library. She chewed a nail as she worked. Her eyes stopped on her quarry—a digital version of the Wolf Lake High School yearbook from Skye’s senior year. Paige Sutton’s face showed up everywhere. Candid photographs, the football and basketball cheer teams, the prom committee, student government. It didn’t take a private detective to deduce Paige was incredibly popular.

And yet she wasn’t active on the alumni forum.

Scout returned to the forum and located the screen name directory. She searched under P and S.

“That’s weird. Why wouldn’t the most popular girl at Wolf Lake High sign up for the alumni forum?”

LeVar rested his chin on his fist.

“Probably she’s too good for them. Feels the forum is beneath her.”

Scout issued a noncommittal groan.

“Or Sheriff Gray was right, and Paige Sutton has something to hide.”

“Click on that yearbook again. I wanna check something out.”

Scout brought up the yearbook window and slid the mouse to LeVar. After he located the cheerleader team pictures, he ran his finger over the names.

“Staring at the pretty girls, LeVar? Bet you’re into pom-poms.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a sicko?”

“I’ve been called worse. What are you looking for?”

“Her,” LeVar said, tapping his finger on the monitor. “That’s Justine Adkins. She was on the cheerleader team with Paige Sutton. I bet if you examine the pages, you’ll find Justine in as many pictures as Paige. Pretty and popular. Does she have an alumni account?”

Scout checked the forum.

“No.”

“Damn. What are they hiding?”

“Let’s try something else.” Scout’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “I’m querying the website for posts mentioning Paige and Justine together.”

Their names appeared in posts dating back six years.

“Click on that one,” LeVar said, gesturing at a thread titled, Whatever Happened to Skye?”

Scout sat forward. A poster named Webb-WLHS referred to Paige as a bitch and claimed Justine slept with half the school.

“Interesting.”

“Some gals never get over the catty stuff.”

“Hey.”

“No offense. Whoever this Webb-WLHS is, she hates Paige and Justine.”

“Or is Webb-WLHS a he?”

“Check the yearbook.”

Scout couldn’t locate anyone named Webb in the senior class. A check of the sophomore and junior classes came up empty too.

“Maybe Webb-WLHS missed picture day,” said LeVar, studying the photographs.

“Or Webb-WLHS is a sock puppet account.”

“A what?”

“You really need to learn about tracking people online, if you intend to go into law enforcement. A sock puppet account is a fake user name. They’re usually generic sounding and help the user blend in.”

“So is this person a former student disguising her name—”

“Or his.”

“Or his,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But is Skye’s killer stalking the forum?”

“I’ll check the person’s profile.” She clicked the user name. Whoever Webb-WLHS was, the person neglected to include a name, photograph, or class, as the other members had. “Nothing. This person is a fraud.”

“The name could mean the user graduated in 2014. Now what?”

“We check what our stranger posted over the last several years.”

LeVar shifted his chair and read the messages as Scout opened them.

“In every message, this person has something nasty to say about Paige and Justine. Check this out. Those whores ruined Dawn’s life.”

Scout tapped her hand on the mouse.

“Who is Dawn?”

“She must be a classmate.”

After a thorough check of the senior class, Scout and LeVar couldn’t find anyone named Dawn. Nor did the girl exist in the underclassmen photographs.

“I don’t know,” Scout said, sitting back in her wheelchair. “It’s conceivable this Dawn girl attended another school.”

“Kane Grove or Harmon?”

“Those would be my guesses.”

LeVar turned his phone on. As soon as it rebooted, the phone buzzed with new messages.

“Anthony again?” she asked.

LeVar chewed his lip.

“Yeah.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I gotta help him. Darren and Raven don’t understand. He was like a little brother to me.”

Scout turned the wheelchair to face him and set her hands on the chair arms.

“LeVar, promise me you won’t go back to Harmon without talking to Thomas first.”

“Bet.”

“I mean it.”

“Chill, Scout. You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy.”

But as LeVar walked outside to return Anthony’s call, Scout knew her friend was lying. She had to stop him. The Harmon Kings would kill LeVar on sight.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Friday, August 13th

4:10 p.m.

 

Maggie, the station’s administrative assistant since Thomas was a high school intern under Sheriff Gray, was packing her bag when Thomas returned to work. She swiped her orange-brown hair off her shoulder and examined her face in a handheld mirror. Then she noticed him and stuffed the mirror inside her bag.

“Oh, Sheriff. There’s a woman waiting to see you. Deputy Lambert showed her to the interview room.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“Someone worried about Justine Adkins.”

It had to be Paige Sutton. Thomas thanked Maggie and wished her a pleasant weekend. In the kitchen, he grabbed two bottled waters and carried them to the conference room, hoping the woman would open up to him this time.

Paige