Indelible. Dawn Metcalf

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      That’s when she noticed a slip of paper tucked beneath the magnetic photo frame.

      Joy pulled it out. The paper was thin, almost transparent, with pale brown handwriting. Her fingers left oil spots where she touched it. Folded inside the message was a perfectly pressed four-leaf clover.

      Bairn Madigan, Phineas Dorne. Bantry, West Cork

      Mark’t un ryghte mit spare pointe, reg. Umber #4

      Curse o’ the Isles be on it.

      Monica leaned in. “What’s that?”

      “Nothing.” Joy stuffed the note and clover into her pocket. The icy-hot shiver down her spine might have been anger or fear. This was going too far. How had these people found her locker? How had they gotten the note inside? This was evidence. Harassment. Maybe there’d be fingerprints?

      A dull pulse throbbed behind her nose and heat flushed her face. No. She was not going to cry!

      Joy slammed her books around, catching her sweater on the notebook spiral and banging the door shut.

      “You sure you’re okay?” Monica asked.

      “Nothing twelve hours of sleep couldn’t cure,” Joy lied.

      “O-kay,” Monica said as they started walking. “So ask me about last night.”

      “How was last night?” Joy asked dutifully.

      “Gordon-ocious!”

      Joy smirked despite herself. “You’ve been waiting all morning to say that, haven’t you?”

      “I practiced in the car.”

      “For real?”

      “For real.”

      “Is this love?” Joy asked.

      “Maybe,” Monica said slyly. “And a little bit lower.”

      Even distracted, Joy could appreciate Monica’s delight in smarm. “Well, I’m glad you and your hormones are happy.”

      Monica stood up straighter and adjusted an earring. “I am happy,” she said, sounding surprised. “Who’d’ve thunk it? Gordon Weitzenhoffer makes me happy!”

      “Weitzenhoffer?” Joy snorted.

      Monica tried to look unruffled. “It’s German.”

      “It’s hideous,” Joy said. “Monica Weitzenhoffer?”

      “He’s gorgeous.”

      “Gordon-ocious, so I’m told.”

      “It completely makes up for the miserable last name.”

      “Good thing, too,” Joy said, pointing left. “Off to precalc.”

      “Later, lady.”

      They parted and Joy sighed, chest tight. Monica had found an actual boyfriend the night she’d been stabbed in the eye. How fair was that? And what had she gotten? Monsters at the window, glowing girls at the door, a flash in her eye and a note in her pocket. Joy took out the piece of paper and smoothed it against the wall, then snapped a picture with her phone for insurance. She’d forgotten to ask Officer Castrodad for a text address. She’d have to send the pic when she got home.

      Somebody thought she knew something. Obviously they hadn’t heard that she was always the last to know anything. Joy stomped up the stairs with all the unknown questions and half answers fluttering uncomfortably under her stomach.

      And even with a four-leaf clover, she totally blew the history test.

      * * *

      Joy slammed the front door.

      Fixated on her impending F, Joy completely forgot about the alarm system until the moment before sirens blasted both her ears. She punched in the code while swearing loudly. In the ringing after-silence, her skin crawled and her eye twitched: Flash! Flash! Dad’s increased security was doing nothing for her nerves.

      The phone rang. She gave the operator her name and code number, apologized and said everything was okay.

      But everything was not okay.

      Joy could all but feel the thin note crinkle in her pocket as she clicked through the call history. Joy hit redial. It connected on the second ring.

      “Officer Willis speaking. May I help you?”

      Joy hesitated at the pleasant-sounding female voice. “Um...I think I have the wrong extension.”

      “Were you calling the police station?”

      “Yeah, but I was looking for Officer Castrodad,” Joy said, rooting for the business card on the side table. “Officer Gabriel Castrodad?”

      “Officer Castrodad isn’t here today. My name is Officer Willis. Can I help you?”

      “I don’t know,” Joy said. She knew what to say to Officer Castrodad, but now she was improvising. “He was looking into something for me and I thought he was going to call me back.”

      “Oh.” Officer Willis sounded a little flustered herself. “Well, he’s out on leave, actually. If you can give me some of the details, I can look up your file. What’s your name?”

      Joy ignored the question. “He’s on leave? Like on vacation?” she said. “What? Now?”

      “No, he’s not on vacation,” Officer Willis said. “He’s taken a leave of absence. I don’t know when he might be back, so I’m handling—”

      “When he might be back?” Joy interrupted.

      “—so I’m handling his caseload,” Officer Willis said stubbornly. “May I have your name, please?”

      Joy’s insides seized up with an odd prickle of premonition. “No, thank you,” she whispered and quickly hung up. She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to hang up on the police, but she felt eerily guilty. Something was wrong.

      Joy opened her computer, typed his name and hit Search. The answer popped up in a brief news blurb:

      Officers were dispatched to Grandview Park at approximately 3:30 p.m. Wednesday afternoon to apprehend local policeman Officer Gabriel Castrodad, 42, who was arrested for brandishing his weapon without cause. The park was quickly evacuated and Castrodad was taken into custody without resisting arrest.

      Officer Castrodad’s sister, Emilia Castrodad, was called into the precinct to translate for the twice-decorated officer, who refused to give testimony in either Spanish or English. Ms. Castrodad explained that her brother had been speaking Rarámuri, the native language of the Tarahumara, Castrodad’s first language, which he’d learned from his grandmother, a native of Cerocahui, Chihuahua.

      “But СКАЧАТЬ