“You’re not going to deny it,” I rasped.
The apple crunched between his teeth. “Deny what exactly?”
“You know why I’m here, so say it. Admit it.”
“I won’t make it that easy for you, sweet Rain-ey.”
I bristled. My name next to those masticated apple bits churned my stomach. As vile as the way he pronounced it, drawing it out like a joke.
“You tell me why you’re here. Maybe I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
I took a step back. Cavendish didn’t make a move toward me, or look like he wanted to. Still, my instincts screamed not to get close.
“Does the kookaburra laugh or does it scream? Does the mighty kingfisher cry or does it dream? Where are you, kookaburra? Tell me, oh, tell me, why is nothing as it seems?” I recited, watching those shark eyes for a hint of something.
“Cute poem. Got a bit lazy with the rhyme though.” Cavendish shifted and I shot away. His chuckle burned my cheeks.
“Critiquing yourself?” I snapped. “You had the time you were stalking and watching me to come up with something better in your first note.”
He said nothing. He wouldn’t. Cavendish was waiting for me to tell him why we were here, and after weeks of dying to rage in his face, I was more than happy to.
“You’re a murderer.” The words scraped my throat raw. “A killer. A psychopath! You tortured me for weeks, but it’s over now, you twisted fuck!”
Cavendish kept eating that damn apple. “Me? A murderer? What gave you that idea?”
“I finally figured it out. I was taking your clues too literally. Running to zoos and sanctuaries when you said it. Nothing is as it seems.”
He smiled at me like a dog who performed a cute trick. “One of life’s truths.”
“You killed Douglas Herbert. That’s another one.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. I remembered something my sister said. A while back, she told me about a guy she went to school with. Douglas,” I began. “She couldn’t stand that jackass. No one could. Douglas is remembered so fondly now, but when he was alive, he tortured people with his vicious pranks. Funny to him and his friends, but not to anyone else. The laughing jackass, otherwise known as a kookaburra.”
He hummed, bobbing his head. “Clever wordplay. Subtle.”
“That night, Douglas ran off the road. The traffic report doesn’t say why because they don’t know. It wasn’t raining. There was nothing wrong with his car. They figure something must’ve run out in front of him and he swerved to avoid it. Was that something you?” I asked. “Did you plan it, or did you just thank your good luck in the hospital room while you stood over his unconscious body?”
Keeping one eye fixed on him, I drew out my phone. The news articles shone on the screen. “‘There was nothing I could do,’ says Scott Cavendish, friend of Mr. Herbert. ‘All of a sudden the machines went off and nurses were rushing into the room. At least he wasn’t alone when he died. I held his hand and said goodbye.’
“Very touching,” I said. “You could almost believe you cared.”
Cavendish folded his arms, bending one leg on the tire. “Douglas was one of my best friends. Why would I do something so horrible?”
No shock. No horror. He truly wanted me to answer the question. Why did he do it?
“I’ll tell you why,” I went on. “Once I realized this was all about Douglas Herbert, I dug into his life and time before his death. A couple weeks before, Douglas hazed a freshman in a little joke that went wrong. Survive ten minutes of waterboarding and you’re in the fraternity.
“The brothers were laughing and joking it up until the kid stopped struggling. He asphyxiated, and it was someone’s quick thinking that saved his life. The incident scared sense into Douglas. He nearly killed some poor kid and flushed his future down the drain. After that, he went on a mission to make amends.
“He apologized to everyone he hurt, started volunteering in the soup kitchen, and confessed to the crimes he and his friends got away with. Nathan Wade—now expelled—drove the dean’s car in the lake. Sam Dillion—left town—called in a bomb threat to the school, and when they evacuated, he drove by firing blanks, causing a stampede that put two girls in the hospital. Herbert gave everyone’s secrets away, Cavendish, except yours. He conveniently died, alone in a room with you, before your secrets left his lips. Does the kookaburra laugh or does it dream? He does neither thanks to you.”
“Wow,” he drew out. “Such a dastardly plan. Sounds like I got away with it scot-free too. Begs the question, why would I drag all this up two years later? Give you a clue to find and stop me? That’s a pretty stupid thing to do, and from what you’re saying, I’m not a stupid guy.”