“Hello?”
“Landon? Hi, this is Mary from the CCC. Sorry to call you so late on a weekend.”
“That’s okay,” I said, ignoring Josh’s curious glances. “Is everything all right?”
Mary sighed. “Unfortunately, no. We have a bit of a problem down at the CCC, and I’m calling our volunteers to see if they have a free hour or two to help with some cleanup.”
“Cleanup?”
“It might be easier to explain in person. Any chance you’re available tonight to stop by?”
Technically, I wasn’t, yet I caught myself saying, “Yeah, I can be there in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Landon. We’ll see you soon.”
The line clicked off, and I removed the phone from my ear.
I turned to Josh, who had one brow raised. “You know how the bar is quiet tonight…any chance you don’t mind me sneaking off to the CCC for a bit?”
Josh sighed. “If you can get this guy to finish his water and scarf down a burger, then sure.”
Broken glass glittered on the pavement like shards of ice, catching the dim glow of the streetlights. The windows of the Community Connections Center were shattered and gaping, jagged edges still clinging to the frames. Cold air slipped through the gaps, carrying with it a hollow whistle.
I stepped carefully over tiny glass pieces, thankful I was wearing thick shoes. The wind bit through my jacket as I stood in front of the main entrance, quietly surveying the scene.
Police must have recently shown up. One officer was rolling out caution tape around the broken windows. Before entering, I flashed my volunteer badge to the officer posted by the door and told him I was going to help with the cleanup inside.
The front door hung slightly ajar, its lock twisted and broken, leaving it to swing limply on its hinges. Honestly, the damage inside wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, considering the broken windows. It still wasn’t great, though.
Down the main hall, chairs were overturned and brightly colored posters had been ripped down from the bulletin boards, lying crumpled on the floor. The air smelled of aerosol, sharp and bitter, mingling with the scent of spilled paint and dust.
Outside the art room, a large trash can had been tipped over, its contents spilled out, trailing garbage across the entrance. A nearby potted plant lay on its side, its dark soil spilled across the floor in a heap.
I wasn’t alone inside.
Kira’s slender frame leaned against a wall, blue light from her phone lighting up her face. She was capturing photos of the torn-apart classroom. My heart tightened when I saw her, but it quickly slowed when I took in the damage in the classroom, which was significantly worse than the rest of the CCC.
“Kira,” I said softly, not wanting to startle her.
She turned, brown eyes wide, and I saw the shock still etched across her face. “Mary called you, too?”
I nodded. “Where is she?”
Kira turned off her phone and tucked it inside her hoodie. She was dressed in lounge clothes, leaving me with the impression she had spent the night inside, curled up with a romance book. “She’s calling staff members and getting the word out about what happened. The CCC is going to have to be closed for a bit while they make repairs.”
The moonlight streamed in from the window—which was fortunately not broken—and I walked to where it illuminated the desks. Bright red spray paint stained the walls. Materials from the supply closet were strewn everywhere, canvases ripped down the middle, brushes snapped in half.
My stomach twisted when I saw the destruction to the paintings the kids made last week. They hung on the wall, but now, spray paint had ruined every last one.
Kira rubbed the heels of her palms in her eyes. Her voice was hoarse with sleep and something else. “Who would do this?”
I had no idea. None. And that gnawed at me. I’d grown up around people who did stupid things out of boredom, sure, but this wasn’t thoughtless. This was intentional. Angry.
Someone had taken one look at the bright colors and messy brushstrokes of kids who were proud of what they made and decided to destroy it. I couldn’t make sense of that kind of malice. And if someone had done this to get at Kira…
I clenched my jaw. No. I didn’t want to believe that.
“An awful person,” I answered.
