CHAPTER 15
YOU THINK ELLIOT MURDERED SOMEONE?”
“Shh!” I hissed at Vee, glancing across the rows of lab tables to make sure no one had overheard.
“No offense, babe, but this is starting to get ridiculous. First he attacked me. Now he’s a killer. I’m
sorry, but Elliot? A murderer? He’s, like, the nicest guy I’ve ever met. When was the last time he forgot
to hold open a door for you? Oh, yeah, that’s right … never.”
Vee and I were in biology, and Vee was lying faceup on a table. We were running a lab on blood
pressure, and Vee was supposed to be resting silently for five minutes. Normally I would have worked
with Patch, but Coach had given us a free day, which meant we were free to choose our own partners.
Vee and I were at the back of the room; Patch was working with a jock named Thomas Rookery at the
front of the room.
“He was questioned as a suspect in a murder investigation,” I whispered, feeling Coach’s eyes gravitate
toward us. I scribbled a few notes on my lab sheet. Subject is calm and relaxed. Subject has refrained
from speaking for three and a half minutes. “The police obviously thought he had motive and means.”
“Are you sure it’s the same Elliot?”
“How many Elliot Saunderses do you think there were at Kinghorn in February?”
Vee strummed her fingers on her stomach. “It just seems really, really hard to believe. And anyway, so
what if he was questioned? The important thing is, he was released. They didn’t find him guilty.”
“Because police found a suicide note written by Halverson.”
“Who’s Halverson again?”
“Kjirsten Halverson,” I said impatiently. “The girl who supposedly hanged herself.”
“Maybe she did hang herself. I mean, what if one day she said, ‘Hey, life sucks,’ and strung herself to a
tree? It has happened.”
“You don’t find it a little too coincidental that her apartment showed evidence of a breakin
when they
discovered the suicide note?”
“She lived in Portland. Breakins
happen.”
“I think someone placed the note. Someone who wanted Elliot off the hook.”
“Who would want Elliot off the hook?” Vee asked.
I gave her my best duh look.
Vee propped herself up with her good elbow. “So you’re saying Elliot hauled Kjirsten up a tree, tied a
rope around her neck, pushed her off the limb, then did a breakingandentering
job on her apartment
and planted evidence pointing to a suicide.”
“Why not?”
Vee returned the duh look. “Because the cops already analyzed everything. If they’re ruling it a suicide,
so am I.”
“How about this,” I said. “Just weeks after Elliot was released from questioning, he transferred schools.
Why would someone leave Kinghorn Prep to come to CHS?”
“You’ve got a point there.”
“I think he’s trying to escape his past. I think it became too uncomfortable attending school on the same
campus where he killed Kjirsten. He has a guilty conscience.” I tapped my pencil against my lip. “I
need to drive out to Kinghorn and ask questions. She just died two months ago; everyone will still be
buzzing about it.”
“I don’t know, Nora. I’m getting bad vibes about initiating a spy operation at Kinghorn. I mean, are you
going to ask about Elliot specifically? What if he finds out? What’s he going to think?”
I looked down at her. “He only has something to worry about if he’s guilty.”
“And then he’ll kill you to silence you.” Vee grinned like the Cheshire cat. I didn’t. “I want to find out
who attacked me just as much as you do,” she continued on a more serious note, “but I swear on my life
it wasn’t Elliot. I’ve replayed the memory, like, a hundred times. It’s not a match. Not even close. Trust
me.”
“Okay, maybe Elliot didn’t attack you,” I said, trying to appease Vee but not about to clear Elliot’s
name. “He still has a lot going against him. He was involved in a murder investigation, for one. And
he’s almost too nice, for two. It’s creepy. And he’s friends with Jules, for three.”
Vee frowned. “Jules? What’s wrong with Jules?”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that every time we’re with them, Jules bails?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The night we went to Delphic, Jules left almost immediately to use the bathroom. Did he ever come
back? After I left to buy cotton candy, did Elliot find him?”
“No, but I chalked it up to internal plumbing issues.”
“Then, last night, he mysteriously called in sick.” I scrubbed my pencil’s eraser down the length of my
nose, thinking. “He seems to get sick a lot.”
“I think you’re overanalyzing this. Maybe … maybe he has IBS.”
“IBS?”
“Irritable bowel syndrome.”
I discarded Vee’s suggestion in favor of mentally stretching for an idea that floated just out of reach.
Kinghorn Prep was easily an hour away by car. If the school was as academically rigorous as Elliot
claimed, how did Jules continually have time to make the drive to Coldwater to visit? I saw him nearly
every morning on my way to school at Enzo’s Bistro with Elliot. Plus, he gave Elliot a ride home after
school. It was almost like Elliot had Jules in the palm of his hand.
But that wasn’t all of it. I scrubbed the eraser more furiously against my nose. What was I missing?
“Why would Elliot kill Kjirsten?” I wondered out loud. “Maybe she saw him do something illegal, and
he killed her to silence her.”
Vee let go of a sigh. “This is starting to drift into the land of This Makes Absolutely No Sense.”
“There’s something else. Something we’re not seeing.”
Vee looked at me like my logic was vacationing in outer space. “Personally, I think you’re seeing too
much. This feels a lot like a witch hunt.”
And then all of a sudden I knew what I was missing. It had been nagging me all day, calling to me from
the back of my mind, but I’d been too overwhelmed with everything else to pay attention. Detective
Basso had asked me if anything was missing. It just now hit me that something was. I’d set the article
about Elliot on top of my dresser last night. But this morning—I consulted my memory to be sure—it
was gone. Definitely gone.
“Omigosh,” I said. “Elliot broke into my house last night. It was him! He stole the article.” Since the
article was in plain sight, it was obvious Elliot had torn apart my room to terrorize me—possibly as
punishment for finding the article in the first place.
“Whoa, what?” Vee said.
“What’s wrong?” asked Coach, coming to a stop beside me.
“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Vee chimed in. She pointed and laughed at me from behind Coach’s back.
“Um—the subject doesn’t appear to have a pulse,” I said, giving Vee’s wrist a hard pinch.
While Coach probed for Vee’s pulse, she made swooning motions and fanned herself. Coach flicked his
eyes to mine, looking at me over the top of his glasses. “Right here, Nora. Beating loud and strong. Are
you sure the subject refrained from activity, including talking, for the full five minutes? This pulse isn’t
as slow as I would have expected.”
“The subject struggled with the notalking
step,” Vee interjected. “And the subject has a hard time
relaxing on a rockhard
biology table. The subject would like to propose switching places so Nora can
be the new subject.” Vee used her right hand to grab me and pull herself upright.
“Don’t make me regret allowing you to choose your own partners,” Coach told us.
“Don’t make me regret coming to school today,” said Vee sweetly.
Coach shot her a warning look, then picked up my lab sheet, eyes skimming the allbutblank
page.
“The subject equates biology labs with overdosing on prescriptionstrength
sedatives,” Vee said.
Coach chirped his whistle, and all eyes in the class swung our way.
“Patch?” he said. “Mind taking over here? We seem to have run into a partner problem.”
“I was so kidding,” Vee said quickly. “Here—I’ll do the lab.”
“You should have thought of that fifteen minutes ago,” Coach said.
“Please forgive me?” she asked, batting her eyelashes angelically.
Coach tucked her notebook under her good arm. “No.”
Sorry! Vee mouthed over her shoulder at me as she walked reluctantly to the front of the room.
A moment later Patch took a seat on the table beside me. He clasped his hands loosely between his
knees and kept a steady gaze on me.
“What?” I said, feeling unnerved by the weight of his stare.
He smiled. “I was remembering the shark shoes. Last night.”
I got the usual Patchinduced
flutter in my stomach, and like usual, I couldn’t distinguish if it was a
good thing or a bad thing.
“How was your night?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral as I attempted to break the ice. My spying
adventures still hung uncomfortably between us.
“Interesting. Yours?”
“Not so much.”
“Homework was brutal, huh?”
He was making fun of me. “I didn’t do homework.”
He had the smile of a fox. “Who did you do?”
I was speechless a moment. I stood there with my mouth slightly open. “Was that an innuendo?”
“Just curious what my competition is.”
“Grow up.”
His smile stretched. “Loosen up.”
“I’m already walking on thin ice with Coach, so do me a favor and let’s concentrate on the lab. I’m not
in the mood to play test subject, so if you don’t mind …” I looked pointedly at the table.
“Can’t,” he said. “I don’t have a heart.”
I told myself he wasn’t being literal.
I lowered myself down on the table and stacked my hands on my stomach. “Tell me when five minutes
are up.” I shut my eyes, preferring not to watch Patch’s black eyes examine me.
A few minutes later I opened one eye a slit.
“Time’s up,” said Patch.
I held one upturned wrist out so he could take my pulse. Patch took my hand, and a jolt of heat shot up
my arm and ended with a squeeze in my stomach.
“The subject’s pulse increased on contact,” he said.
“Don’t write that.” It was supposed to sound indignant. If anything, it sounded like I was repressing a
smile.
“Coach wants us to be thorough.”
“What do you want?” I asked him.
Patch’s eyes connected with mine. On the inside, he was grinning. I could tell.
“Except, you know, that,” I said.
After school I swung by Miss Greene’s office for our scheduled appointment. At the end of the school
day, Dr. Hendrickson had always kept his door wide open, a nonverbal invitation for students to stop by.
Every time I passed down this stretch of hallway now, Miss Greene had the door closed. All the way.
The Do not disturb was implicit.
“Nora,” she said, opening the door after my knock, “please come in. Have a seat.”
Her office was fully unpacked and decorated today. She’d brought in several more plants, and a panel of
framed botanical prints hung in a row on the wall above her desk.
Miss Greene said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last week. I came to the obvious
conclusion that our relationship needs to be built on trust and respect. We won’t discuss your dad again,
unless you specify.”
“Okay,” I said warily. What were we going to talk about?
“I heard some rather disappointing news,” she said. Her smile faded and she leaned forward, resting her
elbows on the desk. She was holding a pen, and she rolled it between her palms. “I don’t mean to pry
into your private life, Nora, but I thought I made myself perfectly clear concerning your involvement
with Patch.”
I wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this. “I haven’t tutored him.” And, really, was it any of her
business?
“Saturday night Patch gave you a ride home from Delphic Seaport. And you invited him inside your
house.”
I fought to hold in a choke of protest. “How do you know about that?”
“Part of my job as your school psychologist is to give you guidance,” Miss Greene said. “Please
promise me you’ll be very, very careful around Patch.” She looked at me like she was actually waiting
for my oath of promise.
“It’s kind of complicated,” I said. “My ride left me stranded at Delphic. I didn’t have a choice. It’s not
like I seek out opportunities to spend time with Patch.” Well, except for last night at the Borderline. In
my defense, I honestly hadn’t expected to see Patch. He was supposed to have the night off.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” Miss Greene answered, but she didn’t sound fully convinced of my
innocence. “With that out of the way, is there anything else you’d like to talk about today? Anything
weighing on your mind?”
I wasn’t about to tell her that Elliot broke into my house. I didn’t trust Miss Greene. I couldn’t put my
finger on it, but something about her bothered me. And I didn’t like the way she kept hinting that Patch
was dangerous but wouldn’t tell me why. It was almost like she had an agenda.
I hoisted my backpack off the ground and opened the door. “No,” I said.
วันศุกร์ที่ 8 เมษายน พ.ศ. 2554
Hush, Hush Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
I GOT BACK TO THE FARMHOUSE SHORTLY BEFORE EIGHT. I turned my key in the lock,
grabbed the doorknob, and shoved my hip against the door. I’d called my mom a few hours before
dinner; she was at the office, tying up a few loose ends, not sure when she’d be home, and I expected to
find the house quiet, dark, and cold.
On the third shove, the door gave way, and I hurled my handbag into the darkness, then wrestled with
the key still jammed in the lock. Ever since the night Patch came over, the lock had developed a greedy
disposition. I wondered if Dorothea had noticed it earlier in the day.
“Give—me—the—dumb—key,” I said, jiggling it free.
The grandfather clock in the hall ticked on the hour, and eight loud dongs reverberated through the
silence. I was walking into the living room to start a fire in the woodburning
stove when there was the
rustle of fabric and a low creak from across the room.
I screamed.
“Nora!” my mom said, throwing off a blanket and scrambling into a sitting position on the sofa. “What
in the world’s the matter?”
I had one hand splayed across my heart and the other flattened against the wall, supporting me. “You
scared me!”
“I fell asleep. If I’d heard you come in, I would have said something.” She pushed her hair off her face
and blinked owlishly. “What time is it?”
I collapsed into the nearest armchair and tried to recover my normal heart rate. My imagination had
conjured up a pair of ruthless eyes behind a ski mask. Now that I was positive he wasn’t a figment of
my imagination, I had an overwhelming desire to tell my mom everything, from the way he’d jumped
on the Neon to his role as Vee’s attacker. He was stalking me, and he was violent. We’d get new locks
on the doors. And it seemed logical that the police would get involved. I’d feel much safer at night with
an officer parked on the curb.
“I was going to wait to bring this up,” my mom said, interrupting my thought process, “but I’m not sure
the perfect moment is ever going to present itself.”
I frowned. “What’s going on?”
She gave a long, troubled sigh. “I’m thinking about putting the farmhouse up for sale.”
“What? Why?”
“We’ve been struggling for a year, and I’m not pulling in as much as I’d hoped. I’ve considered taking a
second job, but honestly, I’m not sure there are enough hours in the day.” She laughed without any trace
of humor. “Dorothea’s wages are modest, but it’s extra money we don’t have. The only other thing I can
think of is moving into a smaller house. Or an apartment.”
“But this is our house.” All my memories were here. The memory of my dad was here. I couldn’t
believe she didn’t feel the same way. I would do whatever it took to stay.
“I’ll give it three more months,” she said. “But I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
Right then I knew I couldn’t tell my mom about the guy in the ski mask. She’d quit work tomorrow.
She’d get a local job, and there’d be absolutely no choice but to sell the farmhouse.
“Let’s talk about something brighter,” Mom said, pushing her mouth into a smile. “How was dinner?”
“Fine,” I said morosely.
“And Vee? How’s she recovering?”
“She can go back to school tomorrow.”
Mom smiled wryly. “It’s a good thing she broke her left arm. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to take
notes in class, and I can only imagine how disappointing that would have been for her.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “I’m going to make hot chocolate.” I stood and pointed over my shoulder into the
kitchen. “Want some?”
“That actually sounds perfect. I’ll start the fire.”
After a quick trip to the kitchen to round up mugs, sugar, and the cocoa canister, I came back to find
that Mom had a kettle of water on the woodburning
stove. I perched myself on the arm of the sofa and
handed her a mug.
“How did you know you were in love with Dad?” I asked, striving to sound casual. There was always
the chance that discussing Dad would bring on a tearfest, something I hoped to avoid.
Mom settled into the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table. “I didn’t. Not until we’d been
married about a year.”
It wasn’t the answered I’d expected. “Then … why did you marry him?”
“Because I thought I was in love. And when you think you’re in love, you’re willing to stick it out and
make it work until it is love.”
“Were you scared?”
“To marry him?” She laughed. “That was the exciting part. Shopping for a gown, reserving the chapel,
wearing my diamond solitaire.”
I pictured Patch’s mischievous smile. “Were you ever scared of Dad?”
“Whenever the New England Patriots lost.”
Whenever the Patriots lost, my dad went to the garage and revved up his chainsaw. Two autumns ago he
hauled the chainsaw
to the woods behind our property, felled ten trees, and diced them into firewood.
We still have more than half the pile to burn through.
Mom patted the sofa beside her, and I curled up against her, resting my head on her shoulder. “I miss
him,” I said.
“Me too.”
“I’m afraid I’ll forget what he looked like. Not in pictures, but hanging around on a Saturday morning
in sweats, making scrambled eggs.”
Mom laced her fingers through mine. “You’ve always been so much like him, right from the start.”
“Really?” I sat up. “In what way?”
“He was a good student, very clever. He wasn’t flashy or outspoken,
but people respected him.”
“Was Dad ever … mysterious?”
Mom seemed to turn this over in her mind. “Mysterious people have a lot of secrets. Your father was
very open.”
“Was he ever rebellious?”
She gave a short, startled laugh. “Did you see him that way? Harrison Grey, the world’s most ethical
accountant … rebellious?” She gave a theatrical gasp. “Heaven forbid! He did wear his hair long for a
while. It was wavy and blond—like a surfer’s. Of course, his hornrimmed
glasses killed the look. So
… do I dare ask what got us on this subject?”
I had no idea how to explain my conflicting feelings for Patch to my mom. I had no idea how to explain
Patch, period. My mom was probably expecting a description that included his parents’ names, his
GPA, the varsity sports he played, and which colleges he planned on applying to. I didn’t want to alarm
her by saying I was willing to bet my piggy bank that Patch had a rap sheet. “There’s this guy,” I said,
unable to hold back a smile at the thought of Patch. “We’ve been hanging out lately. Mostly school
stuff.”
“Ooh, a boy,” she said mysteriously. “Well? Is he in the Chess Club? Student Council? The tennis
team?”
“He likes pool,” I offered optimistically.
“A swimmer! Is he as cute as Michael Phelps? Of course, I always leaned toward Ryan Lochte when it
came to appearances.”
I thought about correcting my mom. On second thought, it was probably best not to clarify. Pool,
swimming … close enough, right?
The phone rang and Mom stretched across the sofa to answer it. Ten seconds into the call she flopped
back against the sofa and slapped a hand to her forehead. “No, it’s not a problem. I’ll run over, pick it
up, and bring it by first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Hugo?” I asked after she hung up. Hugo was my mom’s boss, and to say he called all the time was
putting it mildly. Once, he’d called her into work on a Sunday because he couldn’t figure out how to
operate the copy machine.
“He left some unfinished paperwork in the office and needs me to run over. I have to make copies, but I
shouldn’t be gone more than an hour. Have you finished your homework?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’ll tell myself we couldn’t have spent time together even if I was here.” She sighed and rose to
her feet. “See you in an hour?”
“Tell Hugo he should pay you more.”
She laughed. “A lot more.”
As soon as I had the house to myself, I cleared the breakfast dishes off the kitchen table and made room
for my textbooks. English, world history, biology. Arming myself with a brandnew
number two pencil,
I flipped open the top book and went to work.
Fifteen minutes later my mind rebelled, refusing to digest another paragraph on European feudal
systems. I wondered what Patch was doing after he got off work. Homework? Hard to believe. Eating
pizza and watching basketball on TV? Maybe, but it didn’t feel right. Placing bets and playing pool at
Bo’s Arcade? It seemed like a good guess.
I had the unexplainable desire to drive to Bo’s and defend my earlier behavior, but the thought was
quickly put into perspective by the simple fact that I didn’t have time. My mom would be home in less
time than it took to make the halfhour
drive there. Not to mention, Patch wasn’t the kind of guy I could
just go hunt down. In the past, our meetings had operated on his schedule, not mine. Always.
I climbed the stairs to change into something comfy. I pushed on my bedroom door and took three steps
inside before stopping short. My dresser drawers were yanked out, clothes strewn across the floor. The
bed was ripped apart. The closet doors were open, hanging askew by their hinges. Books and picture
frames littered the floor.
I saw the reflection of movement in the window across the room and swung around. He stood against
the wall behind me, dressed head to toe in black and wearing the ski mask. My brain was in a swirling
fog, just beginning to transmit run! to my legs, when he lunged for the window, threw it open, and
ducked lithely out.
I took the stairs down three at a time. I flung myself around the banister, flew down the hall to the
kitchen, and dialed 911.
Fifteen minutes later a patrol car bumped into the driveway. Shaking, I unbolted the door and let the
two officers in. The first officer to step inside was short and thickwaisted
with saltandpepper
hair.
The other was tall and lean with hair almost as dark as Patch’s, but cropped above his ears. In a strange
way, he vaguely resembled Patch. Mediterranean complexion, symmetrical face, eyes with an edge.
They introduced themselves; the darkhaired
officer was Detective Basso. His partner was Detective
Holstijic.
“Are you Nora Grey?” Detective Holstijic asked.
I nodded.
“Your parents home?”
“My mom left a few minutes before I called 911.”
“So you’re home alone?”
Another nod.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” he asked, crossing his arms and planting his feet wide, while
Detective Basso walked a few paces inside the house and took a look around.
“I came home at eight and did some homework,” I said. “When I went up to my bedroom, I saw him.
Everything was a mess. He tore my room apart.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“He was wearing a ski mask. And the lights were off.”
“Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?”
“No.”
“Height? Weight?”
I delved reluctantly into my shortterm
memory. I didn’t want to relive the moment, but it was
important that I recall any clues. “Average weight, but a little on the tall side. About the same size as
Detective Basso.”
“Did he say anything?”
I shook my head.
Detective Basso reappeared and said, “All clear,” to his partner. Then he climbed to the second floor.
The floorboards creaked overhead as he moved down the hall, opening and shutting doors.
Detective Holstijic cracked the front door and squatted to examine the deadbolt. “Was the door
unlocked or damaged when you came home?”
“No. I used my key to get in. My mom was asleep in the living room.”
Detective Basso appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Can you show us what’s damaged?” he asked me.
Detective Holstijic and I climbed the stairs together, and I led the way down the hall to where Detective
Basso stood just inside my bedroom door with his hands on his hips, surveying my room.
I held perfectly still, a tingle of fear creeping through me. My bed was made. My pajamas were in a
heap on my pillow, just the way I’d left them this morning. My dresser drawers were shut, picture
frames arranged neatly on top. The trunk at the foot of the bed was closed. The floors were clean. The
window drapes hung in long, smooth panels, one on either side of the closed window.
“You said you saw the intruder,” said Detective Basso. He was staring down at me with hard eyes that
didn’t miss a thing. Eyes that were expert at filtering lies.
I stepped inside the room, but it lacked the familiar touch of comfort and safety. There was an
underlying note of violation and menace. I pointed across the room at the window, trying to hold my
hand steady. “When I walked in, he jumped out the window.”
Detective Basso glanced out the window. “Long way to the ground,” he observed. He attempted to open
the window. “Did you lock it after he left?”
“No. I ran downstairs and called 911.”
“Somebody locked it.” Detective Basso was still eyeing me with razor eyes, his mouth pressed in a tight
line.
“Not sure anybody’d be able to get away after a jump like that,” Detective Holstijic said, joining his
partner at the window. “They’d be lucky to get off with a broken leg.”
“Maybe he didn’t jump, maybe he climbed down the tree,” I said.
Detective Basso whipped his head around. “Well? Which is it? Did he climb or jump? He could have
pushed past you and gone out the front door. That would be the logical option. That’s what I’d have
done. I’m going to ask once more. Think real careful. Did you really see someone in your room
tonight?”
He didn’t believe me. He thought I’d invented it. For a moment I was tempted to think similarly. What
was wrong with me? Why was my reality convoluted? Why did the truth never match up? For the sake
of my sanity, I told myself it wasn’t me. It was him. The guy in the ski mask. He was doing this. I didn’t
know how, but he was to blame.
Detective Holstijic broke the tense silence by saying, “When will your parents be home?”
“I live with my mom. She had to make a quick trip to the office.”
“We need to ask you both a few questions,” he continued. He pointed for me to take a seat on my bed,
but I shook my head numbly. “Have you recently broken up with a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“How about drugs? Have you had a problem, now or in the past?”
“No.”
“You mentioned that you live with your mom. How about Dad? Where’s he?”
“This was a mistake,” I said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
The two officers exchanged looks. Detective Holstijic shut his eyes and massaged the inner corners.
Detective Basso looked like he’d wasted enough time and was ready to blow it off.
“We’ve got things to do,” he said. “Are you going to be all right here alone until your mom gets back?”
I hardly heard him; I couldn’t pull my eyes off the window. How was he doing it? Fifteen minutes. He
had fifteen minutes to find a way back inside and put the room in order before the police arrived. And
with me downstairs the whole time. At the realization that we’d been alone in the house together, I
shuddered.
Detective Holstijic extended his business card. “Could you have your mom call us when she gets in?”
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Detective Basso said. He was already halfway down the hall.
I GOT BACK TO THE FARMHOUSE SHORTLY BEFORE EIGHT. I turned my key in the lock,
grabbed the doorknob, and shoved my hip against the door. I’d called my mom a few hours before
dinner; she was at the office, tying up a few loose ends, not sure when she’d be home, and I expected to
find the house quiet, dark, and cold.
On the third shove, the door gave way, and I hurled my handbag into the darkness, then wrestled with
the key still jammed in the lock. Ever since the night Patch came over, the lock had developed a greedy
disposition. I wondered if Dorothea had noticed it earlier in the day.
“Give—me—the—dumb—key,” I said, jiggling it free.
The grandfather clock in the hall ticked on the hour, and eight loud dongs reverberated through the
silence. I was walking into the living room to start a fire in the woodburning
stove when there was the
rustle of fabric and a low creak from across the room.
I screamed.
“Nora!” my mom said, throwing off a blanket and scrambling into a sitting position on the sofa. “What
in the world’s the matter?”
I had one hand splayed across my heart and the other flattened against the wall, supporting me. “You
scared me!”
“I fell asleep. If I’d heard you come in, I would have said something.” She pushed her hair off her face
and blinked owlishly. “What time is it?”
I collapsed into the nearest armchair and tried to recover my normal heart rate. My imagination had
conjured up a pair of ruthless eyes behind a ski mask. Now that I was positive he wasn’t a figment of
my imagination, I had an overwhelming desire to tell my mom everything, from the way he’d jumped
on the Neon to his role as Vee’s attacker. He was stalking me, and he was violent. We’d get new locks
on the doors. And it seemed logical that the police would get involved. I’d feel much safer at night with
an officer parked on the curb.
“I was going to wait to bring this up,” my mom said, interrupting my thought process, “but I’m not sure
the perfect moment is ever going to present itself.”
I frowned. “What’s going on?”
She gave a long, troubled sigh. “I’m thinking about putting the farmhouse up for sale.”
“What? Why?”
“We’ve been struggling for a year, and I’m not pulling in as much as I’d hoped. I’ve considered taking a
second job, but honestly, I’m not sure there are enough hours in the day.” She laughed without any trace
of humor. “Dorothea’s wages are modest, but it’s extra money we don’t have. The only other thing I can
think of is moving into a smaller house. Or an apartment.”
“But this is our house.” All my memories were here. The memory of my dad was here. I couldn’t
believe she didn’t feel the same way. I would do whatever it took to stay.
“I’ll give it three more months,” she said. “But I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
Right then I knew I couldn’t tell my mom about the guy in the ski mask. She’d quit work tomorrow.
She’d get a local job, and there’d be absolutely no choice but to sell the farmhouse.
“Let’s talk about something brighter,” Mom said, pushing her mouth into a smile. “How was dinner?”
“Fine,” I said morosely.
“And Vee? How’s she recovering?”
“She can go back to school tomorrow.”
Mom smiled wryly. “It’s a good thing she broke her left arm. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to take
notes in class, and I can only imagine how disappointing that would have been for her.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “I’m going to make hot chocolate.” I stood and pointed over my shoulder into the
kitchen. “Want some?”
“That actually sounds perfect. I’ll start the fire.”
After a quick trip to the kitchen to round up mugs, sugar, and the cocoa canister, I came back to find
that Mom had a kettle of water on the woodburning
stove. I perched myself on the arm of the sofa and
handed her a mug.
“How did you know you were in love with Dad?” I asked, striving to sound casual. There was always
the chance that discussing Dad would bring on a tearfest, something I hoped to avoid.
Mom settled into the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table. “I didn’t. Not until we’d been
married about a year.”
It wasn’t the answered I’d expected. “Then … why did you marry him?”
“Because I thought I was in love. And when you think you’re in love, you’re willing to stick it out and
make it work until it is love.”
“Were you scared?”
“To marry him?” She laughed. “That was the exciting part. Shopping for a gown, reserving the chapel,
wearing my diamond solitaire.”
I pictured Patch’s mischievous smile. “Were you ever scared of Dad?”
“Whenever the New England Patriots lost.”
Whenever the Patriots lost, my dad went to the garage and revved up his chainsaw. Two autumns ago he
hauled the chainsaw
to the woods behind our property, felled ten trees, and diced them into firewood.
We still have more than half the pile to burn through.
Mom patted the sofa beside her, and I curled up against her, resting my head on her shoulder. “I miss
him,” I said.
“Me too.”
“I’m afraid I’ll forget what he looked like. Not in pictures, but hanging around on a Saturday morning
in sweats, making scrambled eggs.”
Mom laced her fingers through mine. “You’ve always been so much like him, right from the start.”
“Really?” I sat up. “In what way?”
“He was a good student, very clever. He wasn’t flashy or outspoken,
but people respected him.”
“Was Dad ever … mysterious?”
Mom seemed to turn this over in her mind. “Mysterious people have a lot of secrets. Your father was
very open.”
“Was he ever rebellious?”
She gave a short, startled laugh. “Did you see him that way? Harrison Grey, the world’s most ethical
accountant … rebellious?” She gave a theatrical gasp. “Heaven forbid! He did wear his hair long for a
while. It was wavy and blond—like a surfer’s. Of course, his hornrimmed
glasses killed the look. So
… do I dare ask what got us on this subject?”
I had no idea how to explain my conflicting feelings for Patch to my mom. I had no idea how to explain
Patch, period. My mom was probably expecting a description that included his parents’ names, his
GPA, the varsity sports he played, and which colleges he planned on applying to. I didn’t want to alarm
her by saying I was willing to bet my piggy bank that Patch had a rap sheet. “There’s this guy,” I said,
unable to hold back a smile at the thought of Patch. “We’ve been hanging out lately. Mostly school
stuff.”
“Ooh, a boy,” she said mysteriously. “Well? Is he in the Chess Club? Student Council? The tennis
team?”
“He likes pool,” I offered optimistically.
“A swimmer! Is he as cute as Michael Phelps? Of course, I always leaned toward Ryan Lochte when it
came to appearances.”
I thought about correcting my mom. On second thought, it was probably best not to clarify. Pool,
swimming … close enough, right?
The phone rang and Mom stretched across the sofa to answer it. Ten seconds into the call she flopped
back against the sofa and slapped a hand to her forehead. “No, it’s not a problem. I’ll run over, pick it
up, and bring it by first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Hugo?” I asked after she hung up. Hugo was my mom’s boss, and to say he called all the time was
putting it mildly. Once, he’d called her into work on a Sunday because he couldn’t figure out how to
operate the copy machine.
“He left some unfinished paperwork in the office and needs me to run over. I have to make copies, but I
shouldn’t be gone more than an hour. Have you finished your homework?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’ll tell myself we couldn’t have spent time together even if I was here.” She sighed and rose to
her feet. “See you in an hour?”
“Tell Hugo he should pay you more.”
She laughed. “A lot more.”
As soon as I had the house to myself, I cleared the breakfast dishes off the kitchen table and made room
for my textbooks. English, world history, biology. Arming myself with a brandnew
number two pencil,
I flipped open the top book and went to work.
Fifteen minutes later my mind rebelled, refusing to digest another paragraph on European feudal
systems. I wondered what Patch was doing after he got off work. Homework? Hard to believe. Eating
pizza and watching basketball on TV? Maybe, but it didn’t feel right. Placing bets and playing pool at
Bo’s Arcade? It seemed like a good guess.
I had the unexplainable desire to drive to Bo’s and defend my earlier behavior, but the thought was
quickly put into perspective by the simple fact that I didn’t have time. My mom would be home in less
time than it took to make the halfhour
drive there. Not to mention, Patch wasn’t the kind of guy I could
just go hunt down. In the past, our meetings had operated on his schedule, not mine. Always.
I climbed the stairs to change into something comfy. I pushed on my bedroom door and took three steps
inside before stopping short. My dresser drawers were yanked out, clothes strewn across the floor. The
bed was ripped apart. The closet doors were open, hanging askew by their hinges. Books and picture
frames littered the floor.
I saw the reflection of movement in the window across the room and swung around. He stood against
the wall behind me, dressed head to toe in black and wearing the ski mask. My brain was in a swirling
fog, just beginning to transmit run! to my legs, when he lunged for the window, threw it open, and
ducked lithely out.
I took the stairs down three at a time. I flung myself around the banister, flew down the hall to the
kitchen, and dialed 911.
Fifteen minutes later a patrol car bumped into the driveway. Shaking, I unbolted the door and let the
two officers in. The first officer to step inside was short and thickwaisted
with saltandpepper
hair.
The other was tall and lean with hair almost as dark as Patch’s, but cropped above his ears. In a strange
way, he vaguely resembled Patch. Mediterranean complexion, symmetrical face, eyes with an edge.
They introduced themselves; the darkhaired
officer was Detective Basso. His partner was Detective
Holstijic.
“Are you Nora Grey?” Detective Holstijic asked.
I nodded.
“Your parents home?”
“My mom left a few minutes before I called 911.”
“So you’re home alone?”
Another nod.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” he asked, crossing his arms and planting his feet wide, while
Detective Basso walked a few paces inside the house and took a look around.
“I came home at eight and did some homework,” I said. “When I went up to my bedroom, I saw him.
Everything was a mess. He tore my room apart.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“He was wearing a ski mask. And the lights were off.”
“Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?”
“No.”
“Height? Weight?”
I delved reluctantly into my shortterm
memory. I didn’t want to relive the moment, but it was
important that I recall any clues. “Average weight, but a little on the tall side. About the same size as
Detective Basso.”
“Did he say anything?”
I shook my head.
Detective Basso reappeared and said, “All clear,” to his partner. Then he climbed to the second floor.
The floorboards creaked overhead as he moved down the hall, opening and shutting doors.
Detective Holstijic cracked the front door and squatted to examine the deadbolt. “Was the door
unlocked or damaged when you came home?”
“No. I used my key to get in. My mom was asleep in the living room.”
Detective Basso appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Can you show us what’s damaged?” he asked me.
Detective Holstijic and I climbed the stairs together, and I led the way down the hall to where Detective
Basso stood just inside my bedroom door with his hands on his hips, surveying my room.
I held perfectly still, a tingle of fear creeping through me. My bed was made. My pajamas were in a
heap on my pillow, just the way I’d left them this morning. My dresser drawers were shut, picture
frames arranged neatly on top. The trunk at the foot of the bed was closed. The floors were clean. The
window drapes hung in long, smooth panels, one on either side of the closed window.
“You said you saw the intruder,” said Detective Basso. He was staring down at me with hard eyes that
didn’t miss a thing. Eyes that were expert at filtering lies.
I stepped inside the room, but it lacked the familiar touch of comfort and safety. There was an
underlying note of violation and menace. I pointed across the room at the window, trying to hold my
hand steady. “When I walked in, he jumped out the window.”
Detective Basso glanced out the window. “Long way to the ground,” he observed. He attempted to open
the window. “Did you lock it after he left?”
“No. I ran downstairs and called 911.”
“Somebody locked it.” Detective Basso was still eyeing me with razor eyes, his mouth pressed in a tight
line.
“Not sure anybody’d be able to get away after a jump like that,” Detective Holstijic said, joining his
partner at the window. “They’d be lucky to get off with a broken leg.”
“Maybe he didn’t jump, maybe he climbed down the tree,” I said.
Detective Basso whipped his head around. “Well? Which is it? Did he climb or jump? He could have
pushed past you and gone out the front door. That would be the logical option. That’s what I’d have
done. I’m going to ask once more. Think real careful. Did you really see someone in your room
tonight?”
He didn’t believe me. He thought I’d invented it. For a moment I was tempted to think similarly. What
was wrong with me? Why was my reality convoluted? Why did the truth never match up? For the sake
of my sanity, I told myself it wasn’t me. It was him. The guy in the ski mask. He was doing this. I didn’t
know how, but he was to blame.
Detective Holstijic broke the tense silence by saying, “When will your parents be home?”
“I live with my mom. She had to make a quick trip to the office.”
“We need to ask you both a few questions,” he continued. He pointed for me to take a seat on my bed,
but I shook my head numbly. “Have you recently broken up with a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“How about drugs? Have you had a problem, now or in the past?”
“No.”
“You mentioned that you live with your mom. How about Dad? Where’s he?”
“This was a mistake,” I said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
The two officers exchanged looks. Detective Holstijic shut his eyes and massaged the inner corners.
Detective Basso looked like he’d wasted enough time and was ready to blow it off.
“We’ve got things to do,” he said. “Are you going to be all right here alone until your mom gets back?”
I hardly heard him; I couldn’t pull my eyes off the window. How was he doing it? Fifteen minutes. He
had fifteen minutes to find a way back inside and put the room in order before the police arrived. And
with me downstairs the whole time. At the realization that we’d been alone in the house together, I
shuddered.
Detective Holstijic extended his business card. “Could you have your mom call us when she gets in?”
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Detective Basso said. He was already halfway down the hall.
Hush, Hush Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT AT SEVEN, THE BORDERLINE’S parking lot was packed. After nearly
an hour of begging, Vee and I had convinced her parents that we needed to celebrate her first night out
of the hospital over chiles rellenos and virgin strawberry daiquiris. At least, that’s what we were
claiming. But we had an ulterior motive.
I tucked the Neon into a tight parking space and turned off the engine.
“Ew,” said Vee when I passed the keys back and my fingers brushed hers. “Think you could sweat a
little more?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Gee, I had no clue.”
I inadvertently looked at the door.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Vee said, tightening her lips. “And the answer is no. No as in no way.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said.
Vee vised my arm. “The heck I don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to run,” I said. “Not me.”
“Liar.”
Tuesday was Patch’s night off, and Vee had put it into my head that it would be the perfect time to
interrogate his coworkers. I envisioned myself sashaying up to the bar, giving the bartender a coy
Marcie Millar look, then segueing to the topic of Patch. I needed his home address. I needed any prior
arrests. I needed to know if he had a connection to the guy in the ski mask, no matter how tenuous. And
I needed to figure out why the guy in the ski mask and the mysterious girl were in my life.
I peeked inside my handbag, doublechecking
to make sure the list of interrogation questions I’d
prepared were still with me. One side of the list dealt with questions about Patch’s personal life. The
flip side had flirting prompts. Just in case.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vee said. “What is that?”
“Nothing,” I said, folding the list.
Vee tried to grab the list, but I was faster and had it crammed deep in my handbag before she could get
to it.
“Rule number one,” Vee said. “There is no such thing as notes in flirting.”
“There’s an exception to every rule.”
“And you’re not it!” She grabbed two plastic 7Eleven
sacks from the backseat and swiveled out of the
car. As soon as I stepped out, she used her good arm to hurl the sacks over the top of the Neon at me.
“What’s this?” I asked, catching the sacks. The handles were tied and I couldn’t see inside, but the
unmistakable shaft of a stiletto heel threatened to poke through the plastic.
“Size eight and a half,” Vee said. “Sharkskin. It’s easier to play the part when you look the part.”
“I can’t walk in high heels.”
“Good thing they’re not high, then.”
“They look high,” I said, eying the protruding stiletto.
“Almost five inches. They left ‘high’ behind at four.”
Lovely. If I didn’t break my neck, I just might get to humiliate myself while seducing secrets out of
Patch’s coworkers.
“Here’s the deal,” said Vee as we strode down the sidewalk to the front doors. “I sort of invited a couple
of people. The more the merrier, right?”
“Who?” I asked, feeling the dark stirrings of foreboding in the pit of my stomach.
“Jules and Elliot.”
Before I had time to tell Vee exactly how bad I thought this idea was, she said, “Moment of truth: I’ve
sort of been seeing Jules. On the sly.”
“What?”
“You should see his house. Bruce Wayne can’t compete. His parents are either South American drug
lords or come from serious old money. Since I haven’t met them yet, I can’t say which.”
I was at a loss for words. My mouth opened and shut, but nothing came out. “When did this happen?” I
finally managed to ask.
“Pretty much right after that fateful morning at Enzo’s.”
“Fateful? Vee, you have no idea—”
“I hope they got here first and reserved a table,” Vee said, stretching her neck while eying the crowd
accumulating around the doors. “I don’t want to wait. I am seriously two thin minutes away from death
by starvation.”
I grabbed Vee by her good elbow, pulling her aside. “There’s something I need to tell you—”
“I know, I know,” she said. “You think there’s a slim chance Elliot attacked me Sunday night. Well, I
think you’ve got Elliot confused with Patch. And after you do some sleuthing tonight, the facts will
back me up. Believe me, I want to know who attacked me just as much as you. Probably even more. It’s
personal now. And while we’re handing each other advice, here’s mine. Stay away from Patch. Just to
be safe.”
“I’m glad you’ve thought this through,” I said tersely, “but here’s the thing. I found an article—”
The doors to the Borderline opened. A fresh wave of heat, carrying the smell of limes and cilantro,
swirled out at us, along with the sound of a mariachi band playing through the speakers.
“Welcome to the Borderline,” a hostess greeted us. “Just the two of you tonight?”
Elliot was standing behind her inside the dimmed foyer. We saw each other at the same moment. His
mouth smiled but his eyes did not.
“Ladies,” he said, sanding his hands together as he walked over. “Looking magnificent, as always.”
My skin prickled.
“Where’s your partner in crime?” Vee asked, glancing around the foyer. Paper lanterns hung from the
ceiling, and a mural of a Mexican pueblo spanned two walls. The waiting benches were filled to
capacity. There was no sign of Jules.
“Bad news,” said Elliot. “The man is sick. You’re going to have to settle for me.”
“Sick?” Vee demanded. “How sick? What kind of excuse is sick?”
“Sick as in it’s coming out both ends.”
Vee scrunched her nose. “Too much information.”
I was still having a difficult time grasping the idea that something was going on between Vee and Jules.
Jules came across sullen, brooding, and completely disinterested in Vee’s company or anyone else’s.
Not one part of me felt comfortable with the idea of Vee spending time alone with Jules. Not
necessarily because of how unpleasant he was or how little I knew about him, but because of the one
thing I did know: He was close friends with Elliot.
The hostess plucked three menus out of a slotted cubbyhole and led us to a booth so close to the kitchen
I could feel the fire of the ovens coming through the walls. To our left was the salsa bar. To our right
glass doors moist with condensation led out to a patio. My poplin blouse was already clinging to my
back. My sweat might have had more to do with the news about Vee and Jules than with the heat,
however.
“Is this good?” the hostess asked, gesturing at the booth.
“It’s great,” Elliot said, shrugging out of his bomber jacket. “I love this place. If the room doesn’t make
you sweat, the food will.”
The hostess’s smile lit up. “You’ve been here before. Can I start you with chips and our newest jalapeño
salsa? It’s our hottest yet.”
“I like things hot,” said Elliot.
I was pretty sure he was being slimy. I’d been way too generous in thinking he wasn’t as low as Marcie.
I’d been way too generous about his character, period. Especially now that I knew he had a murder
investigation hiding along with who knew how many other skeletons in his closet.
The hostess swept him an appraising onceover.
“I’ll be right back with chips and salsa. Your waitress
will be here shortly to take your orders.”
Vee plopped into the booth first. I slid in beside her, and Elliot took the seat across from me. Our eyes
connected, and there was a fleck of something dark in his. Very likely resentment. Maybe even hostility.
I wondered if he knew I’d seen the article.
“Purple is your color, Nora,” he said, nodding at my scarf as I loosened it from my neck and tied it
around the handle of my handbag. “Brightens your eyes.”
Vee nudged my foot. She actually thought he meant it as a compliment.
“So,” I said to Elliot with an artificial smile, “why don’t you tell us about Kinghorn Prep?”
“Yeah,” Vee chimed in. “Are there secret societies there? Like in the movies?”
“What’s to tell?” Elliot said. “Great school. End of story.” He picked up his menu and scanned it.
“Anyone interested in an appetizer? My treat.”
“If it’s so great, why did you transfer?” I met his eyes and held them. Ever so slightly, I arched my
eyebrows, challenging.
A muscle in Elliot’s jaw jumped just before he cracked a smile. “The girls. I heard they were a lot finer
around these parts. The rumor proved true.” He winked at me, and an icecold
feeling shot from my
head to my toes.
“Why didn’t Jules transfer too?” asked Vee. “We could have been the fabulous four, only with a lot
more punch. The phenomenal four.”
“Jules’s parents are obsessed with his education. Intense doesn’t begin to cover it. I swear on my life,
he’s going all the way to the top. The guy can’t be stopped. I mean, I confess, I do okay in school.
Better than most. But nobody tops Jules. He’s an academic god.”
The dreamy look returned to Vee’s eyes. “I’ve never met his parents,” she said. “Both times I’ve gone
over, they’re either out of town or working.”
“They work a lot,” Elliot agreed, returning his eyes to the menu, making it hard for me to read anything
in them.
“Where do they work?” I asked.
Elliot took a long drink of his water. It seemed to me like he was buying time while he devised an
answer. “Diamonds. They spend a lot of time in Africa and Australia.”
“I didn’t know Australia was big in the diamond business,” I said.
“Yeah, neither did I,” said Vee.
In fact, I was pretty sure Australia had no diamonds. Period.
“Why are they living in Maine?” I asked. “Why not Africa?”
Elliot studied his menu more intensely. “What are you both having? I’m thinking the steak fajitas look
good.”
“If Jules’s parents are in the diamond business, I bet they know a lot about choosing the perfect
engagement ring,” Vee said. “I’ve always wanted an emeraldcut
solitaire.”
I kicked Vee under the table. She jabbed me with her fork.
“Oww!” I said.
Our waitress paused at the end of the table long enough to ask, “Anything to drink?”
Elliot looked over the top of his menu, first at me, then at Vee.
“Diet Coke,” Vee said.
“Water with lime wedges, please,” I said.
The waitress returned amazingly quickly with our drinks. Her return was my cue to leave the table and
initiate step one of the Plan, and Vee reminded me with a second underthetable
prod from her fork.
“Vee,” I said through my teeth, “would you like to accompany me to the ladies’ room?” I suddenly
didn’t want to go through with the Plan. I didn’t want to leave Vee alone with Elliot. What I did want
was to drag her out, tell her about the murder investigation, then find some way to make both Elliot and
Jules disappear from our lives.
“Why don’t you go alone?” said Vee. “I think that would be a better plan.” She jerked her head at the
bar and mouthed Go, while making discreet shooing motions below the table.
“I was planning on going alone, but I’d really like you to join me.”
“What is it with girls?” Elliot said, splitting a smile between us. “I swear, I’ve never known a girl who
could go to the bathroom alone.” He leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. “Let me in on the
secret. Seriously. I’ll pay you five bucks each.” He reached for his back pocket. “Ten, if I can come
along and see what the big deal is.”
Vee flashed a grin. “Pervert. Don’t forget these,” she told me, stuffing the 7Eleven
sacks into my arms.
Elliot’s eyebrows lifted.
“Trash,” Vee explained to him with a touch of snark. “Our garbage can is full. My mom asked if I could
throw these away since I was going out.”
Elliot didn’t look like he believed her, and Vee didn’t look like she cared. I got up, my arms loaded with
costume gear, and swallowed my burning frustration.
Weaving through the tables, I took the hall leading back to the restrooms. The hall was painted terracotta
and was decorated with maracas, straw hats, and wooden dolls. It was hotter back here, and I
wiped my forehead. The Plan now was to get this over with as quickly as possible. As soon as I was
back at the table, I’d formulate an excuse about needing to leave, and haul Vee out. With or without her
consent.
After peeking below the three stalls in the ladies’ room and confirming I was alone, I locked the main
door and dumped the contents of the 7Eleven
sacks onto the counter. One platinum blond wig, one
purple pushup
bra, one black tube top, one sequined miniskirt, hot pink fishnet tights, and one pair of
size eight and a half sharkskin stiletto heels.
I stuffed the bra, the tube top and the tights back inside the sacks. After sloughing off my jeans, I pulled
on the miniskirt. I tucked my hair under the wig and applied the lipstick. I topped it off with a generous
coat of highshine
lip gloss.
“You can do this,” I told my reflection, snapping the cap back on the gloss and blotting my lips
together. “You can pull a Marcie Millar. Seduce men for secrets. How hard can it be?”
I kicked off my driving mocs, stuffed them into a sack along with my jeans, then pushed the sack under
the counter, out of sight. “Besides,” I continued, “there’s nothing wrong with sacrificing a little pride
for the sake of intelligence. If you want to approach this with a morbid outlook, you could even say if
you don’t get answers, you could wind up dead. Because like it or not, someone out there means you
harm.”
I dangled the sharkskin heels in my line of vision. They weren’t the ugliest things I’d ever seen. In fact,
they could be considered sexy. Jaws meets Coldwater, Maine. I strapped myself into them and practiced
walking across the bathroom several times.
Two minutes later I eased myself on top of a bar stool at the bar.
The bartender eyed me. “Sixteen?” he guessed. “Seventeen?”
He looked about ten years older than me and had receding brown hair that he wore shaved close. A
silver hoop hung from his right earlobe. White Tshirt
and Levi’s. Not bad looking … not great, either.
“I’m not an underage drinker,” I called loudly above the music and surrounding conversation. “I’m
waiting for a friend. I’ve got a great view of the doors here.” I retrieved the list of questions from my
handbag and covertly positioned the paper under a glass salt shaker.
“What’s that?” the bartender asked, wiping his hands on a towel and nodding at the list.
I slid the list farther under the salt shaker. “Nothing,” I said, all innocence.
He raised an eyebrow.
I decided to be loose with the truth. “It’s a … shopping list. I have to pick up some groceries for my
mom on the way home.” What happened to flirting? I asked myself. What happened to Marcie Millar?
He gave me a scrutinizing look that I decided wasn’t all negative. “After working this job for five years,
I’m pretty good at spotting liars.”
“I’m not a liar,” I said. “Maybe I was lying a moment ago, but it was just one lie. One little lie doesn’t
make a liar.”
“You look like a reporter,” he said.
“I work for my high school’s eZine.” I wanted to shake myself. Reporters didn’t instill trust in people.
People were generally suspicious of reporters. “But I’m not working tonight,” I amended quickly.
“Strictly pleasure tonight. No business. No underlying agendas. None whatsoever.”
After a count of silence I decided the best move was to plow ahead. I cleared my throat and said, “Is the
Borderline a popular place of employment for high school students?”
“We get a lot of those, yeah. Hostesses and busboys and the like.”
“Really?” I said, feigning surprise. “Maybe I know some of them. Try me.”
The bartender angled his eyes toward the ceiling and scratched the stubble on his chin. His blank stare
wasn’t inspiring my confidence. Not to mention that I didn’t have a lot of time. Elliot could be slipping
lethal drugs into Vee’s Diet Coke.
“How about Patch Cipriano?” I asked. “Does he work here?”
“Patch? Yeah. He works here. A couple nights, and weekends.”
“Was he working Sunday night?” I tried not to sound too curious. But I needed to know if it was
possible for Patch to have been at the pier. He said he had a party on the coast, but maybe his plans had
changed. If someone verified that he was at work Sunday evening, I could rule out his involvement in
the attack on Vee.
“Sunday?” More scratching. “The nights blur together. Try the hostesses. One of them will remember.
They all giggle and go a little screwy when he’s around.” He smiled as if I might somehow sympathize
with them.
I said, “You wouldn’t happen to have access to his job application?” Including his home address.
“That would be a no.”
“Just out of curiosity,” I said, “do you know if it’s possible to get hired here if you have a felony on your
record?”
“A felony?” He gave a bark of laughter. “You kidding me?”
“Okay, maybe not a felony, but how about a misdemeanor?”
He spread his palms on the counter and leaned close. “No.” His tone had shifted from humoring to
insulted.
“That’s good. That’s really good to know.” I repositioned myself on the bar stool, and felt the skin on
my thighs peel away from the vinyl. I was sweating. If rule number one of flirting was no lists, I was
fairly certain rule number two was no sweating.
I consulted my list.
“Do you know if Patch has ever had any restraining orders? Does he have a history of stalking?” I
suspected the bartender was getting a bad vibe from me, and I decided to throw all my questions out in
a lastditch
effort before he sent me away from the bar—or worse, had me evicted from the restaurant
for harassment and suspicious behavior. “Does he have a girlfriend?” I blurted.
“Go ask him,” he said.
I blinked. “He’s not working tonight.”
At the bartender’s grin, my stomach seemed to unravel.
“He’s not working tonight … is he?” I asked, my voice inching up an octave. “He’s supposed to have
Tuesdays off!”
“Usually, yeah. But he’s covering for Benji. Benji went to the hospital. Ruptured appendix.”
“You mean Patch is here? Right now?” I glanced over my shoulder, brushing the wig to cover my
profile while I scanned the dining area for him.
“He walked back to the kitchen a couple minutes ago.”
I was already disengaging myself from the bar stool. “I think I left my car running. But it was great
talking to you!” I hurried as quickly as I could to the restrooms.
Inside the ladies’ room I locked the door behind me, drew a few breaths with my back pressed to the
door, then went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. Patch was going to find out I’d spied on
him. My memorable performance guaranteed that. On the surface, this was a bad thing because it was,
well, humiliating. But when I thought about it, I had to face the fact that Patch was very secretive.
Secretive people didn’t like their lives pried into. How would he react when he learned I was holding
him under a magnifying glass?
And now I wondered why I’d come here at all, since deep inside, I didn’t believe Patch was the guy
behind the ski mask. Maybe he had dark, disturbing secrets, but running around in a ski mask wasn’t
one of them.
I turned off the tap, and when I looked up, Patch’s face was reflected in the mirror. I shrieked and
swung around.
He wasn’t smiling, and he didn’t look particularly amused.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped.
“I work here.”
“I mean here. Can’t you read? The sign on the door—”
“I’m starting to think you’re following me. Every time I turn around, there you are.”
“I wanted to take Vee out,” I explained. “She’s been in the hospital.” I sounded defensive. I was certain
that only made me look more guilty. “I never dreamed I’d run into you. It’s supposed to be your night
off. And what are you talking about? Every time I turn around, there you are.”
Patch’s eyes were sharp, intimidating, extracting. They calculated my every word, my every movement.
“Want to explain the tacky hair?” he said.
I yanked off the wig and tossed it on the counter. “Want to explain where you’ve been? You missed the
last two days of school.”
I was almost certain Patch wouldn’t reveal his whereabouts, but he said, “Playing paintball. What were
you doing at the bar?”
“Talking with the bartender. Is that a crime?” Balancing one hand against the counter, I raised my foot
to unbuckle a sharkskin heel. I bent over slightly, and as I did, the interrogation list fluttered out of my
neckline and onto the floor.
I went down on my knees for it, but Patch was faster. He held it over his head while I jumped for it.
“Give it back!” I said.
“ ‘Does Patch have a restraining order against him?’“ he read. “ ‘Is Patch a felon?’”
“Give—me—that!” I hissed furiously.
Patch gave a soft laugh, and I knew he’d seen the next question. “ ‘Does Patch have a girlfriend?’ “
Patch put the paper in his back pocket. I was sorely tempted to go after it, despite its location.
He leaned back against the counter and leveled our eyes. “If you’re going to dig around for information,
I’d prefer that you ask me.”
“Those questions”—I waved where he’d hidden them—“were a joke. Vee wrote them,” I added in a
flash of inspiration. “It’s all her fault.”
“I know your handwriting, Nora.”
“Well, okay, fine,” I began, hunting for a smart reply, but I took too long and lost my chance.
“No restraining orders,” he said. “No felonies.”
I tilted my chin up. “Girlfriend?” I told myself I didn’t care how he answered. Either way was fine with
me.
“That’s none of your business.”
“You tried to kiss me,” I reminded him. “You made it my business.”
The ghost of a pirate smile lurked at his mouth. I got the impression he was recalling every last detail of
that near kiss, including my sighslashmoan.
“Exgirlfriend,”
he said after a moment.
My stomach dropped as a sudden thought popped into my mind. What if the girl from Delphic and
Victoria’s Secret was Patch’s ex? What if she saw me talking to Patch at the arcade and— mistakenly—
assumed there was a lot more to our relationship? If she was still attracted to Patch, it made sense that
she might be jealous enough to follow me around. A few puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place… .
And then Patch said, “But she’s not around.”
“What do you mean she’s not around?”
“She’s gone. She’s never coming back.”
“You mean … she’s dead?” I asked.
Patch didn’t deny it.
My stomach suddenly felt heavy and twisted. I hadn’t expected this. Patch had a girlfriend, and now she
was dead.
The door to the ladies’ room rattled as someone tried to enter. I’d forgotten I’d locked it. Which made
me wonder how Patch got in. Either he had a key, or there was another explanation. An explanation I
probably didn’t want to think about, such as gliding under the door like air. Like smoke.
“I need to get back to work,” Patch said. He gave me a onceover
that lingered a bit below the hips.
“Killer skirt. Deadly legs.”
Before I’d formed a single coherent thought, he was through the door.
The older woman waiting for admittance looked at me, then over her shoulder at Patch, who was
vanishing down the hall. “Honey,” she told me, “he looks slippery as soap.”
“Good description,” I mumbled.
She fluffed her short, corkscrew gray hair. “A girl could lather up in soap like that.”
After I changed back into my clothes, I returned to the booth and slid in beside Vee. Elliot checked his
watch and lifted his eyebrows at me.
“Sorry I was gone so long,” I said. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope,” said Vee. “Same old, same old.” She bumped my knee, and the question was implied. Well?
Before I could return the bump, Elliot said, “You missed the waitress. I ordered you a red burrito.” A
creepy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
I saw my chance.
“Actually, I’m not sure I’m up to eating.” I managed a nauseated face that wasn’t altogether contrived.
“I think I caught what Jules has.”
“Oh, man,” Vee said. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll hunt down our waitress and get her to box the food,” Vee suggested, digging in her purse for keys.
“What about me?” said Elliot, sounding only half joking.
“Rain check?” Vee said.
Bingo, I thought.
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT AT SEVEN, THE BORDERLINE’S parking lot was packed. After nearly
an hour of begging, Vee and I had convinced her parents that we needed to celebrate her first night out
of the hospital over chiles rellenos and virgin strawberry daiquiris. At least, that’s what we were
claiming. But we had an ulterior motive.
I tucked the Neon into a tight parking space and turned off the engine.
“Ew,” said Vee when I passed the keys back and my fingers brushed hers. “Think you could sweat a
little more?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Gee, I had no clue.”
I inadvertently looked at the door.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Vee said, tightening her lips. “And the answer is no. No as in no way.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said.
Vee vised my arm. “The heck I don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to run,” I said. “Not me.”
“Liar.”
Tuesday was Patch’s night off, and Vee had put it into my head that it would be the perfect time to
interrogate his coworkers. I envisioned myself sashaying up to the bar, giving the bartender a coy
Marcie Millar look, then segueing to the topic of Patch. I needed his home address. I needed any prior
arrests. I needed to know if he had a connection to the guy in the ski mask, no matter how tenuous. And
I needed to figure out why the guy in the ski mask and the mysterious girl were in my life.
I peeked inside my handbag, doublechecking
to make sure the list of interrogation questions I’d
prepared were still with me. One side of the list dealt with questions about Patch’s personal life. The
flip side had flirting prompts. Just in case.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vee said. “What is that?”
“Nothing,” I said, folding the list.
Vee tried to grab the list, but I was faster and had it crammed deep in my handbag before she could get
to it.
“Rule number one,” Vee said. “There is no such thing as notes in flirting.”
“There’s an exception to every rule.”
“And you’re not it!” She grabbed two plastic 7Eleven
sacks from the backseat and swiveled out of the
car. As soon as I stepped out, she used her good arm to hurl the sacks over the top of the Neon at me.
“What’s this?” I asked, catching the sacks. The handles were tied and I couldn’t see inside, but the
unmistakable shaft of a stiletto heel threatened to poke through the plastic.
“Size eight and a half,” Vee said. “Sharkskin. It’s easier to play the part when you look the part.”
“I can’t walk in high heels.”
“Good thing they’re not high, then.”
“They look high,” I said, eying the protruding stiletto.
“Almost five inches. They left ‘high’ behind at four.”
Lovely. If I didn’t break my neck, I just might get to humiliate myself while seducing secrets out of
Patch’s coworkers.
“Here’s the deal,” said Vee as we strode down the sidewalk to the front doors. “I sort of invited a couple
of people. The more the merrier, right?”
“Who?” I asked, feeling the dark stirrings of foreboding in the pit of my stomach.
“Jules and Elliot.”
Before I had time to tell Vee exactly how bad I thought this idea was, she said, “Moment of truth: I’ve
sort of been seeing Jules. On the sly.”
“What?”
“You should see his house. Bruce Wayne can’t compete. His parents are either South American drug
lords or come from serious old money. Since I haven’t met them yet, I can’t say which.”
I was at a loss for words. My mouth opened and shut, but nothing came out. “When did this happen?” I
finally managed to ask.
“Pretty much right after that fateful morning at Enzo’s.”
“Fateful? Vee, you have no idea—”
“I hope they got here first and reserved a table,” Vee said, stretching her neck while eying the crowd
accumulating around the doors. “I don’t want to wait. I am seriously two thin minutes away from death
by starvation.”
I grabbed Vee by her good elbow, pulling her aside. “There’s something I need to tell you—”
“I know, I know,” she said. “You think there’s a slim chance Elliot attacked me Sunday night. Well, I
think you’ve got Elliot confused with Patch. And after you do some sleuthing tonight, the facts will
back me up. Believe me, I want to know who attacked me just as much as you. Probably even more. It’s
personal now. And while we’re handing each other advice, here’s mine. Stay away from Patch. Just to
be safe.”
“I’m glad you’ve thought this through,” I said tersely, “but here’s the thing. I found an article—”
The doors to the Borderline opened. A fresh wave of heat, carrying the smell of limes and cilantro,
swirled out at us, along with the sound of a mariachi band playing through the speakers.
“Welcome to the Borderline,” a hostess greeted us. “Just the two of you tonight?”
Elliot was standing behind her inside the dimmed foyer. We saw each other at the same moment. His
mouth smiled but his eyes did not.
“Ladies,” he said, sanding his hands together as he walked over. “Looking magnificent, as always.”
My skin prickled.
“Where’s your partner in crime?” Vee asked, glancing around the foyer. Paper lanterns hung from the
ceiling, and a mural of a Mexican pueblo spanned two walls. The waiting benches were filled to
capacity. There was no sign of Jules.
“Bad news,” said Elliot. “The man is sick. You’re going to have to settle for me.”
“Sick?” Vee demanded. “How sick? What kind of excuse is sick?”
“Sick as in it’s coming out both ends.”
Vee scrunched her nose. “Too much information.”
I was still having a difficult time grasping the idea that something was going on between Vee and Jules.
Jules came across sullen, brooding, and completely disinterested in Vee’s company or anyone else’s.
Not one part of me felt comfortable with the idea of Vee spending time alone with Jules. Not
necessarily because of how unpleasant he was or how little I knew about him, but because of the one
thing I did know: He was close friends with Elliot.
The hostess plucked three menus out of a slotted cubbyhole and led us to a booth so close to the kitchen
I could feel the fire of the ovens coming through the walls. To our left was the salsa bar. To our right
glass doors moist with condensation led out to a patio. My poplin blouse was already clinging to my
back. My sweat might have had more to do with the news about Vee and Jules than with the heat,
however.
“Is this good?” the hostess asked, gesturing at the booth.
“It’s great,” Elliot said, shrugging out of his bomber jacket. “I love this place. If the room doesn’t make
you sweat, the food will.”
The hostess’s smile lit up. “You’ve been here before. Can I start you with chips and our newest jalapeño
salsa? It’s our hottest yet.”
“I like things hot,” said Elliot.
I was pretty sure he was being slimy. I’d been way too generous in thinking he wasn’t as low as Marcie.
I’d been way too generous about his character, period. Especially now that I knew he had a murder
investigation hiding along with who knew how many other skeletons in his closet.
The hostess swept him an appraising onceover.
“I’ll be right back with chips and salsa. Your waitress
will be here shortly to take your orders.”
Vee plopped into the booth first. I slid in beside her, and Elliot took the seat across from me. Our eyes
connected, and there was a fleck of something dark in his. Very likely resentment. Maybe even hostility.
I wondered if he knew I’d seen the article.
“Purple is your color, Nora,” he said, nodding at my scarf as I loosened it from my neck and tied it
around the handle of my handbag. “Brightens your eyes.”
Vee nudged my foot. She actually thought he meant it as a compliment.
“So,” I said to Elliot with an artificial smile, “why don’t you tell us about Kinghorn Prep?”
“Yeah,” Vee chimed in. “Are there secret societies there? Like in the movies?”
“What’s to tell?” Elliot said. “Great school. End of story.” He picked up his menu and scanned it.
“Anyone interested in an appetizer? My treat.”
“If it’s so great, why did you transfer?” I met his eyes and held them. Ever so slightly, I arched my
eyebrows, challenging.
A muscle in Elliot’s jaw jumped just before he cracked a smile. “The girls. I heard they were a lot finer
around these parts. The rumor proved true.” He winked at me, and an icecold
feeling shot from my
head to my toes.
“Why didn’t Jules transfer too?” asked Vee. “We could have been the fabulous four, only with a lot
more punch. The phenomenal four.”
“Jules’s parents are obsessed with his education. Intense doesn’t begin to cover it. I swear on my life,
he’s going all the way to the top. The guy can’t be stopped. I mean, I confess, I do okay in school.
Better than most. But nobody tops Jules. He’s an academic god.”
The dreamy look returned to Vee’s eyes. “I’ve never met his parents,” she said. “Both times I’ve gone
over, they’re either out of town or working.”
“They work a lot,” Elliot agreed, returning his eyes to the menu, making it hard for me to read anything
in them.
“Where do they work?” I asked.
Elliot took a long drink of his water. It seemed to me like he was buying time while he devised an
answer. “Diamonds. They spend a lot of time in Africa and Australia.”
“I didn’t know Australia was big in the diamond business,” I said.
“Yeah, neither did I,” said Vee.
In fact, I was pretty sure Australia had no diamonds. Period.
“Why are they living in Maine?” I asked. “Why not Africa?”
Elliot studied his menu more intensely. “What are you both having? I’m thinking the steak fajitas look
good.”
“If Jules’s parents are in the diamond business, I bet they know a lot about choosing the perfect
engagement ring,” Vee said. “I’ve always wanted an emeraldcut
solitaire.”
I kicked Vee under the table. She jabbed me with her fork.
“Oww!” I said.
Our waitress paused at the end of the table long enough to ask, “Anything to drink?”
Elliot looked over the top of his menu, first at me, then at Vee.
“Diet Coke,” Vee said.
“Water with lime wedges, please,” I said.
The waitress returned amazingly quickly with our drinks. Her return was my cue to leave the table and
initiate step one of the Plan, and Vee reminded me with a second underthetable
prod from her fork.
“Vee,” I said through my teeth, “would you like to accompany me to the ladies’ room?” I suddenly
didn’t want to go through with the Plan. I didn’t want to leave Vee alone with Elliot. What I did want
was to drag her out, tell her about the murder investigation, then find some way to make both Elliot and
Jules disappear from our lives.
“Why don’t you go alone?” said Vee. “I think that would be a better plan.” She jerked her head at the
bar and mouthed Go, while making discreet shooing motions below the table.
“I was planning on going alone, but I’d really like you to join me.”
“What is it with girls?” Elliot said, splitting a smile between us. “I swear, I’ve never known a girl who
could go to the bathroom alone.” He leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. “Let me in on the
secret. Seriously. I’ll pay you five bucks each.” He reached for his back pocket. “Ten, if I can come
along and see what the big deal is.”
Vee flashed a grin. “Pervert. Don’t forget these,” she told me, stuffing the 7Eleven
sacks into my arms.
Elliot’s eyebrows lifted.
“Trash,” Vee explained to him with a touch of snark. “Our garbage can is full. My mom asked if I could
throw these away since I was going out.”
Elliot didn’t look like he believed her, and Vee didn’t look like she cared. I got up, my arms loaded with
costume gear, and swallowed my burning frustration.
Weaving through the tables, I took the hall leading back to the restrooms. The hall was painted terracotta
and was decorated with maracas, straw hats, and wooden dolls. It was hotter back here, and I
wiped my forehead. The Plan now was to get this over with as quickly as possible. As soon as I was
back at the table, I’d formulate an excuse about needing to leave, and haul Vee out. With or without her
consent.
After peeking below the three stalls in the ladies’ room and confirming I was alone, I locked the main
door and dumped the contents of the 7Eleven
sacks onto the counter. One platinum blond wig, one
purple pushup
bra, one black tube top, one sequined miniskirt, hot pink fishnet tights, and one pair of
size eight and a half sharkskin stiletto heels.
I stuffed the bra, the tube top and the tights back inside the sacks. After sloughing off my jeans, I pulled
on the miniskirt. I tucked my hair under the wig and applied the lipstick. I topped it off with a generous
coat of highshine
lip gloss.
“You can do this,” I told my reflection, snapping the cap back on the gloss and blotting my lips
together. “You can pull a Marcie Millar. Seduce men for secrets. How hard can it be?”
I kicked off my driving mocs, stuffed them into a sack along with my jeans, then pushed the sack under
the counter, out of sight. “Besides,” I continued, “there’s nothing wrong with sacrificing a little pride
for the sake of intelligence. If you want to approach this with a morbid outlook, you could even say if
you don’t get answers, you could wind up dead. Because like it or not, someone out there means you
harm.”
I dangled the sharkskin heels in my line of vision. They weren’t the ugliest things I’d ever seen. In fact,
they could be considered sexy. Jaws meets Coldwater, Maine. I strapped myself into them and practiced
walking across the bathroom several times.
Two minutes later I eased myself on top of a bar stool at the bar.
The bartender eyed me. “Sixteen?” he guessed. “Seventeen?”
He looked about ten years older than me and had receding brown hair that he wore shaved close. A
silver hoop hung from his right earlobe. White Tshirt
and Levi’s. Not bad looking … not great, either.
“I’m not an underage drinker,” I called loudly above the music and surrounding conversation. “I’m
waiting for a friend. I’ve got a great view of the doors here.” I retrieved the list of questions from my
handbag and covertly positioned the paper under a glass salt shaker.
“What’s that?” the bartender asked, wiping his hands on a towel and nodding at the list.
I slid the list farther under the salt shaker. “Nothing,” I said, all innocence.
He raised an eyebrow.
I decided to be loose with the truth. “It’s a … shopping list. I have to pick up some groceries for my
mom on the way home.” What happened to flirting? I asked myself. What happened to Marcie Millar?
He gave me a scrutinizing look that I decided wasn’t all negative. “After working this job for five years,
I’m pretty good at spotting liars.”
“I’m not a liar,” I said. “Maybe I was lying a moment ago, but it was just one lie. One little lie doesn’t
make a liar.”
“You look like a reporter,” he said.
“I work for my high school’s eZine.” I wanted to shake myself. Reporters didn’t instill trust in people.
People were generally suspicious of reporters. “But I’m not working tonight,” I amended quickly.
“Strictly pleasure tonight. No business. No underlying agendas. None whatsoever.”
After a count of silence I decided the best move was to plow ahead. I cleared my throat and said, “Is the
Borderline a popular place of employment for high school students?”
“We get a lot of those, yeah. Hostesses and busboys and the like.”
“Really?” I said, feigning surprise. “Maybe I know some of them. Try me.”
The bartender angled his eyes toward the ceiling and scratched the stubble on his chin. His blank stare
wasn’t inspiring my confidence. Not to mention that I didn’t have a lot of time. Elliot could be slipping
lethal drugs into Vee’s Diet Coke.
“How about Patch Cipriano?” I asked. “Does he work here?”
“Patch? Yeah. He works here. A couple nights, and weekends.”
“Was he working Sunday night?” I tried not to sound too curious. But I needed to know if it was
possible for Patch to have been at the pier. He said he had a party on the coast, but maybe his plans had
changed. If someone verified that he was at work Sunday evening, I could rule out his involvement in
the attack on Vee.
“Sunday?” More scratching. “The nights blur together. Try the hostesses. One of them will remember.
They all giggle and go a little screwy when he’s around.” He smiled as if I might somehow sympathize
with them.
I said, “You wouldn’t happen to have access to his job application?” Including his home address.
“That would be a no.”
“Just out of curiosity,” I said, “do you know if it’s possible to get hired here if you have a felony on your
record?”
“A felony?” He gave a bark of laughter. “You kidding me?”
“Okay, maybe not a felony, but how about a misdemeanor?”
He spread his palms on the counter and leaned close. “No.” His tone had shifted from humoring to
insulted.
“That’s good. That’s really good to know.” I repositioned myself on the bar stool, and felt the skin on
my thighs peel away from the vinyl. I was sweating. If rule number one of flirting was no lists, I was
fairly certain rule number two was no sweating.
I consulted my list.
“Do you know if Patch has ever had any restraining orders? Does he have a history of stalking?” I
suspected the bartender was getting a bad vibe from me, and I decided to throw all my questions out in
a lastditch
effort before he sent me away from the bar—or worse, had me evicted from the restaurant
for harassment and suspicious behavior. “Does he have a girlfriend?” I blurted.
“Go ask him,” he said.
I blinked. “He’s not working tonight.”
At the bartender’s grin, my stomach seemed to unravel.
“He’s not working tonight … is he?” I asked, my voice inching up an octave. “He’s supposed to have
Tuesdays off!”
“Usually, yeah. But he’s covering for Benji. Benji went to the hospital. Ruptured appendix.”
“You mean Patch is here? Right now?” I glanced over my shoulder, brushing the wig to cover my
profile while I scanned the dining area for him.
“He walked back to the kitchen a couple minutes ago.”
I was already disengaging myself from the bar stool. “I think I left my car running. But it was great
talking to you!” I hurried as quickly as I could to the restrooms.
Inside the ladies’ room I locked the door behind me, drew a few breaths with my back pressed to the
door, then went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. Patch was going to find out I’d spied on
him. My memorable performance guaranteed that. On the surface, this was a bad thing because it was,
well, humiliating. But when I thought about it, I had to face the fact that Patch was very secretive.
Secretive people didn’t like their lives pried into. How would he react when he learned I was holding
him under a magnifying glass?
And now I wondered why I’d come here at all, since deep inside, I didn’t believe Patch was the guy
behind the ski mask. Maybe he had dark, disturbing secrets, but running around in a ski mask wasn’t
one of them.
I turned off the tap, and when I looked up, Patch’s face was reflected in the mirror. I shrieked and
swung around.
He wasn’t smiling, and he didn’t look particularly amused.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped.
“I work here.”
“I mean here. Can’t you read? The sign on the door—”
“I’m starting to think you’re following me. Every time I turn around, there you are.”
“I wanted to take Vee out,” I explained. “She’s been in the hospital.” I sounded defensive. I was certain
that only made me look more guilty. “I never dreamed I’d run into you. It’s supposed to be your night
off. And what are you talking about? Every time I turn around, there you are.”
Patch’s eyes were sharp, intimidating, extracting. They calculated my every word, my every movement.
“Want to explain the tacky hair?” he said.
I yanked off the wig and tossed it on the counter. “Want to explain where you’ve been? You missed the
last two days of school.”
I was almost certain Patch wouldn’t reveal his whereabouts, but he said, “Playing paintball. What were
you doing at the bar?”
“Talking with the bartender. Is that a crime?” Balancing one hand against the counter, I raised my foot
to unbuckle a sharkskin heel. I bent over slightly, and as I did, the interrogation list fluttered out of my
neckline and onto the floor.
I went down on my knees for it, but Patch was faster. He held it over his head while I jumped for it.
“Give it back!” I said.
“ ‘Does Patch have a restraining order against him?’“ he read. “ ‘Is Patch a felon?’”
“Give—me—that!” I hissed furiously.
Patch gave a soft laugh, and I knew he’d seen the next question. “ ‘Does Patch have a girlfriend?’ “
Patch put the paper in his back pocket. I was sorely tempted to go after it, despite its location.
He leaned back against the counter and leveled our eyes. “If you’re going to dig around for information,
I’d prefer that you ask me.”
“Those questions”—I waved where he’d hidden them—“were a joke. Vee wrote them,” I added in a
flash of inspiration. “It’s all her fault.”
“I know your handwriting, Nora.”
“Well, okay, fine,” I began, hunting for a smart reply, but I took too long and lost my chance.
“No restraining orders,” he said. “No felonies.”
I tilted my chin up. “Girlfriend?” I told myself I didn’t care how he answered. Either way was fine with
me.
“That’s none of your business.”
“You tried to kiss me,” I reminded him. “You made it my business.”
The ghost of a pirate smile lurked at his mouth. I got the impression he was recalling every last detail of
that near kiss, including my sighslashmoan.
“Exgirlfriend,”
he said after a moment.
My stomach dropped as a sudden thought popped into my mind. What if the girl from Delphic and
Victoria’s Secret was Patch’s ex? What if she saw me talking to Patch at the arcade and— mistakenly—
assumed there was a lot more to our relationship? If she was still attracted to Patch, it made sense that
she might be jealous enough to follow me around. A few puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place… .
And then Patch said, “But she’s not around.”
“What do you mean she’s not around?”
“She’s gone. She’s never coming back.”
“You mean … she’s dead?” I asked.
Patch didn’t deny it.
My stomach suddenly felt heavy and twisted. I hadn’t expected this. Patch had a girlfriend, and now she
was dead.
The door to the ladies’ room rattled as someone tried to enter. I’d forgotten I’d locked it. Which made
me wonder how Patch got in. Either he had a key, or there was another explanation. An explanation I
probably didn’t want to think about, such as gliding under the door like air. Like smoke.
“I need to get back to work,” Patch said. He gave me a onceover
that lingered a bit below the hips.
“Killer skirt. Deadly legs.”
Before I’d formed a single coherent thought, he was through the door.
The older woman waiting for admittance looked at me, then over her shoulder at Patch, who was
vanishing down the hall. “Honey,” she told me, “he looks slippery as soap.”
“Good description,” I mumbled.
She fluffed her short, corkscrew gray hair. “A girl could lather up in soap like that.”
After I changed back into my clothes, I returned to the booth and slid in beside Vee. Elliot checked his
watch and lifted his eyebrows at me.
“Sorry I was gone so long,” I said. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope,” said Vee. “Same old, same old.” She bumped my knee, and the question was implied. Well?
Before I could return the bump, Elliot said, “You missed the waitress. I ordered you a red burrito.” A
creepy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
I saw my chance.
“Actually, I’m not sure I’m up to eating.” I managed a nauseated face that wasn’t altogether contrived.
“I think I caught what Jules has.”
“Oh, man,” Vee said. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll hunt down our waitress and get her to box the food,” Vee suggested, digging in her purse for keys.
“What about me?” said Elliot, sounding only half joking.
“Rain check?” Vee said.
Bingo, I thought.
Hush, Hush Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
MY CELL PHONE BUZZED IN MY POCKET, AND after confirming I wasn’t being evileyed
by a
librarian, I answered. “Mom?” “Good news,” she said. “The auction wrapped up early. I got on the road
an hour ahead of schedule and should be home soon. Where are you?”
“Hi! I wasn’t expecting you until later. I’m just leaving the library. How was upstate New York?”
“Upstate New York was … long.” She laughed, but she sounded drained. “I can’t wait to see you.”
I looked around for a clock. I wanted to stop by the hospital and see Vee before heading home.
“Here’s the deal,” I told my mom. “I need to visit Vee. I might be a few minutes late. I’ll hurry—I
promise.”
“Of course.” I detected the tiniest disappointment. “Any updates? I got your message this morning
about her surgery.”
“Surgery is over. They’re taking her to a private room any minute now.”
“Nora.” I heard the swell of emotion in her voice. “I’m so glad it wasn’t you. I couldn’t live with myself
if anything happened to you. Especially since your dad—” She broke off. “I’m just glad we’re both safe.
Say hi to Vee for me. See you soon. Hugs and kisses.”
“Love you, Mom.”
Coldwater’s Regional Medical Center is a threestory
redbrick structure with a covered walkway
leading up to the main entrance. I passed through the revolving glass doors and stopped at the main
desk to inquire about Vee. I was told she’d been moved to a room half an hour ago, and that visiting
hours ended in fifteen minutes. I located the elevators and punched the button to send me up a floor.
At room 207 I pushed on the door. “Vee?” I coaxed a bouquet of balloons inside behind me, crossed the
small foyer, and found Vee reclining in bed, her left arm in a cast and slung across her body.
“Hi!” I said when I saw she was awake.
Vee expelled a luxurious sigh. “I love drugs. Really. They’re amazing. Even better than an Enzo
cappuccino. Hey, that rhymed. Enzo cappuccino. It’s a sign. I’m destined to be a poet. Want to hear
another poem? I’m good at impromptu.”
“Uh—”
A nurse swished in and tinkered around with Vee’s IV. “Feeling okay?” she asked Vee.
“Forget being a poet,” Vee said. “I’m destined for standup
comedy. Knock, knock.”
“What?” I said.
The nurse rolled her eyes. “Who’s there?”
“Crab,” said Vee.
“Crab who?”
“Crab your towel, we’re going to the beach!”
“Maybe a little less painkillers,” I told the nurse.
“Too late. I just gave her another dose. Wait until you see her in ten minutes.” She swished back out the
door.
“So?” I asked Vee. “What’s the verdict?”
“The verdict? My doctor is a lardarse.
Closely resembles an OompaLoompa.
Don’t give me your
severe look. Last time he came in, he broke into the Funky Chicken. And he’s forever eating chocolate.
Mostly chocolate animals. You know the solid chocolate bunnies they’re selling for Easter? That’s what
the OompaLoompa
ate for dinner. Had a chocolate duck at lunch with a side of yellow Peeps.”
“I meant the verdict …” I pointed at the medical paraphernalia adorning her.
“Oh. One busted arm, a concussion, and assorted cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Fortunately for my quick
reflexes, I jumped out of the way before any major damage was done. When it comes to reflexes, I’m
like a cat. I’m Catwoman. I’m invulnerable. The only reason he got a piece of me is because of the rain.
Cats don’t like water. It impairs us. It’s our kryptonite.”
“I’m so sorry,” I told Vee sincerely. “I should be the one in the hospital bed.”
“And get all the drugs? Uhuh.
No way.”
“Have the police found any leads?” I asked.
“Nada, zilch, zero.”
“No eyewitnesses?”
“We were at a cemetery in the middle of a rainstorm,” Vee pointed out. “Most normal people were
indoors.”
She was right. Most normal people had been indoors. Of course, Vee and I had been out … along with
the mysterious girl who followed Vee out of Victoria’s Secret.
“How did it happen?” I asked.
“I was walking to the cemetery like we planned, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps closing in
behind me,” Vee explained. “That’s when I looked back, and everything came together really fast. There
was the flash of a gun, and him lunging for me. Like I told the cops, my brain wasn’t exactly
transmitting, ‘Get a visual ID.’ It was more like, ‘Holy freak show, I’m about to go splat!’ He growled,
whacked me three or four times with the gun, grabbed my handbag, and ran.”
I was more confused than ever. “Wait. It was a guy? You saw his face?”
“Of course it was a guy. He had dark eyes … charcoal eyes. But that’s all I saw. He was wearing a ski
mask.”
At the mention of the ski mask, my heart skittered through several beats. It was the same guy who’d
jumped in front of the Neon, I was sure of it. I hadn’t imagined him—Vee was proof. I remembered the
way all evidence of the crash had disappeared. Maybe I hadn’t imagined that part either. This guy,
whoever he was, was real. And he was out there. But if I hadn’t imagined the damage to the Neon, what
really happened that night? Was my vision, or my memory, somehow … being altered?
After a moment, a slew of secondary questions raced to mind. What did he want this time? Was he
connected to the girl outside Victoria’s Secret? Had he known I’d be shopping at the pier? Wearing a
ski mask constituted advance planning, so he must have known beforehand where I’d be. And he didn’t
want me to recognize his face.
“Who did you tell we were going shopping?” I asked Vee suddenly.
She rammed a pillow behind her neck, trying to get comfortable. “My mom.”
“That’s it? Nobody else?”
“I might have brought it up to Elliot.”
My blood seemed to suddenly stop flowing. “You told Elliot?”
“What’s the big deal?”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said soberly. “Remember the night I drove the Neon home and
hit a deer?”
“Yeah?” she said, frowning.
“It wasn’t a deer. It was a guy. A guy in a ski mask.”
“Shut up,” she whispered. “You’re telling me my attack wasn’t random? You’re telling me this guy
wants something from me? No, wait. He wants something from you. I was wearing your jacket. He
thought I was you.”
My whole body felt leaden.
After a count of silence, she said, “Are you sure you didn’t tell Patch about shopping? Because on
further reflection, I’m thinking the guy had Patch’s build. Tallish. Leanish. Strongish. Sexyish, aside
from the attacking part.”
“Patch’s eyes aren’t charcoal, they’re black,” I pointed out, but I was uncomfortably aware that I had
told Patch we were going shopping at the pier.
Vee raised an indecisive shoulder. “Maybe his eyes were black. I can’t remember. It happened really
fast. I can be specific about the gun,” she said helpfully. “It was aimed at me. Like, right at me.”
I pushed a few puzzle pieces around my mind. If Patch had attacked Vee, he must have seen her leave
the store wearing my jacket and thought it was me. When he figured out he was following the wrong
girl, he hit Vee with the gun out of anger and vanished. The only problem was, I couldn’t imagine Patch
brutalizing Vee. It felt off. Besides, he was supposedly at a party on the coast all night.
“Did your attacker look at all like Elliot?” I asked.
I watched Vee absorb the question. Whatever drug she’d been given, it seemed to slow her thought
process, and I could practically hear each gear in her brain grind into action.
“He was about twenty pounds too light and four inches too tall to be Elliot.”
“This is all my fault,” I said. “I never should have let you leave the store wearing my jacket.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” said Vee, looking like she was fighting a druginduced
yawn. “But
the more I think on it, the more similarities I see between Patch and my attacker. Same build. Same
longlegged
stride. Too bad his school file was empty. We need an address. We need to canvass his
neighborhood. We need to find a gullible little granny neighbor who could be coaxed into mounting a
webcam in her window and aiming it at his house. Because something about Patch just isn’t right.”
“You honestly think Patch could have done this to you?” I asked, still unconvinced.
Vee chewed at her lip. “I think he’s hiding something. Something big.”
I wasn’t going to argue that.
Vee sank deeper in her bed. “My body’s tingling. I feel good all over.”
“We don’t have an address,” I said, “but we do know where he works.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Vee asked, eyes brightening briefly through the haze of
chemical sedation.
“Based on past experience, I hope not.”
“The truth is, we need to brush up on our sleuthing skills,” said Vee. “Use them or lose them, that’s
what Coach said. We need to find out more about Patch’s past. Hey, I bet if we document, Coach will
even give us extra credit.”
Highly doubtful, given that if Vee was involved, the sleuthing would likely take an illegal turn. Not to
mention, this particular sleuthing job had nothing to do with biology. Even remotely.
The slight smile Vee had dragged out of me faded. Fun as it was to be lighthearted about the situation, I
was frightened. The guy in the ski mask was out there, planning his next attack. It kind of made sense
that Patch might know what was going on. The guy in the ski mask jumped in front of the Neon the day
after Patch became my biology partner. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.
Just then the nurse popped her head inside the door. “It’s eight o’clock,” she told me, tapping her watch.
“Visiting hours are over.”
“I’ll be right out,” I said.
As soon as her footsteps faded down the hall, I shut the door to Vee’s room. I wanted privacy before I
told her about the murder investigation surrounding Elliot. However, when I got back to Vee’s bed, it
was apparent that her medication had kicked in.
“Here it comes,” she said with an expression of pure bliss. “Drug rush … any moment now … the surge
of warmth … byebye, Mr. Pain …”
“Vee—”
“Knock, knock.”
“This is really important—”
“Knock, knock.”
“It’s about Elliot—”
“Knock, knoooock,” she said in a singsong voice.
I sighed. “Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Boohoo,
somebody’s crying, and it’s not me!” She broke into hysterical laughter.
Realizing it was pointless to push the issue, I said, “Call me tomorrow after you’re discharged.” I
unzipped my backpack. “Before I forget, I brought your homework. Where do you want me to put it?”
She pointed at the trash can. “Right there will be fine.”
I pulled the Fiat into the garage and pocketed the keys. The sky lacked stars on the drive home, and sure
enough, a light rain started to fall. I tugged on the garage door, lowering it to the ground and locking it.
I let myself into the kitchen. A light was on somewhere upstairs, and a moment later my mom came
running down the stairs and threw her arms around me.
My mom has dark wavy hair and green eyes. She’s an inch shorter than I am, but we share the same
bone structure. She always smells like Love by Ralph Lauren.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said, squeezing me tight.
Safeish,
I thought.
MY CELL PHONE BUZZED IN MY POCKET, AND after confirming I wasn’t being evileyed
by a
librarian, I answered. “Mom?” “Good news,” she said. “The auction wrapped up early. I got on the road
an hour ahead of schedule and should be home soon. Where are you?”
“Hi! I wasn’t expecting you until later. I’m just leaving the library. How was upstate New York?”
“Upstate New York was … long.” She laughed, but she sounded drained. “I can’t wait to see you.”
I looked around for a clock. I wanted to stop by the hospital and see Vee before heading home.
“Here’s the deal,” I told my mom. “I need to visit Vee. I might be a few minutes late. I’ll hurry—I
promise.”
“Of course.” I detected the tiniest disappointment. “Any updates? I got your message this morning
about her surgery.”
“Surgery is over. They’re taking her to a private room any minute now.”
“Nora.” I heard the swell of emotion in her voice. “I’m so glad it wasn’t you. I couldn’t live with myself
if anything happened to you. Especially since your dad—” She broke off. “I’m just glad we’re both safe.
Say hi to Vee for me. See you soon. Hugs and kisses.”
“Love you, Mom.”
Coldwater’s Regional Medical Center is a threestory
redbrick structure with a covered walkway
leading up to the main entrance. I passed through the revolving glass doors and stopped at the main
desk to inquire about Vee. I was told she’d been moved to a room half an hour ago, and that visiting
hours ended in fifteen minutes. I located the elevators and punched the button to send me up a floor.
At room 207 I pushed on the door. “Vee?” I coaxed a bouquet of balloons inside behind me, crossed the
small foyer, and found Vee reclining in bed, her left arm in a cast and slung across her body.
“Hi!” I said when I saw she was awake.
Vee expelled a luxurious sigh. “I love drugs. Really. They’re amazing. Even better than an Enzo
cappuccino. Hey, that rhymed. Enzo cappuccino. It’s a sign. I’m destined to be a poet. Want to hear
another poem? I’m good at impromptu.”
“Uh—”
A nurse swished in and tinkered around with Vee’s IV. “Feeling okay?” she asked Vee.
“Forget being a poet,” Vee said. “I’m destined for standup
comedy. Knock, knock.”
“What?” I said.
The nurse rolled her eyes. “Who’s there?”
“Crab,” said Vee.
“Crab who?”
“Crab your towel, we’re going to the beach!”
“Maybe a little less painkillers,” I told the nurse.
“Too late. I just gave her another dose. Wait until you see her in ten minutes.” She swished back out the
door.
“So?” I asked Vee. “What’s the verdict?”
“The verdict? My doctor is a lardarse.
Closely resembles an OompaLoompa.
Don’t give me your
severe look. Last time he came in, he broke into the Funky Chicken. And he’s forever eating chocolate.
Mostly chocolate animals. You know the solid chocolate bunnies they’re selling for Easter? That’s what
the OompaLoompa
ate for dinner. Had a chocolate duck at lunch with a side of yellow Peeps.”
“I meant the verdict …” I pointed at the medical paraphernalia adorning her.
“Oh. One busted arm, a concussion, and assorted cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Fortunately for my quick
reflexes, I jumped out of the way before any major damage was done. When it comes to reflexes, I’m
like a cat. I’m Catwoman. I’m invulnerable. The only reason he got a piece of me is because of the rain.
Cats don’t like water. It impairs us. It’s our kryptonite.”
“I’m so sorry,” I told Vee sincerely. “I should be the one in the hospital bed.”
“And get all the drugs? Uhuh.
No way.”
“Have the police found any leads?” I asked.
“Nada, zilch, zero.”
“No eyewitnesses?”
“We were at a cemetery in the middle of a rainstorm,” Vee pointed out. “Most normal people were
indoors.”
She was right. Most normal people had been indoors. Of course, Vee and I had been out … along with
the mysterious girl who followed Vee out of Victoria’s Secret.
“How did it happen?” I asked.
“I was walking to the cemetery like we planned, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps closing in
behind me,” Vee explained. “That’s when I looked back, and everything came together really fast. There
was the flash of a gun, and him lunging for me. Like I told the cops, my brain wasn’t exactly
transmitting, ‘Get a visual ID.’ It was more like, ‘Holy freak show, I’m about to go splat!’ He growled,
whacked me three or four times with the gun, grabbed my handbag, and ran.”
I was more confused than ever. “Wait. It was a guy? You saw his face?”
“Of course it was a guy. He had dark eyes … charcoal eyes. But that’s all I saw. He was wearing a ski
mask.”
At the mention of the ski mask, my heart skittered through several beats. It was the same guy who’d
jumped in front of the Neon, I was sure of it. I hadn’t imagined him—Vee was proof. I remembered the
way all evidence of the crash had disappeared. Maybe I hadn’t imagined that part either. This guy,
whoever he was, was real. And he was out there. But if I hadn’t imagined the damage to the Neon, what
really happened that night? Was my vision, or my memory, somehow … being altered?
After a moment, a slew of secondary questions raced to mind. What did he want this time? Was he
connected to the girl outside Victoria’s Secret? Had he known I’d be shopping at the pier? Wearing a
ski mask constituted advance planning, so he must have known beforehand where I’d be. And he didn’t
want me to recognize his face.
“Who did you tell we were going shopping?” I asked Vee suddenly.
She rammed a pillow behind her neck, trying to get comfortable. “My mom.”
“That’s it? Nobody else?”
“I might have brought it up to Elliot.”
My blood seemed to suddenly stop flowing. “You told Elliot?”
“What’s the big deal?”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said soberly. “Remember the night I drove the Neon home and
hit a deer?”
“Yeah?” she said, frowning.
“It wasn’t a deer. It was a guy. A guy in a ski mask.”
“Shut up,” she whispered. “You’re telling me my attack wasn’t random? You’re telling me this guy
wants something from me? No, wait. He wants something from you. I was wearing your jacket. He
thought I was you.”
My whole body felt leaden.
After a count of silence, she said, “Are you sure you didn’t tell Patch about shopping? Because on
further reflection, I’m thinking the guy had Patch’s build. Tallish. Leanish. Strongish. Sexyish, aside
from the attacking part.”
“Patch’s eyes aren’t charcoal, they’re black,” I pointed out, but I was uncomfortably aware that I had
told Patch we were going shopping at the pier.
Vee raised an indecisive shoulder. “Maybe his eyes were black. I can’t remember. It happened really
fast. I can be specific about the gun,” she said helpfully. “It was aimed at me. Like, right at me.”
I pushed a few puzzle pieces around my mind. If Patch had attacked Vee, he must have seen her leave
the store wearing my jacket and thought it was me. When he figured out he was following the wrong
girl, he hit Vee with the gun out of anger and vanished. The only problem was, I couldn’t imagine Patch
brutalizing Vee. It felt off. Besides, he was supposedly at a party on the coast all night.
“Did your attacker look at all like Elliot?” I asked.
I watched Vee absorb the question. Whatever drug she’d been given, it seemed to slow her thought
process, and I could practically hear each gear in her brain grind into action.
“He was about twenty pounds too light and four inches too tall to be Elliot.”
“This is all my fault,” I said. “I never should have let you leave the store wearing my jacket.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” said Vee, looking like she was fighting a druginduced
yawn. “But
the more I think on it, the more similarities I see between Patch and my attacker. Same build. Same
longlegged
stride. Too bad his school file was empty. We need an address. We need to canvass his
neighborhood. We need to find a gullible little granny neighbor who could be coaxed into mounting a
webcam in her window and aiming it at his house. Because something about Patch just isn’t right.”
“You honestly think Patch could have done this to you?” I asked, still unconvinced.
Vee chewed at her lip. “I think he’s hiding something. Something big.”
I wasn’t going to argue that.
Vee sank deeper in her bed. “My body’s tingling. I feel good all over.”
“We don’t have an address,” I said, “but we do know where he works.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Vee asked, eyes brightening briefly through the haze of
chemical sedation.
“Based on past experience, I hope not.”
“The truth is, we need to brush up on our sleuthing skills,” said Vee. “Use them or lose them, that’s
what Coach said. We need to find out more about Patch’s past. Hey, I bet if we document, Coach will
even give us extra credit.”
Highly doubtful, given that if Vee was involved, the sleuthing would likely take an illegal turn. Not to
mention, this particular sleuthing job had nothing to do with biology. Even remotely.
The slight smile Vee had dragged out of me faded. Fun as it was to be lighthearted about the situation, I
was frightened. The guy in the ski mask was out there, planning his next attack. It kind of made sense
that Patch might know what was going on. The guy in the ski mask jumped in front of the Neon the day
after Patch became my biology partner. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.
Just then the nurse popped her head inside the door. “It’s eight o’clock,” she told me, tapping her watch.
“Visiting hours are over.”
“I’ll be right out,” I said.
As soon as her footsteps faded down the hall, I shut the door to Vee’s room. I wanted privacy before I
told her about the murder investigation surrounding Elliot. However, when I got back to Vee’s bed, it
was apparent that her medication had kicked in.
“Here it comes,” she said with an expression of pure bliss. “Drug rush … any moment now … the surge
of warmth … byebye, Mr. Pain …”
“Vee—”
“Knock, knock.”
“This is really important—”
“Knock, knock.”
“It’s about Elliot—”
“Knock, knoooock,” she said in a singsong voice.
I sighed. “Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Boohoo,
somebody’s crying, and it’s not me!” She broke into hysterical laughter.
Realizing it was pointless to push the issue, I said, “Call me tomorrow after you’re discharged.” I
unzipped my backpack. “Before I forget, I brought your homework. Where do you want me to put it?”
She pointed at the trash can. “Right there will be fine.”
I pulled the Fiat into the garage and pocketed the keys. The sky lacked stars on the drive home, and sure
enough, a light rain started to fall. I tugged on the garage door, lowering it to the ground and locking it.
I let myself into the kitchen. A light was on somewhere upstairs, and a moment later my mom came
running down the stairs and threw her arms around me.
My mom has dark wavy hair and green eyes. She’s an inch shorter than I am, but we share the same
bone structure. She always smells like Love by Ralph Lauren.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said, squeezing me tight.
Safeish,
I thought.
Hush, Hush Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
MONDAY PASSED IN A DAZE. I WENT FROM CLASS TO class waiting for the final bell of the
day. I’d called the hospital before school and was told that Vee was heading into the OR. Her left arm
had been broken during the attack, and since the bone wasn’t aligned, she needed surgery. I wanted to
see her but couldn’t until later in the afternoon, when the anesthesia wore off and hospital staff moved
her to her own room. It was especially important that I hear her version of the attack before she either
forgot the details or embellished them. Anything she remembered might fill a hole in the picture and
help me figure out who had done this.
As the hours stretched toward afternoon, my focus shifted from Vee to the girl outside Victoria’s Secret.
Who was she? What did she want? Maybe it was a disturbing coincidence that Vee had been attacked
minutes after I’d watched the girl follow after her, but my instincts disagreed. I wished I had a better
picture of what she looked like. The bulky hoodie and jeans, compounded with the rain, had done a
good job of disguising her. For all I knew it could’ve been Marcie Millar. But deep inside it didn’t feel
like the right match.
I swung by my locker to pick up my biology textbook, then headed to my last class. I walked in to find
Patch’s chair empty. Typically, he arrived at the last possible moment, tying with the tardy bell, but the
bell rang and Coach took his place at the chalkboard
and started lecturing on equilibrium.
I pondered Patch’s empty chair. A tiny voice at the back of my head speculated that his absence might
be connected to Vee’s attack. It was a little strange that he was missing on the morning after. And I
couldn’t forget the icy chill I’d felt moments before looking outside Victoria’s Secret and realizing I was
being watched. Every other time I’d felt that way, it was because Patch was near.
The voice of reason quickly extinguished Patch’s involvement. He could have caught a cold. Or he
could have run out of gas on the drive to school and was stranded miles away. Or maybe there was a
highbets
pool game going on at Bo’s Arcade and he figured it was more profitable than an afternoon
spent learning the intricacies of the human body.
At the end of class, Coach stopped me on my way out the door.
“Hang on a minute, Nora.”
I turned back and hiked my backpack up my shoulder. “Yes?”
He extended a folded piece of paper. “Miss Greene stopped by before class and asked me to give this to
you,” he said.
I accepted the note. “Miss Greene?” I didn’t have any teachers by that name.
“The new school psychologist. She just replaced Dr. Hendrickson.”
I unfolded the note and read the message scrawled inside.
Dear Nora,
I’ll be taking over Dr. Hendrickson’s role as your school psychologist. I noticed you missed your last
two appointments with Dr. H. Please come in right away so we can get acquainted. I’ve mailed a letter
to your mother to make her aware of the change.
All best,
Miss Greene
“Thanks,” I told Coach, folding the note until it was small enough to tuck inside my pocket.
Out in the hall I merged with the flow of the crowd. No avoiding it now—I had to go. I steered my way
through the halls until I could see the closed door to Dr. Hendrickson’s office. Sure enough, there was a
new name plaque on the door. The polished brass gleamed against the drab oak door: MISS D.
GREENE, SCHOOL PSYCHOLOGIST.
I knocked on the door, and a moment later it opened from within. Miss Greene had flawless pale skin,
sea blue eyes, a lush mouth, and fine, straight blond hair that tumbled past her elbows. It was parted at
the crown of her ovalshaped
face. A pair of turquoise cat’seye
glasses sat at the tip of her nose, and
she was dressed formally in a gray herringbone pencil skirt and a pink silk blouse. Her figure was
willowy but feminine. She couldn’t have been more than five years older than me.
“You must be Nora Grey. You look just like the picture in your file,” she said, giving my hand a firm
pump. Her voice was abrupt, but not rude. Businesslike.
Stepping back, she signaled me to enter the office.
“Can I get you juice, water?” she asked.
“What happened to Dr. Hendrickson?”
“He took early retirement. I’ve had my eye on this job for a while, so I jumped on the opening. I went to
Florida State, but I grew up in Portland, and my parents still live there. It’s nice to be close to family
again.”
I surveyed the small office. It had changed drastically since I’d last been in a few weeks ago. The walltowall
bookshelves were now filled with academic but genericlooking
hardcovers, all bound in neutral
colors with gold lettering. Dr. Hendrickson had used the shelves to display family pictures, but there
were no snapshots of Miss Greene’s private life. The same fern hung by the window, but under Dr.
Hendrickson’s care, it had been far more brown than green. A few days with Miss Greene and already it
looked pert and alive. There was a pink paisley chair opposite the desk, and several moving boxes
stacked in the far corner.
“Friday was my first day,” she explained, seeing my eyes fall on the moving boxes. “I’m still unpacking.
Have a seat.”
I lowered my backpack down my arm and sat on the paisley chair. Nothing in the small room gave me
any clues as to Miss Greene’s personality. She had a stack of file folders on her desk— not neat, but not
messy, either—and a white mug of what looked like tea. There wasn’t a trace of perfume or air
freshener. Her computer monitor was black.
Miss Greene crouched in front of a file cabinet behind her desk, tugged out a clean manila folder, and
printed my name on the tab in black Magic Marker. She placed it on her desk next to my old file, which
bore a few of Dr. Hendrickson’s coffeemug
stains.
“I spent the whole weekend going through Dr. Hendrickson’s files,” she said. “Just between the two of
us, his handwriting gives me a migraine, so I’m copying over all the files. I was amazed to find he
didn’t use a computer to type his notes. Who still uses longhand in this day and age?”
She settled back into her swivel chair, crossed her legs, and smiled politely at me. “Well. Why don’t you
tell me a little bit about the history of your meetings with Dr. Hendrickson? I could barely decipher his
notes. It appeared the two of you were discussing how you feel about your mom’s new job.”
“It’s not all that new. She’s been working for a year.”
“She used to be a stayathome
mom, correct? And after your dad’s passing, she took on a fulltime
job.” She squinted at a sheet of paper in my file. “She works for an auction company, correct? It looks
like she coordinates estate auctions all down the coast.” She peeked at me over her glasses. “That must
require a lot of time away from home.”
“We wanted to stay in our farmhouse,” I said, my tone touching on the defensive. “We couldn’t afford
the mortgage if she took a local job.” I hadn’t exactly loved my sessions with Dr. Hendrickson, but I
found myself resenting him for retiring and abandoning me to Miss Greene. I was starting to get a feel
for her, and she seemed attentive to detail. I sensed her itching to dig into every dark corner of my life.
“Yes, but you must be very lonely all by yourself at the farmhouse.”
“We have a housekeeper who stays with me every afternoon until nine or ten at night.”
“But a housekeeper isn’t the same thing as a mother.”
I eyed the door. I didn’t even try to be discreet.
“Do you have a best friend? A boyfriend? Someone you can talk to when your housekeeper doesn’t
quite … fit the bill?” She dunked a tea bag in the mug, then raised it for a sip.
“I have a best friend.” I’d made up my mind to say as little as possible. The less I said, the shorter the
appointment. The shorter the appointment, the sooner I could visit Vee.
Her eyebrows peaked. “Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“You’re an attractive girl. I imagine there must be some interest from the opposite sex.”
“Here’s the thing,” I said as patiently as possible. “I really appreciate that you’re trying to help me, but I
had this exact conversation with Dr. Hendrickson a year ago when my dad died. Rehashing it with you
isn’t helping. It’s like going back in time and reliving it all over again. Yes, it was tragic and horrible,
and I’m still dealing with it every day, but what I really need is to move on.”
The clock on the wall ticked between us.
“Well,” Miss Greene said at last, plastering on a smile. “It’s very helpful to know your viewpoint, Nora.
Which is what I was trying to understand all along. I’ll make a note of your feelings in your file.
Anything else you want to talk about?”
“Nope.” I smiled to confirm that, really, I was doing fine.
She leafed through a few more pages of my file. I had no idea what observations Dr. Hendrickson had
immortalized there, and I didn’t want to wait around long enough to find out.
I lifted my backpack off the floor and scooted to the edge of the chair. “I don’t mean to cut things short,
but I need to be somewhere at four.”
“Oh?”
I had no desire to go into Vee’s attack with Miss Greene. “Library research,” I lied.
“For which class?”
I said the first answer that popped to mind. “Biology.”
“Speaking of classes, how are yours going? Any concerns in that department?”
“No.”
She flipped a few more pages in my file. “Excellent grades,” she observed. “It says here you’re tutoring
your biology partner, Patch Cipriano.” She looked up, apparently wanting my confirmation.
I was surprised my tutoring assignment was important enough to make it into the school psychologist’s
file. “So far we haven’t been able to meet. Conflicting schedules.” I gave a What can you do? shrug.
She tapped my file on her desk, tidying all the loose sheets of paper into one clean stack, then inserted
it into the new file she’d handlabeled.
“To give you fair warning, I’m going to talk with Mr.
McConaughy and see about setting some parameters for your tutoring sessions. I’d like all meetings to
be held here at school, under the direct supervision of a teacher or other faculty member. I don’t want
you tutoring Patch off school property. I especially don’t want the two of you meeting alone.”
A chill tiptoed along my skin. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
The only reason I could think why she didn’t want me alone with Patch was that he was dangerous. My
past might frighten you, he’d said on the loading platform of the Archangel.
“Thanks for your time. I won’t keep you any longer,” Miss Greene said. She strode to the door,
propping it open with her slender hip. She gave a parting smile, but it looked perfunctory.
After leaving Miss Greene’s office, I called the hospital. Vee’s surgery was over, but she was still in the
recovery room and couldn’t have visitors until seven p.m. I consulted the clock on my phone. Three
hours. I found the Fiat in the student parking lot and dropped inside, hoping an afternoon spent doing
homework at the library would keep my mind off the long wait.
I stayed at the library through the afternoon, and before I realized it, the clock on the wall had passed
quietly into evening. My stomach rumbled against the quiet of the library, and my thoughts went to the
vending machine just inside the entrance.
The last of my homework could wait until later, but there was still one project that required the help of
library resources. I had a vintage IBM computer at home with dialup
Internet service, and I typically
tried to save myself a lot of unnecessary shouting and hair pulling by using the library’s computer lab. I
had a theater review of Othello due on the eZine editor’s desk by nine p.m., and I made a deal with
myself, promising I’d go hunt down food as soon as I finished it.
Packing up my belongings, I walked to the elevators. Inside the cage I pushed the button to close the
doors, but didn’t immediately request a floor. I pulled out my cell and called the hospital again.
“Hi,” I told the answering nurse. “My friend is recovering from surgery, and when I checked in earlier
this afternoon, I was told she’d be out tonight. Her name is Vee Sky.”
There was a pause and the clicking of computer keys. “Looks like they’ll be bringing her to a private
room within the hour.”
“What time do visiting hours end?”
“Eight.”
“Thank you.” I disconnected and pressed the thirdfloor
button, sending me up.
On the third floor I followed signs to collections, hoping that if I read several theater reviews in the
local newspaper, it would spark my muse.
“Excuse me,” I said to the librarian behind the collections desk. “I’m trying to find copies of the
Portland Press Herald from the past year. Particularly the theater guide.”
“We don’t keep anything that current in collections,” she said, “but if you look online, I believe the
Portland Press Herald keeps archives on their website. Head straight down the hallway behind you and
you’ll see the media lab on your left.”
Inside the lab I signed onto a computer. I was about to dive into my assignment when an idea struck me.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it earlier. After confirming no one was watching over my shoulder,
I Googled “Patch Cipriano.” Maybe I’d find an article that would shed light on his past. Or maybe he
kept a blog.
I frowned at the search results. Nothing. No Facebook, no MySpace, no blog. It was like he didn’t exist.
“What’s your story, Patch?” I murmured. “Who are you—really?”
Half an hour later, I’d read several reviews and my eyes were glazing over. I spread my online search to
all newspapers in Maine. A link to Kinghorn Prep’s school paper popped up. A few seconds passed
before I placed the familiar name. Elliot had transferred from Kinghorn Prep. On a whim, I decided to
check it out. If the school was as elite as Elliot claimed, it probably had a respectable paper.
I clicked on the link, scrolled over the archives page, and randomly chose March 21 of earlier this year.
A moment later I had a headline.
STUDENT QUESTIONED IN KINGHORN PREP MURDER
I scooted my chair closer, lured by the idea of reading something more exciting than theater reviews.
A sixteenyearold
Kinghorn Preparatory student who police were questioning in what has been dubbed
“The Kinghorn Hanging” has been released without charge. After eighteenyearold
Kjirsten
Halverson’s body was found hanging from a tree on the wooded campus of Kinghorn Prep, police
questioned sophomore Elliot Saunders, who was seen with the victim on the night of her death.
My mind was slow to process the information. Elliot was questioned as part of a murder investigation?
Halverson worked as a waitress at Blind Joe’s. Police confirm that Halverson and Saunders were seen
walking the campus together late Saturday night. Halverson’s body was discovered Sunday morning,
and Saunders was released Monday afternoon after a suicide note was discovered in Halverson’s
apartment.
“Find anything interesting?”
I jumped at the sound of Elliot’s voice behind me. I whirled around to find him leaning against the
doorjamb. His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, his mouth set in a line. Something cold flushed
through me, like a blush, only opposite.
I wheeled my chair slightly to the right, trying to position myself in front of the computer’s monitor.
“I’m—I’m just finishing up homework. How about you? What are you doing? I didn’t hear you come
in. How long have you been standing there?” My pitch was all over the place.
Elliot pushed away from the doorjamb and walked inside the lab. I groped blindly behind me for the
monitor’s on/off button.
I said, “I’m attempting to jumpstart
my inspiration on a theater review I’m supposed to have to my
editor by later tonight.” I was still speaking much too fast. Where was the button?
Elliot peered around me. “Theater reviews?”
My fingers brushed a button, and I heard the monitor drain to black. “I’m sorry, what did you say
you’re doing here?”
“I was walking by when I saw you. Something wrong? You seem … jumpy.”
“Uh—low blood sugar.” I swept my papers and books into a pile and shoehorned them inside my
backpack. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
Elliot hooked a nearby chair and wheeled it next to mine. He sat backward on it and leaned close,
invading my personal space. “Maybe I can help with the review.”
I leaned away. “Wow, that’s really nice of you, but I’m going to call it quits for now. I need to grab
something to eat. It’s a good time to break.”
“Let me buy you dinner,” he said. “Isn’t there a diner just around the corner?”
“Thanks, but my mom will be expecting me. She’s been out of town all week and gets back tonight.” I
stood and tried to step around him. He held his cell phone out, and it caught me in the navel.
“Call her.”
I lowered my gaze to the phone and scrambled for an excuse. “I’m not allowed to go out on school
nights.”
“It’s called lying, Nora. Tell her homework is taking longer than you expected. Tell her you need
another hour at the library. She’s not going to know the difference.”
Elliot’s voice had taken on an edge I’d never heard before. His blue eyes snapped with a newfound
coldness, his mouth looked thinner.
“My mom doesn’t like me going out with guys she hasn’t met,” I said.
Elliot smiled, but there was no warmth. “We both know you’re not too concerned with your mom’s
rules, since Saturday night you were with me at Delphic.”
I had my backpack slung over one shoulder, and I was clutching the strap. I didn’t say anything. I
brushed past Elliot and walked out of the lab in a hurry, realizing that if he turned the monitor on, he’d
see the article. But there wasn’t anything I could do now.
Halfway to the collections desk, I dared a glance over my shoulder. The plateglass
walls showed that
the lab was empty. Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I retraced my steps to the computer, keeping my eyes
on guard in case he reappeared. I turned on the monitor; the murder investigation article was still up.
Sending a copy to the nearest printer, I tucked it inside my binder, logged off, and hurried out.
MONDAY PASSED IN A DAZE. I WENT FROM CLASS TO class waiting for the final bell of the
day. I’d called the hospital before school and was told that Vee was heading into the OR. Her left arm
had been broken during the attack, and since the bone wasn’t aligned, she needed surgery. I wanted to
see her but couldn’t until later in the afternoon, when the anesthesia wore off and hospital staff moved
her to her own room. It was especially important that I hear her version of the attack before she either
forgot the details or embellished them. Anything she remembered might fill a hole in the picture and
help me figure out who had done this.
As the hours stretched toward afternoon, my focus shifted from Vee to the girl outside Victoria’s Secret.
Who was she? What did she want? Maybe it was a disturbing coincidence that Vee had been attacked
minutes after I’d watched the girl follow after her, but my instincts disagreed. I wished I had a better
picture of what she looked like. The bulky hoodie and jeans, compounded with the rain, had done a
good job of disguising her. For all I knew it could’ve been Marcie Millar. But deep inside it didn’t feel
like the right match.
I swung by my locker to pick up my biology textbook, then headed to my last class. I walked in to find
Patch’s chair empty. Typically, he arrived at the last possible moment, tying with the tardy bell, but the
bell rang and Coach took his place at the chalkboard
and started lecturing on equilibrium.
I pondered Patch’s empty chair. A tiny voice at the back of my head speculated that his absence might
be connected to Vee’s attack. It was a little strange that he was missing on the morning after. And I
couldn’t forget the icy chill I’d felt moments before looking outside Victoria’s Secret and realizing I was
being watched. Every other time I’d felt that way, it was because Patch was near.
The voice of reason quickly extinguished Patch’s involvement. He could have caught a cold. Or he
could have run out of gas on the drive to school and was stranded miles away. Or maybe there was a
highbets
pool game going on at Bo’s Arcade and he figured it was more profitable than an afternoon
spent learning the intricacies of the human body.
At the end of class, Coach stopped me on my way out the door.
“Hang on a minute, Nora.”
I turned back and hiked my backpack up my shoulder. “Yes?”
He extended a folded piece of paper. “Miss Greene stopped by before class and asked me to give this to
you,” he said.
I accepted the note. “Miss Greene?” I didn’t have any teachers by that name.
“The new school psychologist. She just replaced Dr. Hendrickson.”
I unfolded the note and read the message scrawled inside.
Dear Nora,
I’ll be taking over Dr. Hendrickson’s role as your school psychologist. I noticed you missed your last
two appointments with Dr. H. Please come in right away so we can get acquainted. I’ve mailed a letter
to your mother to make her aware of the change.
All best,
Miss Greene
“Thanks,” I told Coach, folding the note until it was small enough to tuck inside my pocket.
Out in the hall I merged with the flow of the crowd. No avoiding it now—I had to go. I steered my way
through the halls until I could see the closed door to Dr. Hendrickson’s office. Sure enough, there was a
new name plaque on the door. The polished brass gleamed against the drab oak door: MISS D.
GREENE, SCHOOL PSYCHOLOGIST.
I knocked on the door, and a moment later it opened from within. Miss Greene had flawless pale skin,
sea blue eyes, a lush mouth, and fine, straight blond hair that tumbled past her elbows. It was parted at
the crown of her ovalshaped
face. A pair of turquoise cat’seye
glasses sat at the tip of her nose, and
she was dressed formally in a gray herringbone pencil skirt and a pink silk blouse. Her figure was
willowy but feminine. She couldn’t have been more than five years older than me.
“You must be Nora Grey. You look just like the picture in your file,” she said, giving my hand a firm
pump. Her voice was abrupt, but not rude. Businesslike.
Stepping back, she signaled me to enter the office.
“Can I get you juice, water?” she asked.
“What happened to Dr. Hendrickson?”
“He took early retirement. I’ve had my eye on this job for a while, so I jumped on the opening. I went to
Florida State, but I grew up in Portland, and my parents still live there. It’s nice to be close to family
again.”
I surveyed the small office. It had changed drastically since I’d last been in a few weeks ago. The walltowall
bookshelves were now filled with academic but genericlooking
hardcovers, all bound in neutral
colors with gold lettering. Dr. Hendrickson had used the shelves to display family pictures, but there
were no snapshots of Miss Greene’s private life. The same fern hung by the window, but under Dr.
Hendrickson’s care, it had been far more brown than green. A few days with Miss Greene and already it
looked pert and alive. There was a pink paisley chair opposite the desk, and several moving boxes
stacked in the far corner.
“Friday was my first day,” she explained, seeing my eyes fall on the moving boxes. “I’m still unpacking.
Have a seat.”
I lowered my backpack down my arm and sat on the paisley chair. Nothing in the small room gave me
any clues as to Miss Greene’s personality. She had a stack of file folders on her desk— not neat, but not
messy, either—and a white mug of what looked like tea. There wasn’t a trace of perfume or air
freshener. Her computer monitor was black.
Miss Greene crouched in front of a file cabinet behind her desk, tugged out a clean manila folder, and
printed my name on the tab in black Magic Marker. She placed it on her desk next to my old file, which
bore a few of Dr. Hendrickson’s coffeemug
stains.
“I spent the whole weekend going through Dr. Hendrickson’s files,” she said. “Just between the two of
us, his handwriting gives me a migraine, so I’m copying over all the files. I was amazed to find he
didn’t use a computer to type his notes. Who still uses longhand in this day and age?”
She settled back into her swivel chair, crossed her legs, and smiled politely at me. “Well. Why don’t you
tell me a little bit about the history of your meetings with Dr. Hendrickson? I could barely decipher his
notes. It appeared the two of you were discussing how you feel about your mom’s new job.”
“It’s not all that new. She’s been working for a year.”
“She used to be a stayathome
mom, correct? And after your dad’s passing, she took on a fulltime
job.” She squinted at a sheet of paper in my file. “She works for an auction company, correct? It looks
like she coordinates estate auctions all down the coast.” She peeked at me over her glasses. “That must
require a lot of time away from home.”
“We wanted to stay in our farmhouse,” I said, my tone touching on the defensive. “We couldn’t afford
the mortgage if she took a local job.” I hadn’t exactly loved my sessions with Dr. Hendrickson, but I
found myself resenting him for retiring and abandoning me to Miss Greene. I was starting to get a feel
for her, and she seemed attentive to detail. I sensed her itching to dig into every dark corner of my life.
“Yes, but you must be very lonely all by yourself at the farmhouse.”
“We have a housekeeper who stays with me every afternoon until nine or ten at night.”
“But a housekeeper isn’t the same thing as a mother.”
I eyed the door. I didn’t even try to be discreet.
“Do you have a best friend? A boyfriend? Someone you can talk to when your housekeeper doesn’t
quite … fit the bill?” She dunked a tea bag in the mug, then raised it for a sip.
“I have a best friend.” I’d made up my mind to say as little as possible. The less I said, the shorter the
appointment. The shorter the appointment, the sooner I could visit Vee.
Her eyebrows peaked. “Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“You’re an attractive girl. I imagine there must be some interest from the opposite sex.”
“Here’s the thing,” I said as patiently as possible. “I really appreciate that you’re trying to help me, but I
had this exact conversation with Dr. Hendrickson a year ago when my dad died. Rehashing it with you
isn’t helping. It’s like going back in time and reliving it all over again. Yes, it was tragic and horrible,
and I’m still dealing with it every day, but what I really need is to move on.”
The clock on the wall ticked between us.
“Well,” Miss Greene said at last, plastering on a smile. “It’s very helpful to know your viewpoint, Nora.
Which is what I was trying to understand all along. I’ll make a note of your feelings in your file.
Anything else you want to talk about?”
“Nope.” I smiled to confirm that, really, I was doing fine.
She leafed through a few more pages of my file. I had no idea what observations Dr. Hendrickson had
immortalized there, and I didn’t want to wait around long enough to find out.
I lifted my backpack off the floor and scooted to the edge of the chair. “I don’t mean to cut things short,
but I need to be somewhere at four.”
“Oh?”
I had no desire to go into Vee’s attack with Miss Greene. “Library research,” I lied.
“For which class?”
I said the first answer that popped to mind. “Biology.”
“Speaking of classes, how are yours going? Any concerns in that department?”
“No.”
She flipped a few more pages in my file. “Excellent grades,” she observed. “It says here you’re tutoring
your biology partner, Patch Cipriano.” She looked up, apparently wanting my confirmation.
I was surprised my tutoring assignment was important enough to make it into the school psychologist’s
file. “So far we haven’t been able to meet. Conflicting schedules.” I gave a What can you do? shrug.
She tapped my file on her desk, tidying all the loose sheets of paper into one clean stack, then inserted
it into the new file she’d handlabeled.
“To give you fair warning, I’m going to talk with Mr.
McConaughy and see about setting some parameters for your tutoring sessions. I’d like all meetings to
be held here at school, under the direct supervision of a teacher or other faculty member. I don’t want
you tutoring Patch off school property. I especially don’t want the two of you meeting alone.”
A chill tiptoed along my skin. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
The only reason I could think why she didn’t want me alone with Patch was that he was dangerous. My
past might frighten you, he’d said on the loading platform of the Archangel.
“Thanks for your time. I won’t keep you any longer,” Miss Greene said. She strode to the door,
propping it open with her slender hip. She gave a parting smile, but it looked perfunctory.
After leaving Miss Greene’s office, I called the hospital. Vee’s surgery was over, but she was still in the
recovery room and couldn’t have visitors until seven p.m. I consulted the clock on my phone. Three
hours. I found the Fiat in the student parking lot and dropped inside, hoping an afternoon spent doing
homework at the library would keep my mind off the long wait.
I stayed at the library through the afternoon, and before I realized it, the clock on the wall had passed
quietly into evening. My stomach rumbled against the quiet of the library, and my thoughts went to the
vending machine just inside the entrance.
The last of my homework could wait until later, but there was still one project that required the help of
library resources. I had a vintage IBM computer at home with dialup
Internet service, and I typically
tried to save myself a lot of unnecessary shouting and hair pulling by using the library’s computer lab. I
had a theater review of Othello due on the eZine editor’s desk by nine p.m., and I made a deal with
myself, promising I’d go hunt down food as soon as I finished it.
Packing up my belongings, I walked to the elevators. Inside the cage I pushed the button to close the
doors, but didn’t immediately request a floor. I pulled out my cell and called the hospital again.
“Hi,” I told the answering nurse. “My friend is recovering from surgery, and when I checked in earlier
this afternoon, I was told she’d be out tonight. Her name is Vee Sky.”
There was a pause and the clicking of computer keys. “Looks like they’ll be bringing her to a private
room within the hour.”
“What time do visiting hours end?”
“Eight.”
“Thank you.” I disconnected and pressed the thirdfloor
button, sending me up.
On the third floor I followed signs to collections, hoping that if I read several theater reviews in the
local newspaper, it would spark my muse.
“Excuse me,” I said to the librarian behind the collections desk. “I’m trying to find copies of the
Portland Press Herald from the past year. Particularly the theater guide.”
“We don’t keep anything that current in collections,” she said, “but if you look online, I believe the
Portland Press Herald keeps archives on their website. Head straight down the hallway behind you and
you’ll see the media lab on your left.”
Inside the lab I signed onto a computer. I was about to dive into my assignment when an idea struck me.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it earlier. After confirming no one was watching over my shoulder,
I Googled “Patch Cipriano.” Maybe I’d find an article that would shed light on his past. Or maybe he
kept a blog.
I frowned at the search results. Nothing. No Facebook, no MySpace, no blog. It was like he didn’t exist.
“What’s your story, Patch?” I murmured. “Who are you—really?”
Half an hour later, I’d read several reviews and my eyes were glazing over. I spread my online search to
all newspapers in Maine. A link to Kinghorn Prep’s school paper popped up. A few seconds passed
before I placed the familiar name. Elliot had transferred from Kinghorn Prep. On a whim, I decided to
check it out. If the school was as elite as Elliot claimed, it probably had a respectable paper.
I clicked on the link, scrolled over the archives page, and randomly chose March 21 of earlier this year.
A moment later I had a headline.
STUDENT QUESTIONED IN KINGHORN PREP MURDER
I scooted my chair closer, lured by the idea of reading something more exciting than theater reviews.
A sixteenyearold
Kinghorn Preparatory student who police were questioning in what has been dubbed
“The Kinghorn Hanging” has been released without charge. After eighteenyearold
Kjirsten
Halverson’s body was found hanging from a tree on the wooded campus of Kinghorn Prep, police
questioned sophomore Elliot Saunders, who was seen with the victim on the night of her death.
My mind was slow to process the information. Elliot was questioned as part of a murder investigation?
Halverson worked as a waitress at Blind Joe’s. Police confirm that Halverson and Saunders were seen
walking the campus together late Saturday night. Halverson’s body was discovered Sunday morning,
and Saunders was released Monday afternoon after a suicide note was discovered in Halverson’s
apartment.
“Find anything interesting?”
I jumped at the sound of Elliot’s voice behind me. I whirled around to find him leaning against the
doorjamb. His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, his mouth set in a line. Something cold flushed
through me, like a blush, only opposite.
I wheeled my chair slightly to the right, trying to position myself in front of the computer’s monitor.
“I’m—I’m just finishing up homework. How about you? What are you doing? I didn’t hear you come
in. How long have you been standing there?” My pitch was all over the place.
Elliot pushed away from the doorjamb and walked inside the lab. I groped blindly behind me for the
monitor’s on/off button.
I said, “I’m attempting to jumpstart
my inspiration on a theater review I’m supposed to have to my
editor by later tonight.” I was still speaking much too fast. Where was the button?
Elliot peered around me. “Theater reviews?”
My fingers brushed a button, and I heard the monitor drain to black. “I’m sorry, what did you say
you’re doing here?”
“I was walking by when I saw you. Something wrong? You seem … jumpy.”
“Uh—low blood sugar.” I swept my papers and books into a pile and shoehorned them inside my
backpack. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
Elliot hooked a nearby chair and wheeled it next to mine. He sat backward on it and leaned close,
invading my personal space. “Maybe I can help with the review.”
I leaned away. “Wow, that’s really nice of you, but I’m going to call it quits for now. I need to grab
something to eat. It’s a good time to break.”
“Let me buy you dinner,” he said. “Isn’t there a diner just around the corner?”
“Thanks, but my mom will be expecting me. She’s been out of town all week and gets back tonight.” I
stood and tried to step around him. He held his cell phone out, and it caught me in the navel.
“Call her.”
I lowered my gaze to the phone and scrambled for an excuse. “I’m not allowed to go out on school
nights.”
“It’s called lying, Nora. Tell her homework is taking longer than you expected. Tell her you need
another hour at the library. She’s not going to know the difference.”
Elliot’s voice had taken on an edge I’d never heard before. His blue eyes snapped with a newfound
coldness, his mouth looked thinner.
“My mom doesn’t like me going out with guys she hasn’t met,” I said.
Elliot smiled, but there was no warmth. “We both know you’re not too concerned with your mom’s
rules, since Saturday night you were with me at Delphic.”
I had my backpack slung over one shoulder, and I was clutching the strap. I didn’t say anything. I
brushed past Elliot and walked out of the lab in a hurry, realizing that if he turned the monitor on, he’d
see the article. But there wasn’t anything I could do now.
Halfway to the collections desk, I dared a glance over my shoulder. The plateglass
walls showed that
the lab was empty. Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I retraced my steps to the computer, keeping my eyes
on guard in case he reappeared. I turned on the monitor; the murder investigation article was still up.
Sending a copy to the nearest printer, I tucked it inside my binder, logged off, and hurried out.
Hush, Hush Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
I WAS YANKED AWAKE BY THE SOUND OF MY PHONE RINGING. Caught with one foot still in
a dream, I tugged my pillow over my head and tried to block out the noise. But the phone rang. And
rang.
The call went to voice mail. Five seconds later, the ringing started up again.
I reached an arm over the side of the bed, groped around until I found my jeans, and wiggled my cell
out of the pocket.
“Yes?” I said with a wide yawn, leaving my eyes shut.
Someone was breathing angrily on the other end. “What happened to you? What happened to bringing
back cotton candy? And while you’re at it, how about telling me where you are so I can come strangle
you—barehanded!”
I knocked the heel of my hand against my forehead a few times.
“I thought you’d been kidnapped!” Vee went on. “I thought you’d been abducted! I thought you were
murdered!”
I tried to find the clock in the dark. I bumped a picture frame on the nightstand, and all the frames
behind it played dominoes.
“I was sort of delayed,” I said. “By the time I made it back to the arcade, you were gone.”
“ ‘Delayed’? What kind of excuse is ‘delayed’?”
The red numbers on the clock swam into focus. It was just after two in the morning.
“I drove around the parking lot for an hour,” Vee said. “Elliot walked the park flashing the only photo I
had of you on my cell phone. I tried your cell a zillion times. Hang on. Are you at home? How did you
get home?”
I rubbed the corners of my eyes. “Patch.”
“Stalker Patch?”
“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” I said tersely. “You left without me.”
“You sound worked up. Really worked up. No, that’s not it. You sound agitated … flustered …
aroused.” I could feel her eyes widen. “He kissed you, didn’t he?”
No answer.
“He did! I knew it! I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I knew this was coming. I saw it from a mile
away.”
I didn’t want to think about it.
“What was it like?” Vee pressed. “A peach kiss? A plum kiss? Or maybe an alfalfa
kiss?”
“What?”
“Was it a peck, did mouths part, or was there tongue? Never mind. You don’t have to answer that. Patch
isn’t the kind of guy to deal with preliminaries. There was tongue involved. Guaranteed.”
I covered my face with my hands, hiding behind them. Patch probably thought I didn’t have any selfcontrol.
I’d fallen apart in his arms. I’d melted like butter. Right before I told him he should go, I was
pretty sure I’d made a sound that was a cross between a sigh of sheer bliss and a moan of ecstasy.
That would explain his arrogant grin.
“Can we talk about this later?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“No way.”
I sighed. “I’m dead tired.”
“I can’t believe you’re thinking about keeping me in suspense.”
“I’m hoping you’ll forget about it.”
“Fat chance.”
I tried to envision the muscles along my neck relaxing, forestalling the headache I felt creeping on. “Are
we still on for shopping?”
“I’ll pick you up at four.”
“I thought we weren’t meeting until five.”
“Circumstances have changed. I’ll be there even earlier if I can get out of family time. My mom’s
having a nervous breakdown. She blames my bad grades on her parenting skills. Apparently spending
time together is the solution. Wish me luck.”
I snapped my phone shut and slid deep into my bed. I pictured Patch’s unprincipled grin and his
glittering black eyes. After thrashing around in bed for several minutes, I gave up trying to get
comfortable. The truth was, as long as Patch was on my mind, comfort was out of the question.
When I was little, Dorothea’s godson Lionel shattered one of the kitchen glasses. He swept up all the
shards of glass except one, and he dared me to lick it. I imagined falling for Patch was a little like
licking that shard. I knew it was stupid. I knew I’d get cut. After all these years one thing hadn’t
changed: I was still lured by danger.
Suddenly I sat up straight in bed and reached for my cell. I switched on the lamp.
The battery showed fully charged.
My spine tingled ominously. My cell was supposed to be dead. So how had my mom and Vee gotten
through?
Rain battered the colorful awnings of the shops along the pier and spilled to the sidewalk below. The
antique gas lamps that were staggered down both sides of the street glowed to life. With our umbrellas
bumping together, Vee and I hustled down the sidewalk and under the pinkandwhitestriped
awning of
Victoria’s Secret. We shook out our umbrellas in unison and propped them just outside the entrance.
A boom of thunder sent us flying through the doors.
I stamped rain from my shoes and shuddered off the cold. Several oil diffusers burned on a display at
the center of the store, surrounding us with an exotic, lusty smell.
A woman in black slacks and a stretchy black tee stepped forward. She had a measuring tape snaked
around her neck, and she started to reach for it. “Would you girls like a free measuring—”
“Put the damn measuring tape away,” Vee ordered. “I already know my size. I don’t need reminding.”
I gave the woman a smile that was part apology as I trailed after Vee, who was heading toward the
clearance bins at the back.
“A D cup is nothing to be ashamed of,” I told Vee. I picked up a blue satin bra and hunted for the price
tag.
“Who said anything about being ashamed?” Vee said. “I’m not ashamed. Why would I be ashamed?
The only other sixteenyearolds
with boobs as big as mine are suffused with silicone—and everyone
knows it. Why would I have reason to be ashamed?” She rummaged through a bin. “Think they have
any bras in here that can get my babies to lie flat?”
“They’re called sports bras, and they have a nasty side effect called the uniboob,” I said, my eyes
picking out a lacy black bra from the pile.
I shouldn’t have been looking at lingerie. It naturally made me think about sexy things. Like kissing.
Like Patch.
I closed my eyes and replayed our night together. The touch of Patch’s hand on my thigh, his lips tasting
my neck …
Vee caught me off guard with a pair of turquoise leopard print undies slung at my chest. “These would
look nice on you,” she said. “All you need is a booty like mine to fill them.”
What had I been thinking? I’d come this close to kissing Patch. The same Patch who just might be
invading my mind. The same Patch who saved me from plunging to my death on the Archangel—
because that’s what I was sure had happened, although I had zero logical explanations. I wondered if he
had somehow suspended time and caught me during the fall. If he was capable of talking to my
thoughts, maybe, just maybe, he was capable of other things.
Or maybe, I thought with a chill, I could no longer trust my mind.
I still had the scrap of paper Patch had tucked inside my pocket, but there was no way I was going to the
party tonight. I secretly enjoyed the attraction between us, but the mystery and eeriness outweighed it.
From now on, I was going to flush Patch out of my system—and this time, I meant it. It would be like a
cleansing diet. The problem was, the only diet I’d ever been on backfired. Once I tried to go an entire
month without chocolate. Not one bite. At the end of two weeks, I broke down and binged on more
chocolate than I would have eaten in three months.
I hoped my chocolatefree
diet didn’t foreshadow what would happen if I tried to avoid Patch.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my attention drawn to Vee.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m peeling the clearance price stickers off these clearance bras and
sticking them on the notonsale
bras. That way I can get sexy bras at trashy bra prices.”
“You can’t do that. She’ll scan the bar codes when you checkout. She’ll know what you’re up to.”
“Bar codes? They don’t scan bar codes.” She didn’t sound too sure.
“They do. I swear. Cross my heart.” I figured lying was better than watching Vee get hauled off to jail.
“Well, it seemed like a good idea… .”
“You have to get these,” I told Vee, tossing a scrap of silk at her, hoping to distract her.
She held up the panties. Tiny red crabs embroidered the fabric. “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve
ever seen. I like that black bra you’re holding, on the other hand. I think you should get it. You go pay
and I’ll keep looking.”
I paid. Then, thinking it would be easier to forget about Patch if I was looking at something more
benign, I wandered over to the wall of lotions. I was sniffing a bottle of Dream Angels when I felt a
familiar presence nearby. It was like someone had dropped a scoop of ice cream down the back of my
shirt. It was the same shivery jolt I experienced whenever Patch approached.
Vee and I were still the only two customers in the shop, but on the other side of the plateglass
window,
I saw a hooded figure step back under a shadowed awning across the street. Freshly unsettled, I stood
immobile for a whole minute before I pulled myself together and went to find Vee.
“Time to go,” I told her.
She was flipping through a rack of nightgowns. “Wow. Look at this—flannel pajamas, fifty percent off.
I need a pair of flannel pj’s.”
I kept one eye glued to the window. “I think I’m being followed.”
Vee’s head jerked up. “Patch?”
“No. Look across the street.”
Vee squinted. “I don’t see anyone.”
Neither did I anymore. A car had driven past, interrupting my line of vision. “I think they went inside
the shop.”
“How do you know they’re following you?”
“A bad feeling.”
“Did they look like anyone we know? For example … a cross between Pippi Longstocking and the
Wicked Witch of the West would obviously give us Marcie Millar.”
“It wasn’t Marcie,” I said, eyes still trained across the street. “When I left the arcade last night to buy
cotton candy, I saw someone watching me. I think the same person is here now.”
“Are you serious? Why are you just telling me this now? Who is it?”
I didn’t know. And that scared me more than anything.
I directed my voice at the saleslady. “Is there a back door to the shop?”
She looked up from tidying a drawer. “Employees only.”
“Is the person male or female?” Vee wanted to know.
“I can’t tell.”
“Well, why do you think they’re following you? What do they want?”
“To scare me.” It seemed reasonable enough.
“Why would they want to scare you?”
Again, I didn’t know.
“We need a diversion,” I told Vee.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” she said. “And we know I’m really good at diversions. Give me your
jean jacket.”
I stared at her. “No way. We know nothing about this person. I’m not letting you go out there dressed
like me. What if they’re armed?”
“Sometimes your imagination scares me,” Vee said.
I had to admit, the idea that they were armed and out to kill was a little farfetched.
But with all the
creepy things happening lately, I didn’t blame myself for feeling on edge and assuming the worst.
“I’ll go out first,” said Vee. “If they follow me, you follow them. I’ll head up the hill toward the
cemetery, and then we’ll bookend them and get some answers.”
A minute later Vee left the store wearing my jean jacket. She picked up my red umbrella, holding it low
on her head. Other than the fact that she was a few inches too tall, and a few pounds too voluptuous, she
passed as me. From where I crouched behind the rack of nightgowns, I watched the hooded figure step
out of the store across the street and follow after Vee. I crept closer to the window. Though the figure’s
baggy sweatshirt and jeans were meant to look androgynous, the walk was feminine. Definitely
feminine.
Vee and the girl turned the corner and disappeared, and I jogged to the door. Outside, the rain had
turned into a downpour.
Grabbing Vee’s umbrella, I picked up my pace, keeping under the awnings, steering clear of the pelting
rain. I could feel the bottoms of my jeans dampening. I wished I’d worn boots.
Behind me the pier extended out to the cementgray
ocean. In front of me, the strip of shops ended at
the base of a steep, grassy hill. At the top of the hill, I could just make out the high castiron
fence of
the local cemetery.
I unlocked the Neon, cranked the defroster to high, and set the windshield wipers to full power. I drove
out of the lot and turned left, accelerating up the winding hill. The trees of the cemetery loomed ahead,
their branches deceptively coming to life through the mad chop of the wipers. The white marble
headstones seemed to stab up from the darkness. The gray headstones dissolved into the atmosphere.
Out of nowhere, a red object hurtled into the windshield. It smacked the glass directly in my line of
vision, then flew up and over the car. I stomped on the brakes and the Neon skidded to a stop on the
shoulder of the road.
I opened the door and got out. I jogged to the back of the car, searching for what had hit me.
There was a moment of confusion as my mind processed what I was seeing. My red umbrella was
tangled in the weeds. It was broken; one side was collapsed in the exact way I might expect if it had
been hurled with force against another, harder object.
Through the onslaught of rain I heard a choked sob.
“Vee?” I said. I jogged across the road, shielding my eyes from the rain as I swept my gaze over the
landscape. A body lay crumpled just ahead. I started running.
“Vee!” I dropped to my knees beside her. She was on her side, her legs drawn up to her chest. She
groaned.
“What happened? Are you okay? Can you move?” I threw my head back, blinking rain. Think! I told
myself. My cell phone. Back in the car. I had to call 911.
“I’m going to get help,” I told Vee.
She moaned and clutched my hand.
I lowered myself down on her, holding her tightly. Tears burned behind my eyes. “What happened? Was
it the person who followed you? Did they do this to you? What did they do?”
Vee murmured something unintelligible that might have been “handbag.” Sure enough, her handbag
was missing.
“You’re going to be all right.” I worked to hold my voice steady. I had a dark feeling stirring inside me,
and I was trying to keep it at bay. I was certain the same person who’d watched me at Delphic and
followed me shopping today was responsible, but I blamed myself for putting Vee in harm’s way. I ran
back to the Neon and punched 911 into my cell.
Trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice, I said, “I need an ambulance. My friend was attacked and
robbed.”
I WAS YANKED AWAKE BY THE SOUND OF MY PHONE RINGING. Caught with one foot still in
a dream, I tugged my pillow over my head and tried to block out the noise. But the phone rang. And
rang.
The call went to voice mail. Five seconds later, the ringing started up again.
I reached an arm over the side of the bed, groped around until I found my jeans, and wiggled my cell
out of the pocket.
“Yes?” I said with a wide yawn, leaving my eyes shut.
Someone was breathing angrily on the other end. “What happened to you? What happened to bringing
back cotton candy? And while you’re at it, how about telling me where you are so I can come strangle
you—barehanded!”
I knocked the heel of my hand against my forehead a few times.
“I thought you’d been kidnapped!” Vee went on. “I thought you’d been abducted! I thought you were
murdered!”
I tried to find the clock in the dark. I bumped a picture frame on the nightstand, and all the frames
behind it played dominoes.
“I was sort of delayed,” I said. “By the time I made it back to the arcade, you were gone.”
“ ‘Delayed’? What kind of excuse is ‘delayed’?”
The red numbers on the clock swam into focus. It was just after two in the morning.
“I drove around the parking lot for an hour,” Vee said. “Elliot walked the park flashing the only photo I
had of you on my cell phone. I tried your cell a zillion times. Hang on. Are you at home? How did you
get home?”
I rubbed the corners of my eyes. “Patch.”
“Stalker Patch?”
“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” I said tersely. “You left without me.”
“You sound worked up. Really worked up. No, that’s not it. You sound agitated … flustered …
aroused.” I could feel her eyes widen. “He kissed you, didn’t he?”
No answer.
“He did! I knew it! I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I knew this was coming. I saw it from a mile
away.”
I didn’t want to think about it.
“What was it like?” Vee pressed. “A peach kiss? A plum kiss? Or maybe an alfalfa
kiss?”
“What?”
“Was it a peck, did mouths part, or was there tongue? Never mind. You don’t have to answer that. Patch
isn’t the kind of guy to deal with preliminaries. There was tongue involved. Guaranteed.”
I covered my face with my hands, hiding behind them. Patch probably thought I didn’t have any selfcontrol.
I’d fallen apart in his arms. I’d melted like butter. Right before I told him he should go, I was
pretty sure I’d made a sound that was a cross between a sigh of sheer bliss and a moan of ecstasy.
That would explain his arrogant grin.
“Can we talk about this later?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“No way.”
I sighed. “I’m dead tired.”
“I can’t believe you’re thinking about keeping me in suspense.”
“I’m hoping you’ll forget about it.”
“Fat chance.”
I tried to envision the muscles along my neck relaxing, forestalling the headache I felt creeping on. “Are
we still on for shopping?”
“I’ll pick you up at four.”
“I thought we weren’t meeting until five.”
“Circumstances have changed. I’ll be there even earlier if I can get out of family time. My mom’s
having a nervous breakdown. She blames my bad grades on her parenting skills. Apparently spending
time together is the solution. Wish me luck.”
I snapped my phone shut and slid deep into my bed. I pictured Patch’s unprincipled grin and his
glittering black eyes. After thrashing around in bed for several minutes, I gave up trying to get
comfortable. The truth was, as long as Patch was on my mind, comfort was out of the question.
When I was little, Dorothea’s godson Lionel shattered one of the kitchen glasses. He swept up all the
shards of glass except one, and he dared me to lick it. I imagined falling for Patch was a little like
licking that shard. I knew it was stupid. I knew I’d get cut. After all these years one thing hadn’t
changed: I was still lured by danger.
Suddenly I sat up straight in bed and reached for my cell. I switched on the lamp.
The battery showed fully charged.
My spine tingled ominously. My cell was supposed to be dead. So how had my mom and Vee gotten
through?
Rain battered the colorful awnings of the shops along the pier and spilled to the sidewalk below. The
antique gas lamps that were staggered down both sides of the street glowed to life. With our umbrellas
bumping together, Vee and I hustled down the sidewalk and under the pinkandwhitestriped
awning of
Victoria’s Secret. We shook out our umbrellas in unison and propped them just outside the entrance.
A boom of thunder sent us flying through the doors.
I stamped rain from my shoes and shuddered off the cold. Several oil diffusers burned on a display at
the center of the store, surrounding us with an exotic, lusty smell.
A woman in black slacks and a stretchy black tee stepped forward. She had a measuring tape snaked
around her neck, and she started to reach for it. “Would you girls like a free measuring—”
“Put the damn measuring tape away,” Vee ordered. “I already know my size. I don’t need reminding.”
I gave the woman a smile that was part apology as I trailed after Vee, who was heading toward the
clearance bins at the back.
“A D cup is nothing to be ashamed of,” I told Vee. I picked up a blue satin bra and hunted for the price
tag.
“Who said anything about being ashamed?” Vee said. “I’m not ashamed. Why would I be ashamed?
The only other sixteenyearolds
with boobs as big as mine are suffused with silicone—and everyone
knows it. Why would I have reason to be ashamed?” She rummaged through a bin. “Think they have
any bras in here that can get my babies to lie flat?”
“They’re called sports bras, and they have a nasty side effect called the uniboob,” I said, my eyes
picking out a lacy black bra from the pile.
I shouldn’t have been looking at lingerie. It naturally made me think about sexy things. Like kissing.
Like Patch.
I closed my eyes and replayed our night together. The touch of Patch’s hand on my thigh, his lips tasting
my neck …
Vee caught me off guard with a pair of turquoise leopard print undies slung at my chest. “These would
look nice on you,” she said. “All you need is a booty like mine to fill them.”
What had I been thinking? I’d come this close to kissing Patch. The same Patch who just might be
invading my mind. The same Patch who saved me from plunging to my death on the Archangel—
because that’s what I was sure had happened, although I had zero logical explanations. I wondered if he
had somehow suspended time and caught me during the fall. If he was capable of talking to my
thoughts, maybe, just maybe, he was capable of other things.
Or maybe, I thought with a chill, I could no longer trust my mind.
I still had the scrap of paper Patch had tucked inside my pocket, but there was no way I was going to the
party tonight. I secretly enjoyed the attraction between us, but the mystery and eeriness outweighed it.
From now on, I was going to flush Patch out of my system—and this time, I meant it. It would be like a
cleansing diet. The problem was, the only diet I’d ever been on backfired. Once I tried to go an entire
month without chocolate. Not one bite. At the end of two weeks, I broke down and binged on more
chocolate than I would have eaten in three months.
I hoped my chocolatefree
diet didn’t foreshadow what would happen if I tried to avoid Patch.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my attention drawn to Vee.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m peeling the clearance price stickers off these clearance bras and
sticking them on the notonsale
bras. That way I can get sexy bras at trashy bra prices.”
“You can’t do that. She’ll scan the bar codes when you checkout. She’ll know what you’re up to.”
“Bar codes? They don’t scan bar codes.” She didn’t sound too sure.
“They do. I swear. Cross my heart.” I figured lying was better than watching Vee get hauled off to jail.
“Well, it seemed like a good idea… .”
“You have to get these,” I told Vee, tossing a scrap of silk at her, hoping to distract her.
She held up the panties. Tiny red crabs embroidered the fabric. “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve
ever seen. I like that black bra you’re holding, on the other hand. I think you should get it. You go pay
and I’ll keep looking.”
I paid. Then, thinking it would be easier to forget about Patch if I was looking at something more
benign, I wandered over to the wall of lotions. I was sniffing a bottle of Dream Angels when I felt a
familiar presence nearby. It was like someone had dropped a scoop of ice cream down the back of my
shirt. It was the same shivery jolt I experienced whenever Patch approached.
Vee and I were still the only two customers in the shop, but on the other side of the plateglass
window,
I saw a hooded figure step back under a shadowed awning across the street. Freshly unsettled, I stood
immobile for a whole minute before I pulled myself together and went to find Vee.
“Time to go,” I told her.
She was flipping through a rack of nightgowns. “Wow. Look at this—flannel pajamas, fifty percent off.
I need a pair of flannel pj’s.”
I kept one eye glued to the window. “I think I’m being followed.”
Vee’s head jerked up. “Patch?”
“No. Look across the street.”
Vee squinted. “I don’t see anyone.”
Neither did I anymore. A car had driven past, interrupting my line of vision. “I think they went inside
the shop.”
“How do you know they’re following you?”
“A bad feeling.”
“Did they look like anyone we know? For example … a cross between Pippi Longstocking and the
Wicked Witch of the West would obviously give us Marcie Millar.”
“It wasn’t Marcie,” I said, eyes still trained across the street. “When I left the arcade last night to buy
cotton candy, I saw someone watching me. I think the same person is here now.”
“Are you serious? Why are you just telling me this now? Who is it?”
I didn’t know. And that scared me more than anything.
I directed my voice at the saleslady. “Is there a back door to the shop?”
She looked up from tidying a drawer. “Employees only.”
“Is the person male or female?” Vee wanted to know.
“I can’t tell.”
“Well, why do you think they’re following you? What do they want?”
“To scare me.” It seemed reasonable enough.
“Why would they want to scare you?”
Again, I didn’t know.
“We need a diversion,” I told Vee.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” she said. “And we know I’m really good at diversions. Give me your
jean jacket.”
I stared at her. “No way. We know nothing about this person. I’m not letting you go out there dressed
like me. What if they’re armed?”
“Sometimes your imagination scares me,” Vee said.
I had to admit, the idea that they were armed and out to kill was a little farfetched.
But with all the
creepy things happening lately, I didn’t blame myself for feeling on edge and assuming the worst.
“I’ll go out first,” said Vee. “If they follow me, you follow them. I’ll head up the hill toward the
cemetery, and then we’ll bookend them and get some answers.”
A minute later Vee left the store wearing my jean jacket. She picked up my red umbrella, holding it low
on her head. Other than the fact that she was a few inches too tall, and a few pounds too voluptuous, she
passed as me. From where I crouched behind the rack of nightgowns, I watched the hooded figure step
out of the store across the street and follow after Vee. I crept closer to the window. Though the figure’s
baggy sweatshirt and jeans were meant to look androgynous, the walk was feminine. Definitely
feminine.
Vee and the girl turned the corner and disappeared, and I jogged to the door. Outside, the rain had
turned into a downpour.
Grabbing Vee’s umbrella, I picked up my pace, keeping under the awnings, steering clear of the pelting
rain. I could feel the bottoms of my jeans dampening. I wished I’d worn boots.
Behind me the pier extended out to the cementgray
ocean. In front of me, the strip of shops ended at
the base of a steep, grassy hill. At the top of the hill, I could just make out the high castiron
fence of
the local cemetery.
I unlocked the Neon, cranked the defroster to high, and set the windshield wipers to full power. I drove
out of the lot and turned left, accelerating up the winding hill. The trees of the cemetery loomed ahead,
their branches deceptively coming to life through the mad chop of the wipers. The white marble
headstones seemed to stab up from the darkness. The gray headstones dissolved into the atmosphere.
Out of nowhere, a red object hurtled into the windshield. It smacked the glass directly in my line of
vision, then flew up and over the car. I stomped on the brakes and the Neon skidded to a stop on the
shoulder of the road.
I opened the door and got out. I jogged to the back of the car, searching for what had hit me.
There was a moment of confusion as my mind processed what I was seeing. My red umbrella was
tangled in the weeds. It was broken; one side was collapsed in the exact way I might expect if it had
been hurled with force against another, harder object.
Through the onslaught of rain I heard a choked sob.
“Vee?” I said. I jogged across the road, shielding my eyes from the rain as I swept my gaze over the
landscape. A body lay crumpled just ahead. I started running.
“Vee!” I dropped to my knees beside her. She was on her side, her legs drawn up to her chest. She
groaned.
“What happened? Are you okay? Can you move?” I threw my head back, blinking rain. Think! I told
myself. My cell phone. Back in the car. I had to call 911.
“I’m going to get help,” I told Vee.
She moaned and clutched my hand.
I lowered myself down on her, holding her tightly. Tears burned behind my eyes. “What happened? Was
it the person who followed you? Did they do this to you? What did they do?”
Vee murmured something unintelligible that might have been “handbag.” Sure enough, her handbag
was missing.
“You’re going to be all right.” I worked to hold my voice steady. I had a dark feeling stirring inside me,
and I was trying to keep it at bay. I was certain the same person who’d watched me at Delphic and
followed me shopping today was responsible, but I blamed myself for putting Vee in harm’s way. I ran
back to the Neon and punched 911 into my cell.
Trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice, I said, “I need an ambulance. My friend was attacked and
robbed.”
สมัครสมาชิก:
บทความ (Atom)