I Spy Dead People (16 page)

April nods. "Yeah."

"Sorry. Look, I wish I had more tact, but I really need to know why you and Linzy were on the outs."

"It doesn't matter now. Leave me alone." She hurries to the back of the store.

I totally messed that up. Was I really expecting miracles though? Nothing is going my way.

"Piper, you almost ready?" Dad calls from the next aisle.

I look up, see the sign for notebooks, run toward one with a pink cover, and snatch it off the shelf. "Ready, Dad."

When we're at the register, he picks it up and examines the front and back. "You wanted a diary?"

I'm scoping the area for April, hoping she changed her mind and wants to talk. "What?"

Dad waves something in my face. "Since when do you journal?"

I stare at the front of the book. It's pink, white, and black plaid with a raised badge that has Diary stitched on it. "Um, since we moved to Disturbia."

 

* * *

 

When Dad pulls into the driveway, I notice Kinley sitting on our steps. I must sigh a bit too heavy because Dad asks, "Something wrong?"

I shrug and stare at the bag in my lap.

"Wanna quickly talk about it?"

Not really, but I also don't want to screw up this relationship. "Remember when Andrea stopped talking to me?"

"How can I forget? You cried and moped around the house for a week."

Great way to word it, Dad.

"She said she didn't want to hang with me because I was texting and calling all the time."

"That can get overwhelming."

"So I just need to be less pushy, right?"

He squeezes my shoulder. "Just be yourself."

I hate when adults say that. They make it sound so easy. What if you don't know who you are yet?

We get out of the car. Dad greets Kinley and goes inside. I join her on the steps.

"What'd you get?" she asks, nodding to my bag.

"A journal."

She nods then looks off.

I stare at the Quinn house and allow my thoughts to drift. Anything to avoid this conversation. I wonder if the Quinns are curled up in a ball crying on their beds. I would be. Did I cry a lot when Vincent died? Did I understand I'd never see my brother again, never play Hide-n-Seek or gurgle chocolate milk through a straw with him?

"I'm glad the news crews are gone," Kinley says.

I've been so preoccupied, I hadn't noticed. "Yeah, me too. I couldn't even step outside."

"Not that you want to in this heat, huh?" She gives a half-laugh.

The awkwardness is killing us both.

I want to explain myself about Eli and totally clear the air, but I'm afraid I'll sound desperate. "I…uh, don't like Eli. He's all yours." That sounds stupid, like I'm handing him over 'cause he's mine to give.

She sighs. "I don't want to talk about that. I came over to let you know that my parents are sending me to camp."

What? No. This can't happen.

"I thought you were going to convince them it wasn't a good idea."

"I tried, but with Linzy's death, they feel it's best if I don't stick around here all summer."

I can't believe it. It doesn't matter if I screw up this friendship or not, I'll still be alone. "Do you want to go?"

She shrugs, completely nonchalant about the whole thing. "It might be nice. There's swimming and canoeing and all kinds of activities."

"But what about…" Me. I desperately want to finish my sentence, but I don't want to sound selfish. I stare at my toes. The polish is starting to wear off every nail but the big ones.

Either she knows what I was going to ask and doesn't want to answer or doesn't care enough to find out, because we sit in silence. If she wants to go then my telling her to stay is pushy. But I don't want her to go. Darn. This sucks. It's too hard.

"Well, I hope you have a great time." What else can I say?

"Thanks." She stands up. "I should get inside. It's hot and… Well, bye."

She steps down onto the walkway, and I jump up. "Wait. When are you leaving?"

"Not until the fifteenth."

"That's over a week away." Don't forget your cool, Piper. "So maybe we can hang before then?"

She squints into the sun. "Sure." Her voice wavers. "I'll text ya."

There's a boulder in my throat restricting swallowing. "Okay."

As she walks home, I can't help but wonder if I just lost the best friend I'll ever have.

 

* * *

 

It's not until I relax in bed, the air conditioner allowing me to snuggle under my comforter, and my eyes drift shut that Linzy's voice sounds in my ear.

"Whatcha doin'?"

She lies beside me, on her side, her head propped up on her hand.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I answer.

She extends her arm and lays her head on it. "I'm bored."

"I bet if you don't cough up what happened to you, you'll have an eternity of boredom." I yawn, not really wanting to have this conversation, but if I can gain some insight I'll pull an all-nighter.

She rolls her eyes and makes a dramatic sound in the back of her throat. "Will you let it go already? You're such a drag."

"Eli said he pushed you. Was that all, or did he hurt you? Maybe you met him at the park that night." It makes sense. He's obviously familiar enough with this neighborhood to know the park exists.

She laughs. "Him? He's too much a dweeb to hurt anyone."

I sit up. "If you believe that, then why try to kill him? Why are you so angry, and why say he could've killed you?"

She presses her lips together, as if she can't trust them not to open and whisper her secrets.

This is not the way ghosts are supposed to behave. They should either scare and haunt or try to move on. Linzy acts as if this is just a regular day.

"Look, did Eli kill you? Do you know who did?"

She stares up at the ceiling then looks to my windows and down to her feet. She may as well start whistling or stick her fingers in her ears and sing, "la-la-la-la."

"Linzy," I shout then bite my lower lip. "If you're not going to answer me, I won't help you get to your other…friends."

She sighs. "How do you even know I was killed? I never said that."

I can't tell what she knows and believes, and I'm too tired to play games. "Because your parents had your autopsy rushed. You were suffocated to death."

She places a hand at her throat, cupping her choker. She gives me a sad, pitiful look then disappears.

I lay back down and stare at the space she occupied, waiting for her to return. She'll eventually get tired of not answering my questions. She'll tell me sooner or later. Right? And even if she doesn't, I'll figure it out. That I can guarantee.

I roll onto my back. My eye lids are heavy. I want to stay awake and wait, but she may not return tonight.

I lay my hand in her spot, just in case.

 

I smooth down my ankle-length, black skirt and slip my phone into one of the deep pockets. It's too hot for this heavy material, but my only other black skirt is above the knee with pink paw prints. Dad said it and shorts are disrespectful, so I'll just sweat all over the coffin. I turn to my roommate.

Linzy's seated in the middle of my bed, her expression animated. "What do you think it'll be like?"

I shrug, not getting her rabid appeal for her funeral.

It's been three days since I learned Linzy was murdered. Three days of her flitting around but not giving me any new information. Three days of being cooped up in this house with only a television and the internet for entertainment. Three days of not speaking to or seeing Troy, and the texts between me and Kinley have been weird one-liners about the weather and what we had for dinner. We've become…old people.

And now I'm going to watch them lower Linzy's body into the ground, knowing I'll come home to talk to her. It's the weirdest.

"Don't forget to take pictures," she says.

My stockings already chaff my inner thighs. I reach up my skirt and rip them off. It's not like anyone will see my legs anyway. "I'm not taking pics at a funeral. They'll throw me out. Plus, it's uncool."

She lets out a melodramatic sigh. "Fine, but I want every single detail." She pouts. "I wish I could go with."

Me too. It would be easier than being interrogated later.

"Actually I will be there. Technically." She giggles, but it sounds forced.

"Gotta go." I head downstairs. I don't feel like joking about her death today.

Dad's pacing by the front door. He looks up and gives a grim smile. When I'm beside him, he scrunches up his brows. "Are you sure you want to go?"

I give the most reassuring smile I can come up with. "Yes. I…I feel like I have to."

He opens the door, and we leave.

 

Saint Michael's Church is only a few blocks away, on Hibiscus Avenue. It isn't that big, looking like a small white barn, but the parking lot is packed with cars. My stomach flips and flops like a dying fish as we enter the building. There's an old, round woman in front of us. She dips her fingers in some type of ornate holder attached to the wall and touches her forehead and chest.

I glance at Dad, who gives me a single nod and waits for the woman to move on before saying, "That's called a Font. It holds the Holy Water for members to bless themselves with."

I peek inside, and sure enough there's water.

Dad's not a religious person. I don't think Mom was either. When I was little, I asked about his faith. He said he's not a church goer, and God doesn't mind because God knows what's in Dad's heart. I doubt the most devout people would agree, but Dad's at peace with it, so that's all that matters.

Me, I'm not sure what I believe in. Dad always gave me the right to follow my own path. I haven't found it yet.

We enter the main room, and I immediately want to strip down to my undies. Probably not something I should contemplate in church, but, with all the bodies, it's ridiculously hot. Several fans are set up in the far aisles, plus there are the ceiling ones, but everyone still fans themselves with the paper programs. I feel like I'm seeing a play.

I fold one and stick it in my pocket. I don't want to look, but Linzy will want to see it.

Dad leads me to a pew toward the back. In my nervousness to look the part, I didn't wear my plastic-framed, purple glasses, or any of my other accessories. I won't be able to see anything at this distance, and I say so.

"It's not a movie," he whispers.

I'm aware I don't need a front-row view, but I can't look for suspiciousness if everyone is a giant blur either. I strain my neck to look for space closer, and I spot Troy and his mother. Yikes. Not exactly what I wanted to happen.

But he smiles, and it makes him look endearing, not disgusted with me, so I take that as a good sign.

I motion from my eyes to the front of the room.

It takes him a second to understand, but then he nods and waves us over.

I stand and say to Dad, "come on." I move toward Troy before Dad can refuse.

Troy scoots over, creating a wide gap between him and his mom, who's seated at the end, by the middle aisle.

"Hi," I say to the chief then tip-toe past her, careful to not step on her pointy black high-heels.

Dad gives me a raised brow when he squeezes in between the chief and me.

I just flash him a smile then turn to Troy. "Thanks."

"No problem."

A man beside him asks a question, and I try not to press up against Troy too much. Don't want him to get the wrong idea.

I tell myself to relax, even though I know there's a higher chance of harp-playing angels descending from the steeple ceiling, and take in this side of the room. We're only two rows behind the Quinns. The parents sit huddled together, while Shayla is alone. Their heads are bent, and the mom's body shakes. She must be crying.

My chest tightens, so I look away.

Linzy's coffin is white and gold and closed. Dozens of orchids line the area, and a bigger than life-size picture of her is displayed on an easel. She's smiling wide in the photo. It isn't one from online, or one of her publicity shots. She has no makeup on, a smattering of freckles covers her nose, and she looks genuinely happy. This is a personal photo. This is how she should be remembered. Who picked it out? Based on Linzy's descriptions of her family, I have a feeling it wasn't Mrs. Quinn.

I glance away and look for Kinley, but I don't see her or her folks. I'm not even sure if they planned on coming. Maybe the Abbotts feel it's too much for Kinley. April and her family are on the other side of us. She's not crying like half the room is. She looks straight ahead, stone-like. Darn, I need to find out what happened between her and Linzy.

I whisper to Troy, "Any idea why Linzy and April were fighting?"

He shrugs and shakes his head.

For a reporter-to-be, he really knows nothing.

The service begins with a priest standing in front of the coffin, holding a microphone. He talks about Linzy finding her place in heaven and being with God. Unfortunately I know that's not true. At least not yet. She's probably sitting on my bed inspecting her ever-lasting manicure. Never needing a touch-up is kinda cool, even if the death part isn't.

The priest then asks others to speak, and one-by-one various town members get up to tell stories about how sweet and kind and generous Linzy was. They have to be lies. Not one person speaks of the girl I've come to know. No one mentions her snarky attitude or how she and her mom didn't get along.

Then Shayla stands up. Her mother grabs her hand and tries to yank her back down, but Shayla jerks away. She goes up front and takes the microphone.

She breathes heavy into it, and it looks like she's going to break down and return to her seat, but she doesn't. She lifts her head toward the ceiling and opens her mouth.

"Linzy was an awful sister, and we hated each other."

People gasp. Then the room grows silent. Mrs. Quinn whimpers. Mr. Quinn shushes his wife.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Not only am I glad to hear one honest portrayal, but I'm impressed Shayla has the balls.