I Spy Dead People (21 page)

"Yeah, I didn't know her, but I saw her alive. It's not the same thing, but it feels like I knew her." Or it's that I'm getting to know her.

A car drives down the street slow. It's Bridget. She waves at us.

We wave back.

"Do you know her well?" I ask.

"No. She and Mom talk some. I think she talks with everyone in town. Why?"

"I think Dad may be secretly seeing her."

He watches Bridget pull into her driveway and step out of her car. "Really?"

Bridget kicks her back tire, then grabs a bag of groceries from her back seat and enters her house.

"Well, I should go," Troy says.

"Okay, I'll call you."

I watch him get into his mother's car, which he parked across the street, in front of the Freidman's, and drive off. I'm about to head back in when I hear someone call my name. I turn to see Gabi in her front yard. She waves me over.

We meet in the street, by her curb. "I was wondering if you could watch Jazzy tomorrow night? I'm dying to get out of this house."

"Sure. That'll be fine." It's not like I ever have plans.

"Great. Come by around seven."

"Okay, see you then."

As I head back home, I purposely don't look at Kinley's house. I can't bear to see her in her window, watching me, ignoring my texts. Inside I take my stairs two-at-a-time and step into my room.

The papers Troy copied are scattered across my bed and the floor. Linzy stands in the middle of it all. She looks scared, nauseous, and confused.

"What'd you do?" I ask, although the answer is obvious. She found a way to read the sheets without picking each one up. "You shouldn't look at it."

"Why not?" Her voice is shrill. "This is how I died."

She clenches her hands, tightens her body, and groans.

The air charges, feels electric, and a wind circles the room. It ruffles my curtains, lifts and blows the papers about, and rushes through my hair.

I shudder.

Linzy disappears.

 

It isn't until after dinner that I feel like reading Linzy's file, which is completely weird because I usually live for this stuff. My very own case. I never guessed how emotional it would be though. It's like I've been hit by a dump truck which then piled dirt over me. Anything other than just lying here is a major chore. But I know I must push through it, or I'll never learn the truth. And even though Linzy isn't helping, I believe once I figure it all out, she'll move on, which is what's best. Right?

I'm on my bed and have my pillow back on top of the pile, just in case Dad enters in his usual way. I start with the interviews-slash-interrogations. The first is mine. I skim it, not seeing anything different or weird, just what I said. The next ones are from Linzy's family.

Mrs. Quinn last saw her daughter when they argued, and she told her to go to her room. According to Mrs. Quinn, they argued all the time in the past couple of years. It was common and expected. Mr. Quinn last saw Linzy when she put her dinner plate in the dishwasher. Linzy had eaten in her room, as she always did, while he and his wife ate at the table. Shayla was at dance practice.

That must've been where they were going when I saw Shayla the first day Dad and I moved in.

Shayla last saw Linzy when Mrs. Quinn dropped her off at class. It took the parents eighteen hours to realize their fourteen-year-old was missing.

I lean my head against the wall and shut my eyes. The air conditioner hums. I rub my arms from the chill and turn the A/C off and the fan on, then get back to the reports.

Chief Williams also spoke with April who said she and Linzy were best friends. They had no problems, she knew of no problems in Linzy's life, and there was nothing suspicious going on. April's obviously a liar.

There are statements from her teachers, classmates, producer, and the managers or publicity agents of Linzy's co-stars. Everyone said she was hard to deal with.

Linzy showed a genuine talent, but she was a Diva—always late and giving attitude
, remarked her producer.

I liked her but she was kind of a bitch
, said Margo, her co-star.

Linzy's teachers said pretty much the same thing.

I read each page carefully, but I don't learn anything new. How disappointing.

The toxicology report says there were no drugs in her system. That rules out the Lindsay Lohan rep. The autopsy report is next. Linzy's death was caused by asphyxiation due to strangulation.

I assumed she'd been smothered by a pillow.

There were skin and fabric particles under her nails. A light blue nylon. Linzy on her back, struggling, fighting with whoever held her down. That's sick.

I force myself to finish reading the autopsy. Her stomach contents were ground beef, potato, and corn. Dinner.

Next, I grab the photo I saw earlier and stare at the choker. I run my fingers over it, as if I can feel the material. Then it hits me. She's naked. This photo isn't of her choker but the bruise beneath.

I look away and take a deep breath. I've been so preoccupied with who killed her, I never thought of what she must've went through. The fear, the pain.

Linzy appears, and I'm relieved to see her. It's almost as if the photos and reports aren't true. She didn't die horribly; she's standing right in front of me. But then I stare at her necklace. Has it been hiding her bruises all this time?

"Take that off," I say, pointing to her neck.

"Why?"

"'Cause I want to see your skin."

She raises her brows. "Are you a lezzy?"

"Just take it off."

She shrugs and does as told, which is surprising enough, but when the choker is gone, the purple bruise is there.

My stomach rumbles. Maybe I show my shock because she turns to my mirror and gasps.

"What happened?" Her voice is strained.

"It's how you died."

She steps backwards and sits on my bed.

I scoot up, wrinkling some of the pages, and sit beside her. "Do you remember it happening?"

She gives a nod. It's small and barely visible, but she remembers.

"Tell me about it," I whisper. I don't want to scare her off. I'm also not sure I want the gory details. But I need answers. It's like this gnaw that never lets up. I can't not know, even if knowing is excruciatingly painful.

She gives me a hateful sideways glance. "No."

"Why not?" My voice raises a few octaves. I can't believe she's being so selfish. Okay, so I believe it, but it ticks me off.

She lowers her head. "You don't get it."

Yes, I'm confused as to why she's so darn stubborn. "What's to get? You know how you died and who killed you. Why wouldn't you want to tell, to get it out there, to end this?"

"For someone so bent on solving mysteries, you're clueless," she says and disappears.

 

*  *  *

 

I try to call Linzy back for an hour, but she's not returning. I decide to go to Kinley's. Hopefully she can help, and hopefully our awkwardness can be put aside for a bit. Her mom lets me in. I only have an hour before they go to bed, so I know I have to make this quick. Kinley's in the basement watching
Easy A
. Emma Stone is so beautiful.

"Hey," I say and sit on the sofa beside her.

"Hey."

"I love this movie."

"Me too."

It's pretty much a duh reply, but I don't comment.

It's the scene where the gay friend goes to Emma's house to ask her a favor, and her mother says she has a gentleman caller. Kinley and I laugh.

She finally looks at me with a smile and asks, "So why are you here?"

"I was wondering if you remember anything suspicious about the night Linzy died."

Her expression goes from nothing to surprise to narrow eyes. "You came over to ask about your stupid mystery?"

"Yes?" That's obviously not the right answer, but I don't know what else to say.

She clutches the bowl of popcorn and places it on the coffee table hard. It shakes and several kernels fall onto the carpet. "How could you?"

"Why are you so mad at me? Is this still about Eli?"

She jumps up and walks to the far wall. "You mean the boy you want nothing to do with but was holding your hands?"

"I fell. He was helping me off the ground. I hurt my knee."

She glances down to it. "Seems to be fine now."

Well, it is better, but that's not the point.

"I didn't come here to fight about a stupid boy."

"No, you came to pump me for info about what's most important to you. Your case, or whatever you call it. You know you're not a detective, right? You're not going to solve something before the cops."

Her words slap me in the face and rip at my heart. How can she be so mean, even if she is right?

"What's wrong with you? I thought you were different, nice, supportive." My last word comes out like a sob, and I hate that I'm losing it. I don't want to cry.

"Look who's talking. I'm leaving in four days, and all you care about is a dead girl. One that wouldn't have given you the time of day."

If only she knew.

"You said you're happy about leaving. What's there to discuss?"

Kinley starts to say something then clamps her lips shut. "Never mind."

"Fine." I turn to leave.

Mrs. Abbott is standing on the bottom step. How long has she been there?

I push past her and run up, out of their house. When I step onto the sidewalk, Dad pulls out of our driveway. He heads in the opposite direction of me. Where is he going now? How many times can he smooch with the cougar? Boy, was Mr. Abbott wrong about calling her that.

I enter our house and find a Sticky Note stuck to Dad's door.

Be back soon
.

That's it? If I tried giving that vague explanation, I wouldn't be allowed to leave. I run up to my room.

Linzy's not there, which is just as well. I don't want to see or speak to anyone right now.

With my arm, I brush all the pages off my bed and flop onto it. I don't care where they fall. I try to breathe normally, but my pulse is racing. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the tears start to fall.

Stupid ghost. Stupid boy. Stupid girl.

But deep down I don't mean any of it. Kinley's right. I can't solve a case on my own. So maybe it's stupid me. Whoever's stupid, I'm scared I just lost the best friend I'd ever have.

The doorbell rings. I groan and clench my hands into fists. Who the heck is that?

I stomp back down the stairs and fling open the door.

It's Shayla.

"Want to go talk to April?"

All the tension flows out of my body, almost as quickly as it entered. "Let's go."

 

I stare out the window at the passing houses, but they're a blur. The radio is on low, and it plays an old song Dad likes to sing to, if you call it singing. It reminds me of Long Island, which reminds me of Dad's kooky family and how every time they see me, they give big hugs and say how much I've grown. I think I've stopped growing now. What will they say next holiday? They'll never stop with the hugs. That's how big Italian families are, I think.

I glance to Shayla. She watches the road. When was the last time she was hugged? I'm not sure why I care. She's hateful, but she also lives in a home where she's had to compete. That's awful.

She puts on her blinker. "You're quiet."

I shrug, not wanting to get into it with her. Besides, I'm sure she doesn't want to hear about mine and Kinley's drama.

She points up ahead. "That's the high school."

The most important place Troy forgot to show me. It's a two-story, brick building that looks like every other school I've been to. The parking lot is empty, of course, and a huge field sits across from it.

"Is that where they play sports?" There are no bleachers or any markings.

"No, there's another huge field in back. That space isn't really used."

"Seems like a waste." Who wants to sit in class and stare at grass? Well, I guess we're supposed to be watching the teacher, but who does that all the time?

Now that I see the school, I'm not quite as nervous about starting. But that'll probably change the night before the first day. I never get used to being the new girl. I put way too much pressure on myself to wear the right outfit, to act the right way—totally casual but mysterious too. It's a tricky balance.

Shayla pulls into a driveway a block from the school.

April's a walker. How convenient. It must stink in the rain and snow, but it has to beat taking the bus. That's always been a bad ordeal no matter what state I've lived in. Or maybe I just get sucky drivers who pretend they don't hear the bullying. I'm not sure what's worse. Kids who act like rejects or adults who allow it.

Shayla and I step out of her car and walk to the front door of the two-story, dark green home. A turned-over tricycle and a multi-colored beach ball sit on the front lawn.

The door opens, and we're greeted by a woman in navy shorts and a white top. A gold chain accents her left ankle, and her toenails are colored in a shimmery gold polish. She looks old enough to be a mom, but she doesn't dress like most of the ones I've met.

"Shayla," she says and pulls her into a hug.

"Hi, Mrs. Winston." Shayla pulls back with a slight frown.

"I'm so sorry for you and your family, dear." She sounds like the woman who answered the phone when I called their store last week.

"Thank you. Is April home? I wanted to chat."

Mrs. Winston steps back, allowing us to enter. "Of course, she's in the living room."

As I pass her, she cocks her head to the side. "Aren't you the girl that snuck…"

Shayla throws an arm around my shoulders. "This is Piper. She's a friend of mine."

I offer a smile, but it doesn't seem to soften the mother's suspicions.

Mrs. Winston nods but keeps an eye on me as Shayla pulls me into the living room.

The TV is on, and three heads are seen from the back of the couch.

"Hi," Shayla says.

They turn toward us. April jumps up and frowns. "What are you doing here?"