I Spy Dead People (22 page)

"We'd like to talk."

April glances to the two little boys she was watching Spongebob with and grabs the remote to pause the show. "You guys go finish watching this upstairs."

"But April…" one whines.

She widens her eyes and gets serious. "Go."

They get up and stomp past us. The younger one sticks out his tongue.

Shayla and I circle the couch and sit down.

April sits on the coffee table. She glances at me but faces Shayla. "What do you want?"

"Look, I know you and my sister were best friends. You two go back to elementary school. You know everything about each other."

Gosh, that must be so cool. To be able to just be yourself around someone else, to not worry about sounding stupid or like accidentally farting or something. Okay, so maybe I'll always worry about that.

"And I know you guys have had problems," Shayla continues. "You were fighting before she died. But I know despite that you'd want to help if you can. I mean, you loved her, right?"

April nods.

"Then please tell us why you and Linzy were fighting."

At least Shayla doesn't make it sound like she's accusing April of foul play. I make a mental note to take a page from Shayla's book and work on my tactic. And yes, I'm completely aware she's the polite and nice one this time around.

April looks to the carpet for a moment.

Shayla glances at me and raises her brows.

I have my fingers crossed, pleading with the gods of secrets that this will work, that we'll get the answers we need.

Finally, April says, "She got mad at me for something I didn't do."

Sounds just like Linzy.

Shayla scoffs. "She did that to me all the time. It was like she felt entitled, and everything was about her."

April's eyes widen. "As if she was the center of the universe."

"Exactly."

They laugh together, and this seems to loosen April's lips. She leans forward and taps Shayla's knee. "I always felt like I had to watch what I said in case she took it wrong and blew up at me."

Shayla rolls her eyes. "She made everyone feel that way. So what happened this last time?"

I press myself into the corner of the couch, holding my breath and trying to not make a sound. I don't want to distract April and have her clam up again.

"She saw a message on my phone from Eli. She thought we were secret lovers, conspiring against her. I knew how much she liked him. I never would've done that to her, but she didn't believe me." Her voice cracks.

"Were you messaging each other?" Shayla asks.

April bows her head a bit. "Yeah, but I only wanted to know if he liked her. She went on and on about him every time we were together, and with the soap, that wasn't much anymore. I wanted to hang like we used to, but all she cared about was him."

Shayla clicks her tongue. "That stinks. Linzy couldn't see how lucky she was."

While I'm pretty sure Shayla means what she's saying, it's also coming off scripted, like something an adult would say to calm down a child.

"I couldn't tell her why I messaged Eli. I was afraid she'd get pissed. And then we had the huge fight and didn't speak for days. I figured when she got home from New York, I'd just go over and apologize. But then she was gone."

None of us say anything for a while.

If I add everything April said to all the rest, I'm still at zero. "Do you know who she was secretly meeting that last night?" I ask. I can't help it. Shayla seems to have fallen into her own thoughts, and we need more answers.

April looks startled, as if she forgot I was in the room. She shakes her head. "No. But she'd been different the last few months. She hinted at knowing something big. I assumed it had to do with her show. There were always little things she told me, like the actor who plays her father comes onto set smelling of alcohol."

That's little? I'm gonna have to find a way to talk to her co-stars.

"What about money?" Shayla asks. "Did she mention it?"

April crinkles her brows. "No. She always complained that your mom was stealing from her."

Shayla rolls her eyes. "Yes, welcome to Linzy's deranged world."

It's nice to know Shayla doesn't believe their mother is the Wicked Witch of the Northeast.

Shayla looks to me, as if to ask if there's anything more we need to know. I can't think of anything, so we stand. "Thanks for helping, April."

She nods then turns to me. "Sorry I was such a bitch the other day."

"No problem. I'm a stranger and kinda threw myself at you. I would've been one, too."

She smiles but then frowns just as quickly. To Shayla, she says, "I'm sorry. I know Linzy was difficult, and you and she fought way more than we did, but…I miss her."

Shayla looks away.

On our way to the car, Shayla whispers, "me too."

 

*  *  *

 

When Shayla drops me off, Dad's still not home. I glance over at Bridget's. Her car isn't there either. Are they out for a late dinner or did they sneak away to a motel? Eww. Why do I torture myself with these thoughts?

I unlock the front door and gasp when I step inside.

It looks as if King Kong picked up our house and shook it until all its contents spilled into the center. The coat closet door is open, and the few items inside are now on the floor in the hall. Dad's office is open, and, as I step forward, I'm afraid to peek inside. Sure enough, there are papers all over the floor, his desk and file cabinet doors are open.

I step into the kitchen. The cabinets and drawers are open, but luckily everything is still contained within them. I hurry upstairs and stare at the mess of what was once my room. Everything I own is on the floor, even my clothes in my closet. Is this payback for going through her things, or some child-like tantrum? Either way, I hate her right now.

"Linzy," I scream.

She appears in my doorway and laughs at my room. "What happened here?"

"Don't play dumb. You know what you did. Why?"

She places a hand on her hip. "Something isn't perfect, and you blame me?"

"You did it earlier."

"So it must be my fault now too? Maybe you have another ghost?" Then she disappears.

That's not possible, right? I mean, yeah, I've wondered if Cameron's been hanging around, but I was joking. Sorta. Why would he do this? No, it had to be Linzy. But she seemed surprised.

"Don't come back until you're ready to apologize," I scream.

Then it dawns on me. I just accused her based on circumstantial crap, the same way she had April. Does this mean I'm no better than my dead friend?

 

It's been fifteen hours since Linzy and I argued, and I haven't seen her since. Dad's in his office. He came home about thirty minutes after me last night. I'd managed to clean up his space and the downstairs just as he pulled in. I then spent the rest of the night doing my room. Luckily the only items he has in his bedroom are clothes, so it was easy to slip in before I went to sleep to rearrange it all.

I've gone to every corner of the house, minus Dad's office, and whispered Linzy's name. I get that she's mad at me, and I told her to stay gone, but part of me wonders if she's okay. Of course, that's stupid. She's a ghost. What could be more wrong? And why do I care? It's not as if she's made any of this easy or is even a friendly ghost. I just wish I had someone to talk to about it. I can't go to Dad or Kinley for obvious reasons. The only person who knows I can see Linzy is Eli, and I don't feel like chatting with him… Wait. His grandmother.

I grab my phone off my nightstand and text Eli.

can i meet ur aubela? can u pick me up?

I set the phone back down and a text notification beeps.

On my way

I run downstairs and knock on Dad's door.

"Come in."

"Hey, Dad." I peek my head in. "Eli's grandmother invited me over for lunch. Can I go? Please. I'm so bored."

His brow creases.

"Yeah, I know it's unusual, but the other day he mentioned how cool she is and she likes meeting his new friends. Plus, she's lonely and old and bored too. Eli will pick me up and bring me home."

I bounce up and down, practically doing the potty dance, hoping he gives me a "yes" before Eli honks his horn. Dad hates when I make plans before getting his approval.

"Yes, that's fine. Keep your phone on."

"Thanks, Dad." I start to turn, and he clears his throat, super loud. That means he has something else to say.

"Um, are you interested in Eli?"

Eww. "No. He's gross. Besides, Kinley likes him, and I wouldn't do that to a friend." Even though I'm not sure we are friends.

"Okay, have fun and call me if you won't be home by supper."

I smile and wait for Eli on the front steps. Sweat instantly latches onto my skin. It feels like I'm actually standing on the sun, which has no shame in scorching a patch of grass between mine and Kinley's yard. Is the dying grass a metaphor for the state of our relationship? When Eli pulls up, my stomach twists and turns at the idea that Kinley may be watching.

"I'm surprised you called," he says while turning off my street.

"Me too."

Despite not liking him, I am grateful he came to get me and that he even suggested I talk to his grandmother. Maybe he's not a horrible person, even if he has zero fashion sense.

We drive past Main Street, to the other side of town, a side I haven't seen yet. Eli parks in the driveway of a two-story A-framed house with a detached garage and a flower garden framing the front windows. Their grass is so green and even, I wouldn't be surprised if Eli laid on his stomach with a ruler and a pair of scissors.

He leads me to the side door.

"Do you live here, too?"

He nods. "It's me,
Abuela
, Mami, Papi, and my two little brothers."

Wow, a houseful. That must be nice.

The kitchen is sticky warm, like outside, but it smells like beef, onions, and pastry or bread. In other words,
delicioso
. We walk through it and stop at the dining room table. An overhead fan cools the room, and while it's still too warm in here, it's bearable.

"I'll be right back," Eli says and goes into the living room. He turns the corner and walks out of view.

I sit at the table and stare at the packed china cabinet. Beside the dishes and various sized pitchers and vases, there are photos of a dark-haired family and knick knacks, like a Santa snow globe and a porcelain angel. It all looks so delicate and old. They must've been collected for years—family keepsakes.

We don't have any of that. Well, we have a box of special ornaments for the Christmas tree, but that's it. Moving every year makes it difficult to collect memories.

"
Abuela
, this is Piper. The girl I told you about." Eli and his grandmother walk up to the table.

He talked about me?

He's missing his Fedora. It isn't until now that I notice he's wearing dark green cargo shorts and a white and burgundy plaid, button-down shirt. He looks cool, as in not hot, not sweaty.

His grandmother holds out her wrinkly hand. When I place mine against her, I expect a handshake, but she covers mine with her other one and just holds it—a hand hug.

Her entire face is one giant wrinkle breaking off into smaller ones, like tree branches and twigs. Her eyes are liquid brown and seem to sparkle. I expected someone old, and while she definitely looks the part, her movements are quick, and she wears denim shorts that come down to her knees and a yellow T-shirt printed with a panda eating leaves.

She sits at the head of the table and motions for me to move over one seat, so I'm beside her. "Are you hungry? You look skinny. Elias, go make her a plate."

Ohmigod, I love this woman.

"Girls today are always concerned about the number on the scale or those fancy dungarees—the thin ones."

"She means skinny jeans," Eli calls from the kitchen.

I bite my lip to keep from giggling.

She waves her hand in annoyance at the kitchen. "The name doesn't matter. Beauty comes in all sizes. Don't you forget that."

I smile. "I won't."

Eli returns and places a plate of steaming food and a glass of iced tea in front of me. As he leans over, I smell soap and laundry detergent. I must sniff too hard because he turns his face and smiles.

I stare into his eyes and glance at his mouth and suddenly feel very self-conscious. Warmth floods my neck and face, and I turn to my plate. What was that about?

He walks around the table and sits across from me. "That's
empanadas
with beef and potatoes. The rice has pigeon peas, which are actually beans, and those squashed things are
plantanos
. Americans call them…"

"Plantains, I know. I used to live in Arizona. We've eaten a lot of Mexican food."

"Well this is pure Puerto Rican fare, and
Abuela
is the best cook in the world." He rubs his grandmother's arm.

She pats his hand and smiles affectionately.

They look close, like she's tucked him into bed when he was a boy and probably read him stories and sang songs. He knows she's here when he comes home from school and is probably waiting with warm cookies and milk.

They watch me, encourage with their eyes, as I cut my
empanada
with a fork and take a bite. I feel like Guy Fieri on that show,
Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives
, where he samples food all over the country. This is totally money. "It's awesome."

They both smile proud.

I continue to eat (It's so good.), and
Abeula
continues talking.

"When I was a little girl, I saw my papi come into my room one night. He smiled, tucked me into bed, and kissed my forehead. The next morning, I woke up to Mami crying, and learned Papi had died the night before."

I know exactly where she's going with her story. "He was already dead when he came into your room?"

She nods. "
Si
. I was very confused and scared at first, but as I grew older I saw it as my purpose."