I Spy Dead People (25 page)

Wow, that seems so intense. I guess I never thought how a death can cause so much grief. It may sound stupid, but I don't remember Vincent, and all the other deaths I've been around haven't been personal. Until now. "Could Chloe be faking it?"

"Perhaps. This is what the district attorney's office wondered. They must've thought it was genuine because they didn't pursue it. I can't access that information. Sure you don't want to go to law school? Working for the state doesn't give you a lot of money, but you can catch the bad guys."

"I don't want to talk about the bad guys and try them in an unjust judicial system. I want to figure out who they are and track them down. Like this."

Dad leans back in his chair and just drinks his coffee for a moment. I can't tell if he's contemplating what I just said or considering shutting me out. "Let's leave the actual tracking to the police, okay?"

I smile wide. "Okay."

We spend hours combing through all the details of Cameron's death. I'm so stoked Dad lets me look at the autopsy and other reports. He doesn't just tell me the bits he thinks I can handle. I actually touch the papers. But by the time we're done, we're no closer to figuring out if Cameron's death and Linzy's are connected, though.

I gather Linzy's file while Dad reorganizes his desk. "What does this mean? What do you think?"

He shuts but doesn't lock his desk drawer. Point one for Piper. "I think we don't have enough. But I won't rule out that they're connected."

And that, for anyone not paying attention, is point two.

"You know, we're like Veronica and Keith Mars," I say.

He smirks. He doesn't follow a lot of television, but he sat with me and watched the first season on DVD a year ago.

"I'm still waiting on more information into Cameron's life," he says. "I put a call in to a local reporter who did a series of interviews with Cameron a couple of months before his death. He's sending me his research material. Is there any way to go back through Linzy's things and try to find where she got the money from?"

I stand before his desk. "I can try, but we tore apart her room. Maybe I can find a file on her computer or something."

"You still have it?"

I nod.

"I can find an IT guy."

"The police already went through it."

"We both know they sometimes miss things. They're human."

I hate to point out that if he proves the cops messed up Cameron's case and sent the wrong man to prison, Dad will probably lose points with Olivia. So I don't say a word. My stomach, however, grumbles. "I'm hungry. Are we doing take-out or leftovers?"

"Whichever you want. I could call for pizza." He's looking over the notes he made on Linzy's death.

"I'd rather leftovers." They're quicker, and I'm sick of pizza.

I turn to head to the kitchen and stop. All afternoon I've been thinking of how Cameron's girlfriend had a nervous breakdown and landed in the hospital. Is that why Mom left us? Is she still rotting away in some cell, drooling on her pillow?

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

He sets down the legal pad. "Of course, pumpkin. Anything."

Anything? Good. I swallow the lump in my throat. "Where's Mom?"

He looks up at me. "I don't know. I never lied about that."

Good to know. "Why did she leave? Really."

He rubs the muscles in the back of his neck. "She was sad after Vincent died."

"I know that. I want the non-politically correct answer."

He sits in his chair and sighs. That means he's going to tell me the whole truth, and I may want to sit.

I hurry to a chair and wait. I don't care if it takes him all day to finally admit whatever he's been hiding. I'm tired of not knowing.

"You didn't understand that Vincent was dead, that death was permanent. You'd ask when he was coming home."

My chest tightens. This is about me. I hoped Mom went crazy or she and Dad couldn't make it work anymore, anything but it being my fault.

"One day you no longer asked."

That's good, right?

"Your mother walked into Vincent's room and found you playing with his toy cars. Vincent used to get mad when you touched his things without asking. You looked at your mother and said, 'He said I could'. Mom knew you only said it to not get in trouble." Dad smiles.

I lied at age four, too?

"But as time went on, Mom often heard you talking to Vincent as if he was in the room with you."

I stifle a gasp.

"It shook your mother. She was having such a hard time dealing as is, and you were adamant about Vincent still being alive. You said you could see, talk, and play with him. She couldn't deal. She said she needed some time alone. She never returned."

So I drove my mother away?

Abeula
was right. I've been able to see dead people my whole life.

 

Dad and I scarf down PB&J sandwiches with milk and split the last pack of Lil' Debbie's Swiss Rolls. We eat in silence, no mention of Linzy or Cameron. No mention of the chief or Troy. And definitely no mention of Vincent or Mom. But my thoughts are filled with my family.

"Dad, what did you think when Mom said I was talking to Vincent?"

"What do you mean?"

I shrug, not sure how to answer without giving away my family-destroying secret.

When I don't reply, he says, "Mom left because she was depressed. It had nothing to do with you."

He can't be certain though. He doesn't know the whole truth. Maybe she could tell I was really talking to Vincent and decided I was too crazy to be around. "Then why did she never come back?"

He drinks his milk, probably trying to come up with a good excuse, something that will make me feel blameless, but it's too late. "I wish I knew. I thought she'd only be gone for a couple of weeks."

That she'd grieve some and realize how much she missed her husband and daughter?

He doesn't have the answers I need. The only one who does is Mom. Where is she now? I've thought about that question often over the years. This time it seems to have a different spin. This time I almost don't care. How can you abandon your family, your child, just because she's different?

When we're done, I clean up, rubbing the sponge on an imaginary stain on the counter. How dare she. I'm not crazy. It's not my fault I'm this way. She made me. But my anger has no place to go, other than the counter, and slowly it fizzles out. Not that I'm no longer angry, just sad. It's not fair. Why do I have to see dead people? It was cute and exciting in
The Sixth Sense
. But this is just cruel and…lonely.

"Dad, I'm going to see Kinley," I shout through his office door.

"Okay."

I step onto the front porch and immediately sweat. I walk down to the sidewalk and stop. I want to share this with someone. I need to, but Kinley and I are still on shaky terms. How do I just storm in there and tell her my news? What if she ends up hating me more? I can't risk that.

I tilt my head back and stare at the sky. It's filled with dark clouds. I love the smell and sound of rain. It's so peaceful. But I don't think it'll calm me now.

There's one person I can confide in. One person I don't care if she thinks I'm loony. I step off the curb and march across the street before I change my mind. Ohmigod, why am I doing this? She hates me, and I'm not fond of her. I knock on Shayla's door and realize that's exactly why.

When it opens, I'm holding my breath, hoping it's not one of the parents. There are no cars in the driveway, but I can't see inside the garage. Thankfully the universe is aligned because Shayla answers. She's still in her pajamas, a baby blue with white polka dots tank and shorts. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and her entire left jaw is black-and-blue.

"Ohmigod, what happened to you?"

She starts to touch her face then decides not to. "I fell down the stairs."

"Ouch."

"What do you want?" Her voice sounds annoyed. What happened to our little bond from seeing April? It doesn't matter. What I want to do is better if she's not friendly. I don't want to second-guess my decision.

"Are you alone? Can we talk?"

She steps aside and lets me in. We go into the kitchen and sit at the table, by the back door. I guess she wants me close to it so I can run out if her folks come home soon. "So, spill."

"I can see ghosts. I didn't know I could do this, but apparently I always could. It started with my brother. I think. And now…well, I can see and talk with Linzy and have been since the night I found her body."

There's a moment in every horror movie where there's no music; it's completely silent and normal sounding just before they strike a heart-stopping chord and something jumps out at you. This is what that feels like. But instead of a demon or killer flying at me, Shayla leans back in her chair, and her entire demeanor softens, like she let out a really big breath.

"I figured that, what with all the stuff you said."

"You knew?"

She shrugs. "Not exactly, not for sure. But it crossed my mind."

Whoa. I didn't expect this. I'd never assume someone could speak to ghosts. That stuff is only in movies.

"So you don't think it's crazy?"

She shrugs. "I guess not. There are a lot of things I don't understand. That doesn't mean they aren't true. I believe in God, and I can't see him, but I know he's there."

"Yeah, but that's faith. I can see Linzy. And talk to her too."

She thinks for a moment. "Okay, that sounds crazy but only 'cause I can't. Do Troy and that Asian girl know?"

"Her name is Kinley, and no."

"Why not?"

I focus on the bananas on the counter behind her. "Because. What does it matter?"

She narrows her eyes. "What's stopping me from telling them?"

Is she threatening me? Did the fall down the stairs jar the bitter and mean lobe of her brain, or was the time in Linzy's and my room a momentary lapse in her normal, everyday hatefulness? "It would be my word against yours. They both know how you feel about me. It'll look like you're trying to hurt me or something."

She lowers her head, stares into her lap, and doesn't respond. Surely I didn't hurt her feelings. Then she looks up but not at me. "What has she been saying about me?"

I shrug, not wanting to describe the hate.

Shayla points to her face. "I think this was her. I could've sworn I felt someone push me down the stairs, but no one else was home."

It makes total sense. "She mentioned you hated her enough to kill her, but that was before she heard what you said that day in her room."

"She was there? Then why try to kill me? Is she here now?"

I look around and shake my head. "I can't always see her. Sometimes she hides."

Shayla tilts her head as if she's talking to the ceiling. "Linzy, if you can hear me, you weren't any good to me alive, and you certainly aren't dead, so just leave me alone."

"That might make her angrier. When did you fall?"

"Last night."

"After your mom cut herself on the plate."

She cocks her head. "How did you know…? That was Linzy too?"

"She messed with the dishes. Your mom cut herself by accident."

Shayla lets out a slow, long breath. It's going to take her some time to sort through it all. I bet she'll be questioning everything that's happened in the last couple of weeks. There are probably things I don't know about. How much has Linzy tortured her own family?

As much as I don't want to give Shayla a mani-pedi or spend the night with her at a slumber party, I'm relieved I have one ally. Too bad it's not the one I want.

 

*  *  *

 

When I get back to my side of the street, I stop again. I'm not ready to tell Kinley the whole truth. But I'm also not ready for her to leave either, and it doesn't matter if I look pathetic and needy. I knock on Kinley's door.

She opens it and widens her eyes, obviously surprised I'm here.

"Look," I say, before she gets a chance. "I'm supposed to play it cool. I lost other friends by wanting to spend all my time with them. I don't know when I'm being too pushy, so I can only be honest. And I know I don't want to lose your friendship."

She frowns. "What…"

"I don't want you to go to camp." I cut her off. "I'll miss you. I want to hang out, even if it's too hot to do much and Dad won't let me leave the house until he's certain the streets are safe, and even though you have to be in by eight. I want a BFF, and I want it to be you. I don't care if I sound stupid or desperate or lame."

I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing I screwed it all up. I've opened my big mouth and ruined it all. But when I open my eyes, Kinley's smiling. Not a polite one either, but a full, ear-to-ear grin.

 

*  *  *

 

When Dad shouts up that he's running out for a few minutes, I try not to imagine him smooching the chief. Where do they go? To a motel, or do they make out in the back seat of one of their cars? I remind myself to never sit in back again.

I'm on my bed, rereading Linzy's file. Not that I've learned anything new, but maybe if I keep at it, something will pop out at me. I reach for my can of soda on my nightstand as a car alarm goes off. Not again.

My hand hits the can, and I knock it over. Purple liquid fizzes onto the hardwood floor. Dad will kill me if we have to pay damages when we move.

I jump up and grab the first thing I see to mop up the grape deliciousness. It isn't until I've soaked it up that I realize I grabbed my white, now splotchy lavender, shorts.

From my position on my knees, I glance around my floor. There are clothes, shoes, and books strewn everywhere. I guess I hadn't cleaned up from Linzy's tantrum as well as I thought. I should probably do that and laundry too. I spot one of my slippers under my bed and pull it out.

Something scrapes.

I reach back under and feel around, praying I didn't scratch up the floor. My fingers touch something hard and tiny. I pull it out, and my heart leaps. It's the silver charm.

Ohmigod.

I jump up and go to grab my phone, but it's not there. Where the heck… The kitchen counter. I set it down when I found the last can of soda in the fridge. I run down and find it exactly where I remember. I dial Dad's number while walking back down the hall. It goes straight to voicemail. Since when does he not have his phone on?