Second Verse (22 page)

“So we wait, I guess. Oh, and I finally left messages for both of the Sellers’ grandsons last night,” I say. “I kept it vague, just said I’d found something that had belonged to their grandmother and left my name and number. Until we hear from them or Sharon, we’ll just do what we can here. I feel like we’re running in circles.”

He shifts under me to reach into his pocket, grinning to lighten the mood. “If we’re going to be running in circles, we at least need some fuel, right?” He holds up a king-size Twinkie.

I burst out laughing, despite myself.

“Now
that
makes everything worth it.” His hair tickles my cheek when he nuzzles my neck. He rips the wrapper open with his teeth and takes a bite.

I look over his shoulder to the back porch. “What kind of eyes do you think they are?”

He gulps and tightens a hand on me. “I have no idea, but they’re small. A cat maybe?” He grimaces. “I really don’t want to think about it. But I did notice something.”

I raise my eyebrows. “There’s more?”

He shoves the last bite of Twinkie in his mouth and chews. “The bottom of the nest was lined with hay. I didn’t touch it, but there was enough of it to tell what it was. Let’s go out to the barn and see if anything’s disturbed.”

“Sounds like a long shot.”

“Worth a try, right?” He pats my leg. “Give me a bag and I’ll get rid of that thing. You don’t need to look at it.”

He disposes of it quickly, washing his hands afterward in scalding water and almost the entire bottle of hand soap. On our way out to the barn, I grab my keys.

“Hold on. I’m gonna lock up.” From behind me, he kisses my cheek with lips that are still sticky sweetness.

There’s a bite in the air, just cold enough to wish I’d worn a jacket. I pull my hands into my sleeves and wrap my arms around myself. We walk in silence. We haven’t been back to the barn since the night of the séance, but with the sunlight streaming through the rafters, it’s hardly as spooky as I expect. I prop open the doors at the east end—the same doors that banged open wildly during the séance—and we step inside.

“What exactly are we looking for?” I toe the hay as we walk toward the stalls.

Vaughn shrugs. “Who knows. Probably nothing. I just saw hay and my mind immediately said, ‘barn.’ I’m getting desperate for clues at this point.”

We walk in and out of the stalls, back and forth across the wide center aisle. Once we’ve covered every inch of the barn and find nothing, I sigh. “Well? That solves that. Nothing weird in here.”

“I guess not,” he says, kicking the hay. “This is driving me crazy.”

I hug him tightly. His lips touch mine in a soft kiss, like feathers dusting my skin. When he pulls back, his eyes blaze with intensity. “Can we just forget everything for a while?”

“I wish.”

He kisses me again. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’ll keep you safe. Always. I know I couldn’t do it last time, but I will this time around.” The pain in his voice is mirrored in his expression. He looks at a spot over my shoulder, his jaw clenched. “I don’t know what it did to him, losing her that way.”

“Vaughn—”

“I know he wanted to solve it, I know he thought he could help before it was too late. And he failed. And I bet it killed him. Losing her like that.”

I remember Ginny’s words. How Beau was so adamant about figuring it out himself. About how she believed in him and yet how they weren’t smart enough to stop it. Or quick enough.

“Let’s get back to the house,” I say, pulling him toward the door. “Being out here isn’t helping anything.” Outside, I tug on the barn doors until they slam closed.

“Fine, but let’s do a quick walk first to make sure nothing’s out of place,” Vaughn says, leading with a nod toward the woods. “Like you said before, never can be too careful.”

W
E SEARCH ALL
afternoon. We do in-depth tours of the yard, the stables and sheds, walk every inch of my woods. At home, we spend hours on Vaughn’s computer, looking for every Beau in a hundred mile radius of Shady Springs in the last eighty years. By the time the sunset throws deep golden beams across my bed, our frustration is mounting.

“Dinner?” Vaughn lies next to me on the pillow, rubbing his eyes.

I prop up on one elbow. “Sure. What do you want?”

He grins, his smile lifting on one side.

I swat at him. “Perv!”

“Hey, you asked.” He shrugs, feigning a sheepish smile.

“For dinner. What do you want for dinner?” Despite my utter exhaustion, I laugh.

He springs from the bed, reaching for his keys on my desk. “Come on, I’m taking you out. Enough sitting around and looking at this twisted stuff. Let’s get away from it for a while, huh?”

I know we won’t stop thinking about it, especially with the clock ticking down the way it is. But I’m willing to give it a try. His eyes meet mine in the mirror while I brush my hair.

“Italian?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says, standing behind me with his chin on my shoulder. His fingers tap against my stomach.

“And cheesecake at Marty’s?” I play on his sugar craving. I can’t stand the thought of coming back here right away.

“Hmmm.” He kisses my neck and instantly, I’m covered in goose bumps. “We’ll worry about dessert later.”

W
E WAKE LATE
the next day, my room warm with the midmorning sun. I settle into Vaughn like a cat curled on a sunny spot of a comfortable couch. Lazy Sunday morning.

My eyes fly open. It’s Sunday. The last day of the countdown.

The day before she was killed
.

I push the thought from my mind and roll halfway on top of Vaughn. He barely returns my kiss while I climb over him. I muss his hair and smirk when he doesn’t even notice.

When I get back from the bathroom, he hasn’t moved, his hair dragged across his face, his lips set in a semi-puckered state.

But much as I’d like to, I’ve got more things to do than watch him sleep. Sometime during the night, an idea came to me. I pull out a stack of scrap paper and scribble headings on the top of each sheet.
Clues. Presents. Timeline. Supernatural. Suspects
.

I doodle small pictures under each heading until my brain is relaxed enough to think. I start to fill out details on each sheet. Clues are things that could be connected: Ginny and Beau, Sweeney murders, Edith Sellers, Hank. Presents are the sick things we’ve received: the dead rabbits, pictures, ponytail, nest of eyes, the note, slashed tires, the pen, the knives.

Timeline starts with the séance, everything leading up to Mrs. McDermott’s fire, and chronicles all the weird events between and since.

Supernatural is easy: my drawing, Vaughn’s song, my visions, like the one in the attic or seeing and hearing Ginny’s picture practically come to life.

Suspects takes a bit longer. I consider anyone that may dislike us. I start with the most obvious: Stace. I add Obitus and Edith Sellers. I’m still not sure where she fits in, but if she was important enough for the voice in the barn, she goes on the list. Last, I write Hank Griffin. It’s stupid really, but if he killed Ginny last time, who’s to say he’s not back in this life and around somewhere now?

Satisfied, I lean back on my heels, looking over the clues. I quickly tape the pages together until they form a big square. I move my rug to the side and tape the whole thing to the floor. The wall would work best but I’m not about to have Mom walking in and seeing this. At the top I write the words from the barn.

Sell. Her. Sweeney
.

I stand, pacing around the lists, racking my brain for a connection. It always looks so easy on those police shows. They draw a chart, look at it from different angles and BAM—they have the solution.

Not so easy in this case.

“Hmmm?” Vaughn rolls onto his side, facing my pseudo detective display in the center of the room. His eyes are still sleepy-soft when he smiles. “What’s all this?”

“Ugh. Just my lame-ass attempt at looking at this from another angle. Literally.”

He turns his head sideways. “Hmmm. Well, it looks like a good collection of all our info, in any case. It could help.” He yawns, running a hand through his hair to tame it. “It’s too early for thinking.”

When I sit on the edge of the bed, he rests his cheek on my thigh. I rub his back absently, frowning at my lists.

“I know. It was a dumb idea, I guess. I just thought if we had it all laid out, it would magically make sense.”

“Like on some detective show?” He looks at me with a mix of pity and amusement.

“No! I just, I don’t know.” My cheeks burn.

“It was a good idea.” He nuzzles into me and yawns again. “And actually, it’s a good record. Once we figure out who’s doing this, we’ll have a list of proof to fling at them when we turn them in. Besides, it may help us think.” He stands, circling around the list a few times before heading into the hall.

“Did you make any coffee by chance?” He calls from outside my door. “Or are you sending your slave out for lattes again?”

“Oh, would you? Pretty please?” Even though he can’t see me, I smile.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he growls before closing the bathroom door.

“Thank you!” I call.

I stare at the lists for a while longer, eventually pulling my rug on top of them.

N
O ONE DIED.

Nothing happened at all. The string of clues that’s arrived for the last four days has abruptly stopped.

I’m not breathing easy yet, but still. It’s a small relief. Sunday night, I go to sleep thinking maybe, just maybe, it’ll be okay.

Yet I wake Monday morning with Ginny on my mind. Even though the dates are different, if we’re following the timeline, today would be the day she was killed—five days after the clues started. But with yesterday’s clue never arriving, I can’t help but walk with my head a bit higher.

It’s also Hunt day and school is insane. The student council even convinced the administration to cancel last period for people to go home and get ready. I shouldn’t have even bothered to come in. Hearing about murder details does little to take my mind off Ginny.

After school, I dash home to change. Vaughn’s been roped into helping with the community center music set up, so we’re meeting there. Being my first year in Shady Springs, I’m not sure what to expect. I dress kind of emo, going with all black clothes and some dark eye shadow. Halloween’s not until tomorrow, but I figure a fake murder hunt requires some kind of dark attire.

I’m on my third coat of mascara when Mom peeks into my room. She grimaces and steps back.

“Holy cow—what happened to you?”

“The Hunt thing is tonight, remember? I’m borrowing your car.” I say through O-shaped lips as I finish the last of my mascara.

“That’s right.” She tilts her head to the side. “Oh, nice, you’re wearing the comb.”

I bring my hand to my hair. Of course I don’t know for sure, but I like it to think the comb Mom found in the attic was Ginny’s. “Yeah, I love it. As long as this wing doesn’t stab me.” I readjust the comb. “I guess accessories used to be a lot more dangerous than they are today.”

She looks at me strangely. “If you say so. Oh, and before I forget, there was a message for you on the machine. Some guy. Ron Sellers? He said you left him a message.”

My insides halt.

“Thanks,” I mumble when she hands me the phone. What am I going to say to him?

“When did he leave the message?” I call down the hall. But she’s already gone, dashing down the stairs. I sigh at myself in the mirror.

On Edith’s original note card, I’ve scribbled Ron’s and William’s phone numbers. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I punch Ron’s in and wait. It rings and rings. And rings.

Damn it.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice.

“Is Mr. Sellers there?”

“No. I’m sorry. He’s stepped out. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Uh, sure. My name is Lange. I left him a message a few days ago and he called me back. I found something that belonged to his grandmother, from a bunch of years ago.”

“Oh.”

“It’s this big heavy mirror. It’s kinda cool. She’d left her name on it. Anyway, I thought maybe he knew something about it or that he’d want it or something.”

I bite my lip to shut myself up.

“Oh. Well I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets in.” She’s nice enough but I can tell she doesn’t know what to make of me.

Think fast, Lange. You need this clue. If Sellers was important enough for the voice in the barn, you
need
to know what he has to say
.

“Please,” I stammer. “I think this was important to her. He may know something about it that can help me.” My words are totally ambiguous but hopefully make a bigger impression than my
I found your junk in my attic
spiel.

“Very well dear. He’ll be in touch.”

“Great, Lange,” I mutter when I hang up. “Drive away one of the last clues you may get. Not to mention probably one of the most important.”

I throw the phone on my bed, completely not in the mood for this Hunt thing. I’ve had quite enough blood and guts the last few weeks. But at least tonight’s mayhem will be fake.

My favorite dressy shoes, silver heels that shimmer when I walk, are the only color I’ve planned for tonight’s outfit. When I tug them on, the left clasp snaps, metal dangling against my ankle.

Great. Tonight is feeling more and more doomed by the second. I search my closet floor for a replacement pair and find a pair of red platform-ish ones that would probably look just as fierce. They need a quick dusting. Easy enough.

My eye catches something white in the back of my closet and I inch forward for a closer look. A folded sheet of paper sticks out of the closet’s secret door. One of Ginny’s letters or notes must have come loose when I put them back.

When I pull it from the crevice between the wall and door, a chill washes through me. Sitting against the closet’s molding, I open it, scanning to see which one it is. But the first few lines are unfamiliar.

August 13, 1934

He brought me the sweetest present I could ever imagine. I don’t even know when he found time for shopping while on his trip, but my beau, he always surprises me
.