Second Verse (23 page)

He stood on my porch, all shy-faced with the package behind his back. He handed it to me when we were sure everyone was in the parlor with the radio. “It’s an early wedding present,” he whispered
.

“Shhh.” I looked behind me. God forbid Mother should know our plans
.

And when I opened them, they were the loveliest pair of candlesticks I’ve ever seen. Solid, heavy. Pewter, he said. They have a pretty scroll pattern up and down their sides and I told him we’ll use them for everything. Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, too
.

My lungs are threatening a full collapse but I read on. Of course I read on.

And, being the hopeless romantic he is, he even wrote my future initials on the bottom! Can you believe that? Oh I can’t wait until September! Mother is going to flip, but I decide when I’m ready and that time is now. I want him and nothing else
.

Oh that Hank. He will always surprise me, I think. That’s what I told him
.

“Every day of your life, Mrs. Griffin.” He whispered in my ear, tickling my lobes the way he does with his lips. Anyway, I’m going to hide them, where we’ve hidden everything else we’ll take with us, down in the root cellar where Mother will never look. He really finds the strangest things, not that any of us would ever bother with the barn the way he did. Anyway, not much longer now. The future is mine! Like he always says, our love is an abyss. Where we start and end and will always be. Deeper than the deepest depths. Soon my beau will be my husband!

The room contracts, my vision bowing like a funhouse mirror. My thoughts jumble as I read the words again and again, the letter shaking in my hand like a branch in a hurricane.

No. This can’t be.

Beau is Hank. Hank is Ginny’s love? Hank who killed her? And her family? What about Beau? Beau is really
a
beau? As in, a boyfriend?

The boyfriend is Hank. Hank Griffin the killer with the dark and twisted thoughts is her true love?

No.

I shake my head, trying to force the thoughts loose. I have to call Vaughn. This is crazy. This is—wait.

If Hank is the boyfriend then Vaughn is Hank and if Hank killed Ginny then Vaughn …

My lungs have fully collapsed now, the black edge of my vision closing in like a tightened belt.

This
has
to be a mistake.
Has
to be. There’s no way Vaughn is dangerous.

But if Hank was dangerous to Ginny, does that mean Vaughn is dangerous to me? Quietly, I close my door, kicking back my rug to look at the list on the floor. This makes no sense. Vaughn is totally
not
involved in this.

He can’t be.

So what if they both wanted to keep the cops out of it. It means nothing. And Vaughn did eventually agree…

The clues bend and blur in my vision. His song. The diary and letters. The pen. The ponytail in his trunk. But we’re always together. It makes sense he’s been there for so many aspects of it.

Out of the listed suspects, only one name makes sense, even if he’s dead: Hank Griffin. Except he isn’t really dead, is he? He’s just Vaughn now. Isn’t he?

I drag my rug back over the notes and reach for my jacket.

T
HE AIR IN
the community center is thick with excitement and sweat. It’s furnace hot in here, and packed wall to wall. Up on stage, Purgatory sets up, tuning their instruments and adjusting their mics. Feedback screeches from the speakers and I look over everyone’s heads, in search of Vaughn. Black lights have been strung around the entire room and heavy drapes pulled across the windows.

A loud
woot
I recognize as Stace’s travels from the front of the room. I squint, finding the cluster of them—Kelly, Ben and Stace—against the far wall, as close to the stage as possible. Stace stares at the stage, probably wishing for Kent Lee’s attention, but only Mr. Murphy looks out at the crowd.

He taps the mic. “Hello! Is this thing on?”

Everyone groans.

“Welcome to the annual Hunt adventures! Tonight we are featuring one of your favorite local bands, PURGATORY!”

Yells and cheers fill the room. He clears his throat a few times until the excitement settles down. “But, before they play, let me go over The Hunt rules once and once only.” A few hoots in the crowd make him raise his eyebrows. “First, The Hunt will start at eight, directly after the band plays a few opening songs. Second, the crime can be found within walking distance of the community center, all you have to do is follow the clues on your list. There are five sets of lists, so different groups will be going in different directions. But each set of clues will
lead you to the final scene. Pay attention to what you see along each of your three stops. What you observe along the way will solve the crime once you find it.

Third, whoever is first to solve the crime will win bragging rights, a free day off and a parking spot in senior row.
Solve
people. You have to solve the crime,
not
just find its aftermath.”

This is complicated. I bury my hands in my pockets. I’m not even sure where I put the clue list they gave me when I came in.

“All right, all right!” Someone yells.

Mr. Murphy points to quiet them down. “So, in a few more minutes, I’ll turn it over to the band. Once the last song ends, the lights will flicker on, then off, then on again, at which point, I suggest you get outside and start The Hunt. Keep it safe. When you figure it out, meet back here for the judges to confirm. Good luck to you all!” More feedback screeches through the room when he returns the microphone to its stand.

Kelly spots me and waves wildly. She whispers to Ben and Stace and with a broad smile, pushes through the crowd toward me.

On stage, I finally see Vaughn. My stomach turns inside out and I force an exaggerated swallow for fear of throwing up. He moves swiftly, carrying a guitar case and a mic stand, shaking his hair from his face, his eyes gleaming with some joke he’s made to the band. His smile is bright, so pure and real and so utterly ingrained in me. So mine.

Your voice is resting in my ear, You’re in my veins, you’re crystal clear
.

I’m not giving that up without a fight. There
has
to be an explanation.

I’ll talk to him. It’s a crowded place, right? What could possibly happen?

“Lange!” Kelly’s halfway across the room, skirting the crowd near the back wall, pointing and laughing at the mob. She throws an imaginary rope and pretends to lasso me and pull me to her.

Purgatory’s first notes ring from the speakers. When the lights dim, I grin at Kelly, trying to compose an expression that looks normal. Up on the stage, Kent Lee croons into the mic. A deep bass fills the air, a slow, rhythmic drumbeat. I stand on my toes, looking for Vaughn, but it’s impossible to see with the lights this low.

By the time the second song starts, Kelly’s nearly to me, inching through the last few people.

“Hey!” She says when she reaches me, her teeth and eyes glowing in the black light. She gives me a big hug and squeals. “Isn’t this exciting?”

“Sure.” I force a smile and look over her shoulder for Vaughn. He’s nowhere to be seen. I spend two songs feverishly scanning the crowded room and stage crew area while Kelly dances and sings along beside me.

“Stace and Ben have different clues than me!” She yells over the music. “What about you?”

I shrug. Right now, I don’t care about The Hunt.

“You want to go together then?” Huge grin.

“I guess,” I say. “I wanted to find Vaughn first—”

The lights flicker, bright then dim to almost totally dark. Wait, didn’t Mr. Murphy say that would happen
after
the show? They’ve only played three songs.

“Here we go!” Kelly jumps up and down, clapping her hands.

“Already?” I panic. I need to find Vaughn. I just want to talk to him, not go on this stupid murder hunt.

“Come on, Lange! Get excited!” She drags me by the arm toward the back door. I throw another look over my shoulder, skimming the crowd quickly. He’s still not there, even though we had plans to meet. The stage is empty, Purgatory milling over by the speakers. But no Vaughn.

“Good luck, kids!” Mr. Murphy’s voice rings out through the crowd. “Hurry back afterwards to crown the winner and hear more Purgatory!”

The crowd erupts in cheers, the voices swarming in my head. The room teeters and I have to close my eyes and breathe, wishing I could wake up tomorrow and have all of this be a dream.

Fat chance. Where the hell is Vaughn?

“You coming?” Kelly tugs my hand, pulling me outside, I look back once more, the mob closing in on us as everyone rushes out the door. There’s really no choice. I can either stay behind, alone, and find him, or follow Kelly.

I let her lead me into the street.

“Okay,” she says, her breath forming small clouds in the cold night air. She looks down at her paper. I don’t even pretend to look for mine. I’ll just follow. “Number one, Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, find the men where the pole will be.”

“Butterfly? Bee?” Kelly taps her chin as we stand side by side on the sidewalk. All around us groups huddle together, reading clues and brainstorming, shooting off in different directions, towards their various destinations.

“The park?” I mumble.

Kelly looks in that direction.

Behind us a group of boys talk loud enough for us to hear. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. It was from that boxer. Mohammad Ali! I remember my grandpa always saying that quote.”

Kelly’s eyes meet mine. Her eyes sparkle and I nod. We take off, sprinting down the block.

We aren’t the first ones to have figured it out. Mohammad Ali’s, the Barber Shop on Main, is swarming. I take in everything I can about the scene. It’s the first time I’ve been in Mohammad Ali’s, but it’s like any other barber shop, I guess. Three beat up leather barber chairs, long Formica counter, old linoleum floor.
But there is the air of a crime here and definitely clues to take notice of. The open register, no money inside. The barber tools tossed haphazardly on the ground. The broken hand mirror on the floor.

“A robbery?” I suggest.

Kelly shakes her head. “I think they’re trying to throw us off. Open register, yes. No body though. No sign of one either. This isn’t where the murder took place.” She looks at the barber’s tools and makes a note on her paper. “It does involve him though.” She nods, bending down to examine the tools more closely. “Definitely. Something is missing from these. I’m not sure what yet.”

I stare at our reflections in the window, the way everyone mills around in here, looking for a killer or victim. A chill passes through me. But then.

Wait.

He’s gone. There was a guy standing against the glass, hands cupped for a better view. Light hair, stocky build. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was. And he disappeared almost as soon as I looked his way. Weird.

Beyond weird.

Kelly leads me toward the door, but now I can’t get past the idea of someone watching. Was someone watching?

“Ready for the next one?” She pulls me out to the sidewalk again. I look up and down the sidewalk, and across the street. Groups of students move back and forth, lost to themselves and their clues. There’s no one lurking. I don’t see the light haired guy anywhere.

It’s got to be in my head. Paranoid. Simply paranoid. Right?

“Number two,” she says. “There was a song called Mack the knife, but at this place, the goulash is nice.”

“Macky’s” I say offhandendly and we start to move toward the diner. Everyone knows Macky’s is famous for the goulash.

“Duh. Lame clue.” Kelly pulls her hair back as we rush down the sidewalk. She’s distracted, checking out her reflection in each window we pass. Not me though, my eyes are searching every face, every head bobbing through the crowd.

When we push through the doors at Macky’s, it’s packed. The lights are turned way low and I squint until my eyes adjust. I’m not even looking at the scene, though. I’m looking for the light haired guy I saw in the barber’s window. And I’m looking for Vaughn.

“Coffee?” Kelly mutters, jotting something on her paper. “Tea? Hot chocolate?”

I blink, finally taking in the scene. Mackey’s is your typical diner, albeit filled with old school décor, like puffy leather bench seats and mini jukeboxes in each booth. But despite how old it is, the owners always keep it immaculate.

Not tonight though. Tonight it’s a mess, and it looks like they haven’t cleared tables or done dishes in weeks. There are coffee cups everywhere. They cover every table, even the long bar. Some have spoons in them, some have saucers. But most are mugs.

“Mugs,” I say. “Write it down.”

Deliberate muddy footprints are tracked down the diner’s center aisle. Kelly and I, along with a horde of people, follow them into the kitchen. They lead to the big freezer, the walk in kind. Kelly ducks her head in, taking notes feverishly. I’m too busy watching the back door for signs of the lurker and wondering where Vaughn is to pay attention to what she writes. I need to find Vaughn soon. I think of Ginny’s letter. How could Hank have been her Beau? And how could he have killed her?

I’m pushed through the crowd, Kelly right behind me. I wipe a tear from my cheek without even realizing I’m crying.

How much does history repeat itself?

We’re pushed back into the dining room, toward Macky’s front entrance. The kitchen door has been propped open. Over the heads of what seems like a million people between us, I see Vaughn come in the back door.

He’s alone, eyes wild. When they find mine, he seems to settle. “Lange!” He calls. I start to move toward him.

Kelly steps in front of me, blocking him from view. She waves her paper. “Got it, let’s go!”

“Wait,” I try and move around her, but the crowd is thick and I’m pushed into the dining room again. Vaughn may be somewhere in the mob, but I don’t see him and Kelly’s pulled me halfway down the block before I can even try and figure out which way he went.

“Wait,” I say. “Vaughn was back there.” I try and wrench away from her, but she keeps pulling.