The Back Door of Midnight (13 page)

“Yes.” I gestured toward the stones with one hand and pocketed the phone with the other. “She brought those over and placed them on top of the hole. I came out to see what she was doing.”

“She was sticking her nose in my business, that’s what she was doing!”

“Is she afraid of Uncle Will—I mean, the dead Uncle Will?”

I saw the glint in Iris’s eye, the tiny smile of satisfaction. “Could be.”

I carried the jar over to her. “Aunt Iris, how do you know the ashes in here are his? How do you know they’re not just pieces of the car, burned-up seats and carpeting?”

“I can sense it.”

“But how?”

“How do you know the ashes are gray?” she asked back.

“I can see them.”

“If you worked a little harder, Joanna, you could see more,” she said.

“I’m Anna, and I’m not psychic.”

“You’re an O’Neill and a girl. You have little choice.”

“All right, I’m not going to argue. Can you sense who killed Uncle Will?”

Her eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed again, becoming a defiant stare.

“Can you?” I persisted.

“Do him the courtesy of putting him back.”

“Can you sense
where
he was killed? Can you sense
when
?”

“I won’t,” she replied, pressing her lips together, then turned and headed into the house.

I pulled Erika’s cell phone out of my pocket. I knew I should give it to the sheriff immediately, but I wanted to check it out. The battery was shot, and my charger wouldn’t work with an iPhone. My iPod’s would . . . except I’d lent it to Mom for vacation. So I’d spring for a charger—it was worth it.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, then deposited “Uncle Will” in the hole, finding it a lot easier to pile dirt in than to dig it out. When finished, I placed the stones back on the plot the way Audrey had arranged them. If I returned the stones to her, confronting her with her strange actions, or got rid of them by throwing them in the river, she would probably have to devise some other way to make herself feel safe. People do crazy things when they believe they are threatened, and I wasn’t going to encourage any more craziness than we already had around here.

THURSDAY NIGHT I
wore the only glam sundress I had brought with me. At 7:45, I found Zack on the front porch talking with Aunt Iris. She was giggling, batting her eyelashes, and trying to pat her wild red hair into place.

When I stepped onto the porch, Zack turned to me. “Hey. You look good.”

“Thanks. Where’s your car?”

“At home. I thought we’d leave from my house rather than . . . rather than block in Iris.”

Rather than lose your muffler,
I thought.

“Rather than lose your muffler,” Aunt Iris said with a flirty laugh.

Zack blinked. “That, too,” he admitted, then turned and smiled into my eyes. “I’m glad you decided to go tonight.”

I drew back.
Even though it was Erika, not you, who wanted me to come.

“Even though it was—”

“Aunt Iris,” I interrupted her.

She tapped me on the hand. “I wouldn’t let that kind of thing bother you.”

Zack glanced from her to me, trying to understand what had just passed between us, then his gaze dropped to my feet and he started smiling again. “I
thought
you looked taller. I’ll get the car. I didn’t know you’d be wearing fancy girl shoes.”

What did you think I’d wear, Uncle Will’s hip boots?

“William’s hip boots are in his boat,” Aunt Iris said to me with a sad shake of her head. “The police have them now.”

Zack looked bewildered.

I probably looked irritated by his response to my shoes, because he added suddenly, “What I meant to say is that you look really nice tonight, really nice in those shoes. Not that it’s unusual. I mean, you always look nice. But tonight you look . . . fancy and nice and—”

“You told me the party was at a restaurant,” I said, feeling my cheeks get pink. “I thought people would dress up. You did.”

To my surprise,
his
cheeks grew pink.

“Can we just go?” I asked, removing my tall heels to carry them.

“Sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Bye, Aunt Iris.”

“Have a wonderful time, Joanna.”

When we were out of earshot, he asked, “Is your full name Joanna?”

“No. Sometimes Aunt Iris thinks I’m my birth mother.”

We walked in silence to the edge of the O’Neill property. As we passed through the gate, Zack leaned toward me. “My dad’s on the terrace. If we stick close to the trees, we won’t have to stop and talk to him.”

“But I want dessert,” I whispered back.

Zack grinned.

“And, anyway, I think he’s nice,” I added.

“So do I,” Zack replied, his smile softening.

We skirted the house. I wanted to keep on walking with him—not go to the party, just walk with him and make him smile again. I reminded myself this was not a date, but a mission, for both him and me.

“How long has your dad been married to Marcy?”

“Two years. He built this house for her.”

“It’s new?” I turned to study it, walking backward a few steps.

“Yeah. Dad’s an architect. She wanted a new but colonial-looking mansion, and that’s what she got.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He shrugged. “I liked the old house where he and I lived the first year we came to Wisteria. This place is too Marcy—too perfect.”

I realized a perfectionist would be a tough stepmother. “Do you have a mom somewhere?”

“She died from cancer when I was five. Dad and I did great for ten years, then he kind of went off the deep end.”

“Meaning?”

“He fell in love.”

I laughed out loud. “Love’s the deep end?”

“You don’t expect that to happen when your father is forty-eight. I mean, it was unbelievable. He acted like a teenager.”

“I think it’s awesome.”

Obviously, Zack didn’t. “Everything’s different now.”

“And you wanted things to stay the same, just you and him, even though you knew you’d be leaving for college one day.”

Zack didn’t answer right away, just pulled out his keys and opened the passenger door of his car. “Yeah, I’m selfish, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

I got in, and he closed the door. I wondered if his dad had trained him to do these polite little things.

“I’m even worse,” I said, when he got in on the other side. “I didn’t want my mother to adopt Jack and the twins. I was going to be a freshman in high school. Everything was
perfect—for me. I couldn’t understand why she’d want to start all over again with little kids. Talk about acting like a princess!”

Zack looked at me for a long moment, then switched on the ignition. “And how about now?”

“Now I can’t imagine life without them. I think I’m having SpongeBob withdrawal.”

His eyes crinkled. I liked it when his smile made his eyes crinkle.

As we drove to the party, we talked about college and what we hoped it would be like. Finally, we turned into a lot with a sign that read
SIMON’S WHARF.
“Didn’t we pass this place about fifteen minutes ago?” I asked, recognizing the bouquet of pink balloons attached to the sign.

“We did.”

Zack did not explain why he had driven past the party, and I decided to pretend that all the guys I dated found me so fascinating that they drove past their destinations.

The pink “Happy 17th Birthday” balloons led us up a stairway to the second floor of the restaurant. Zack was carrying a square package wrapped in pink and gold.

“Was I supposed to bring a present?”

“I’ve got us covered,” he said.

I wondered what he had selected and so thoughtfully wrapped in what appeared to be Erika’s favorite color. In the
restaurant pink roses wreathed a pink candle at the center of each table. Men in white jackets were setting up a long buffet with pink tapers and flowers. Close to the buffet sat a table of relatives—at least that’s what they looked like: some middle-aged parental types, plus an old man and a youngish woman with a toddler. A DJ was working a soundboard close to a dance floor on the opposite side of the room from the relatives. Erika’s friends were also staying as far from “the relatives” as possible.

At the center of the room was a table with a mound of gifts. I hoped we didn’t have to sit and watch Erika open each one—she had invited maybe sixty of her closest friends.

“Let me get rid of this,” Zack said, moving toward the pile. It reminded me of an altar, with a portrait-size photograph of Erika sitting on an easel in the center of the offerings.

As Zack placed his gift in the pile, I heard the girl next to me say, “I can’t believe all the people she invited. I can’t believe she invited
me.
”

“Don’t be naive,” her friend replied. “Erika doesn’t like us any more than she used to. She’s scared, that’s all. We weren’t cool enough to be part of her game, and now she’s afraid that somebody she snubbed is going to snitch. This is bribery, nothing else.”

“It’s expensive bribery.”

“So? Daddy’s paying for it.”

“But does anybody who wasn’t part of the game actually know enough to snitch? Does anyone have proof, anyone have a copy of the riddles she sent?”

At that point Zack returned. He smiled and said hello to the girls, then pulled me away from the information I had come for. I glanced back over my shoulder.

“Sorry. Did you want to talk to them?” he asked.

“No. No thanks.” Not with him around.

“It will be cooler outside,” he said.

The party had spilled onto a wide deck that faced the river. As Zack and I worked our way toward the deck, I became increasingly aware of people turning to look at me. I reminded myself I was in a town small enough for everyone to know everyone else; naturally, kids would notice a stranger. And maybe my arrival with Zack had given me celebrity status. Perhaps everyone was wondering what was going on, since it was Erika’s party and she was obviously interested in him. My wry enjoyment of the moment ended abruptly, when I turned my head and met the gaze of my stalker. He smiled—if stretching your lips in a way that lacks any humor or friendliness can be called smiling.

“Let’s get something to drink,” Zack said, steering me away from him.

The guy next to the stalker whispered to his friend, then
said aloud, “That’s got to be the old psycho’s niece. Look at the hair.”

A nervous titter followed his “accidentally” loud remark.

“Ignore him,” Zack said quietly.

At that moment someone tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned around.

“Hi, I’m Erika.” Without waiting for me to say hello, she slid between Zack and me, and, raising her arms, looped them around his neck. She kissed him on the mouth, lingering there longer than just-a-friend would. I watched the way her dark, silky hair fell straight down her long back until it brushed Zack’s hands. When she turned to face me, she leaned back against him, just enough that he would have to be aware of her hair, her shoulders, her butt, and whatever else those things made him think of. I stared at her, not because of the way she had moved in and kissed him, but because I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that three nights ago, while being invisible to her, with my body home in bed, I had looked at her face as closely as I was looking now.

“I’m Erika Gill. It’s my birthday,” she said, as if I didn’t recognize her as the most important person there.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh, it was Zack who invited you,” she replied. “He likes you. He really likes you.”

I nodded, careful not to look at him and trying hard not to get mad. “I get along with just about everybody.”

“He keeps talking about you, so I said, ‘Zack, just ask her,
ask
her.’”

Erika, who was wearing heels to die for, was taller than I by six inches and had the body of a model. She made a show of leaning down to whisper to me. “He can’t take his eyes off of you.”

I was ready to deny it, then got a better idea. Making a show of standing on my toes, I whispered back, “I know.”

She stared down at me; I cheerfully smiled up her nose.

“Why don’t you get her something to drink, Zack?” she said coolly, and moved on.

“So what would you like?” Zack asked, his voice neutral, as if he had not seen or heard any of what had just transpired between me and Erika. Guys can be so weird.

“Anything but spring water,” I told him. “I just saw a tray of crab balls heading out to the deck. Do you want me to catch a few?”

“Sounds good,” he said. “The drink line is long. I’ll meet you back here.”

I took my time getting to the waiter. It occurred to me that I might be spending the evening chasing down men with trays if I was to get myself free enough to eavesdrop.

My first two efforts turned up nothing but a lot of useless info about who was dating or cheating on whom. When Zack and I were on the outside deck, which under other circumstances would have been terribly romantic, and I went after the third tray of hors d’oeuvres, Zack said to me, “You know, we’re getting dinner.”

“I don’t usually eat this late,” I replied, and hurried off. Since there were plenty of girls willing to take my place with Zack, it wasn’t that hard to escape.

For the last hour I had been secretly watching the stalker, who, when I had Zack by my side, was not as interested in me. I had just caught the look he had sent to a guy across the deck, the slight flick of the head, and the catlike way he moved toward a railing as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him, before he dropped out of sight—down a set of steps, I realized. A minute later the guy across the deck headed for the same stairs. Then I did. I had no idea what I was going to do if they turned and confronted me. Jump in the river, maybe.

I took off my heels at the top of the wooden steps so they wouldn’t click. Halfway down to the first level, I was relieved to see there were people sitting on the lower deck, and beyond glass doors there was a dining room. My eyes swept the deck. I positioned myself behind a waiter’s station and looked more carefully a second time. The guys must have gone inside.

The doors and windows on the first floor of the restaurant were closed, which meant I’d call attention to myself entering the dining room from the deck side. I walked to the end of the deck, climbed over the railing, and jumped three feet down to the lot below. After slipping my heels back on, I headed for the restaurant’s main entrance and followed a group of diners inside, a man and woman with little kids who kept poking each other. Standing behind them at the hostess desk, I saw my stalker and his friend in a booth against a wall. The wall was about four feet tall and decorated with bushel baskets and nets, orange crabs climbing all over them, which looked dumb because crabs are blue when they’re still able to move. But I was grateful for the decor, especially when I saw that a hallway to the restrooms ran behind that wall.