The Dead and Buried (4 page)

I pulled out a pendant and let it dangle from my fingers. “This is bloodstone.” It wasn’t hard to figure out how they came up with that name. The stone was dark green with a spattering of red spots. “It also goes by the much less cool name heliotrope. This was used to banish evil and control the weather.”

I went through and held up a few more of my favorites, explaining the meaning of each. Yellow sapphire attracts wealth. Aquamarine protects against drowning. Amethyst keeps you sober.

I avoided the one I never touch.

“Do you really believe in all this?” Alexa asked warily.

“Not really, no.” I gave a tiny shrug. “It’s just a hobby.” I didn’t want to go into the real reason behind my obsession with the stones. Not now, anyway.

“That’s kind of cool,” Alexa said, and I knew she meant it.

“So … you still want to sit with me?” I asked, my voice laced with teasing sarcasm. “Now that you know how weird I am?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point,” Alexa said, the side of her mouth lifting. She reached in and pulled out a ring. “What does this one do?”

“That’s marcasite. It helps with memory and clear thinking.”

“Maybe that will help me write my essay!”

We laughed until we were shushed back to whispers. But I was glad the air was cleared. Yeah, she’s weird. I’m weird. Who cares? If people showed the honest versions of themselves instead of the scrubbed, toned-down versions, we’d all be a little more interesting.

Fruity-Smelling Girl and her friend stood and began packing their things one table over. “Who is she?” I whispered and aimed my eyes toward them.

“Ugh, that’s Faye Bettencourt. She’s much less wonderful than she thinks she is.”

I smiled. That little description seemed spot-on.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” I said, scooping the box into my arms. As I passed Faye, she held her hand out, stopping me. “You know, my mom’s a realtor and she told me that it should be on the disclosure statement.”

I blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Faye’s friend giggled from behind her, but Faye just looked me in the eye. “Look at the paperwork from the sale of your new house. Then you’ll know why everyone’s talking.”

The empty driveway told me Marie and Colby were out. I wasn’t sure which Mommy and Me class they were at today, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I’d have the house to myself.

I had some snooping to do.

As I headed up the front walk, I saw a dark form in the window of the brown house next door. I knew an older man
lived there. I’d seen him puttering around his yard a couple times. But he’d never come over to say “hi” or “welcome to the neighborhood” or anything like that. Seeing him standing there in the window, unmoving, obviously staring at me as I hiked my backpack up higher on my shoulder, gave me the creeps.

I let myself in the house, and the sound of the door slamming echoed in the quiet.

“Hello?” I called out, just to be safe.

No one answered, so I dropped my bag on the floor and bounded up the stairs. My dad used the fourth bedroom as his office. I hadn’t spent any real time in there yet. He had a stack of boxes piled up in the corner, stuff from his old office he’d probably never need. The house papers wouldn’t be in there, though. They were recent, only a couple weeks old, so they’d be somewhere handy.

I started with the top of his desk. There were bank statements, a few change-of-address papers, but nothing related to the new house. My eyes were drawn to the desk drawer.

It would be in there
, I thought.

And a shudder ran through my body. I stiffened and listened hard, holding my breath. I was suddenly sure that someone else was home.

And they were watching me.

I ran over to the doorway and looked both ways down the hall. Nothing. Other than the muted ticking of the grandfather clock drifting up from downstairs, there was silence. But still … I felt someone there.

I stepped back into the room and took a deep breath. It was probably only my guilty conscience. Here I was in my father’s office, searching through his belongings. It was just wrong. And that was why I felt this palpable anticipation in the air. It was guilt, that was all.

I slid open the drawer and found a manila file folder labeled
6 SILVER ROAD — CLOSING
. That was it.

An icy breeze traveled past me, slightly lifting my hair. I glanced at the window. It was closed. But there was definitely a draft coming in from somewhere. Goose bumps rose on my skin, but I couldn’t stop now. I felt something urging me on.

My shaky fingers opened the folder. The feeling in the room changed slightly, from anticipation to satisfaction, as I saw the paper on top. The title,
DISCLOSURE STATEMENT
, glared up at me in all caps. Exactly what that girl Faye had told me to look for.

And there, at the bottom, was what she had wanted me to find.

I closed my eyes tightly, the paper trembling in my hand. I didn’t want it to be this. Anything but this.

I reopened my eyes, but the words remained the same.

Death by unnatural causes.

I was living in a murder house.

It’s time for a new school year. I feel like I should have something exciting to say, but there’s really nothing. I am so ready for college. Parties with the WHS crew are boring me to death. Sigh. Only two more years.

Junior year starts tomorrow. We’ll see what that brings.

My phone’s been buzzing nonstop. All the girls want to know what I’m wearing for first day. Damn, 14 sent me over a dozen texts herself. 14 has her nose so far up my butt, it’s hilarious.

I’ll have my pick of the boys this year. Who should I snap up? 18? 13? The obvious 7?

Or maybe it’s time for a new acquisition …

D
eath. Death. Death.

In my house.

Dad and Marie knew. And they hadn’t told me. They deliberately made the choice to keep it a secret. This was how we could afford the house. It’d probably been heavily discounted because no one wanted to live where someone had been killed.

I stayed upstairs in my room all afternoon, pacing. Getting through dinner was torture. I wanted to confront Marie and Dad, but wouldn’t do it in front of Colby. He was having enough trouble transitioning as it was. So I plastered on a smile and pretended to be interested in my dad’s stories about the awful lady he had to sit next to on the plane. All the while, inside, I was screaming.

After Colby went to bed, I entered the living room, fists clenched at my sides. Dad and Marie were cuddling on the couch, getting ready to settle in and watch a show.

“We need to talk.” My voice was authoritative and serious. It barely sounded like me.

Concern fell over Dad’s previously tranquil face. My father had the body of a basketball player, almost comically tall and skinny, like he’d been made of clay and stretched too far. His
job had him gone more than home, but he always had a smile for me. No matter how bad his own day might have been, he compartmentalized and never brought work frustrations into the house.

I hated being mad at him. Marie could be manipulative when she had to be, to get something she wanted for herself or Colby. I guessed the secrecy had been her idea. But Dad had obviously agreed to go along with it, so I couldn’t lay my anger all on Marie. They’d both earned it.

I crossed my arms. “Were you ever going to tell me that we’re living in a murder house?”

Dad’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Marie straightened and spoke up quickly, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Don’t even lie to me.” I held my hand up, palm out. Tears threatened to spring to my eyes and I closed them for a moment to regain control. This was why I hated confrontation. I couldn’t stay unemotional.

I took a deep breath and reopened my eyes. “I know the truth.”

“It’s not a murder house,” Marie said, slowly enunciating each word.

“Well, they don’t know for sure if —” my dad began but was interrupted when Marie snapped his name. “Lawrence! We don’t need to go into the details.”

I gave an exaggerated shrug. “I can get the truth from you or I can get it from kids at school. Which would you rather?”

They looked at each other on the couch, weighing my ultimatum. I stayed standing, liking the feeling of being higher while they sifted through their uncomfortable feelings. It was gratifying after the last few hours of holding all my anger inside.

“Fine.” Marie remained calm and clasped her hands on her lap. “A teenage girl died in the house before the end of the school year.”

I gasped. “Just a few months ago?”

Marie nodded. “Her name was Kayla Sloane. She fell down the stairs, hit her head, and …” she trailed off but I knew how that sentence ended.

Kayla Sloane.
The name I’d heard among the whispers at school.

Marie’s eyes traveled over my shoulder to the staircase behind me. The stairs I’d climbed up and down countless times in the past two weeks without knowing their true history. But Dad and Marie had known all along. That’s why they added the carpet runner to the stairs. The only change they made to the house.

“To be completely truthful,” my father began, despite an icy look from Marie, “the realtor told us that the police had never been able to determine if it was an accident or not.”

A big dry lump formed in my throat. “So she might have been pushed,” I croaked.

“There were rumors, but …”

“They’re only that,” Marie said. “Rumors. No proof.”

“How did you find out, Jade?” my father asked softly. I could tell he felt bad about keeping the truth from me.

I didn’t want to tell him I’d snooped in his office. No matter how angry I was, I still never wanted him to be disappointed in me. Instead, I told a half-truth. “From someone at school. Everyone at school knows. I’m apparently the only one who didn’t know. So thanks for making a fool out of me.”

“That wasn’t our intention,” Dad said.

“We just wanted to protect you both,” Marie added.

“I understand not telling Colby,” I agreed. “But I’m seventeen. Not five. And did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“We planned on telling you eventually …”

“But just
after
we bought the house, right?” I said sarcastically. My anger was rising again, bubbling up like boiling water, threatening to spill over. “
After
we moved in. So if I was uncomfortable with the idea, it would be too late for my opinion to matter.”

“You’re leaving for college next fall —” Marie started.

“That’s a whole year. I’m not staying here. In some … house of the dead. It’s creepy. How am I supposed to sleep at night?”

“If we’d bought an old house, chances are someone would have died there,” Marie pointed out. “Heart attacks, accidents.”

“But this is different,” I insisted.

“You’re the one who always wanted this, Jade.” Marie stood now, clearly losing her patience. “You’re the one who wanted the big house in the nicer town with more kids and more stuff to do.”

“Not like this. I would never have wanted this.” I turned to my dad. “And you know it.”

I looked into his eyes, pleading for understanding. He knew how I always went out of my way to avoid a fight. So for me to stand my ground like this, I had to be really upset. He knew that. He’d side with me.

He pushed himself off the couch and slowly straightened to his full height. “I think Marie’s right.”

“What?”
My voice cracked on the word.

“I know it’s hard to learn about it, honey. But we thought this through carefully and decided it was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. We never would’ve been able to move here otherwise, and it’s the perfect town for our family.”

He reached out for me but I pulled my arm away. I found myself holding back tears. I was sad for the girl who’d died. I was upset that my dream house had this giant cloud over it now. And I was angry that Dad and Marie had kept the truth from me. It stung like a betrayal. Two against one. They were a team. Against me.

I ran upstairs, slammed the door to my bedroom, and threw myself across the bed. I cried it out for a while, but knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. The feeling in the air had changed. I felt like an intruder, a thief, an uninvited guest sleeping in someone else’s home.

I pushed the tears off my cheeks with the palms of my hands and sat up. Morbid curiosity niggled at me. I had to know more. I had to read it for myself.

I sat in front of my computer and typed “Kayla Sloane,
Woodbridge” into the search engine. I clicked on the first link — a news article.

I gripped my abdomen as nausea roiled in my stomach. I shouldn’t have looked it up. The details only made me feel worse. My eyes drifted down to the picture of Kayla they’d included with the story. It looked like a yearbook photo. I was immediately struck by how beautiful she was. Flawless skin. A Hollywood smile. Electric green eyes that gave her an exotic look. And long black hair, parted down the middle, that fell in waves over her shoulders.

Long black hair.

I stifled a gasp.

Colby had said his glimmering girl had black hair.

No
, I told myself.
Just no.

Finding out the history of my house was traumatic enough. I didn’t need to go there. Colby was making up stories. That’s what five-year-olds did. His girl was imaginary.

Not real.