The Third Lie's the Charm (5 page)

The smell of the funeral home brought back a rush of memories. For Grace's funeral, my mom had forced me to wear an uncomfortable black dress that was two sizes too small. There wasn't time to buy a new dress, not that I'd have wanted to if there were. But still I remembered constantly pulling on the fabric as I wove my way through the endless line of people to pay my final respects.

I was actually kind of grateful for the distraction. Grateful that I could pretend that the wall of whispers that surrounded me was about my inappropriate attire instead of my status as the grieving best friend. As I made my way closer and closer to the closed black coffin surrounded by enormous sprays of flowers, the whispers clung like gum on the bottom of my shoe. My best friend dying had made me the star of the show. The queen of grief. It had been lonely at the top.

Today Bradley was the crown prince of Pemberly Brown's second installment of suspicious student deaths. But he was more of a supporting actor in this show; it was Porter who had center stage. Porter who stood next to his parents in a perfectly pressed suit hugging friends and family, thanking people for coming, the white of his eyes pink, stripes of blue slashed beneath.

The scent of lilies almost made me gag as I knelt in front of the casket to say a short prayer. I bowed my head into my folded hands and tried to summon the right words.

I'm sorry you're gone, Alistair. I'm sorry I didn't help. I'm sorry I never called you back. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. God, I'm so damn sorry.

My breath hitched and I bit back a sob. I was not going to be one of those people who cried too hard at funerals. I hated those people. There should be laws against them attending any type of service. There were categories of grief, and when it came to Alistair, I was a Level 7 at best. Porter was Level 1, which allowed for a complete and total emotional collapse and which for a lesser person probably would have involved throwing himself on the casket.

But Porter didn't look like he was anywhere close to the brink of anything. He shook my hand firmly and pulled me in for a hug.

“Thanks for being here, Kate.” He held me for a beat too long, my chest crushed against his. “He always had a thing for you, you know.”

Alistair had never had a thing for me in his life, but I was merely an extra in this play so I nodded along, knowing that I wasn't deserving of any lines. Sure enough, Porter was already on to the next mourner.

I wandered back toward the chairs that lined the enormous reception room and saw Bradley sitting with his head in his hands. Bradley was a Level 2 griever, so the other mourners had left a polite circle of empty chairs around him. I remembered sitting in that same circle of emptiness. Like living in a bubble. I walked straight toward Bradley and could have sworn there was a faint popping noise when I took the seat next to him.

“You okay?” Terrible question. Worst thing I could have asked, really. But Dr. P.'s words were still echoing in my ears.

“Super.” The word was hoarse, like he hadn't spoken since we'd spent the afternoon on top of the amusement park yesterday. Who knows, maybe he hadn't. “Found something.”

He handed me a folded sheet of paper without looking up.

“It's the article. About the guy who died last time during a Factum Virtus. It's old, but at least we have a name.”

I started to open the paper, curious what I'd find, but a shadow fell over me before I could even read a word. I looked up to find Liam towering over me, his face a cross between concern and irritation. It was a look I'd come to know well.

“We need to talk.”

I crumpled the paper. It'd have to wait. “Um?” I hated that I looked to Bradley for…permission? But I did. I couldn't help it. It was a split-second look, enough for him to shrug his shoulders in response and for Liam to shake his head in annoyance. Couldn't say I blamed him. “Okay.”

I stood and shoved the article into my pocket and squeezed Bradley's hand before following Liam through wall after wall of devastated people. He never turned back to ensure I had followed, and I knew if I didn't, Liam would stop trying. He'd forget me and move on for good. I let him lead me because I wasn't ready for that yet. When he found a bench, he lowered himself and waited for me to do the same.

“I know I don't get a say. It's not like we're together anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't care.” He launched right in, the words practiced and smooth. If I hadn't known him so well, I would have missed the urgency in his voice. “You said you needed space, Kate.”

I wanted to explain that most of the time I had no idea what I needed. Did anyone? But how could I admit that this whole space thing was making me more confused than ever? I focused on Alistair. Alistair was dead, and it wasn't fair for us to be fighting about space and who said what and who needs what. Alistair was dead.

“I can't do this right now. I don't even know what to say.” I wanted to tell him I was doing this for his own good, that he'd only get hurt by me and I'd feel guilty and that the last thing I needed right now was more guilt, but I knew the fewer words I said the better.

He shook his head as though to say “forget it.” It broke something inside of me to actively see him forgetting me, but I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't explain to Liam why I had to help Bradley and why I cared so much about Alistair, especially considering our relationship when he was alive. I had no words for any of it. As usual.

“Well, good luck then.” He stood and said the words more to the ground than me. They were filled with so many more words that Liam was too polite to say. I hated myself for pushing him to this place but knew there was no other way around but through. Plus, Bradley stood in the middle and he needed me more than Liam did. For now.

By the time I opened the sheet of paper Bradley had handed me, I was back in my room. It was a photocopy of an old newspaper article. God knows how he'd found it, but it wasn't exactly groundbreaking information. The name of the boy who died on the train tracks was Andrew Carrington.

It didn't ring any bells, so it was time for my old friend Google. The results were cluttered with middle-aged men with thick dark hair. Not helpful considering that the Andrew Carrington I was after had died more than forty years ago.

I tried narrowing it down by Pemberly Brown, but that yielded nothing but a link to our school website. Super.

I guess I could have tried Bing, but everyone knows Bing is for wannabes, so I headed toward the only site that always delivered—Seth Allen's tree house.

My first memory of Seth was the day after the Allen family moved in. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since the moving van left, but Seth was already outside with a box of Popsicles and a tape measure, surveying the huge elm tree that sat in the middle of their yard.

“Whatcha doing?” I called out across the fresh-cut grass, my knees scraped from learning how to use the roller skates I'd gotten for my seventh birthday.

“Shh!” Seth waved a pale hand in my direction and manipulated the tape measure, muttering to himself.

“Rude,” I hissed under my breath and started down the driveway on my fancy new skates. I had visions of gliding past my new neighbor, hair bows flying. I was sure he would regret being so rude to a future roller-derby captain. Unfortunately, I hadn't really accounted for how steep my driveway was, and once I started going, I couldn't stop. I was planning on doing my patented move of rolling into the grass and wrapping my arms around my mailbox, but before I could get there, I saw a flash of red coming at me full speed.

“Car! Car!” Seth collided into me, pushing me down onto the concrete, opening up all of the scabs on my knees and elbows.

“Get off me!” Tears filled my eyes. What the hell was wrong with this kid?

“I'm sorry, it's just, there was a car coming and you were rolling right into the street and…” Seth's green eyes searched mine and the tips of his ears caught fire. “I'm Seth Allen.” He stuck out his hand.

“Kate Lowry.” I ignored his hand and pulled myself up to a wobbly standing position. I should have thanked him for saving my life. My mom would have made me thank him, but she wasn't around, and this whole thing was just too embarrassing for words, so I started back toward my garage.

“I'm building a tree house, you know. Maybe you could come hang out with me when it's finished?”

“Maybe.” I was already inside my garage and regretting ever trying to show off for the new kid. Grace was right. Boys were kind of the worst.

“Well, I'll be here. Right next door. Whenever you need me,” Seth had called after me.

And even after all these years, even after all I'd put him through, Seth Allen had never once broken that promise. While I still thought boys were kind of the worst, I knew Seth was different.

As usual, I heard Seth before I actually saw him. He was a mouth breather, and even though I was at the bottom of his driveway and he was all the way up in his tree house, I could hear the air wheezing in and out of his lungs. I'd made the mistake of asking him if he had asthma in the past, which resulted in the longest conversation about breathing treatments and how a long-term diagnosis would impact his parents' insurance rates. I still had no idea whether or not he'd been officially diagnosed, but I did know the amount the Allen family paid for their annual deductible.

“Hey,” I called up toward the tree house. “You got a minute?”

“For you? I've got three.” Seth said the words through a mouthful of food. In all the time that I'd known him, I had almost never seen Seth Allen without a snack. “Come on up!”

“Seriously?” I made it a point to spend as little time in Seth's tree house as humanly possible. I thought of it as a public service. Someone had to make him understand the social repercussions of acting like it was still cool to hang out in a tree on a regular basis. So far my efforts had gone completely unnoticed.

“Arghshshmp!” I had no idea what Seth was trying to say, but context clues and extensive experience translating Seth's food-garbled sentences led me to believe it was probably something along the lines of, “Get your ass up here.”

I climbed up the spindly wooden ladder, careful to avoid the rough spots of wood that had given me splinters in the past. In spite of my best efforts to resist Seth's tree house invitations, I almost always caved. He loved that damn thing too much for me to avoid it entirely.

“So, I need your help…” I paused midsentence as soon as I realized Seth wasn't alone. Maddie Green was sitting next to him. I was happy to see her. Well, happy-ish. She'd been avoiding me since I'd slighted her in the hallway. Or maybe we'd been avoiding each other. We were best friends once. A million years ago.

“Oh, gosh, um, I didn't realize you had company.”

Was this like a date? Were Maddie and Seth dating? The tips of Seth's ears were on fire and Maddie wouldn't look me in the eye, but neither of those things was even remotely out of the ordinary. “I'll, um, I'll just come back at a better time.”

“No, stay. It's fine. I was just leaving.” Maddie stood up, but Seth shook his head at her.

“Anything you wanna ask me, you can ask in front of Maddie.” There was something new in his voice. Pride? Lust? Love? I couldn't really be sure what it was, but it evoked the tiniest pinprick of jealousy in my heart.
I
was the one Seth always had a crush on.
Me
. It felt like I'd been replaced, and I kind of hated it.

Maddie sat back down and I was forced to start talking. “I need some help finding information about this boy who died. It's really important.”

Maddie sighed dramatically. “I don't mean to butt in…” As soon as she began talking, I knew I wasn't going to like what she was going to say. In fact, I was pretty sure I was going to hate it. “But this stuff?” She gestured at the paper from Bradley that was crumpled in my hands. “It's not healthy. I know you want to help, Seth, but you have to stop. You're enabling her. You're helping her to dwell on a situation that is done, over.”

I opened my mouth to remind Maddie that it was rude to talk about people as though they weren't standing right in front of you, but she got to her feet before I could say anything. Maddie closed the space between us and rested her hands on my shoulders. “You have to move on, Kate. Let the police do their jobs. Let all the anger and the grief go.” She looked away, eyes shiny. “We're never going to stop missing her, but she wouldn't want you obsessing about all of this stuff.”

She turned then, her shoulders slouched, waiting for me to answer or for the tears to pass or for something I couldn't give her. And then she finally gave up and made her way down the ladder. I let her go. What a bunch of bullshit. Maddie just didn't love Grace the way I loved her. She didn't understand how important it was to stop this from ever happening again. She didn't know that Alistair's death was just history repeating itself. She didn't know anything.

I looked at Seth. He was torn. I could see it in his face.
New
girlfriend
or
old
crush. Your call, buddy.
I wondered if he was going to make good on the promise that he'd made to me in front of my garage all those years ago.

“Give me thirty minutes. I'll see what I can do.” He snatched the paper out of my hand.

The smile came fast and big. “Oh God, Seth, thank you. Thank you so much. I can't tell you how important this…” He cut me off by raising one of his hands in the air. I stopped talking more out of shock than anything else. Seth had never cut me off before today. Not ever.

“You have to promise me that this is it, Kate. That once the Sisterhood is over and things settle down with Alistair, that you'll stop.”

He had his hand on his hip like he meant business, and I knew better than to argue with him when he was in business mode. I nodded.

“Oh and Kate, just so you know, someone put something in your mailbox like ten minutes before you got back from the funeral. It was weird. They pulled out super fast. Just thought…well, I don't know. It was weird.”

I started back down the ladder before Seth even finished his sentence. My house. My mailbox. My ears were buzzing, my entire body shaking with adrenaline. Something was in my mailbox.

When I pulled open the black tin mailbox at the edge of my driveway, I was sure that I'd see the same thick envelope that Alistair had gotten a few days ago. I could practically feel the card stock between my fingers. But instead, there was a neatly folded sheet of notebook paper lined with bright orange words written in loopy handwriting that I recognized almost instantly. Handwriting that had me falling back, back, back to the time of bike rides to Dairy Queen with pockets full of change we'd stolen from my parents' jar, poolside in bikinis, the waxy taste of Super Ropes licorice in my mouth. Back to boy bands and coordinated dance routines and outrageous makeovers during an endless cycle of summertime sleepovers.

Back to Grace.