What Lies in the Darkness (Shadow Cove Book 1) (6 page)

Crap, it’s like she knows what happened today.

I nod, trying to remain calm. “I’m feeling really great, actually.”

“Good.” A hint of wariness floods her eyes before she turns to leave the room.

“Wait, Mom,” I say, and she pauses. “What happened to the girl? I mean, how did she die?”

She doesn’t turn around, but her back stiffens. “I’m not sure … Her body … was found in the lake.”

“The lake?” I whisper. “Shadow Cove Lake?”

“I’m sure it was just an accident. Nothing we need to worry about. Nothing
you
need to worry about,” she adds. “Now, I’m going to go take a shower. Don’t stay up too late, okay? I want you to get a full night’s rest.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before hurrying into her room and shutting the door.

It’s a suspicious move that leaves me wondering if she’s lying.

LOCATION: THE SECRET SPOT IN MAK’S DAD’S OFFICE

TIME: 11:54 PM

DATE: SATURDAY, MARCH 20
^TH

There’s a small nook hidden behind a bookcase in my dad’s office that no one knows exists except for me and my dad. This makes for the perfect spot to do some snooping around in my mom’s computer files and emails to find out why the hell she thinks Don Jennings is the reason we’re not homeless.

The problem is, she recently changed her password. Usually, hers are ridiculously easy to crack. She’s super fond of birthdays, last names, anniversaries, etc. But apparently, she’s upped her A-game. After an hour of punching in every important number and name I can think of, I’m still locked out.

“All right, Mom, what are you hiding?” I prop my feet up against the wall in front of me, racking my brain for another route, another important date I may have missed, or the name of someone important to her.

I don’t know why I do it, what the heck comes over me, other than I can’t stop thinking about my mom’s odd behavior earlier, but I end up typing “Don Jennings” into the password box. When the password is accepted, allowing me onto the home screen, my stomach goes
kerplunk,
and a little bit of puke burns in my throat.

“Oh, my God, is my mom having an affair with …?” I nearly gag on the name.

No!
There’s no way she’d ever do that. Not when my dad has only been gone for six months. Not with the biggest douchebag in town. There has to be another reason his name is the password. Could it be because he saved us from being homeless? How did he do that, exactly? And why? What would be his ulterior motive? A guy like Don Jennings wouldn’t do something out of the kindness of his heart.

Clearing my throat several times, I compose myself and get to work. I start by raiding her bill files first and checking our monthly estimated bills Excel reports. Nothing seems different there, so I move on to her monthly bank statement. The last four months look kind of normal, except that her paychecks from the hospital seem a little bit low. Maybe she got a pay cut, or started working less hour. That doesn’t explain why she’s been gone the same amount of time as she always does. And besides, we haven’t been making less money. My confusion only deepens when I get to a deposit made five months ago.

“Holy jackpot.” I squint at the hefty cash deposit made back in November, about a month after my dad took off. “Ten thousand dollars! What the fuck!” The words leave my mouth way too loudly, and I quickly slap my hand over my mouth. I listen for signs that I’ve alerted my mom, but the house remains quiet.

Lowering my hand, I scroll through the transactions, wondering where the money went. Half of it went toward the next few months of rent, and then I get a bad taste in my mouth when I see a high amount was spent at Mayfield Luxury Hotel and Spa. I don’t remember her taking off to Mayfield on that weekend. In fact, she supposedly works back-to-back shifts and is usually gone so much I don’t see her for days on end. Apparently, she snuck off on a vacation, though, which I’d be completely fine with—she works her butt off and deserves a vacation—but why do I get the feeling she took the vacation with the person who gave her the money?

No! Stop thinking that, Mak! Your mom isn’t shacking up with Don Jennings!

Still, I can’t help thinking about it. A lot. And a thought crosses my mind, not about Don, but about Dixon. He’s always disliked me, but lately, he’s acted extra douchey. What if it’s because he knows about the affair?

“Ugh.” I grimace, feeling disgusted and beaten down.

After searching through the rest of the files and finding nothing else that seems suspicious, I move on to her emails, finding she’s currently deleted most of the messages in her inbox and sent files. Does she know I snoop around? She has busted me a time or two before.

Giving up for the night, I set the computer aside and turn toward the far back wall to a few newspaper clippings tacked up, along with a handful of Post-it Notes covered in my dad’s messy handwriting. The notes are random dates and times, and the newspaper clippings are help wanted ads for a gardener, a dog walker, and a housekeeper. If my dad didn’t love his job, I’d think he was job searching. But he loved being a reporter as much as I love skateboarding. And besides, I saw the wall before he disappeared. There were so many sticky notes and torn sections of newspapers that the tan paint wasn’t even visible. What compelled him to take some down and leave some up is beyond me. I have a hunch they carry some sort of importance because of something my dad said to me right before he flew off the radar.

“Mak, if something ever happens to me, just follow the trail, okay?” he said to me in a panic. “Just be careful. Don’t let them find out you’re on to them. I think that’s what happened to your brother.”

By that point, my mom had started calling him crazy, and I overheard her talking to one of her friends on the phone about sending him to the Shadow Cove’s Treatment Facility. I worried that she might be right, but I didn’t have the heart to say anything to my dad. I just nodded and agreed to follow this alleged trail.

About a month after he disappeared, I wandered into the hidden nook and spent hours staring at the notes and clippings, attempting to make sense of them. Then, one day, it dawned on me. My dad used to refer to his research as a trail to his article. He’d put most of the research on this wall. So, what if the leftover research on this wall is the trail?

The problem is, I’ve been staring at the wall for months now, and I can’t even find a starting point. I’m afraid of where the trail will lead me when I do figure it all out, and I don’t know if I’ll be brave enough to follow it.

LOCATION: SHADOW COVE HIGH

TIME: 7:54 AM

DATE: MONDAY, MARCH 22
^TH

I spent most of the rest of the weekend cleaning the house as an apology to my mom for not answering my phone and for going through her computer files. Sure, she may never know about the last part, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a little bit guilty for doing it. I also tried to bring up Don Jennings a couple of times to get to the bottom of what’s going on, but every time I so much as mentioned his name, she shut down the conversation.

Her odd behavior raises the suspicion factor immensely. I don’t want to believe she’s having an affair with him, but what if she is? Not only is that gross, but it makes both of them cheaters.

After looking through her emails on Saturday, I did a search online for a report on the girl who drowned. Nothing came up, and my frustration bubbled.

Back when my dad reported for the newspaper, he had to fight to get certain stories printed. A lot of the “more complicated and unsettling stories,” as his boss and the mayor put it, weren’t allowed in print. Topics like deaths, robberies, and other illegal activities were often swept under the rug. Most of the time, my father had a pain in the ass time interviewing people because hardly anyone wanted to discuss a story that didn’t show the pleasant side of Shadow Cove.

On Sunday, I work on my project with Ev for a little bit, and then checked online again to see if the story popped up, but nope, nothing. I ended up asking my mom again about the incident, but she insisted on knowing nothing, not even the girl’s name. I think she might be lying since she refused to make eye contact.

On a more positive note, I haven’t hallucinated again. Thank God. Plus, as a double bonus, I managed to chill on Facetime with my friends, during which Kennedy informed me she’s come up with a few fabulous ideas to get Dixon back. When I asked her what the plans entailed, she told me—and very evilly, I might add—that I’ll have to wait until Monday morning to find out because she had to check on a few things first.

Needless to say, by the time Monday morning rolls around, I’m more than bursting with eagerness.

“Why isn’t Kennedy in her car?” Ev asks as I park my beat-up 1989 Camaro next to her nearly brand new Mercedes.

I shrug, just as perplexed as her.

Since Kennedy lives so far away from Ev, Embry, and me, she normally drives to school by herself. But since she loathes almost everyone we go to school with, she typically hangs out in her car until the three of us arrive. Why she’d wander in by herself today is a mystery. I have a feeling one of her revenge plots might have something to do with it.

“Do you think I should dye my hair purple?” Embry asks randomly from the backseat. She has a compact mirror out and is frowning at her reflection. “I think I’m sick of the red.”

“You just dyed it last week.” Ev slips her seatbelt off and rotates around to face her. “How can you be sick of it already?”

Embry snaps the compact mirror closed then tosses it into her worn messenger bag. “I get bored easily. Besides, Emilia Greyferson was talking about dyeing her hair the same color.” She grimaces. “I mean, seriously, where’s her originality?”

I smile to myself. Embry is all about originality. Just look at her outfit: red, clunky boots decorated with skulls and buckles; fishnet stockings; a pleated grey skirt; and a torn black T-shirt. The girl loves being the unicorn of our school.

“Even if Emilia dyes her hair red, I think you’ll still be a unicorn,” I tease Embry as I dig my buzzing phone out of the pocket of my torn black skinny jeans.

Kennedy: Meet me by the Rewards Board ASAP. I have an official Take Dixon Down Revenge Plan.

The Rewards Board is a place where students can post ads for lost items, tutors wanted, tutors for hire—things like that. Teachers and the administration often post announcements there, as well. The digitalized board is flashy and showy, stretching across half the wall near the main office. Why Kennedy would want us to meet her there is beyond me. I put my phone away and collect my car keys and bag, ready to find out.

“Kennedy wants us to meet her by the Rewards Board,” I announce, reaching for the door handle.

Ev and Embry trade a perplexed look before collecting their bags and books.

Embry slings her messenger bag over her shoulder and scoots toward the door, asking, “Why? Did she lose something?”

I push the door open to get out. “She said she has an official plan to pay back Dixon.”

“Maybe her revenge plot is up on that board,” Embry suggests with a wicked grin.

“God, I hope she didn’t post something on the board about Dixon,” Ev gripes. “If he finds out Kennedy did it, he’ll go after her.”

“And we’ll be there to have her back.” Embry grins, hops out of the car, and starts across the busy parking lot toward the school.

Ev and I follow suit, jogging after her. When we reach her side, we slow down and match her pace as we make our way up the sidewalk and to the double entrance door, doing our best to ignore the nasty looks and whispering gossip being thrown in our direction. I can’t hear everything being said, but I’ve dealt with the town’s mockery long enough that I have a pretty good guess: 1). They’re making fun of Embry’s outfit, calling her a devil worshipping freak or some shit like that. 2). They’re making fun of me, the girl whose dad abandoned her. The girl whose brother committed suicide. The girl no one wants to be around. None of this is new; I’ve heard it all before. 3). Kennedy has done something to Dixon, and word has already spread around the school. Or 4). Word has gotten around about Dixon shouting that we slept together.

“You know, after years of this shit, you’d think they’d get tired of it,” Embry mutters as we ascend the wide stairway that leads to the entrance doors.

People file around us, moving as far away as possible, like we’re carriers of a viral plague. Even some of the people who used to be my kind of, sort of friends—before my family became the town gossip—join in the gawk fest. That, I find a bit irking. I mean, we’re not friends with them or anything, but we have a mutual understanding to never, ever gang up on each other.

“Is it me, or does everyone seem really grossed out by us today?” I ask Ev and Embry as I open the heavy door and step inside the school.

Ev and Embry join my side, and we start up the hallway toward the Rewards Board. Eyes flick in our direction as we pass the rows of lockers and people surrounding them.

“It’s definitely not you,” Embry mumbles, her clunky boots squeaking against the black and white checkered floor.

Ev chews on her thumbnail, keeping her head tucked down, her brown hair a veil around her face. “I hate it when they stare like this. It gives me anxiety.”

I loop arms with her and tug her close to my side. “Chin up, Ev. Don’t let them know they’re affecting you.”

She lifts her chin but remains tense as we walk down the hallway side by side.

“
Attention students
,” the secretary’s voice flows through the intercom. “
Due to an increase in locker theft, we would like to advise students to make sure they’re lockers are shut and locked securely during class hours. Thank you.
”

“Well, that’s new,” I say, trying to ignore the continuous gawking in our direction. “Thievery at Shadow Cove High?” My voice drips with mockery. “Are the rich kids getting bored or something?”