Deep Betrayal (Lies Beneath #2) (11 page)

His ears flushed, and he looked away. “I’m afraid I have to. Now that Maris knows Tallulah is dead and you’re, well—
not
—we’ll need to be extra vigilant.”

“Do you think she’ll buy your argument, that the debt has been paid?”

“I hadn’t considered it before, but judging by what I saw of Pavati today, she’s had a taste of life without Maris’s Hancock obsession. She doesn’t want to go back to living with that. I’m hoping she’ll convince Maris that it’s time to move on. Right now, I’m more afraid of Maris’s grief than retribution.”

“I don’t get that.”

“If Maris’s grief becomes too unbearable, if she loses control of her emotions, it’s not just
you
who should stay off the water. Despair will take over her mind, and she’ll go on a binge.
The lake will turn into an all-night buffet. That’s what I mean about vigilance. We’ll need to keep tabs on her. Pavati, too. She’s no less dangerous. We don’t need any more surprises.”

There was something I’d been thinking about since getting Jack’s card, something that would have been impossible before. But if Calder was switching gears from avoiding Maris to actively
looking
for her … “Calder, I think you should warn Maris and Pavati about Jack.”

“Warn them?”

“He’s trying to expose them. If they go on a killing spree”—I shuddered at the thought of all those helpless, unsuspecting people—“they’ll be playing right into his hands.”

“You might be right about that.”

“If you can find Maris, do you think warning her will even make a difference in their attack rate? They’ll still be mourning.”

“Maybe. If they’ve retained any concern for self-preservation.”

I bit my lip. There was one more thing I wanted to tell him, or not tell him, I wasn’t sure which. The former won out, and I spoke quickly before I changed my mind. “If you need help finding Maris … um … When I was lying in the water … For a second, I thought I could—”

“Don’t,” he said.

“But—”

“Be careful what you wish for, Lily.”

“I just—”

“Listen, I’ve been thinking, I should take you on a date.”

The non sequitur caught me off guard. “A date? I thought we were talking about—”

“A date. Like a real couple. We can’t sneak around forever.”

That made me laugh, and it felt good. “I didn’t think we were sneaking.”

With his index finger, he tucked my hair behind my ears. “Your bedroom isn’t exactly the social epicenter of Bayfield, Wisconsin.”

“I didn’t realize Bayfield had a social epicenter.”

“Absolutely. Every summer the town does ‘Summer Tuesdays.’ They show movies on the side of Oleson’s barn. The whole town goes.”

“O-kay-ee.” I dragged the word out into three syllables, wondering what Jules would have to say about this.

“So, movie on Tuesday?” he asked.

“I guess I could stand a little normalcy.”

“Exactly my thought. Only one problem. They’ve got a theme going. Each Tuesday is a movie from a different decade. They’ve already done
Rebel Without a Cause
and
Beach Blanket Bingo
.”

“So it’s the seventies?” I ran through a list of possibilities in my head. “
Saturday Night Fever
?”

“As if we had that kind of luck. They’re showing
Jaws
.”

I squirmed as the iconic cello and bass played the E-F notes in my head:
da-dum, da-dum, da-dum
.

Calder read my apprehension easily. “Maybe we should postpone the date. Next week it’s
Ghostbusters
.”

I laced my fingers through his. “Nope. This will be perfect. Deadly sea creatures are my favorites.”

“Oh, right. I knew that,” he said, and he pulled me under the waves again.

T
wo days later, just after dinner, I stood in the upstairs hallway, wondering what smelled so rank. From the top of the stairs I could see my room and bedding strewn across the floor. Laundry—dirty and clean all mixed together—lay in heaps among books and crumpled paper balls. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I thought I’d found the source.

“Are you going to strip your sheets?” Mom called up the stairs. “I’ll do a load if you bring it down.”

“Maybe we should burn it all,” I yelled back, entering the pit of shame.

“Don’t be so dramatic. If you want new bedding when you leave for college, we can think about a bonfire then.”

College. Right. It was the furthest thing from my mind. I’d bought the obligatory U of M sweatshirt six months ago, as soon as I got my acceptance letter. That was about the extent of my planning.

I bent over and searched under the bed.
Ah, the source of the stank
. “Who left a tuna fish sandwich under my bed? Sophie?”

“Not me,” she yelled from her room. “I don’t like tuna fish.”

“That’s disgusting, Lily! Bring it down to the kitchen. I just finished scraping the dinner dishes. I’ll take the trash out.”

“No, I got it, Mom.” I carried the plate to the kitchen, dumped the sandwich in the trash, and sealed the bag, holding my breath the whole time.

“Well, there go my plans for tomorrow,” Mom said from the living room.

I dropped the plastic bag outside on the porch.

“What’s that?”

Mom put her phone on the coffee table. “Sophie’s Girl Scout leader just called to cancel our swim outing for tomorrow. Apparently they’re reporting more rip currents. Nearly drowned another kayaker. That’s two this week.”

I stared at her wordlessly. Two kayak accidents? How had I not heard that? Calder was probably just sparing me the guilt trip. If Maris was starting a binge already, it was my fault. If I’d done what I was told and stuck to the house … Or maybe Calder didn’t know. We hadn’t seen much of him
or Dad since they started looking for Maris. Obviously they hadn’t found her yet.

“They’re sure it’s just rip currents?” I asked, working to keep my voice calm.

“
Just?
Isn’t that bad enough? I want you to tell your friends to stay off the water. What’s so funny? I’m serious.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Mom, I’m not exactly deep in friends here. Second, we live on a freakin’ lake.”

“Watch your language.”

“Gabrielle’s here,” Sophie yelled from upstairs.

“Did you know she was coming?” I asked Mom.

She shrugged. “Guess you’ve got a friend after all. Tell her to stay off the lake.”

Gabby knocked at the door by kicking it with her foot. I opened it for her, and she came in—arms loaded with a pink, plastic toolbox and an overflowing shopping bag. “Ready?” she asked.

“Ready for what?”

Gabby jerked her head in the direction of the stairs, and I followed her up to my room. She dropped her bag on my bedroom floor and turned. “Humor me. I need a serious distraction from my nightmare of a brother.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s Summer Tuesdays, which is cool by itself, but it’s your first real date with the hottest guy in town. I’m here to help.” Gabby went to my tiny closet and started digging.

“Who told you tha—?”

“You can’t wear just anything,” Gabby said, “and if I recall … yep, there’s nothing in here that’s going to work.” She didn’t mask her disgust. “God, where do you shop?”

“Minneapolis,” I said, “and I can guarantee you there are more options there than up here.”

“Duh. That’s my point. You lived in a shopping Mecca your whole life, and this is what you came up with? It looks like you raided the Goodwill bin.”

“Some of it,” I said with a shrug.

Gabby groaned. “Other people wore this stuff? Do you have any idea how many pounds of dead skin cells you’re dealing with?”

“It’s all been washed,” I said, ripping my army jacket out of her hands.

“And don’t get me going on other people’s sweat stains.”

“I only buy the good pieces.”

She ignored me. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out for you. If all else fails you can borrow something of mine.”

Now I was worried. I glanced at her shopping bag and noted several pieces of lace and Lycra. “I don’t know, Gabby. All those Pettit skin cells …”

“Shut up.” She dug deep into the back of the closet and popped open the cardboard box I kept there. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Vintage band tees,” I said. “I found them in the attic when we first moved here. They must have been my grandpa’s, because they’re all from the sixties and early seventies.”

She pulled one out and held it up to read. “Who’s Jefferson Airplane?” she asked. “Never mind.” She returned to the clothes on hangers. “Don’t you have
anything
sexy?”

“I can barely say that word out loud.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you know how many girls would kill to have curves like you? Not that
I
need help in that department … and your hair totally rocks. Okay, what about this?”

She pulled a cream-colored blouse out of the back. “It goes off the shoulder, right?”

“I wear it pulled up. With a scarf. What about a Santana T-shirt? Santana’s sexy.”

“Uh-uh. Not tonight. Tonight I’m dressing you.”

“I don’t know if Calder really likes the girly-girl kind of thing.”

“He’ll love it. At the very least, you’ll have everyone else’s attention. Nothing piques a guy’s interest like thinking he’s got competition.”

I rolled my eyes. “There’s no competition.”

“Of course there isn’t, but keep that to yourself. He doesn’t have to know. Do you have any other jewelry?”

“I’m not taking off my necklace,” I said. The beach-glass pendant was a permanent accessory by now. I couldn’t imagine being without it.

My phone vibrated on the bed, and I slid it open.

Gabby threw the silky blouse on the bed, then a few more odds and ends, followed by a pair of jeans from my bottom drawer. They were from last year and way too tight.

“Come here,” Gabby said. “Let me do your makeup.” She yanked me off the bed toward the bathroom.

Gabby closed my phone and tossed it on the bed.

“Hey! Why’d you—?”

“I demand your full attention,” she said. “How do you feel about red lipstick?”

“
That
I can do.”

By the time Gabby was done with me, my hair was teased and rumpled to look like I’d spent the last three days in bed. She dusted my bare shoulders with something shimmery called Roller Derby Princess. I pulled the neckline of my blouse up over my shoulders, and Gabby yanked it back down.

“It won’t kill you to show some skin,” Gabby said, whining a little.

“I’m worried about mosquitos.”

Gabby made a
psssh
sound and experimented with piling my hair up on top of my head, then stood back to appraise her work. “If you’re lucky, it won’t be just mosquitos biting you tonight.”

“Geez, Gabby!” I swung at her, and she ducked out of the way, letting my hair fall heavy on my back.

Tires crunched on the gravel driveway, turning both our attentions to the window.

“Looks like Calder’s got new wheels,” she said.

I went to the window to look. It was a 1980s brown sedan—about as nondescript as a car could be. It wasn’t going to get much attention around here even if someone was looking for it, which, knowing Calder, was doubtful. By now, the owner had probably forgotten he even had a car. Chances were he was touting the benefits of “going green” and telling his neighbor how much he enjoys walking everywhere. I guess Dad’s No Thievery rule was out the window. That, or Dad wasn’t going to be around enough to care.

“It’s a total shitmobile,” Gabby said, “but at least
he’s
fine. I can see his six pack right through his shirt, or is that twelve? And, seriously, that’s the most rock-solid ass I’ve ever—”

“Please don’t ogle my boyfriend.”

“Well.” She dragged me toward the bedroom door as I dug in my heels, feeling completely ridiculous. “If you can’t appreciate what you’ve got, I’m happy to take over.”

“Stop pulling my arm,” I said. “I’m coming.”

“Fine. I’ll see you up at the barn. Oh, I almost forgot.” She pulled a faded quilt out of her bag. “You can use this. It’s my lucky blanket.”

“Ewww. I don’t think I want to know.”

“You can thank me later,” she said as she ran down the stairs. I heard her open the door and say, “Well, hell-o, Calder. Lily’s all ready for you.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When I came downstairs, my cheeks burning, Calder’s eyebrows rose to
his hairline and his pupils dilated. He stuck out his hand and said, “Hello, gorgeous. My name is Calder White. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

I grabbed his elbow and dragged him across the porch. “You’re hilarious. Let’s go.”

W
e were some of the last to arrive at Oleson’s barn. I recognized a few faces from the party I’d gone to at the Pettits’ awhile back. I also saw the parish priest, Father Hoole, and a bit later, Mrs. Boyd, with whom I tried not to make eye contact. Jack made it to the movie, too, though he was clearly there against his will. He scowled at the ground and leaned against an outbuilding that looked as beaten down as he did.

Practically the whole town turned out. Multiple generations gathered together, talking, laughing, turning bratwursts on a grill. I tried to ignore the strange looks and turning heads
or, when that failed, hoped they were gawking at Calder’s usual conversation-stopping good looks and not at me.

I smiled nervously at several mothers who were spreading out their family blankets, overlapping theirs with friends’ to create large, quilted continents. We’d have to act quickly to claim our territory; the center areas had already been staked out.

“Why are there so many little kids here?” I asked. “It’s an R-rated movie.”

“They’re just here for the ice cream,” said Calder. “They’ll all be asleep before it’s dark enough to start the movie. Okay, over here.” He towed me to an open patch of lawn in a circle of light cast by a floodlight that was mounted on a pole and swarmed by moths. The side of the barn was covered in king-sized white bedsheets, sewn together and stretched taut. I chewed my lip.