The Dead and Buried (15 page)

I
took Dad to the pizza joint Kane had suggested. It was actually a cute little Italian place that had more than just pizza. The smell of garlic wafted in the air, making me salivate. Each table had a plastic checkerboard tablecloth, a tiny vase with fake flowers, and a little metal spice rack that held crushed red pepper and Parmesan cheese.

Half the tables were empty, probably because it was Tuesday night. I could picture it packed on weekends. We were seated right away. I nearly tripped as we passed a stack of wooden high chairs.

“I should have named you Grace,” Dad joked.

“Grandma should have named you Shrimp,” I shot back with a grin.

The waitress handed us laminated one-page menus, but I already knew what I wanted. A big heaping plate of spaghetti. My favorite comfort food. I ordered that and a soda. Dad ordered chicken parm and a light beer.

“We haven’t done this for a while,” Dad said. “I’m glad you still have time for your old man.”

“At least until I leave for college and never come home to
visit again,” I joked. We slipped right back into our routine of teasing each other. I loved it. It made things feel normal.

The waitress arrived with our drinks. Dad refused the glass and took a sip from his bottle. “How’s school going?”

“Good. Some of the classes are more challenging than back home, but it’s okay.”

“The kids treating you well? Mom said you were at a friend’s house this afternoon.”

I bristled when he referred to Marie as Mom. Dad noticed and looked down at his silverware. I didn’t get mad, though. This was my hang-up, not his. And he was so used to calling her “Mom” in front of Colby.

“Yeah,” I said. “Her name’s Alexa. She’s the smartest kid in school. A little unusual. I like her.”

“I’m glad you’ve made a friend so quickly.”

If he only knew how many new “friends” had been at his house last weekend. I was glad Mr. Tucker hadn’t told on me, but part of me wished he had, because the guilt I felt was almost as bad.

“And how was your date the other night?” he said teasingly.

I spun my straw in the soda, making the ice cubes clink against the glass. “Non-date, Dad. We’re just friends.”

“So how was your non-date?” Dad wore a half-amused, half-concerned expression.

“It was fun. We’re going to hang out again this weekend.”

He dropped the amusement. “Another non-date or a real date?”

I paused. “Non-date.”

“Because you know if it’s a real date, I want that boy to have some manners and come in the house so I can meet him.”

“He wanted to come in the house last time, but I ran out to save him from the Daddy Inquisition.”

Dad threw his head back and laughed. “I’m not that bad.”

“You can be!”

“But you’re my little girl and I —”

“Oh, Dad, please stop.”

Thankfully, the waitress came with our food. Dad dumped so much Parmesan cheese on his it looked like it’d snowed on it. I spun the spaghetti around on my fork and took a big bite.

“Mmm,” Dad mumbled.

I agreed. This tiny hole-in-the-wall had great food. Colby would love this place. I pictured all four of us coming here. Maybe making it a regular thing once a week. I felt peaceful for a moment, picturing us like a normal, happy family. Then I remembered the giant cloud hanging over us. The threat. Kayla could destroy my family at any time.

Dad’s fork clanged as he dropped it on his plate. “There it is again.”

“What?” I was surprised by his sharp tone.

“That look on your face that I’ve been catching now and then around the house. You’re worried. Something’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, Dad.”
Nothing you can help me with.

“Are you being bullied at school?”

“No, Dad. It’s nothing like that.”

“So what is it?”

I looked up into his hazel eyes, the same as mine. The protectiveness I felt for Colby was the same as what my dad felt for me. But at least I knew the problem I was dealing with. Dad was in the dark and that might be even worse. Maybe….

I sucked in a deep breath and took a chance. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “Where did that question come from?”

I’d been pretty sure Marie hadn’t told him about our little talk, but from the shocked look on his face I was now positive. She’d kept her word.

I gave a shrug. “I was just curious.”

“No, I don’t,” he said warily.

“You’ve never seen, heard, or felt anything weird?”

“In our house?” he asked.

“Anywhere.”

He picked up his knife and fork and began cutting the chicken. “Well, sure, weird stuff happens, but I assume there are real explanations for it. A noise is the house settling. That sort of thing.”

I dropped my gaze and started twirling another forkful of spaghetti around and around. Even if Dad had experienced anything in the house, he was such a skeptic by nature, he’d never believe it was something supernatural. Plus, he’d spent the least amount of time in our house out of all of us. What had I expected? That he’d confess he thought the house was haunted, too? That I could share what happened to Colby with him and he’d have some miraculous solution to our
problem? There were only two solutions I could see: move — which Marie would never allow — or find Kayla’s killer and put her ghost to rest.

“There’s another reason I don’t believe,” Dad added in a softer voice. “If ghosts did exist, Josephine would have come through.”

My heart skipped a beat at my mother’s name. He barely spoke it anymore. I understood why he brought her up, though. She’d been my first thought, too, after I’d realized this ghost stuff was real.

“Maybe we’ve never heard from her because she’s at peace,” I said. As opposed to Kayla, who was clearly
not
.

Dad’s shoulders tensed. He spoke quickly. “I just think if any of that were real and there were any possibility, she would have found a way to come through. To at least say good-bye.” His voice was rough, but etched with grief. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He dug into his food and I figured something out for the first time. He still wasn’t over her. Not any more than I was. He just hid it better.

28 and I had a fight today. The usual. I said a few choice words to 11 as we headed into class. 28 told me that was unnecessary. I reminded him that it was. That 11 and I were neck and neck for valedictorian so I liked to throw her off her game before a test. It’s no different than athletes trash-talking between plays.

But 28 got this sort of disgusted look on his face. He said, “Every single thing you do is calculated.” And then he ignored me the rest of the day.

We made up — also as usual — but I was a little worried that this would be the time I couldn’t fix us with a smile and a kiss. And then I was mad at myself for worrying about this. I’m Kayla Sloane. I could have another guy within five seconds. And I’ve never given a moment’s thought to what anyone thought about me before. Why do I care so much about what he thinks?

I
loved the art room in the early morning quiet. Before people started arriving and the school stirred to life — lockers slamming, people rushing, bells ringing, the day starting once again. But for now, it was only me.

“Hey.”

And Donovan.

My stomach fluttered at the sight of him. He wore what I figured by now were his favorite dark jeans and a blue tee with a cool swirling pattern on it. I realized, after a moment, that I’d been staring. “I like your shirt,” I said.

He pulled on the end, straightening it out. “Thanks. I designed it myself.”

He dragged a stool next to mine and sat down. “How are things in the house?”

“Eerie now and then. Nothing as crazy as what happened at the party.” And what happened
after
to Colby, which I still didn’t want to share with anyone.

“Do your parents know?”

I shook my head. “My dad is a huge nonbeliever. I tried to tell my stepmom and she accused me of lying.”

“Things are rough with her, huh?”

“Now they are. But we don’t usually fight much. Mostly because I hate confrontation, so I tend to keep negative feelings inside and deal with them by way of silent snark.”

He grinned. “I’ve heard that works well.”

“It’s one tactic.” I smiled. “What about you? Divorce? Stepsiblings?”

“No, I’m an only child. My parents are cool. They get along great. My home life is actually pretty nauseatingly functional. It’s my life outside of home that’s a mess.”

His gaze settled on me and I would’ve given anything to know what he was thinking. Did he feel the same attraction to me that I felt toward him? Or was he still hung up on Kayla? Was he just using me to help him clear his name? Or was he using Kayla’s death as an excuse to get close to me? I wished I had the guts to tell him how I felt. I wished I were the type of girl who could come right out and ask him if he was interested, instead of playing all these guessing games.

I opened my mouth, hesitated a second, and said, “So let’s talk about Kayla.”

Something — disappointment? — flashed across his face. “Okay, where do you want to start?”

“You probably knew her better than anyone. Tell me what she was like.”

He paused for a long moment. “Driven. Ambitious.”

“At my party, you mentioned that the day she died … you broke up with her?”

He picked up a dry paintbrush and ran his finger over the bristles. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “That’s not relevant.”

“Tell me, anyway.” I shifted in my seat. “To be honest, I can’t believe you even dated her to begin with. You seem like opposites.”

“At first I was running on pure flattery.” He smiled sheepishly. “When the most popular girl in school asks you out, you say yes. But then, you know, reality set in.”

“The reality that you were dating a soulless evil demon girl?”

The side of his mouth twitched. “Not that, no.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated, like he was trying to find a way to translate his thoughts into words. “I think people, by nature, want to believe that there’s good in everyone. That if you peel back the layers of the onion you’ll find an explanation, an excuse, a justification. The bully is bullied by his own father. The bad girl is ignored by her parents and just wants attention, even if it’s negative. So I had this romantic notion that if I dug deep enough, I’d find goodness at Kayla’s center. And I’d fix her. Help her to become the person she
could
be.”

“And what did you find at Kayla’s core?”

“Nothing.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Maybe I didn’t dig deep enough. Or maybe the conventional theory is wrong, and some people really aren’t any deeper than their outside layer.”

I gave him a long look. I couldn’t help feeling that Donovan was holding something back. Some key piece of information.
But why would he do that? Especially now when we were working together?

“I have a game plan for this afternoon,” he said, changing the subject.

“And what’s that?”

“I think we need to talk to this witness. The man who told the police I was the only one who went inside the house that day.”

“Mr. Tucker?”

“Yeah. Your creepy neighbor. He always gave Kayla the willies.”

“He has that effect on me, too. Okay, let’s meet after school.”

From the increased decibel of the noise in the hallway, I knew it was time to get to homeroom. I swung my bag over one shoulder. Donovan motioned for me to go before him through the narrow doorway. The hall was packed and a group of guys ambled toward me, arguing in loud voices about some trade the Patriots made.

Donovan placed his hand on the small of my back, protectively, and steered me around them. I stiffened at the shock of his touch, and he quickly drew his hand back, probably thinking I hated the feeling of his hand on my body. But I didn’t. Not at all. And, for a long time, while my first-period teacher lectured us about something I should have been paying attention to, all my mind could think about was Donovan’s hand on me. And how I wished it were still there.

“The heroine of the novel comes to her new home and finds that her husband’s dead first wife still has a hold on the house. The so-called ghost of Rebecca and the villain of the story, Rebecca’s loyal servant Mrs. Danvers, pose a threat to both our heroine’s marriage and sanity.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair in last-period English as Mrs. Mayhew lectured about
Rebecca
.

Mrs. Mayhew paced the front of the classroom. “The heroine feels that she’ll never be as satisfactory to her husband as Rebecca was and she worries that her husband is still in love with his dead wife. But by the end of the novel, what do we find out?”

Some boy in the back answered, “She wasn’t all that.”

“Correct.” Mrs. Mayhew smiled. “Despite all the wonderful things said about her and her undisputable beauty, Rebecca was — underneath — quite an evil person.”

Everyone else was feverishly copying Mrs. Mayhew’s words into their notebooks, but not me. The parallels to my life were disturbing. The four walls of the classroom seemed to be closing in. I needed air. I needed to get out.

Thankfully, just as I was about to bolt, the bell rang. As soon as I reached the hallway, the pressure on my lungs lifted. I took a deep breath and calmed myself.

I went to my locker to grab my things. Donovan and I were supposed to meet in the parking lot. So I was surprised when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“I thought we —” I started, spinning around. But then
stopped. It was only Faye. She wore a tight pink shirt and a short skirt. She’d curled her hair into long corkscrews.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said at the look on my face.

“I’m not disappointed, Faye,” I lied to spare her feelings. “I was just expecting someone else.”

She crossed her arms tightly. “How’s your little investigation going?”

I turned back to my locker and pretended to look through the books, even though I’d already taken out everything I needed. “Fine.”

“I heard Donovan O’Mara is helping you. Isn’t that like asking the defendant to investigate his own case?”

I sighed heavily. “Donovan didn’t push her. Kayla herself said it. You were there.”

“She might have been confused. Maybe he came back in after he left.”

I spun around to face her again. “Donovan broke up with Kayla that day. Why would he kill her if he didn’t want her anymore?”

Faye’s face turned a fiery red. “He didn’t break up with her,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she was above him,” Faye spat. “She was prettier, more popular. Above his station. Why would he put an end to that?”

Well, hello, Mrs. Danvers.
“Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as you think.”

Faye shook her head so hard the curls trembled. “No one dumps Kayla. Plus, he never told anyone he broke up with her. That makes no sense.”

Except me. Why would he tell only me?
I suddenly got the feeling that this was a secret I should have kept to myself. “I must have heard him wrong,” I said. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s … it’s bad information.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Faye said indignantly.

Despite her poor attitude, part of me respected Faye’s defiant defense of her friend, even in death. Faye took a few steps away, then stopped. Her head turned slowly back in my direction, taking in my outfit. My non-designer jeans and Interpol T-shirt. Not exactly Faye’s taste and I could see that on her face.

“So,” she said, “your whole ‘playing hard to get’ thing seems to be working on Kane.”

Not this again.
“I’m not playing hard to get. We’re really just friends and that’s it.”

“Don’t deny it. I’ll admit, it’s smart. The boy who can have almost anyone always wants the one he can’t have.” She took a step closer to me. “But who does the girl want? Donovan or Kane? Kane or Donovan?” She twirled a curl around her finger. “It’s the age-old question.” When I didn’t respond, she curled her lips and hissed, “He’s only using you to try to feel closer to her. It’s sick.”

I stiffened as she put into words the worry I’d had about Donovan in the back of my mind all day. But I wouldn’t
give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten to me. I lifted my chin and pulled my shoulders back. “Donovan isn’t …” But my voice trailed off as a smug smile came over her face.

She sneered. “I’m not talking about Donovan.”