The Secret (Seacliff High Mystery Book 1) (3 page)

“As far as I know, no one’s really done much to look for a possible heir,” Trevor responded. “There were the usual announcements in the paper, but otherwise I doubt it.”

“I wonder how hard it would be to do a little digging on our own,” Alyson mused. “It doesn’t seem right there might be a legal heir out there, but no one really tried to find him or her. Besides, what happens to the inheritance if no one comes forward? I mean, we paid money to a trust when we bought the house. Who gets that?”

“Good question,” Mac agreed. “It’d be easy to do a little surfing on the Web. If there are any records I could probably find something.”

“There are probably townsfolk around who still remember how the rumor got started in the first place,” Trevor ventured. “Maybe someone remembers something specific that would at least give us a jumping-off point.”

“If Barkley’s stuff is still there, maybe there’s a clue somewhere in the house itself,” Mac contributed. “Have you gone through any of the desks or drawers?”

“Not really. We basically decided to make two of the bedrooms, a bathroom, and the kitchen habitable before tackling the rest of the house. The kitchen was a mess. We completely gutted it. There really wasn’t much in there except some old pans and dishes and stuff. Nothing of value.” Alyson noticed the time and began to gather up her stuff.  “The two bedrooms each held a few pieces of furniture but no personal belongings. It looks like Barkley was using the bedroom off the kitchen, which might have originally been a maid’s quarters, as his own. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, but other than picking the junk off the floor and stripping the bed, we haven’t gone through anything yet. It’s a real mess. If there are any treasures or secrets hidden in the house they’re bound to be in one of the other rooms. I can try to start looking around tonight. Let’s talk more tomorrow.”

Suddenly Alyson knew exactly what Barkley was trying to show her.

The next morning Alyson opted for a black-and-navy-plaid wool miniskirt, a black fitted sweater, and knee-high boots. With the exception of the boots, the outfit reminded her of the plaid wool uniform she’d worn at the private high school she’d attended the year before. Who would have thought she’d actually miss that uniform? All of the girls at her school had hated it and spent a lot of time and money trying to personalize their look within the school’s dress code. As Alyson looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror, she felt a sense of nostalgia. Somehow this outfit felt comforting, like an old familiar friend. She topped off her outfit with her black leather crop jacket and tried to remember the girl she had once been. The girl who just a few short months ago, along with her best friend Tiffany, had ruled Ms. James High School for Girls. Even though only five months had passed, it felt like a lifetime.

During those endless days immediately following the murder, Alyson could feel Tiff’s presence as she told and retold her story and looked at mug shot after mug shot in an effort to bring her killers to justice. She could close her eyes and see Tiffany’s auburn hair, smattering of freckles, and green eyes, which took on a mischievous glimmer as she threw caution to the winds and embraced life to its fullest, despite her stodgy upper-class pedigree. Now when she closed her eyes Alyson was greeted with silence. Tiffany was fading away. The more real Alyson became, the more Amanda and everything about her life faded into the darkness.

“What do you think of all the homework that was assigned for the second half of this week?” Alyson asked Mac as they walked toward the cafeteria after fourth period.

“It does seem like all the teachers got together and decide to send us into homework overload,” Mac complained. “Do you want to get together after school and work on our English project?”

“I have to meet my mom right after school, but I can catch up with you around three thirty.” Alyson was hesitant to mention her previously scheduled DMV appointment. She was sure most if not all of her new friends had gotten their licenses months ago. She’d seen Mac driving an old, beat-up Volkswagen Bug, and Trevor had an awesome Mustang that looked to be either a ’65 or ’66.

“That’d be fine. I’ll meet you in the school library. It should be open until five o’clock or so.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The Seacliff High library was quaint and cozy, not at all what Alyson expected. The books were shelved in mahogany bookcases that were arranged along all four walls on two levels. The first level shelves were about six feet tall with two sets of stairs, one on each end of the room, leading to the second level stacks. The ceiling was high, allowing for the two levels to be open to each other. In the center of the room on the bottom level was an array of dark hardwood tables surrounded with hardwood chairs. The room was small but charming, much like the libraries she remembered from the European estates she’d visited in her old life. The elegance and beauty didn’t quite fit with the run-down condition of the rest of the school. The bookshelves themselves must have cost a fortune.

“Good, no one’s here,” Mac said, walking up behind her as she continued to drink in the rich ambience of the room. “We shouldn’t have to do the whole whispering thing.”

“This place is great.” Alyson walked over to one of the hardwood tables and set her backpack down. “I love libraries. Especially the way they smell, sort of musty and ancient. It’s as if all the knowledge of the ages are contained within their walls. And this library in particular; it’s so welcoming.”

“Yeah, I love it in here,” Mac agreed. “I often come in to study, and the place is usually deserted. It’s nice and quiet, not like at home.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Yeah, a brother and two sisters. I love them to death, but they can really stir up a ruckus and make it hard to concentrate. How about you? Any siblings?”

“No, it’s just me and my mom. Sometimes I think my house is way too quiet. A little ruckus might be nice for a change.”

“Well, I’d be glad to lend you my sisters anytime. I’m sure they’d change your mind in no time.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Alyson sighed wistfully. “The library is a lot bigger than I thought it would be. Do you think there are any books on the Cutter family or the house?”

“Probably.” Mac strolled over to the section of shelves that housed the local history books. She pulled several off the shelf and returned to the table.

“This book covers the town’s origins. There might be something in here.” Mac opened the book and started to read. “Oh, look. Here’s a chapter on the Cutter family. ‘Jedediah Cutter, the town’s founder, was born in 1802 in Boston, Massachusetts. He was the eldest son of Brandon Cutter, a third-generation shipping magnate. In 1822 he migrated west and started his own shipping line, increasing his wealth a hundredfold. He established the town of Cutter’s Cove in 1842.’”

“Does it say how much he was worth?” Alyson asked.

Mac skimmed the pages. “No, not really. A lot, I imagine. ‘In 1826 he built the house on the bluff and married his childhood sweetheart, who bore him a son, Marcus, in 1828, and twin daughters, Estelle and Isabel, in 1830.’”

“The house is older than I thought. Can you imagine the history? The lives that have played out within its walls. If those walls could talk imagine the stories they could tell.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome to consider. Maybe we’ll find something personal in the attic—pictures, or better yet a diary of some long-ago resident.”

“Maybe I’ll check out a few of these books. It makes the house seem somehow more alive to know its history. I can almost imagine the faces of the people who walked the same halls I walk every day and slept in the same room I sleep in at night.”

“Maybe the house really is haunted and you’ll get to meet some of the previous residents. Just think of the questions you could ask, the secrets you could uncover.”

“Yeah, it’d be pretty awesome. Now I guess we should get to our Chem homework,” Alyson said. “Maybe we’ll have time to tackle the calculus too.”

The girls worked in companionable cooperation until the library closed at five and they each went home for dinner.

The next couple of days flew by, and before she knew it, Alyson found herself once again standing in front of her full-length mirror, frowning at her reflection. If she were going to a club in New York she’d know exactly what to wear, but what did one wear to an abandoned fish cannery turned quasi nightclub in upstate Oregon? So far, all she’d managed was to pick out her favorite Italian lingerie and now stood wearing nothing else as she stared into the mirror. She twisted her long hair on top of her head, letting tendrils fall around her shoulders in a haphazard fashion. Her makeup was understated yet perfectly applied to accentuate every asset and minimize every flaw. Her experience as a model was serving her well.

She looked absolutely perfect, a natural beauty who didn’t have to try too hard. A practically naked natural beauty, she reminded herself. She really did need to decide on a dress. Mac was going to be here to pick her up in a matter of minutes. She stared at the pile on the bed once again and finally settled on a simple soft blue shirtdress she’d found in a little shop in SoHo. Some thigh-high, boot-wearing go-go girl in the sixties probably wore the simple minidress originally. It fit her perfectly, accentuating her long legs and flat stomach. She opted for her new crop boots over her knee-high ones, giving the vintage dress a modern look. Grabbing her old standby leather crop jacket and handbag, she headed downstairs to wait for Mac.

The club was rustic, to say the least, but the energy from the dancing patrons and the exceptional quality of the band put the place on a par with any of New York’s hot spots to Alyson’s mind. The place had once been an actual fish cannery that had closed quite a few years earlier. Some budding entrepreneurs from San Francisco had bought the property and turned it into a nightclub/burger joint, complete with a shiny dance floor, a large octagon-shaped stage, and elaborate lighting and sound systems. Actually, as Alyson took a closer look at her surroundings, she realized any similarities to a New York club ended there. The bar served Budweiser instead of Cristal and burgers instead of sushi, and was lined with pool tables rather than VIP booths. The place was charming and totally unpretentious. Alyson loved it immediately.

“Do you want a soda?” Mac yelled over the noise of the band. “I thought we’d get drinks and look for Trevor. He said he’d meet us here.”

“Sounds good,” Alyson yelled back, following Mac to the bar. They ordered Diet Cokes, then looked for a table that would provide them with the best vantage point for checking out the band’s newest member.

“Wow, this place is great.” Alyson sat down at the table next to Mac. “Who would have thought a sleepy little town like Cutter’s Cove would have a great club like this?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty hot. People come all the way from Portland on Friday nights to hear the bands. Hey, there’s Trevor,” she said, waving toward the door. “Oh, great.” Mac groaned. “Chelsea’s with him.”

“Yeah, and what’s with the outfit?” Alyson asked. “She looks like she’s dressed for the red carpet.”

Chelsea wore a long red dress tight enough to leave little to the imagination. There was a slit all the way up one leg and the back was cut low enough to leave no question regarding the bra/no bra debate. In fact, between the slit up the leg and the extremely low back, it left no doubt as to the underwear/ no underwear question either.

“She looks like a hooker,” Mac agreed. “She can’t possibly have a stitch on underneath. I can’t wait to see how she’s going to sit down.”

“Ladies,” Trevor greeted as the pair approached the table and sat down next to Alyson. “Some band, huh? I bet you didn’t have anything like this in Minnesota.”

“No, I can’t say we did,” Alyson crossed her fingers and answered, having no idea whether there were clubs in Minnesota or not.

Chelsea leaned against the table, sort of half-sitting on it. “Trev, be a doll and get me something to drink. A Bellini, if they have it.”

“Chelsea, you’re sixteen, not twenty-one. How about a soda?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“So, Chelsea, why don’t you have a seat?” Mac prompted.

“No, thanks, I’m fine. I have a better view of that hunky new band member. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off me since we walked in the door.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that dress caught everyone’s attention.” Mac smirked.

“It’s quite fabulous, isn’t it? I see Courtney and the others over by the bar. I think I’ll wander over and show it off.”

“Courtney?” Alyson asked as Chelsea walked away.

“She’s one of the A-list crowd, along with Chelsea and the other cheerleaders. The only reason Chelsea lowers herself enough to be seen in our humble company is because of Trevor. He totally refuses to hang with them, so if she wants to hang with Trevor, she has to put up with us.”

Alyson smiled. Some things never changed. Her old school had its social hierarchy too, at which she’d been smack dab on the top. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

“Let’s dance.” Alyson grabbed Mac’s hand and led her toward the dance floor. The pair merged into the crowd, forgetting all about Chelsea, her ridiculous dress, and her snobbery.