Teacher’s pet
Mr. Boswell, our new
geography teacher, paced in front of the class, lecturing, “What is physical geography?”
He nodded, offering a cheesy grin. “It is the study of the physical aspects of
our world.
Water, soil, landmasses, climates, oceans, and
weather.
But we aren’t just going to sit here and discuss the aspects
and definitions of this, no. We are going to study the interactions they have
with one another and thus the effects they have on one another.”
He’d clearly memorized
the textbook. Unfortunately for us both, so had I.
There would be no
surprises this year. There never were with young first-year teachers. I settled
in and tried to look like I was at least semiconscious, but my brain was
actively elsewhere. It was pouring over the details of my corkboard, which now
had two new additions to it.
My father and
Lindsey’s
joined the ranks of persons of interest to the
killer. It also removed them both as suspects. Neither would have killed Mr.
Henning after they threatened him. They were both too smart to do that to
themselves
. They were also too selfish for that.
I glanced down, closing
my eyes as I contemplated our mothers being the targets instead. It didn't
work. Lindsey’s mom was dead. Mine was a socialite. She didn't have enemies.
She had frenemies.
“Patterns in the climate
and the weather, how
their
changes are affecting all
the varying civilizations on our globe.” He smiled at me, forcing me to
resurface. “Do you know which country is responsible for the largest output of
carbon emissions, Miss Allen?”
I blinked and spoke like
a robot, “The United Sates is the highest with Europe in second place.”
He lifted a finger.
“Actually, China just surpassed Europe.” He chuckled and nodded like he had
gotten me on that one.
“Actually, sir, the US
and Europe have outsourced their emissions to China and India, causing both
countries to rise in percentage, however the debt still sits with the US and
Europe. India and China have both declared that the western world still needs
to be held accountable for this.”
He cocked an eyebrow, and
I realized I might have made an enemy of our new arrogant teacher. “You are correct.
I was hoping one of you might realize that was the correct answer.” He paced
back and forth again. “Physical geography is a class that has many practical
uses in the real world. The study of the weather for example,” he continued,
but I drifted again, certain he didn't want me answering any more questions.
When the bell finally
rang I jumped up as he shouted, “We are having a quiz in two weeks. It will be
on the first three chapters of the text. I suggest you act like little keeners,
the way Miss Allen does”—his eyes darted to me—“and study the book.
There’s nothing wrong with knowing the answer and being clear on the subject
before the test. In fact, it seems downright responsible.” He waved us free.
I sighed as I entered the
hallway, earning a look from Sage. “I feel like he doesn't love you.”
“He hates me.”
“You are an insufferable
know-it-all.” Sierra winked.
“I know, and I was so
preoccupied with our parents and the other stuff that I forgot to rein it in.
Now he’s going to spend the entire semester trying to catch me up and prove me
wrong.” I groaned. “And I can’t let him win, but he won’t relent until I do.”
“Why not just be wrong?”
Sierra checked her makeup in her phone.
“You mean act dumb?” I
snapped.
She gave me a look.
“Don’t judge me. It’s not an act, I am dumb.”
“No, you aren’t. You just
like to let everyone underestimate you.”
“It’s better than having
them expect a bunch of shit I’m not going to give.” She laughed.
Sage wrapped an arm
around my shoulders. “Just let him win once. You’ll know you’ve won, and he
won’t bug you anymore.”
“Ughhh.” I moaned. “I
miss Ms. Graves from last year. Why did she have to retire?”
“She was a hundred. Dude.
She napped on her lunch break so she could make it through the day. Once, in
the staff room, I saw her put her teeth in her napkin before she drank her
coffee.”
“She was a genius. She
didn't need to read the text and study the news. She could predict what the
economy and weather were both going to do. And she remembered history because
she had lived through enough of it.” I gave Sierra a look. “And napping is
healthy. Many cultures nap. It’s called a
siesta.”
“I nap.” She shrugged,
missing the point I was making.
We sauntered to our lockers,
meeting Lindsey and Rita there. They both looked too excited to see us, and
perhaps were grateful they no longer were forced to hang out with each other
alone. Rita hated snooping and Lindsey hated people pretending to be something
they weren’t.
Lindsey linked her arm
with mine. “What’s the plan for our spare?”
“I don't have a spare,
and you wanted to go to Rachel’s, but I’ve already done that.”
Her lips drew into the
evil grin I hated. It was the one that I knew would involve me stealing keys
from my dad’s dirty staff. “I have an idea.”
“Whatever it is—no.
You look like you’re plotting a murder.”
She rolled her dark-blue
eyes. “I’m plotting a snoop.”
I shoved my books into my
locker and shut it. “Where?”
“Rachel’s.”
I stared at the locker
for a second, wondering if she was going crazy. “Are you high?”
“No.”
“Have you been partaking
in the rec drugs at that dirty little coffee Shack?”
“No!” She looked
offended.
“I went to Rachel’s
already. You recall that, right?”
“Trust me, you missed the
good stuff. Now let’s go get a key.”
“We don't need a key.” I
shook my head.
Lindsey’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“I know where the
hide-a-key is.” I said the word before I realized she was smarter than Sierra
or Sage. It took her half a minute to turn bright red.
“Rachel has a hide-a-key
outside her house?” The words were spit even though she didn't go for the real
question she wanted to ask.
“Yeah.” I wanted to lie.
I honestly did. But I couldn't.
“And Vincent knew where
it was the other night?”
I nodded, not wanting to
say more.
“Him and Rach?” Her lip
trembled. I wasn't sure if it was anger, rage, or sadness.
“No.”
Her eyes widened, but she
sighed, relieved. “God, he’s disgusting. Either it’s one of her maids or her
mother, and I don't want the answer to that.”
“No,” I repeated. “You
don't.”
“At least it wasn't
Rachel. I think that might have killed me inside.” She turned and started down
the hall, waving to the girls as we left them there.
Sage looked at us funnily
but the other two were gabbing. I waved and turned away so I didn't have to
explain.
“How’s Ash?” Lindsey
asked, now that we were away from our friends.
“He’s okay. He’s sad. I
think in some ways he feels responsible for what happened to Rachel and what’s still
happening to us. He feels like if he had stayed, he might have been able to
help us.”
“Or been killed himself.”
She gave me a side-glance.
“Right. I haven’t spoken
to him about the whole night yet. I was waiting for the right moment. I guess a
part of me is scared of what he did and saw.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Can’t be worse than what we did and saw.”
“True story.” I sighed as
we walked out to her car. It blended better than mine did, especially here.
She leaned on the car
door before unlocking it, and gave me a look. “You know I’m really sorry,
right?”
“Yeah.” It still stung
that she had assumed such a terrible thing of me.
“No, Lainey. Like really
sorry. I don’t even know what was wrong with me.”
“Sage.” I shrugged. “She
got to me too. She’s pushing her anger and depression on the rest of us.
Playing our weaknesses. It’s weird.” I relinquished some of the anger as I
realized what a hypocrite I was being. “I did the same to Vincent. I made him
feel bad for being nice to me, like he was being a pervert, and he wasn’t. He
was a gentleman the entire time.” A slow smile crept across my lips. “He’ll
never do anything to break your trust.”
Her cheeks flushed as she
glanced down at the car, nodding. “I never should have doubted him. But I
really shouldn't have doubted you. You’re the truest friend a girl could have.”
Her voice cracked a little bit, “I love you.”
There was no way we could
remain a car width apart. We rushed to each other, embracing and breathing.
“It’s going to be okay.
We’ll figure this out and then everything will be okay.”
“I know. It just feels
like we wasted the summer. Instead of looking for the killer, we hid in our
lives.” She sniffled. “We all pretended that everything would be fine and it’s
not.”
“We didn't really have
much choice. With Crimson Cove Inc. in trouble we were put in the spotlight.
And you were trying to start a new relationship. And Sage was recovering from
learning about her mom, her brother was missing, and Vincent broke up with her
and got together with you. And she thought Ash was the killer. And Sierra was
being Sierra. And our friend died and our friend’s dad died. And we saw things
we never imagined we would. And some freak is playing head games with us.”
“And Rita was new while
all of this was happening.”
I laughed. “Right, I
always forget about her.”
Lindsey pulled back,
giving me a dubious stare. “You don't forget anything.”
“It’s called selective
memory.”
“It’s called mean girl,
and I never imagined you might join the ranks.”
It was my turn to give a
look. “I’m not a mean girl. I just don't trust her.”
“Because she’s into Ash.”
I pressed my lips
together. There was no way to answer that without issues. No was a lie and yes
was an admittance of the pettiness I had avoided all my life.
“As I suspected.” She
scoffed. “At least it proves you’re actually human.” She unlocked the door and
walked around the front to the driver’s side.
Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Instagram Hipster
We crept through the house,
not making a sound. Rachel’s room was just as I had left it.
Lindsey entered and
crossed the floor, heading for the closet and not the secret Barbie room at
all.
I paused in the middle of
the room and watched as she opened the closet door and pulled a huge mirror
with a kiss mark in the top right corner off the wall. She lifted the hook the
mirror had hung on, flicking it like a switch.
The back of the closet
slid open.
I gasped, stepping back.
“What? How did you—?”
“Shhhhhhh.” She slid a
finger over her lips. She gave me a wicked look and crossed the closet,
stepping into the doorway that had appeared out of nowhere.
Of course I followed.
What I found was not what
I expected. “I knew her closet and dressing room were smaller. She told me I
was crazy, but I knew it.”
“She had it altered to
create this little secret nook. Her parents don't even know about it. They were
in Germany for two weeks when she had it done.”
The
room was filled with beautiful photos
,
the kind
Instagram whores took
.
Rachel
on a beach with her feet in the water, staring out at the waves.
Rachel
in a canvas jacket with a steaming mug of coffee and a winter hat.
Rachel
holding a red leaf in her pale hand.
Rachel
in front of a pile of logs, wearing a knitted winter hat.
The second dressing room
was tiny, more like a walk-in closet in a suburban home.
The clothes from the
photos lined the walls around us, all of them in earthy tones and baggy cuts.
She had scarves and striped cotton shirts. Half the stuff looked like it could
be part of a
Where’s Waldo
marathon.
At the back of the secret
closet were wigs. All of them were styled with beachy waves like the coffee
shop girls. There was a long blonde one with streaks that looked like the sun
had kissed the hair.
And a shoulder length brunette wig with
a couple of bright-blue streaks.
There was a red-haired one that looked
like it had been modeled after Sierra’s hair.
She had a shelf for hats.
A lot of them were those knitted beanies that the hipsters wore. But there were
also fedoras and wide brim hats, not the sort we wore on Sundays. No, these
were wooly and cheap. That was the word for it all—cheap. Nothing was
designer
. Nothing was special. She would have blended right
in.
“Rachel was a secret
hipster?” It didn't even make sense, but it confirmed what Rita had said.
Lindsey folded her arms
over her chest. “She was. Whenever Rachel met a new friend, one outside our
little crowd, she tested them and their love for this shit. If they liked it
too, she kept them secret from us. We assumed it was because she didn't want to
be caught hanging with losers, but that wasn’t it at all. She wasn't testing
them to see how cool they were before she brought them into the fold; she was
testing to see if they were like her. If they were, she never brought them into
the fold. She labeled them losers and saw them in her private time.”
“Like how she tested Rita
by taking her to that fashion show.” I glanced at the photos and noted there
were tons of other people in the pics—people I didn't know.
“Exactly.”
“Not that this isn’t
intriguing, but what does it have to do with her death? Being ashamed of being
grungy isn’t exactly an offense. Not one people kill for, not even us. And when
did you figure this out?”
“I knew she had the
closet built. She used the guy I used to make Louisa’s dressing room smaller
and smaller every few months.” Lindsey laughed.
“You have a sickness,
just so you know.”
“I know. But it was so
worth it. She kept telling my dad that the room was shrinking.” Lindsey
chuckled as she lifted a mirror from the wall, revealing a safe. “This is where
she kept all her biggest secrets.” She lifted a finger and punched in an
eleven-digit code.
“What biggest secrets?
Being a dirty camper wasn't enough?”
Lindsey laughed. “No.
Rachel kept a diary, and she had other secrets.”
“You mean other than the
sexy choking and Ecstasy?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” I wouldn’t have
believed it if she hadn’t opened the safe and pulled out a large
scrapbook-looking album. “How do you know this?”
“She told me once when
she was really drunk, that because she had such bad friends who snooped and
didn't respect boundaries, she kept her diary with all her best secrets in a
safe. I have searched this room high and low, looking for the safe.”
“Well, not to be a dick,
Linds, but she had a point.” I looked around. “Here we are, snooping in her
things.”
“I know. I’m a bad
friend, blah, blah, blah.” She laughed and reached into her back pocket,
producing a small envelope. “Anyway, this showed up last Thursday.” She handed
it to me.
“So that's why you wanted
to come here today.” I opened it, lifting the tiny RSVP card from the envelope.
“Nosey bitches united. To find the prize you must find the safe. But don't get
lost staring at yourself.
Eight-seven-five-four-two-one-nine-eight-six-five-three
.
It’s a pattern. Two numbers and then skip one.” I lifted my head. “Those are
the numbers you pressed on the safe. Someone sent you the code?”
“Look at the address on
the back.”
I flipped it over and
found Rachel’s return address above Lindsey’s. “Why would Rachel send you this?
Not even considering the fact Rachel is dead, why would she send you this?”
“I don't know. I just
know that the moment it showed up I knew what it was to. I had found the safe
before, but I never knew the code.”
“This is weird. The postmark
isn’t from here. It’s from Denver.” I turned and looked at the empty room
beyond the doorway. “We should leave. This might be a trap.”
“I need to see what’s in
this book first.” She put it on the floor and dropped to her knees. She opened
it like it was some sort of significant archeological find, turning the pages
delicately.
She scanned, doing her
speed-reading thing that I was not able to do.
Her finger zoomed the
pages for several moments before she stopped and lifted her head. “Oh shit.”
“What?” I couldn't help
but keep looking back.
“Vincent’s mom.” She
swallowed, processing what she had read. “Vincent’s mom was committed into
Silver Hills.”
“The mental hospital?” It
was much more like Club Med and less like an institution.
“Yeah. Rachel’s mom took
her there. Rachel heard her mom talking to Vincent’s dad about it when she was
little. His mom didn't want to go, but Rachel’s mom forced her. She didn't know
why.” She lowered her gaze on the book to finish scanning the rest of the
pages. When she was done, my feet were aching and I was tired of standing. She
looked up, seeming disappointed, and wrinkled her nose. “What a letdown. It was
like reading my own diary. Boohoo, my parents won’t let me be a photographer.
Boohoo, I have to date Ashton and he’s dull as balls. What the ever-loving eff
was that? The dirt on Vincent’s mom was the only usable info.” She slumped.
A thousand ideas and
images flashed in my mind as I contemplated Vincent’s mother.
She was absolutely the
mother we never saw, the mother Vincent also rarely saw. Would she have come
back for her revenge? Adding Silver Hills to it, the story started to make
perfect sense.
Especially if she was unstable.
“What if she’s the
killer?” That seemed worse somehow. Not only was she mentally unwell, or at
least had been at one point, but she was also an adult. I’d had the impression
it was a guy our age. But a full-grown adult meant it might have been planned
perfectly.
“Then this might get interesting.”
She swallowed hard and looked back down at the book as if she were trying to
find a secret passage in it as well.
I closed my eyes and
visualized it all. Vincent’s mom might have come to torment us, the kids of the
people who ruined her life and took away her kid. But then maybe she had
realized she needed to do more to get her revenge on the adults. Maybe that's
how it went from notes and blackmail to murder.
Another idea popped into
my mind. “I know someone who worked at Silver Hills.”
She gave me a look.
“What? Who?”
“Lori.” I nodded. “She
worked there before your dad hired her. Remember he said that?”
Recognition filled her
face. “Oh yeah. Whatever.” She sighed and closed the diary. “How is this thing
so boring? Rachel was a freaking asshole. There should be more dirt. I legit
have been frothing at the bit since last Thursday. It was half the reason I was
so pissed you and Vince came here without me. This was my Ark of the Covenant.”
“Don't be mean.” I
scowled and opened the safe again. “Come on. We have to get out of here. I
think this safe is a trap. We need to go ask Lori if she remembers Vincent’s
mom.”
She got up and dumped the
book back into the empty safe. I closed it and pressed the button with the word
“lock” on it. She was already waiting in the bedroom, looking annoyed when I
returned the mirror to its original spot and closed the closet, after putting
everything else back where it had been.
We headed for the door,
freezing mid step when we heard something.
I pressed myself against her
to try to see over her head into the hallway where the voices were coming from.
“No, we don't expect any
answers. The police are stuck. There is no motive. They think a transient must
have found Rachel in the woods at the party or something like that,” Rachel’s
dad muttered as he walked through the hallway. “Or maybe a jealous
ex-boyfriend.” He was lying to whomever he was talking to. The death of Mr.
Henning canceled out any ridiculous notions like those.
We hurried and ran to the
bed, both of us lying on the floor next to it as he entered the room.
“My wife wants it all
gone. She doesn't want to come home until all the toys are gone. And we have so
many, we don't want them going to waste.” He walked to the secret Barbie room
and opened the door, pausing in the entryway. “We haven’t actually come in here
since it happened.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr.
Swanson. I can’t even imagine what this is like for you,” a woman whose voice I
didn't know spoke after him. “And do you know how Mrs. Henning is doing?”
“Not well at all. She’s
been with my wife at Silver Hills for the past week or so, just taking a small
break. They both needed it. I told them to take a vacation, but she said she
wanted to stay close to home, for Andrew. At least the older boy has left home
and isn’t here, needing her around.”
“How does poor Andrew
seem to be taking it?” The woman sounded concerned, but it was nosiness. I knew
how to tell the difference.
“Not well either but
better than his poor dear mother. She has always been the best wife and mother
a man could ask for. She’ll bounce back.” He said it like he really meant it.
“They both will.” He sounded creepy when he said that. It was creepy for him to
think it.
How would Rachel’s mom ever
bounce back?
“What a brave woman, to
be able to realize she needs a week for herself.”
“I know we never imagined
that this was where we would end up. Who knows, maybe I’ll take a week myself.”
He tried to chuckle, but he sounded so forlorn as he pulled back the secret
door and entered the Barbie room. “Anyway, it’s fortuitous that you called
Friday about these dolls. I was going to have one of the maids come and bag
them up and take them to the Goodwill.”
“Oh no, we are so very
excited to get them at the women’s club. So many ladies bring their kids and
the child-minding center is so good about keeping things in pristine condition.
One of the women at the club was mentioning the collection your daughter had
and suggested we should inquire about it. She didn't think you would want them
anymore.”
“And we don't. This is
the room.”
“Oh my, she really was a
true collector.”
“Yes, she loved her
dolls. She really was a sweet girl.” Mr. Swanson’s voice cracked a bit as he
and the lady stepped inside even farther.
Lindsey peeked overtop of
the bed, then jumped up and hurried to the door without making any noise. She
motioned for me to
come
as she was lookout from the
doorway. I didn't have her ability to snoop and sneak. I was terrified I would
trip or sneeze or God only knew what.
Taking a deep breath I
got up, not looking back, and ran for the door. Lindsey grabbed me and dragged
me into the next room. She cupped my chin and whispered harshly, “You need to
chill your shit.”
I nodded, but I didn't
mean it. I was having a stroke or a heart attack. My chest was tightening, my
eyes were fuzzing in and out of focus, and my mouth was dry. I blinked and
gasped for air, fighting the light-headedness.