Silver is for Secrets (12 page)

I swallow my fear in a deep breath and take a step closer to the door, remembering the feeling of death in my nightmare. It‟s like it‟s stil with me, almost numbing me in place. I hold the amulet around my neck, reminding myself of strength. At least Clara‟s parents aren‟t home; I can freely ring the doorbel without having to worry about waking them up. I ring it a couple times, continuing to look over my shoulder for anyone who might be following, continuing to look toward the beach for Clara—for her body. Or for the person holding the bouquet of lilies.

Several moments pass, but still no one has come to the door. I try the knob and, to my surprise, it turns. I clench my teeth, remembering how we all spoke to Clara about locking things up, remembering how she and PJ came back here earlier to make sure everything was secured.

I edge the door open. “Hel o? Clara?” I wait a couple seconds, my heart strumming hard, rattling me up completely. But no one responds. I push the door open wider and stick my arm in, feeling along the wall for a light switch. I find one and flick it on.

Just as Clara said, everything has a place—remote controls lined up on the coffee table, a collection of ceramic dolphins on the mantel arranged in a perfect ring, pillows set up on the couch according to size and color, drink coasters on the right of the end table, a stack of napkins to the left.

I move down the hal way toward the bedrooms. “Hel o?” I cal , my heart thumping even harder now. All the doors are closed. I go to open the one on the left. I feel along the wal for a light switch, but I can‟t seem to find one. I move in a little farther, opening the door completely to gain a bit of light from the living room. I can see there‟s a lamp by the bed. I click it on, my eyes taking a moment to adjust. And when they do, I can see this is Clara‟s room. The bed is covered in a bright purple comforter with peach-colored pillows, and there are a couple stuffed bears and a Discman on the night table.

I take a step farther inside, nearly choking on my breath. On the wall, right in front of me, are the words from my nightmare: I‟LL MAKE YOU PAY.

My jaw shakes. My heart plummets. My skin turns cold—like ice. The words are written in a dark red color—like blood.

I clench my teeth to stop the quivering and, at the same moment, hear something out in the living room—the sound of the back door opening and then closing. I back myself up against the wall, behind the door, the words still staring at me. For just a second, I think about clicking off the light, but I know whoever is here would definitely notice.

The wooden floor creaks in this direction. It‟s only a matter of moments. I grab a ceramic vase from the bedside table, readying myself to fight. The footsteps get closer. It sounds as though there‟s more than one person. The door to Clara‟s bedroom creaks open. I clench the vase, bringing it high above my head.

“Hel o?” cal s a voice.

Drea?

She takes a couple steps into the room, her back toward me.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp.

Drea jumps, noticing me behind her.

“No,” Amber says, pushing her way past Drea into the room. “The question is, what are
you
doing here?”

“Looking for Clara,” I say as I lower the vase to my side.

“Well,
we
were looking for
you,”
Amber says. “You total y freaked us out by taking off like that.”

“Yeah,” Drea says. “We were trying to keep up with you on the beach. We cal ed out to you a couple times.”

“You did?”

“Oh my god,” Drea says, looking at the wal , at the words splotched across. “Is it blood?”

Amber shakes her head. “It‟s paint.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“The fumes. Definitely a water-based interior brand.”

“I won‟t ask,” Drea says.

“We need to cal the police,” I say. “Maybe they can get fingerprints or something.”

“Yeah, but how are we supposed to explain why we‟re even in here?” Amber asks. “Hasn‟t anyone ever heard of
breaking and entering?
They‟l think one of us did it.”

“That‟s ridiculous,” Drea says. “No one would
ever
think that one of us could possibly do something like that.”

“Are you kidding?” Amber says. “It‟s so textbook. Girls cat-fighting over the same guy. One of them gets a little too possessive and starts with the death threats. She sneaks out of her room when everybody else is asleep to show just how peeved she is that Little Miss Hula Girl is trying to butter up on her bread.”

“That‟s, like,
so
dumb.” Drea huffs.

“It happens al the time,” Amber says. “Don‟t you watch Lifetime?”

“You‟re obviously referring to yourself,” Drea says,

“what‟s the little jealousy thing you‟ve got going with PJ and Clara?”

“I‟m hardly jealous,” Amber says. “And her name is Skank, not Clara.”

“Hey, what‟s this?” I ask, picking a couple photos from the floor.

“What are they of?” Drea asks.

“Kind of hard to tel .”

Amber takes and rotates them to get a better angle. “This one kind of looks like part of somebody‟s arm.” She tilts her head for perspective. “And this one could be a forehead . . . but maybe it‟s a butt cheek.”

“Photo duds.” Drea sighs. “So what are we supposed to do now? Wait until Clara comes and finds this for herself?”

“I say we check the trash,” Amber says, looking around the room for a wastebasket. “That‟s where al the dirt is.”

“Literal y,” Drea says.

“No, seriously, that‟s where they find al the good clues on TV cop shows.” Amber moves to the mirror to wipe away what‟s left of the aloe goo.

“I refuse to go trash-picking,” Drea says, waving her thirty-dollar manicure at us.

“Fine,” Amber says. “Let‟s just bug out of here then. We can wait for Clara to notice this on her own. No sense tying our asses to this mess.”

“My ass already
is
tied to this mess,” I say. “Have you forgotten about my nightmares . . . that something bad is going to happen to her? We need to find her.

We need to stop thinking about ourselves for five minutes.” Drea nods. “Stacey‟s right . . . even if she is a cow.”

“Fine,” Amber says. “Let‟s go before I change my mind.” Amber returns the photo duds to the floor, beside the bed, while I set the vase back down on the night table and shut off the lights. It‟s better if the police see things exactly as they were left, which is why we also neglect to lock the door behind us.

We head back to our cottage, telling ourselves that Clara is going to be back there, that if she isn‟t we‟l go straight to the police and tel them everything. We swing the door to the cottage open and, sitting on the couch, on top of the fitted sheet but under the knitted blanket that Drea lent her, is Clara, and she‟s got herself a little company.

She and Chad are facing one another, knee-to-knee, with actual kneecap touchage.

Chad looks at Drea and scoots back at least one ful foot. “Hey, what are you guys doing? I thought you were in your room.”

Clara giggles for no apparent reason and moves to cover her legs with the blanket. “Yeah,” she says, “what are you guys doing up? Where did you go?”

“We should ask you the same thing,” Drea says, folding her arms in front.

“Why?” Clara cocks her head, feigning confusion.

“I just came out to get some water,” Chad says. He gestures to the coffee table, as though there‟s supposed to be a glass of water on it.

“Looks like you made a detour,” Drea says.

“He saw I was a Bruins fan.” Clara sticks her chest out, proudly displaying the team‟s white, black, and gold colors. “They‟re my lucky PJs.”

“Where were you a little while ago?” I ask, interrupting her stupid giggle.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I came out here and you were gone.”

More head-cocking. “Oh,” she says, as though it just dawned on her. “I was in the bathroom for a while.”

“Was it PJ‟s cooking?” Amber asks.

“No,” she giggles. “I was washing my hair in the sink. I didn‟t want to take a ful shower because I was afraid that would wake you guys up.” I nod, remembering how in my nightmare I went to the bathroom in search of Clara, how from just outside the door it sounded as though the sink faucet was running.

“That reminds me,” Clara continues. “Drea, I brought you some Bumble & Bumble.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bumble & Bumble . . . the hair conditioner . . . I thought it might be good for your split ends.”

“I don‟t have split ends,” Drea snaps. She grabs at a lock of hair, fanning out the individual strands for show.

“You don‟t?” Clara cocks her head for the umpteenth time. “Oops.” She smiles.

“Sorry, I guess it just kind of looks that way.”

“Alrighty then,” Amber interrupts. “Maybe we should al go back to bed before we wake up PJ and Jacob.”

Chad stands up from the sofa and heads for the kitchen like nothing even happened.

“So that‟s it?” Drea asks him. “That‟s al you have to say for yourself?”

“What am I supposed to say?” He pul s a jug of water from the fridge. “The Bruins are my favorite team.”

“It‟s my fault,” Clara offers. She pul s her fingers through her dampened hair. “I just felt kind of chatty and wanted company. Chad was nice enough to chat with me.

Hey, wait,” she beams. “Get it? Chad . . . chat?”

“Are you drunk?” Amber asks her.

“Wel , you can chat with Chad al night for al I care,” Drea says.

“Don‟t do this,” Chad says. “You‟re completely overreacting.” But despite Chad‟s pleas, Drea shoots him a dirty look, darts off into our room, and slams the door behind her.

“She isn‟t mad, is she?” Clara asks, her voice rising up for sincerity.

“No,” Amber says. “She‟s pissed. Of course, I can‟t say I didn‟t tel her this would happen.” Amber fol ows after Drea, leaving me to have to tel Clara about her room by myself. I look at Chad and he looks away, pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in guzzling water from the jug.

“Clara,” I say, “we seriously need to have a talk.”

“I‟m sorry,” she says, burying her face in her hands. “I didn‟t mean anything. I was only trying to be friendly.”

Chad sticks his tail between his legs and, jug of water in hand, goes back to his room like he‟s not even hearing this.

I take a deep breath and glance at the clock. It‟s a little after three. Maybe a few more hours of sleep will make all the difference, will help us all be able to get our priorities straight and put things into perspective. “You‟re staying til morning, right?” I ask. “I mean, at least until nine or ten?”

“Of course,” she says, wiping invisible tears. “Where would I go?”

“Good. I‟l go and talk to them and then we‟l discuss everything in the morning.”

“Wait,” she says. “Where did you guys go?”

“We‟l talk about it later, okay?”

She nods, somewhat reluctantly, I think. I‟m reluctant too. I almost can‟t believe I‟m leaving things like this. But maybe, for now, it‟s for the best.

I go back into our room and, just as expected, Amber and Drea are hardly in sleep mode. They‟re sitting on Amber‟s bed, amidst feather-fringed pillows and leopardprint linens, dishing about what a quote-unquote “skank” Clara is.

“They’re my lucky PJs,”
Amber mocks. She giggles extra loud, cocks her head to the side, and pulls at the front of her T-shirt, making it look like she‟s got cones for boobs.

“Shhh,” I say. “You‟re going to wake everybody up.”

“I hate her,” Drea says, lowering her voice. “I mean,
I hate her.”

“Tel us how you real y feel,” I joke.

“I just can‟t believe her gal ,” Drea huffs. “After we al ow her to sleep on
our
sofa.”

“And eat
our
food,” Amber hisses. “I spied her chowing a cannoli right before bed.”

“May it go straight to her cow hips,” Drea says.

“Why do you think she hides them under those stupid skirt-things she wears?”

“I hate her,” Drea repeats. “And I hate Chad too.” She plunges headfirst into one of Amber‟s pil ows.

“I know,” I whisper, sitting down opposite them on my bed. “The whole thing‟s heinous . . . but I stil feel like we need to help her.” Drea recovers from her nosedive to look at me, her mouth hanging open in complete dismay. “Um, are you kidding? I‟m not helping that house-wrecker.”

“Don‟t you think you might be overreacting just a little?”

“Don‟t give me that Chad-speak,” she says. “I saw what I saw. Plus, did you hear what she said about my hair?”

“I agree,” Amber whispers. “We don‟t even know this girl.”

“I know, but I real y don‟t see where we have another choice. I mean, yeah, she‟s totally obnoxious and personally I think if I have to listen to her giggle one more time I just might snap, but we‟re talking about her life here. We
have
to help her.”

“We?
” Drea asks.

“Fine,” I say, feeling my teeth clench.

“Don‟t be mad, Stacey,” Amber says, “but you have to admit, it‟s not exactly easy to help someone who openly goes after your man.”

“Wait,” I say. “Are we talking about PJ right now or Chad?”

“What
is
it with you and PJ?” Drea asks her.

“It‟s quite simple,” Amber whispers. “He sweats me; I reject him; everybody‟s happy.”

“Except PJ,” Drea says, checking her hair for split ends.

“I‟m going to bed.” I turn away to crawl beneath the covers.

“Jacob‟s next,” Amber says to me. “Just you watch. First she ruined things between Casey and his girlfriend; then she starts flirting with PJ; then Chad . . . you gotta know he‟s next.”

“I have a little bit more faith in Jacob than that,” I snap.

“And maybe I thought I could have a little faith in the two of you.” I lie back against my pillow and turn away, thinking about the de-stressing spell we did yesterday, how they promised me I could rely on their friendship. I pull the covers up over my head.

A couple seconds later, Drea comes and pulls them back down.

“You‟re not gonna just block us out,” she says.

“Why not? That‟s what you‟re doing to me.”

“I‟m sorry, okay? But Amber‟s right; it‟s hard to feel sorry for someone who flirts with your boyfriend.”