Silver is for Secrets (20 page)

“Clara—” I say, my eyes widening, my heart pumping hard.

“What?”

But I have no idea what to say. I mean, why would Clara get the same box of chocolates that Chad gave Drea? Is it a mere coincidence? Is someone trying to make it look like Chad‟s doing al this? Or did Chad maybe leave the box for Clara because he was feeling guilty about yesterday?

“Was there a note?”

She nods and hands it to me—a plain white card that says “To Clara. Love, Me.” I look at her, my face crinkling up in confusion. “This doesn‟t make sense.” She shakes her head. “None of it does.”

“No, I mean, it
really
doesn‟t make sense. Why would someone write hateful graffiti on your wall one day and then leave you chocolates and a love note the next?”

Clara shrugs, snatching the note back and returning it and the box of chocolates into the night table drawer. “Who knows? Maybe they‟re not from the same person.”

“Is there something you want to tel me?”

“No, but maybe there‟s something
you
can tell
me.
What happened between Drea and that boy who was supposedly stalking her a couple years ago?”

“Donovan?”

She nods.

“He was obsessed with her. He had been since the third grade. The obsession got out of hand; he thought there was more to their relationship. There wasn‟t. He couldn‟t handle it.”

“And you think he was going to kil her?”

“Are you in a similar situation?” I ask, ignoring the question.

“I don‟t know. I mean, it real y sounds like Donovan loved Drea. I‟m not sure this guy feels the same way about me. Sometimes I kind of wish he did.”

“Clara,” I say, “you don‟t know what you‟re talking about.”

“Maybe
you
don‟t.”

I hold back my gasp and silently count to ten, reminding myself that Clara is obviously starved for attention. “Where are your parents?”

“The Clam Stripper. Then we‟re al supposed to be taking a ride to some al -day art show. I was actual y supposed to join them for lunch after my bath.” Clara lifts her arm, like she‟s going to check the time, but she‟s not wearing a watch. Instead, there‟s a deep, blood-filled scratch down her forearm.

“What happened?” I touch Clara‟s arm, and she jerks away.

“The dol ,” she says. “It was in my bed. I rol ed over on it.”

“What do you think the dol means?”

“What do
you
think? It‟s obviously me. He obviously wants to kil me.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Maybe I messed things up for him.”
“Things?
As in relationship things?”

“I can‟t real y talk right now,” she whispers, as though there‟s someone else in the room.

“Wait,” I say. “Are you talking about Chad?”

“I should get going. My parents are really freaked about this whole thing. They almost weren‟t gonna let me go on the cruise.”

“Clara . . .”

“Just don‟t tel anyone about al this.”

My heart squelches just hearing these words—the words from my nightmares.

“About what?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“About everything. I‟m beginning to think too many people know my business.”

“Like who?”

Instead of answering, Clara moves back into the bathroom doorway. She purses her lips and looks away. “If you tel , I‟l know, Stacey.” My skin chil s over. “And then you‟l make me pay?” She looks back at me, her face twisted up into a giant question mark. “What are you talking about?”

“Forget it.”

“I gotta go,” she says.

“Clara, we need to talk.” I hold the door wide to keep her from shutting it on me.

“Later, okay? My parents wil have a fit if I don‟t get going.” I bite my bottom lip, feeling a sudden urgency to go and talk to Chad, to get to the bottom of whatever‟s going on between them. Plus, I remind myself, my nightmares tell me that she isn‟t in danger until tomorrow, leaving us tonight to figure things out.

“Let‟s get together later,” I say. “After your art show.”

“After the art show I‟l be on the cruise.”

“Fine. I‟l see you then.”

She nods and I leave, hoping I haven‟t made a huge mistake by letting her off so easily.

thirty-two

I barge into our cottage, eager to talk to Chad. He‟s sitting at the kitchen table, paging through a magazine and devouring a can of sour cream and onion Pringles.

“Hey,” he says, as soon as I come in. He flips the magazine closed to focus on me. “Did you talk to Clara?”

“Oh, I talked to her al right,” I say, wondering where I should even begin.

“And?”

“Where‟s Drea?” I look toward the bathroom door, knowing ful wel that she‟s not prepared to hear what I have to say.

“She went out with PJ and Amber. I wasn‟t exactly invited.” No surprise there.

“So,” he continues. “What happened?” His face is completely serious, his eyes wide like he knows something‟s up.

I fold my arms across my chest. “I think Clara might be under the impression that you guys have something serious brewing.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah, you know, something claddagh-ring worthy.”

“Nothing happened between us. Wel , nothing
serious,”
he corrects.

“Did you leave chocolates in her window, outside her bedroom?”

“Huh?”

“She said someone left her a box of chocolates, tagged

„To Clara. Love, Me.‟ Apparently she found it first thing this morning.”

“That‟s crazy,” Chad says. “Why would I ever—”

“It was the same heartshaped box you gave Drea.”

“What?”
Chad stands up from the table, the color draining from his face.

I nod. “It‟s true.”

“So what does that mean?” he asks. “You think I left it for her? You think I‟d be that stupid?”

“Honestly, I don‟t know what to think. I just know that none of this makes sense.”

“It‟s a coincidence,” he exclaims.

“What is?”

“That she got the same box of chocolates. The candy shop downtown had a huge display of the box I bought.”

“Maybe,” I say, even though I don‟t believe in coincidence. “Or maybe somebody‟s trying to frame you. Did you happen to notice if anyone was watching you at the candy shop?”

“Watching me?”

“Yeah, you know, did anything weird happen? Was anyone fol owing you?”

“I don‟t know.” He sighs. “I picked up the box, went to the register, paid, and then left.”

“And that‟s it? Nothing weird?”

“No.” He shrugs. “You have to believe me, Stacey. Nothing‟s going on between me and her.”

“Your perception of it doesn‟t matter. Clara
thinks
something‟s going on, and I‟m pretty sure she‟s convinced herself that you feel the same way. That‟s obviously what she‟s told the police.”

“She thinks it‟s me who‟s doing al this, doesn‟t she?”

“I don‟t know. I don‟t think so. But I‟d be ready if I were you. The police already asked Amber and Drea if you have a temper.”

“This is crazy,” Chad says, combing his hands through his hair in frustration.

“What would my motive be for stalking Clara? I mean, come on.” I shake my head. “Who knows what else she‟s told the police? I don‟t exactly trust her perception of things.”

“But you believe me, right? You know I wouldn‟t do that.” I open my mouth to say something, to ease him a bit, but Chad doesn‟t even give me a chance. “I‟m getting a lawyer,” he says. “I‟m not gonna have this pinned on me.”

“You need to relax,” I say. “Nothing‟s happened yet.”

“Yet,”
he repeats, his jaw locking into place.

“Can I just ask one thing?”

“Anything.”

“How come you told Clara I went after you while you and Drea were dating? You know that‟s not how it happened.”

“Is that what she said?”

I nod.

“Wel , she‟s lying. I never said that.”

“You never said we dated?”

“Wel , yeah, I might have told her that—”

“Whatever,” I say, completely spent from trying to decode everybody‟s conversations, from splitting hairs over words. “Is Jacob around?” Chad gestures to the guys‟ room. I peek in that direction, but the door is closed. I take a deep breath and move down the hallway toward his room.

“Stacey—wait,” Chad cal s.

But I‟m tired of waiting. I knock on the guys‟ door. Jacob opens it. “I was wondering where you were,” he says. “I thought we might spend the day together.”

“Why‟s that? Because you‟re skipping the cruise tonight?” His eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?”

“The cruise is tonight. Thanks for the ticket, by the way.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, frowning. “I was going to talk to you about that. Do you think there‟s any way you can convince Clara not to go?”

“A ship ful of guys, a night away from her parents—what do
you
think?” He sighs. “It‟s just . . . this cruise . . . I can‟t do it, Stacey.” “I have a day to figure out who‟s trying to kill the girl, Jacob. I could real y use a little support here.”

“I‟m sorry,” he says quietly.

“You‟re
sorry?
That‟s it?”

He looks away, and I feel my teeth clench.

“Don‟t be angry at me,” he whispers. “I want you to go; that‟s why I bought you a ticket.”

I shake my head, a mix of anger and disappointment building up inside my chest.

I look away to hide what I‟m feeling. “I just thought you might want to be there for me. I guess I was wrong.” I turn to walk away, expecting him to stop me.

He doesn‟t.

thirty-three

I spend the remainder of the day trying my best to relax before the cruise, to not let Jacob‟s secrets and selfishness get the better of me, since there‟s so much at stake right now. I swim, I lay in the sand, I drink bottled water and snack on comfort food—peanut-butter-filled pretzels (for the salt) and gummy worms (for the sugar).

It‟s somewhat therapeutic. The warmth of the sun soaking into my skin, coupled with the scrumptiousness of the cool saltwater as I backstroke through waves, helps lift a bit of the negative energy.

But I stil feel confused. I mean, if the situation were reversed, I know I‟d be there for Jacob 110 percent. So why won‟t he be there for me?

When I get back to the cottage, much to my unsurprise, he isn‟t around. I sigh and drop my beach bag to the ground, noticing PJ. He looks even more depressed than my pre-beach-bum state. He‟s sitting in the living room, slouched against the wall.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

“Jim freakin‟ dandy,” he says, yanking at the lime-green gum in his mouth.

“Where‟s Amber and Drea?”

He shrugs. “Beats the wanky out of me.”

“What‟s wrong with you?”

“What
isn’t
wrong?”

“Good point,” I joke. But he doesn‟t laugh. “Seriously,” I say. “What‟s up?” He proceeds to give me the lowdown on his funkdom—how he messed things up with Amber by thinking he had a chance with Clara, how he messed things up with Clara by not being as “jock-boy-gigolo” as Chad.

“Girls don‟t like gigolo,” I say. “Trust me.”

“Are you kidding me?” He stretches his gum out even farther to loop it into a knot. “Girls don‟t know real charm when they see it.” Despite several attempts to cheer PJ up, including his medicinal pickle-mayo concoction and the
Full House
marathon, PJ remains as deflated as Amber‟s Superman blow-up doll, which apparently sprung a leak last night—he‟s now slouched at the foot of Amber‟s bed. PJ is not, however, depressed enough to cancel his cruising plans. So, while he goes off to pack for the cruise, I decide that I should probably start getting ready myself.

I throw some spell staples into a bag, as well as a change of clothes and some other necessities, and then peer over at the crystal cluster rock on my night table. I pick it up, knowing that I‟m going to bring it, but wishing more than anything that Jacob himself were coming with me.

A few seconds later, Amber and Drea come in. Apparently they spent the day checking out all the little boutiques downtown, as evidenced by the armfuls of shopping bags they‟re toting.

“We need to boog,” Amber says, checking the clock. “We board in less than an hour.”

“I don‟t even feel like going anymore,” Drea says.

“Tel me about it.” I sigh.

“It‟s a big boat,” Amber says. She extracts a bottle of Mr.

Bubble from one of her bags and holds it out to Drea as though it‟s supposed to make her feel better. “With any luck you won‟t even
see
Chad. You‟l be too busy fighting off all the fratboy cuties with me.”

Drea appears less than convinced. She shrugs and sits down on the edge of her bed, stuffing her overnight bag with a handful of nail polish bottles and Chad‟s box of apology chocolates—tel tale signs that it‟s going to be a long night. Part of me wants to tel her and Amber that the same gift appeared on Clara‟s windowsil , but I decide against it. It‟s not that I‟m trying to protect Chad, but considering Drea‟s state, coupled with the fact that I‟m not 100-percent convinced that he‟s one who left the chocolates in Clara‟s window, I see no benefit in adding to Drea‟s angst right now.

By 6:30, Jacob has taken off once again, and Chad and PJ are waiting for Amber, Drea, and me in the living room. So I‟m stal ing, tel ing everyone I need to check something in my room, on the back porch, in the newspaper before we go, asking if they can give me just a couple more minutes so I can dash into the bathroom.

It‟s because I‟m waiting—hoping—for Jacob to come back to the cottage.

Despite the mess we‟re in, I just want to say goodbye. I think everyone knows this, which is why they‟re accommodating my absurd requests.

“We have to go,” Chad says final y. “If we don‟t leave now, we‟l miss the boat.”

“Literal y,” Amber says.

I nod, since I know they‟re right—since I know in my heart that if Jacob wanted to be here for me, then he would be. He‟d be piling into Amber‟s vintage Volkswagen van along with the rest of us, picking through her Wendy‟s wrappers to find a clean spot to sit, and heading down to the dock.

Just a few minutes away, Amber screeches the van into the parking lot of the docking station, but luckily it seems like we still have time to spare. There‟s a bunch of people hanging around outside, negotiating over last minute tickets and room selection.