The Secrets of Lily Graves (11 page)

“Piece of cake.” Matt swallowed. A bead of perspiration dribbled from his temple past his jaw.

“Don't be a weenie,” I bluffed, stepping out of my tan skirt and sandals. After removing my skull ring, pentagram necklace, and other jewelry, dropping them onto my skirt lying in the grass, I was practically naked aside from a black tank and underwear—bikini-style Dora the Explorer panties I'd bought for the irony. Sara had given me a raft of grief that morning when I was getting dressed after spending the night at her house.

“I'm not sure that's an area of the body Dora should be exploring,” she'd said, laughing.

“At least it's not days of the week,” I countered weakly, since Sara knew I had a set of those, too.

Matt didn't seem to notice, however. He just put his hands on his hips and boldly nodded in approval. “Yes, it's all going according to plan.”

“Shut up. You're next.”

He ripped off his shirt to reveal a pair of striped
boxers peeking over the edge of his khaki shorts. I was surprised that his shoulders were so smooth, almost as if they'd been oiled.

“Do I pass?” he asked, spreading his arms wide.

My stomach flipped. “In a pinch,” I said breezily. “So, who goes first?”

He reached in his pocket, threw his wallet on the ground—“Glad I remembered that!”—and found a quarter. He tossed it up and smacked it onto the back of his hand. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads.”

George Washington sparkled in the sun. Great.

No going back now, I thought, inching to the edge. The dark water below was like glass. I turned to Matt.

He looked uneasy. “Don't mess up, Graves. I've got plans tonight and they don't include searching the depths of this pit for your sorry ass.”

Matt gave me two thumbs up and I retreated a few paces before running outward off the edge, my adrenaline soaring.

The few short seconds it took for my feet to feel the air beneath them, to see the water rising up and then swallowing me into its shockingly frigid depths were, without question, the most exhilarating of my life. Everything around me came into sharp focus—the cliffs on the other edge, a seagull flying far from
home, the click of the cicadas, the smell of the rocks baking in the sun, the dropping temperature as I fell.

I hit the water and went down, farther than I'd expected. There was paralyzing shock as my system protested the frigid water. The quarry didn't have the benefit of light, like you get in a blue swimming pool or a sandy pond. It was as black as night down there and so cold that my calves cramped.

I remembered Boo's obvious advice:
Look up
. I looked up, and there, far above me, was a small ring of white gold. The sun. No wonder people drowned at night. You couldn't figure out where to go.

Pointing my fingers to the sky, I kicked with all my might until I broke through the surface, relieved, invigorated, and tingling with the thrill of accomplishment.

“Jump!” I shouted, gasping. “It's amazing!”

Matt peered down tentatively. I found his caution very strange, since he'd built a reputation as fearless on and off the football field. He'd once climbed to the roof of the school to put a pig there because none of the seniors dared, even though it was their prank. The dude even drove down the highway with his knees!

“Seriously. It's fine,” I assured him. “It's cold when you hit the water, but if feels so good.” To show him, I floated on my back.

He didn't move.

“Are you really not coming in? You're just going to leave me here alone. What if something pulls me under and . . .”

He took a running leap and was off, clutching his legs to his chest. He'll sink too far if he does a cannonball, I thought as his body met the water with a terrific splash. I bobbed in his waves and treaded madly, waiting for him to emerge, and when he didn't it was my turn to be alarmed.

“Matt!” I called. “Matt!”

I dove into the darkness, my eyes taking a second to adjust. I was a good swimmer, thanks to my mother's insistence that I take classes before I could walk. I was only ten when I learned CPR and got my American Red Cross certificate. But in the depths of Harper's Quarry, the visibility was zero.

I surfaced and paddled around valiantly searching for any sign of life.

Finally, there was an eruption of bubbles as Matt surfaced, his arms smacking the water. “Goddammit, Graves,” he swore, shaking his head. “I told you I didn't want to effing do this and you made me.”

I'd never seen him so furious. I was almost frightened. “I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't
make
you come in.”

“You did and you know it.” He aimed for the rocks and began swimming freestyle, his arms fighting the water with too much effort.

I was about to say “Sorry,” when I caught myself. He was a big boy. If he didn't want to jump in, he didn't have to. It wasn't my fault that he'd freaked down there.

He hoisted himself onto a large rock, holding his nose. Blood cascaded down his chin.

“Are you okay?” I asked, getting out and discovering, too late, that the rocks were like fire. I had to splash water on them to be able to sit. “Because you're acting like a total ass, you know.”

He said nothing as he wiped the blood off his lips and kept his eyes averted. Embarrassed, I realized. That was why he'd gotten so angry, because he'd been ashamed about losing his cool.

We sat silently, the sun warming and drying our skins. Matt's nosebleed stopped and he seemed to calm somewhat as he reclined against an indentation in the cliff.

“My bad,” he said after a while. “I don't know what happened there.”

I lay next to him. With a piece of slate driving into my spine, it wasn't exactly comfortable, but I didn't want to complain. “I've never seen you so pissed over nothing.”

He sat up and looked away. “Remember when I told you about James, my twin brother?”

Oh, crap. “Don't tell me he drowned.”

“Thanks to me.”

“And that's why you don't like to swim.” I sighed at my incredible insensitivity. “What happened?”

Matt plucked a weed that grew through the rocks. “We were at our cabin on Lake Wallenpaupack, an awesome place right on the water with a dock and rocks to dive off and those black inner tubes James and I loved playing in.”

I watched his face, how his brow furrowed as he told the story. One Sunday morning, they'd awakened way early, as little kids do. It was mid-July and already it was hot. James wanted to go swimming, but Matt told him they couldn't go without their parents.

“But he went anyway,” I guessed.

Matt nodded. “I tried to wake up Mom and Dad. I banged on their door. They had it locked and the window air-conditioning was on full blast. When I gave up to go get James, he was clinging to a tube and drifting away from shore. I wanted to save him, but I couldn't float and . . . neither could he.”

“Oh God!” I had an image of Matt as a skinny shrimp, standing on the dock and calling frantically for his brother. I wanted to reach out and tell him it
would be okay. I wanted turn back the clock and shake his parents awake. I wanted to jump in that water and rescue James myself.

“I saw him go down,” Matt said, his eyes tearing. “One minute, he was holding on to the tube, kicking, and then the wake from a passing boat flipped him and he was gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.
Gone.
”

I covered Matt's hand with mine. There was nothing to say, so we just stayed like that, him pretending not to cry, me pretending not to notice.

“I swear Mom and Dad haven't forgiven me. They say it wasn't my fault, but I know what they really think.”

“What?”

“That I didn't try hard enough to stop him from going out or to wake them up. Once, Mom even asked me if I'd dared James to go on the tube, since I used to do stuff like that—bet that he wouldn't eat a worm, which he would.” He grinned to himself. “He was such a great guy.”

I remained silent the way Mom did whenever clients broke down in her office, unburdening their guilt and regrets to a woman they barely knew. A welcome breeze blew into the quarry. I curled my arms around my knees and let an awkward pause settle between us.

Matt scratched a stone against a rock. “Sometimes I wonder if I really did dare him and I just suppressed the memory. Maybe I'm a psychopath.”

“You're not a psychopath,” I said softly.

He shrugged. “I could be. Why didn't I stop him, then? Why didn't I tackle him and sit on him like I did all that time?”

“You were only five, Matt. It was an accident.”

“So, they say.”

“Have you ever thought of going to a shrink to deal with this?”

“No shrinks. No way.”

“Why?”

“Because what if I'm right? What if I'm misremembering everything that happened and I really did dare James to go? What if I really am . . . a killer?”

I refused to even entertain the possibility. “You're not, okay? Psychopaths are cold and clinical. They don't care about anyone else except themselves.”

“I care about myself. A lot.”

“As well as other people. Look how good you are with Erin. A million other guys would have broken up with her by now. But you stick with her because you love her.”

“I'm not sure I do, still.” Another pause. “I'm not sure I ever did.”

“Okay, think back to that day at the library when Erin was on the steps throwing a fit. You were so sweet to her, Matt. I know because I saw you stay and talk to her.”

He took a deep breath. “Only because I need to protect her. Like I didn't do with James.”

I scooted next to him. He was warm and smelled vaguely of fresh water and summer sun. I gently rested my arm across his shoulders, surprised at how good it felt to touch his bare skin. And also, how perilous.

“You've got too much baggage that's dragging you down,” I said, repeating Aunt Boo's favorite line. “Might want to bury it once and for all.”

Matt leaned into me. “Well, you're the gravedigger here. Think you can help?”

“I've got a shovel!”

Eventually, we climbed the cliffs and reached the top, the bottoms of my feet blistered from being burned on the rocks, my fingertips raw and scraped. We got dressed and went back to his truck, driving silently to my house.

He pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. “Thanks,” he said, glancing at me sidewise. “You know, I've never really told the whole story to anyone before, not even to Erin.”

“Seriously? What does she think happened?”

“Just that he drowned at the lake. I never explained how I was responsible.”

“You weren't—”

He held up his hand. “I know. Don't say it.”

“Anyway, it was cool going to the quarry, and I'm sorry I scared you, and . . .” On impulse, I leaned over and brushed my lips against his cheek. To my surprise, he threw an arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him, nuzzling my wet hair.

“You're awesome, you know that, Graves?”

I said nothing.

“You and I are friends, right?” he said. “You won't start ignoring me in the halls when school starts up again.”

“It's you who used to ignore me.”

He kissed my hair. “Not anymore. Never.”

We stayed like that for a bit, and then I broke free and climbed out of the truck. Matt waited until I was inside and then peeled off. In the kitchen, I dropped my stuff on the table and went out to the back porch, where I sat down on one of our ancient marble benches and burst into tears.

Later that night, I was getting ready to take a shower when I reached into the pocket of my skirt and realized that I must have lost the Persephone necklace at
the quarry. Sara and I went to look for it the next day with no luck, despite a thorough search. Either someone had taken it or it had fallen into the water, in which case, much to my dismay, it was gone for good.

Or so I thought. Until Zabriskie slid across the table and told me it had been found at the scene of Erin's murder.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

A
cold drizzle was falling from a menacing gray sky when Mom dropped me off at Sara's house on the way back from police headquarters. My flimsy lie was that we had a project to do for physics.

I dashed through the raindrops up the driveway, past Sara's huge three-car garage, and down the slate path to the double French doors of their mini mansion. Aside from the professional landscaping, Sara's house was similar to every other one in the Pinewoods development, including, I assumed, Erin's. The McMartins' house had the same dramatic foyer and circular stairway, the gigantic kitchen that stepped down to a great room. Four bedrooms, four
bathrooms, a formal dining room, and a backyard pool.

The one glaring exception was the absence of Halloween decorations. There were no witches or tiny white ghosts dangling from the trees. Not even a carved pumpkin. Their religion didn't allow it.

Don't ask me what religion Sara was, exactly. I'd never been entirely sure. She went to a low, white church way out in the boonies with a crazy name like First Redeemer Christ Calvary Community Chapel or something. I went once and nearly fainted when the McMartins explained that I would be there all day, but that it would be
fun
because there would be Jell-O pops and pickup basketball breaks. Also bug juice, a disgusting term for Kool-Aid.

At any rate, Sara's church considered Halloween to be a festival of Satan worship. Ditto for Christmas, which Sara's family preferred to call “Christ's birthday” and celebrated with a cake and no presents. Easter was okay as long as you left out the bunny and didn't mind being greeted with “Hallelujah! The Lord is risen indeed!” Other than that the McMartins were fairly normal, except when it came to swearing and drinking alcohol, which were also forbidden.