Besides, I was tired of spending my days with a sullen teenager while trying to distract myself from thinking about Stefan not texting me or calling me, spending his nights alone in New York with the blonde and elegant Sabrina … NO! Not going there. Stefan was in New York to work. Period.
And, I was going to have some fun.
I went back to my closet, poked at it some more, and decided the tight jeans and dark green v-neck silk top I had on was the winning outfit. Green was one of my favorite colors to wear. It brought out the green in my eyes and the red in my hair. Plus, this particular top clung in all the right places, making me look thinner and more well-endowed than I was. Why shouldn’t I look nice? Even if Stefan was in New York? And, so what if I ran into Daniel? He was engaged anyway. I wasn’t wearing it for him. I was wearing it because I was going out with my friends, and I wanted to look good—to FEEL good.
I left my hair loose so it framed my face, and admittedly, it was a bit of a wild mess. I dusted on a bit of makeup, trying (and failing) to make my unremarkable face look, well, more remarkable. Remembering the hours I had spent in New York trying to make my hair and makeup look like all the chic, smooth, perfectly-put-together wives we knew, I decided to just forget it, and embrace my wild, messy side instead. I added some extra-large gold hoop earrings before grabbing my keys, purse, and cell phone, and I headed out. Chrissy grunted in response to my goodbye.
I was meeting Daphne at The Tipsy Cow, one of the main hot spots in Redemption. It was a huge, cavernous bar with wooden beams and posts, and a wood floor. It smelled like a mixture of beer, wine, perfume, cigarettes, and, as it was actually a bar and grill, fried food.
It was packed. It took me a few minutes to weave my way through the crowd, avoiding the laughing, oblivious people holding full glasses of beer and wine. I scooted between tables, chairs, pool tables, and dart boards before I saw Daphne waving at me from one of the big corner booths.
“You made it,” Daphne exclaimed, sliding over to make room for me. Mia was there too, along with another woman I didn’t recognize.
“This is Celia, Barry’s wife,” Mia said. “You remember Barry, right?”
A vague memory of a tall, scrawny joke teller with red hair, freckles, and bad acne floated through my mind. I also recalled that he was a good friend of Daniel’s.
“Is he here?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s around here somewhere,” Celia answered, eyeing me. She had a sharp, heart-shaped face that reminded me of a fox, with thick black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She also wore lots of makeup. Her black, boat-neck top clung to her well-endowed breasts, which she further amplified by draping herself with lots of silver jewelry, including big silver hoops and jangling silver bracelets. I caught a whiff of her perfume, which smelled almost (but not quite) like Calvin Klein’s Euphoria. Probably one of those designer knock offs. She quickly dismissed me and turned back to her drink, which looked like a Cosmopolitan.
On second thought, maybe I was better off at home with Chrissy.
Mia flagged down a server so I could order a glass of wine, after briefly considering something stronger. Redemption was a bad influence on me—wine would be more than sufficient.
“Soooo,” Mia said with a wicked grin, after the server had dropped off my wine. “Have you run into Mad Martha yet? Or maybe,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “Aunt Charlie herself?”
I nearly spilled my drink in my shock. Mia gasped and leaned forward. “You did! I knew it!”
Daphne shook her head. “We all should have known it. Charlie wouldn’t leave quietly.”
Mia was nearly bouncing up on the bench seat. “I can see it all over your face. Spill it.”
I took a long sip, watching Celia out of the corner of my eye. How much should I tell? Celia seemed irritated at my presence, studying her Cosmo with an almost bored expression on her face.
I had a sudden flashback to the dreadful work parties I had to attend with Stefan back in New York. I would keep a plastic smile plastered on my face as those brittle, beautiful, pampered attorney wives would size me up and dismiss me with the same expression currently on Celia’s face—barely making small talk in the process.
I was so tired of seeing that expression, so tired of women more beautiful and more elegantly and effortlessly made up judging me—the one who struggled to keep her lipstick from smearing, and her clothes from wrinkling. I knew they all wondered what on earth Stefan saw in me, when there were so many far more acceptable choices around him. I was suddenly just … done.
I leaned across the table, looking around in mock conspiracy. “Well,” I began, drawing out the word. Mia and Daphne leaned in closer. Even Celia glanced up, interested despite herself. I told them about that first night, seeing what I thought was Chrissy disappearing into her room wearing a white nightgown, and the next day seeing her in red and blue.
Mia and Daphne both wore suitably-horrified expressions on their faces, but Celia simply looked disgusted. “You didn’t see anything. It was all in your head.”
I took a long swallow of my wine. “How do you know I didn’t see anything?”
Celia pursued her lips. “I don’t care if you are living in Crazy Charlie’s house. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Crazy Charlie. The name thudded inside me, reverberating like the old, bent cow bell Aunt Charlie had on her desk, bringing up all the shame, anger, and embarrassment I had thought I was long done with. I had forgotten about that horrid nickname. Aunt Charlie used to laugh about it, but it had made me silently seethe.
“I don’t know what you heard, but my aunt wasn’t crazy,” I said, surprising myself with how loyal I sounded, considering I hadn’t sorted out my feelings for Aunt Charlie. But there was no way I was letting this smug fake get away with calling her names. “Forgetful. Unconventional. Even a bit weird. But, she wasn’t crazy.”
“Says the woman talking about seeing ghosts in her house,” Celia said.
“God, Celia, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mia returned. “You’ve never been inside that house. It really is haunted.”
Daphne shivered next to me. “I’ve felt it.”
Celia snorted. “You were probably drinking too much of that famous tea. I heard she was growing pot in that garden of hers to put in it.”
Mia scoffed. “You are such an old gossip. She did no such thing.”
“How would you know? You were too busy drinking it,” Celia retorted, tossing the last of her Cosmo down, her silver bracelets jangling.
“I never saw pot in her garden,” Daphne said. “And I never felt high after drinking her tea.”
“You probably didn’t even know how high you were,” Celia said, darkly.
“God, Celia, what the hell is your problem?” Mia said.
“If you really think you saw ghosts, you were definitely high, whether you knew it or not,” Celia said stubbornly.
“This is a stupid argument,” Daphne said. “I know that house is haunted, and no, there wasn’t any tea involved.”
I looked at her in horror. Was she talking about that night Jessica disappeared? What did she see? I was almost afraid to ask when Mia beat me to it.
Daphne didn’t answer, instead playing with her wine glass. She didn’t look at me.
“It was a couple of days before ... well, you know. Becca had been … hearing things, especially at night.” I looked sharply at Daphne. Hearing things? At night? I didn’t remember that.
Daphne didn’t look at me; she didn’t look at anyone. Instead, she kept her gaze focused on her wine glass as she spun it on the table. There was something about her manner, the way she hesitated as she talked, and her fixation on her wine glass that made me feel like if she wasn’t actually lying in that moment, she wasn’t telling the whole truth either.
“It started as a big joke. Maybe it was Mad Martha after all,
trying to communicate with us, but we weren’t getting the message.” Daphne paused, and looked up. “So, we decided to make it easier for her.”
“We had a séance,” I breathed. Suddenly, that afternoon flashed in my memory, the two of us sitting in the kitchen, talking about Mad Martha, the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows, the kitchen so white and clean and bright that the idea of something dark and disturbed dwelling in the shadows seemed nothing short of silly.
Daphne looked straight at me. “Yes, in our teenage stupidity, we decided it would be funny to have a séance.” She picked up her glass and finished her wine. “Oh, and Charlie wasn’t there, so no, we hadn’t had any tea.” She shot Celia a look.
“We were drinking Cokes and eating potato chips. Out of a bag,” I said, and then wondered why I felt the need to explain myself. Especially to New-York-Wanna-Be Celia, with her cheap jewelry and even cheaper perfume. She would immediately be sussed out as a fraud, if she actually did ever make it to New York.
And boy, would she get a wakeup call, then.
Daphne continued the story. “So, we collected candles and incense, went upstairs, and closed the windows and blinds to make it as dark as possible.” She lowered her voice and we all leaned in closer. “We lit the candles and sat on the floor facing each other, holding hands.”
She paused, and I found myself picking up the story, just like old times. “We had no idea how to do a séance, so it was a bit of a slow start, but we finally asked if Martha was there.”
I stopped talking, suddenly overwhelmed by memories of that afternoon. The smell of the sandalwood incense mixed with the burning candles, the darkness of the room even though I knew the sun was still shining brightly outside, the oven-like heat, Daphne’s sweaty hands in mine.
And then the sudden, sharp, sick sensation that we were absolutely not alone in that room.
Mia and Celia were now both staring at us, completely transfixed. Celia’s mouth even hung slightly open. “So, what happened then?” Mia breathed.
Daphne took a deep breath. “It’s hard to explain, but there was this feeling. Like a presence hovering near us. You could almost feel it breathing. I asked who was there, and there was this whoosh of air.”
“All the candles blew out,” I said. “A couple even fell over.”
“And then, on the mirror,” Daphne continued. “We saw this flash of words.”
“Words?” Mia said. “What did they say?”
Daphne didn’t answer, just picked up her wine. Instead of drinking it, she held it in front of her, staring into it.
I was the one who answered, my voice quiet and dreamlike, almost like I had slipped back in time into my sixteen-year-old self, in that hot, sweaty room with Daphne, terrified about what we had somehow conjured up.
“It’s coming. Beware.”
Chapter 10
Nobody spoke. In my memory, I could see the words, clear as day, in smoke and blood, reflected deep in the mirror. A blink, a second look, and the words vanished.
Then Mia burst out. “No freaking way! And you didn’t tell me?”
“We never even talked about it ourselves,” Daphne said. “Just ran out of the room. Charlie was just coming home, and I decided I needed to leave too. I think we eventually would have talked about it, and told you too, but then a couple days later, Jessica disappeared.”
“What a bunch of bull,” Celia said. “That whole story is a crock.”
“What’s a bunch of bull?” A guy who looked vaguely familiar with his longish, reddish-brown hair, dash of freckles, dark-brown eyes, and crooked, sexy smile asked, as he slid into the booth next to Mia. He nodded to me. “Barry. And you are …?”
“It’s Becca,” Mia chimed in before I could say anything. “Don’t you recognize her?”
Barry did a double take. “Becca? Oh wow—all grown up. I didn’t realize you were back in town. How long are you here for?”
More people were crowding into our booth, and rather than correcting everyone about my name, I found myself sliding over to make room. I also found a new glass of wine in front of me. I hadn’t even realized I finished the last one.
“Becca is staying in Charlie’s house,” Mia was saying, as I officially gave up on trying to get my name corrected, and instead got my bearings with all the new faces. There was Barry, who was now married to Celia, and Rich, who was now with Janey. I remembered both Rich and Janey—Rich had blossomed from a geeky, skinny nerd of a teenager into a big, muscular guy, with a broad, square jaw, traces of a beard, and very dark eyes. Janey didn’t hang out with us much. She seemed closer to Jessica.
“Really?” Barry asked, drawing the word out. “Any sign of ghosts?”
“We were just talking about that,” Mia exclaimed at the same time as Celia glared at him. “Don’t even get them started again.”
“Get what started?” Daniel asked, sliding into the booth. He wore a Brewer’s tee shirt, which just happened to be right shade of blue to match his eyes.
“What did we miss?” asked an absolutely gorgeous blonde next to him. His fiancée, I presumed. I felt a bit sick to my stomach and reached for my wine.
“Becca, I don’t think you’ve met Gwyn yet,” Mia chimed in.
I shook my head and Gwyn and I nodded to each other. Daniel concentrated on refilling his beer from the pitcher sitting in the middle of the table.
“So, let’s get back to the ghosts,” Barry said.
“There are no ghosts,” Celia snapped. “Ghosts don’t exist. Just a couple of drama queen teenagers who forgot to close a window.”
“Teenagers? What are we talking about?” Daniel asked.
“We didn’t forget to close the window,” Daphne said. “In fact, we double-checked all the windows.”
“Well, clearly you must have missed something,” Celia said. “Or you imagined the whole thing. Or you were high on whatever Charlie was growing in her garden. Or … you’re exaggerating.” I had the distinct impression what she really meant was “lying.”
Barry rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Oh, this is getting good.”
Daphne sipped her wine. “Or, it happened exactly as we said.”
Celia snorted as she drained her drink.
“Enough already,” Janey said. “What are you guys talking about?”
While Mia and Daphne filled the rest of the table in, I focused on my wine and studied Gwyn out of the corner of my eye. She was like blue ice—white-blonde hair cut short and asymmetrical, a flawless porcelain complexion, and pale-blue eyes that matched her pale-blue top. While I watched, she tucked her hand under Daniel’s arm. I glimpsed a flash of a sparkle, most likely from a diamond engagement ring, before quickly looking away, feeling a hot surge of mixed emotions—regret, guilt, and something that felt awfully close to jealously, even though I had absolutely no right to that emotion. I swallowed some wine, and turned my attention back to the conversation, which had gotten loud as the table had broken out into a friendly (well mostly friendly) debate about whether or not Daphne and I had really seen a ghost that night, and what the mirror message meant.
“It’s pretty obvious what Mad Martha meant,” Mia was saying. “It was a warning.”
“Well, duh,” Barry said. “But a warning of what?”
“Jessica,” Mia said.
The table fell silent.
“It was NOT a warning,” Celia spat into the silence. “Jessica ran away from home. That’s it.”
“Jessica did NOT run away from home,” Mia snapped. “I was her best friend. She would have told me.”
Celia’s whole attitude suddenly shifted—softened—as she backpedaled. “Look, I’m sure she didn’t mean for it to happen like that. She probably got mad that night and left without thinking. We didn’t have cell phones and text messages back then the way we do now. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Celia’s mouth flattened in a straight line. “People don’t disappear from this town. They leave. Pure and simple.” She dropped her eyes, looked down into her empty glass. “And I don’t blame them,” she muttered.
Mia looked like she was about to argue, but Barry interrupted. “What I don’t understand is why you’d think the message was a warning for Jessica.” He put his hand on Celia’s arm, giving her a look. She glared at him, but kept her mouth shut.
Mia looked around the table in surprise. “Oh! Did I forget to share that part? This happened a couple of days before Jessica disappeared.”
Daniel lowered his beer onto the table with a thunk. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke,” Daphne said. “It happened two days before that night.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes at Daphne. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“What, you think the ghost did it?” Barry asked lazily, winking at the waitress and gesturing for another round. Beside him, Celia looked like she was about to blow a gasket.
Daniel narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. But the timing is awfully coincidental, and I don’t believe in coincidences. Did you say anything to Jessica?”
Daphne frowned. “Jessica? Why would we tell Jessica?”
“They better NOT have told Jessica,” Mia jumped in. “It’s bad enough I’m just hearing about it now.”
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“Boys and girls, we have an interrogation on our hands,” Barry said. “Where’s the popcorn?”
Daniel slid back in his seat, his face expressionless, and took a long swallow of beer.
“Daniel’s right. Maybe there IS something to this,” Mia said. “I mean, it’s hardly the first time someone has disappeared from this town. Maybe we should have another séance.”
I started choking on my wine. Daphne pounded me on the back.
Barry banged the table with his hand. “Now there’s an idea! Let’s interrogate a ghost.”
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 8
