by Jill Cooper
I know you feel like I’ve brought this on you, and that’s not my intention. Please, just come meet me where we discussed. I won’t tell anyone anything. You have my word on that. Bring a small bag, whatever you can smuggle out of the house. I promise we can be discreet.
If you need anything, use this.
Love,
Mom, Cathy
Mom, Cathy. What could possibly have happened? And who was Tessie? I think back to the newspaper clippings and wonder…
I sigh and reach into the envelope to put the letter and photo back. There’s something still in there. So, I tip the envelope upside down, and an old flip cell phone falls out. My mouth opens with surprise as I pick it up.
Amber’s phone?
Flipping it open, I hit the red power button, but of course, nothing happens. It’s been without a charge for seventeen years. Can it even still work? I think of charging it and check for the port, but I’ve never seen anything with an adaptor that size.
“Shit,” I whisper. I have to get this cell phone powered on. The secrets it might hold—it could have information I need.
I close the phone and put it back in the envelope for now. When everything is hidden away, I place it in my dresser and find a long ticket stub on the floor with a perforated edge. Picking up the paper, I roll it between my fingers. It’s a bus ticket, and it’s dated October 2003.
Where had Amber been headed? And why was it such a big secret?
Maybe it was a secret big enough to get her killed.
Chapter Thirteen
Gregory Academy, Bay Harbor
Jessica: September 8th, 2020
I slam my locker shut and nearly scream when Maxx peers at me from the locker next door. “So? Last night?”
“What about it?” I ask as innocently as I can. I’m not sure if she’s talking about the altercation I had with Jackson or how I broke into the Chetwood mansion—but she couldn’t know about that last part, could she?
Maxx rolls her eyes but smiles while she does it. “Winfred told her cronies, and they told everyone. Jackson Sinclair had a moment and thought you were Amber’s ghost?”
I shrug like it hadn’t ruined my whole night. “It was dark, and in his defense, I do have Amber’s face.”
“Uh-huh, and he was drunk, I bet, same as he always is.”
Well, that surprises me. “Why is he always drunk?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Being as rich as he is probably isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Can you imagine having to live with Winnie? That has got to be depressing.”
We make our way down the hall toward the science lab. Maxx has a spring in her step. “Laboratory day. Experiments. Cool, right?” she asks.
I raise my eyebrows. “Way cool.” Science is cool, don’t get me wrong, but my mind is on other things this morning and a double lab period is a distraction. “Does the school have an archive of yearbooks or school newspapers?”
“The Raven Journal?” Maxx asks. Even the school paper name is macabre. “In the library building. There’s a back room with the archive hard copies, but the e-copies are available on their special network. If you need help, I can come with you.”
“I can probably figure it out, but maybe we can hang after school sometime?”
“Sure. I can help you look into Amber.” Maxx smirks when I freeze. “Oh, what? Like that’s not what you’re going to do? Please. You weren’t on the cliffs last night because you wanted to go for a wet stroll across the rocks.”
She’s right about that. I take a deep breath and get ready to ask her the big question. “I found an old phone—don’t ask me where—I just really need to know if you have anything in the lab that might be able to charge it.”
“Oooh, mysterious. Let me see it.”
I bite my lip and hesitate.
“Jess, I need to see it to know.” She holds out her hand.
With a sigh, I pull it from my bag and place it into Maxx’s hand. She studies it way too long. “Well?”
“The lab doesn’t, but my dad does, in his giant box of cables from the last century. I can get it charged for you by tomorrow, but…”
“But?”
“Where’d you get it? Whose is it?”
“It’s Amber Chetwood’s.” I watch Maxx’s eyes grow large. “You can’t tell anyone.”
She shakes her head. “I won’t. If the Sinclairs or Alistairs found out you had this…” Maxx holds it out like it’s a valuable artifact. “They’d buy it off of you or want you dead. Not sure which.”
I really hope she’s being melodramatic. “Put it in your bag,” I instruct her. “Please. Before you get us in trouble.”
Maxx nods. “Sorry. Sure.”
I force a smile and let the subject drop, but Maxx’s face is several shades paler than it was a few minutes ago. We step into lab class. The teacher, Ms. Marvel, is in a white lab coat, organizing supplies for the day. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. I adjust my backpack strap across my shoulder. “Hi,” I introduce myself. “I’m Jessica Chase, a transfer.”
She does a double-take when she sees me, and she goes a bit green. I bite my tongue so I don’t respond scathingly. “Pleasure to meet you, Jessica. Welcome to Gregory and Bay Harbor.” She scans the double-wide lab tables. “Why don’t you take the middle table, row two?”
The table Winfred Sinclair is sitting at with a disgusted sneer on her face.
“I’d rather sit somewhere else,” I say and hope my desperation is clear to Ms. Marvel.
“Sorry,” Ms. Marvel says without sounding an ounce sorry. “It’s the only empty seat in class. Winfred doesn’t bite, do you, Winnie?”
She crosses her arms in response. “I might bite her.”
“Now, now.” Ms. Marvel claps her hands. “We grow with challenges. The both of you. Please take your seat, Ms. Chase.” Warmly, she touches my arm. I have no choice but to take my seat.
I do it with a labored sigh and slam my bookbag on the table.
Winfred glares at me. I glare at her. Isn’t this going to be fun?
Despite Ms. Marvel’s bubbling personality, science class seems to drag on forever. Winfred and I have no choice but to work together, and Ms. Marvel throws us a doozy.
“Due in two weeks is a special assignment, and it’ll be worth thirty percent of your grade for the quarter. Bioinformatics – The Perfect Marriage of Computer Science & Medicine. You’ll find your syllabus online. And,” Ms. Marvel claps her hands together, “you’ll be partnered up with whomever you are sitting next to!”
I grunt.
Winfred squeals and drops her pencil.
The universe hates me and is conspiring against me—that’s the only answer for what just happened.
The bell rings, but instead of packing up, I sit there in shock. Ms. Marvel isn’t done with us yet. “Get me the outline of your project by the end of the week. Please upload it to the Gregory Cloud Server in our class folder! And remember, play nice.”
Gee, who could she be talking to?
Winfred zips up her backpack and levels me a death stare. “We’ll work together on this project. We’ll get it done. I’m not getting a bad grade just because of you. Saturday afternoon, two P.M. My house. You’ll be there, and you’ll be prepared. Understand?”
Well, she told me. I stuff my books in my bag before slinging it over my shoulder. “I’m not a slouch who can’t pull her own weight. I can play nice with others.” Even though nice definitely isn’t in her vocabulary.
She snorts. “Don’t be late.”
“Where do you live?”
“You’ll figure it out.” She storms off and doesn’t give me a chance to respond.
“Don’t worry about Winfred,” Ms. Marvel says from the front of the class. “Her bark is worse than her bite.”
I hope that’s true and head for my next class over in the art building. I exit through a side door, and it spits me out through an arched courtyard. Groups of students litter the be
nches, and I sprint by so I won’t be late.
At the art building, students block access to the door I need while they stare at a poster on the wall. I go up on tiptoe so I can make out what it is.
The homecoming dance is in exactly three weeks. My stomach churns at the notion, but life goes on, right? The world continues to spin, and schools still have a homecoming dance even though Amber Chetwood was murdered. I wonder if Gregory ever took a break from it. How long do you wait to pay respect to the dead and her family before it’s okay to move on?
A group of girls starts laughing and throw their heads back at me. I don’t see what I possibly could’ve done to inspire that. “What?” I ask timidly.
The bell rings, and everyone starts to break up. I should head inside and take my paint easel, but now I have a good view of the poster and see why the kids are laughing.
A picture of my face is taped to the top, and it’s been shredded into fine strips like someone used a knife. From the neckline of my dress, I can tell it was taken last night. Bold blue letters are printed along the top.
Dead Girl’s Face.
I shudder as a chill races through me. Reaching up, I pull the paper down and stuff it into a garbage bin. Who the hell would do something like that?
Chapter Fourteen
“You really need to ask?” Maxx sucks on her straw and drains the rest of her soda. We step into the lobby of the library, and I’m overwhelmed by the expansive entrance and its giant arched ceilings. I stop in the center and stare up. “It’s obviously Winfred. She excels at the dramatic, and boy, does she know how to drive a point home.”
Maxx elbows me to follow her down the corridor.
“You really think she’d take it that far?”
“This is nothing. Once you learn more about her family, you’ll see. I mean, do I think she’s going to shank you in the showers? No. She’d hired someone to do it.” Maxx raises her eyebrows and pushes open the doors. We step into the computer lab.
Well, that’s comforting. “Thanks for walking me over. Even if I knew you really just wanted to talk about the poster.”
“Guilty as charged, but that’s what friends do, right?”
We’re friends? I almost have a dance party right there on the spot, but I manage to keep it to myself. Inside though, I’m launching a party cannon like I’m still five years old. I keep my smile restrained to a small smirk, but boy, it’s hard.
“See you this weekend? Call when you’re done visiting the Addams’ Family.” Maxx uses her butt to pop the door open and backs out of it.
The computer lab is smaller than the lab but still fairly big. I pick a wide desk in the center of the room that isn’t too close to anyone else. Only a few kids are around, but I don’t want to disturb anyone. Also, I don’t need anyone spying on me. I slide my seat in and glance around to make sure no one is staring.
Thankfully, no one seems to have noticed me. At the computer, I bring up the archives for the Raven’s Journal from 2003. It’s easy for me to figure out the date of the homecoming dance by combing through issues in September of that year. The week after that, my face stares back at me, wearing a crown with a giant smile plastered across my face.
Amber.
Her face is magnified, and it’s only now I can see slight differences in our appearance. My nose is narrow at the tip, and hers had been round. Our eye shape and our cheeks are identical down to a cluster of freckles on each cheek, but her chin is narrow, and mine is rounded. Absently I stroke it and take in the headline at the top of the page.
HOMECOMING QUEEN GOES MISSING AFTER ACCEPTING HER CROWN
October 10th, 2003
Amber Chetwood was crowned queen of the homecoming dance while the star quarterback, Jackson Sinclair, was crowned king. Shortly after that night, Amber was reported missing by her parents.
Following a recent scandal, distancing between Amber and her parents was rumored pending trial. Amber was staying with family friends, and May said Amber never returned home.
A thorough search was launched over the weekend where Amber and her car were sought, but neither was found. As the search continues, thoughts and prayers come from the student body of Gregory Academy. If anyone saw Amber or has more information, they are encouraged to contact Detective Bruce McClain at the Bay Harbor Police Department (BHPD).
I screenshot the article and move it to my personal cloud server. I also jot down the name of the detective and write Scandal? and circle it. If I can find out what the scandal was and speak with the detective, maybe I can ask every question I have. First, though, I need more information.
I scroll through the rest of the volumes of articles for 2003 and into 2004 but can’t find any records of when Amber’s body was found. In fact, except for a small footnote where May and Rudolph Chetwood’s lawyer made a donation to the school in her memory, there’s no mention of her again. The school must’ve decided not to speak of it.
It makes me pretty sad, but I get why the school wouldn’t want to talk about it constantly.
So I go back to the previous year and look for any news. I come up broke on anything except for a single picture. It’s at the swimming pool at the Boat Harbor Country Club. Amber is smiling, and she’s locked in a tender kiss with Jackson Sinclair. They’re both laughing, with their hands clasped together while everyone else in the photo directs their smiles at the camera.
Clearly, they were in love.
I think about how haunted Jackson was last night. Seeing how happy they were, I wonder if he really did kill her, and what would’ve driven him to it. I watch enough real crime TV to know passion can lead to scary things under the right circumstances, but headed into their senior year, they had everything.
They were rich and beautiful—homecoming king and queen until something happened, but what was that something?
There’s no evidence at the school I can unearth. Maybe the town newspaper can help. They’ll have a less filtered version of the truth than a school newspaper that was probably trying to keep it under the rug.
I zoom in on the photo’s subtitle and jot down the name of the friends in the picture. Jennifer Wallace was the friend to the right of Amber and Martin Alistair to the left of Jackson. Alistair—Ryan’s dad.
I pack up my stuff and check my watch. My mom will be around to pick me up. I grab my cell phone and text her that I’ll be at the front of the school soon.
I’m just in the library to catch up on some work I missed. There’s no immediate reply, but I don’t expect one. Mom never texts and drives.
I go back to the computer and search for where I can find Martin Alistair. I find his address—Google Maps shows me that they own one of those giant McMansions. Also, I find out the address to his office in town. It seems he has something to do with the city council.
I type down the address on my phone and realize it’s the address where my mom works. A shiver runs down my spine. That can’t be a coincidence, but I don’t know what it means yet. Outside the door, I hear something drop, and I go rigid. “Hello?” I call out.
And I get another text message. A new file has been uploaded to my cloud drive from Administrator. Interesting. I pop it open, and in big, bold text it reads:
CRAWL BACK INTO THE GRAVE
I swallow hard. I try not to flip out that someone is threatening me, and they may (or may not) work in the administration office. My hands shake as I reply using the internal messaging system. Who is this?
It takes a few seconds to get a reply. A moment later, You’ll see.
I’m so freaked out that I show Mom the messages I received. She marches us straight to Mr. Davis’ office. “This is serious,” Mom says. We sit in the chairs in his office over by his fireplace. “I won’t have this swept under the rug. Someone threatened my daughter.”
“Swept under the rug? Mrs. Chase, at least give us a chance to respond.” He folds his hands on his lap and is the epitome of cool as a cucumber. He’s either the most zen man I’ve ever met, or he�
�s used to dealing with scandals at Gregory Academy. I’m not sure which makes me feel worse.
“Look, Amber is new here and—”
“Jessica,” I remind him flatly.
He blinks. “Of course. I’m sorry. Your remarkable likeness to the young Chetwood has thrown even me, I must admit. I’m certain whoever sent those messages is just messing with you. I can assure you it’s no one from this office or the administration.”
“Then how?” Mom asks, and her nostrils flare. Uh oh, Mr. Davis is in trouble if he doesn’t give her exactly what she wants. I’ve seen this before.
“A backdoor VPN or someone spoofing an IP address. In either case, my IT department will nail it down, and we’ll find whoever did it.”
“You better.” Mom stands and secures her purse strap over her shoulder. “Next time my daughter receives a message like this, I’m going straight to the police, and I will not be dissuaded from any school officials. Do I make myself clear?”
His cheeks redden. Wow, Mom actually got an emotional response out of him. “Here at Gregory, we handle things a certain way.”
“I refuse to accept that answer.”
He smirks in a placating way. “You’re new. Your daughter is new. This isn’t a path I’d advise you to take, Mrs. Chase.”
“It’s Ms. Remember it for next time. Come on, Jess.” Mom storms out of the office, and I’m expected to follow.
I raise my eyebrows. “Sorry,” I say before turning to leave. I don’t know why I feel the need to apologize, but I do.
Mr. Davis’s face sets into a near sneer. I guess he doesn’t like being bossed around by my mom. I don’t either, but I’m glad for it this time. “I told you not to make waves,” he says angrily. “Don’t think I haven’t heard about what happened last night at the junior party.”
Yeah, I kind of regret that. “She’ll calm down, don’t worry.”
“You’re new here. It will afford you some grace, but if you continue to make waves, not only will there be no room for you at Gregory, they’ll be no room for you in Bay Harbor.”
