Ghost Flower

by Michele Jaffe

  Reggie added some soy milk, then poured all three sugars into her tea. Real sugars, I noticed, not like Bridgette. She watched Grant leave. “He’s cute. He obviously adores you.”

  “I’m not sure.” I brushed it away. “You were saying. About Colin’s temper?”

  “He’s working on it, but sometimes it gets out of hand.”

  I thought of the way he’d growled at me the night before, like a feral animal. “Does it ever scare you?”

  She shook her head, swaying her glossy black ponytail from one side to the other. “My father had a temper when I was growing up. I know how to take care of myself.” Unconsciously, she began to rub her right wrist where there was a tattoo of an orange butterfly, like the one on the necklace I’d bought.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling a kind of kinship with her.

  She shrugged. “What are you going to do? Families are complicated.”

  I thought about the Silvertons. That was an understatement. I said, “I like your tattoo. Is that a monarch butterfly?”

  She glanced at it, as though she’d forgotten it was there. “Yes.” She smiled to herself. “When I got it, I was much younger, and I made up this whole thing about it being a symbol of rebirth. Now I just like it because it’s pretty.”

  “Monarchs are poisonous, you know,” I told her.

  “No,” she said sipping her tea. “I had no idea. Pretty and poisonous. Sounds like a lot of the girls I’ve met since I came here.”

  I laughed despite myself, then immediately regretted it as I realized it probably wasn’t the kind of thing Aurora would have done.

  It doesn’t matter, a voice in my head reminded me. Reggie didn’t know Aurora. Maybe it was that, the fact that I didn’t have to worry about her, or the way we seemed to have so much in common, but I realized I liked her.

  She put her tea down. “That’s the other reason why I came over to your table. Not just to apologize but—I could use some cool friends. And you seem cool. I know it’s weird with me dating your ex-boyfriend, but just, you know, think about it.”

  “I don’t think Colin would like it,” I said with real regret.

  “That’s okay. I’m not crazy about some of his friends.”

  “Okay,” I nodded. “I will.”

  She glanced at her watch and put the lid on her cup. “I’ve got to go if I’m going to make my bus. It was nice running into you.” She reached around in her purse and came out with a pen and a paper. “This is my number. Call me if you want to do anything. Really. Even grocery shopping. I don’t want to sound desperate, but I’m desperate.”

  I took the paper she passed me, glanced at it long enough to see she’d written, “Good for one Warm Beverage. Call me!” and slipped it into my pocket. I doubted I would have time to call her, or that Bridgette would let me, but somehow the prospect of having a friend—a connection, a lifeline—who had nothing to do with the Silvertons or Liza or Coralee or any other part of that world was appealing. Safe.

  The cinnamony scent of her tea was still lingering in the air when my phone rang. I didn’t even look at the caller ID. As I answered, I realized I’d been waiting for this.

  “Why… been ignoring me,” Liza’s voice said when I answered. She sounded plaintive. “Who is more… important?”

  “I’m done playing games with you. Did you cause the accident today?”

  “You didn’t answer… I had to get… your attention somehow… no one hurt.”

  “Are you kidding? You almost killed three people.”

  “You… just have a Band-Aid… on… your calf.”

  I stared at the phone. “And Stuart’s hands? Did you do that?”

  Liza laughed. “Made him pay… what he did to you.”

  “I didn’t want you to do that.”

  “What friends… are for.”

  “You can’t pretend you did any of this to help me.”

  “Of course… I love you… RoRo. No one… will ever love you like… me.”

  “Stop it. Stop saying that, stop calling, stop trying to help me. If you know something, go to the police, otherwise—”

  “For you, Ro-ro. For… your own… good. Everything I… do.”

  “I don’t want you to do that, and I don’t need you.”

  “Why can’t you… believe me? I’m… best friend.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re just someone making a cheap joke. I’m not answering the phone anymore for you.”

  “Don’t say that… Ro-ro, don’t… ignore me. You’ll be sorry.”

  “Goodbye.” I hung up. It was only as I was gathering up my cup and the folder that I remembered what she’d said at the beginning of the conversation. You just have a Band-Aid on your calf.

  How could she know that?

  CHAPTER 42

  My phone buzzed again. Unknown number. “Are you here?” I demanded. “Can you see me?”

  “No. Can you see me?” a female voice, not Liza’s, asked.

  “Who is this?”

  “Who is this? I’m looking for Aurora Silverton. Is this the right number?”

  “This is Aurora.”

  “It’s Xandra, Xandra Michaels? Calling from London. You left a message for me a few days ago?”

  She had the fake British accent and cadence that Americans with comfortable savings accounts get when they’ve been in England for more than five days. “Thanks for calling back. I’m trying to fill in the blanks in my memory about what happened the night of the party, and I was wondering if you could tell me what you remember.”

  “It was three years ago,” she said.

  “I know. Believe me. What would be great is if you remembered the last time you saw Liza or, um, me.”

  “It was when I let you out of that ridiculous wine cellar Bain excavated for the house. ‘A Southwestern Cave’, he called it. Too absurd.”

  So that was where Liza and I had disappeared to when Roscoe went to get his jacket. A wine cellar. “Do you know how we got in there?”

  “No, but you were a bit loopy when I found you. I got the impression there might have been something extra in your drinks. Or you’d been helping yourself to Bain’s wine.”

  “How did you find us?”

  “You were making quite a racket. I’m not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t come along. You were at each other’s throats.”

  “We were arguing?”

  “I meant that literally. As in you tried to strangle Lizabeth.”

  “Why? What were we fighting about?”

  “About a guy of course. Your boyfriend was texting Liza to come meet him. She said the texts were really for you, but you were livid. You asked me what I would do, and I said I would positively confront him. So you did. You marched out like a little soldier going off to battle.” I heard her say, “Oh, pardon,” to someone in the background and then to me, “Does that help?”

  “Do you remember what I was wearing?”

  “A dress or something?”

  “Could it have been a coat? A trench coat?”

  “No no. Then you and your friend would have been twins.”

  “Liza was wearing a trench coat?”

  “Yeah. Look, I’ve got to run. Send my love to everyone there.”

  After she hung up, I spent a moment putting this new piece into the puzzle of that night. Picturing it as though I’d been there. Being trapped in a dark cellar with Liza, the light of her phone illuminating her face. Jealousy, as I think that Colin is texting her. Fighting until the door opens and Xandra lets us out.

  Marching off to meet Colin.

  Marching off to meet Colin.

  Colin who acted as though he and Ro had never broken up even though I knew, from the scratched-out face on the photo, from what Roscoe had said about a broken heart, that they had. Colin who tried to suggest that one of the Silvertons would try to kill me. Colin who didn’t like it when things didn’t go how he planned. Colin who had a temper.

  Colin who felt so guilty about whatever
happened that night that he threw away a basketball scholarship he’d worked years to get and enlisted in the Army. Colin who, according to Xandra, had actually been texting Liza. To come meet him. Because he was there.

  It was someone who was there that night. Someone you know.

  But the accident with Liza’s bike. The rash on Stuart’s hands. What was the explanation for those?

  I started to shiver as I got up and walked back to the hospital. “You’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep,” the doctor had said.

  But where could I go that I would feel safe? Whom could I trust? I was nearly at the door to Althea’s room when I saw the answer.

  Or thought I did.

  Coralee was coming down the corridor toward me as though it had better watch out for itself.

  She said, “Your grandmother is sleeping, but we got some great footage of the doctors. I think Ghost Bike might be my hardest-hitting webisode yet.” She sounded upbeat, but I noticed that there were dark smudges under her eyes.

  I looked behind her. “Where’s your crew?”

  She waved a hand. “Off editing somewhere. It’s a twenty-four-hour operation keeping CG on the A-I-R.” When she said C-G, she made curves with her hands and interlocked them.

  “You’re lucky,” I told her. “My initials wouldn’t work for that.”

  She patted me on the shoulder. “We’ll think of something.”

  “Smiley face. Could I come home with you tonight?”

  She did a fake double take. “What? You actually want to hang out?”

  “I just thought it could be nice,” I said. Which was a good-sized piece of the truth but not the proverbial whole. Since she wasn’t in Althea’s will and hadn’t been at the party the night Liza died, Coralee was one of the few people I could think of who wasn’t possibly trying to kill me.

  I saw an expression on her face I hadn’t seen before, and for an instant she looked both younger and more mature, as though I was seeing the smart little girl she had built her entire brash exterior to protect. But also as though she wasn’t sure she wanted me near her.

  Sensing her hesitation, I said, “It’s okay if this isn’t a good night.”

  “It is.” Her voice sounded smaller too. “Sure. Um, that would be, yeah, fun.”

  She was back to normal by the time we got to the Golden Mile, the Golds’ massive estate. The front of it was a construction zone because it was always in the process of being renovated.

  Given that her mother was a famed domestic diva, Coralee’s room was a surprise. It had dark red walls and mahogany furniture and looked like the room of a little girl. The only grown-up thing was the queen-sized bed with the dark wood headboard, but even that had a floral quilt on it that looked girlish and slightly frayed.

  I was thinking that maybe when everything around you changed all the time, it was nice to know something would always be the same, when I became aware of Coralee watching me intently.

  She was standing with her back to the door, like she was blocking it. Our eyes met, and she said, “I can’t believe I finally have you here,” half-like she was talking to herself. “You just walked right in. You had no idea, did you?” She smiled, but not like herself. Her face had completely changed. It now wore an expression of pure hate.

  Without taking her eyes off me, she reached behind her, and I heard the door lock.

  CHAPTER 42

  “What—what’s going on, Coralee?” I asked.

  “It’s time for us to have a little talk,” she said.

  “A talk?” I repeated. My palms were damp.

  She nodded. “There are two things you should know.”

  She took a step toward me. I took a step back. “W-what?”

  She held up a finger. “The first one is, I hate you. I’ve hated you for years.”

  I nodded. My back was pressed against her dresser. “But I thought—”

  “Shut up,” she hissed. She held up another finger. “The second one is, I was there that night. At the party.”

  I felt like my knees were going to go out from under me. It was only then, too late, when I saw what an idiot I’d been. Coralee was the one person who could have done everything—she could have made the phone call during the séance, she would have known when we were going to Three Lovers Point, she knew I was going to talk to Colin, she saw me leave the tennis tournament with my grandmother. “Are you saying that you’re the one who killed Liza?”

  Her hand snaked out, and she slapped me. “Don’t you dare,” she said.

  Now I was really confused. My palm went to my cheek. “I don’t—”

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened between the two of you on Three Lovers Point the night she died?”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “Then how did a button from your coat get up there?”

  I frowned. “How did you know about that? The police said—”

  “I have connections. Stop stalling, how did it? If you weren’t there?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  She slapped me again, and I reeled back. “Stop lying!” she said, and she was almost hysterical now. “It’s no use—I know what happened.” Her voice quivered. “You and Liza went up to Three Lovers Point together. You made her come with you—you were always making her do things—and she didn’t want to. I think you were joking about jumping, going over, and she tried to stop you. And when she did, she fell. She fell trying to save you, rescue you the way she always was. And you ran.”

  “What? Are you nuts?”

  “I think you killed her,” Coralee went on, sounding more rational even as her words sounded less. “It may have been an accident, but I think you killed Elizabeth Lawson. And you ran away like a coward.”

  I was frozen. The temptation to tell Coralee the truth about myself, to make her take back these horrible accusations, nearly overwhelmed me. But I couldn’t.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you? Coralee?”

  I thought her expression might have wavered. She said, “Why is she haunting you? Why you?”

  “I don’t—”

  Her hands snaked out, this time to grab my shoulders. Her grip was firm and hard. “Why you and not me?” Her tone was demanding, but the anger seemed to have been replaced by something more feverish.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Her face crumpled. There was no other description for it. Her face crumpled, and she let go of my shoulders and stumbled backward, falling onto the bed and bursting into tears.

  “Did I do—?” I started to say. She shook her head before I finished and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

  I sat down next to her and waited for her to stop crying. Her hands dropped from her eyes. She took a ragged breath and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t really think you killed her. I mean, I did, before you got back. But then when you returned.” She shook her head, not meeting my eyes.

  “Were you and Liza close?” I asked. Nothing I’d heard or studied suggested she and Liza had been especially good friends.

  Coralee said, “Yes.” She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “Liza and I—we—we were in love.” A tear trickled down her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “We loved each other, and it’s been killing me that she’s haunting you and not me.” She laughed drily, but her body trembled with the effort of keeping back a sob. “I just wish I could see her again.” The last words came out as though they had been mined by anguish deep inside of her.

  I was stunned. I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her, and she grabbed it and held it. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I—I had no idea. How long had you two been together?”

  She flopped back onto her back with her head on one of the pillows. Her voice was scratchy from crying. “Almost six months. It happened when she left the tennis team, after Christmas break. Remember, she’d come back with broken fingers? Coach said they were healing fine and she could just take a break, but Liza insisted on quitti
ng completely. I went to talk to her and ask her why she was leaving because, no offense, I thought she was the best player on the team. She got mad at me and told me to mind my own business and—” She tilted her face toward mine. “Did she ever really yell at you? Like really?”

  I lay on my side on the pillow next to her and shook my head.

  Coralee let out a whistle. “She was incredibly hot when she was angry. There was so much she bottled up inside, and it almost never came out but—” She turned back to looking at the ceiling. “Anyway, she was yelling at me, and I just—I just kissed her. She was the first person I’d ever kissed. And she kissed me back. And that was that.”

  “You kept it so secret,” I said.

  “We were afraid. My family, her family, her older sister, you. Everyone at school. We didn’t know how people would act. Now it would be different. But that was three years ago, and we were only freshmen…” She shrugged.

  “I thought—the police thought—you two didn’t get along.”

  “Ah.” Her eyes went back to the ceiling. “We thought that would be good cover. Then no one would suspect. And no one did. Mostly we hung out here. That’s why I haven’t redone my room—because it still reminds me of her.”

  I said, “Why did you go to the party that night?”

  She didn’t answer, asking instead, “Do you remember Victoria, Liza’s older sister? The one who went to boarding school?”

  I thought about what Grant had said, about Victoria telling Liza I was a bad influence. “Not really.”

  “I think Liza idolized her, kind of. When Victoria was home from school, Liza dressed different and talked different, like a little version of her sister. She would barely answer my calls or texts, or else she’d let Victoria answer her phone and have her tell me that Liza was busy. And I’d hear laughing in the background. Like I wasn’t good enough for her and her sister’s friends. Like Liza was embarrassed about me.” Coralee twisted a length of her glossy hair around her finger. Her voice was lower and sad when she went on. “It happened for the first time over spring break. I spent pretty much all of it right here, crying. But when we got back to school, everything went back to normal. I was so happy, I didn’t even ask her why she’d been so mean. And then she did it again when her sister came home for the summer. Disappeared.”