Dead Girls Don't Lie

by Marlie May

  “I’ll get them.” He pushed me back up the stairs and onto the deck. He kept at me until I reached the rail again.

  I clambered up and over, clinging to the cold metal. The water swirled around the yacht below, dark and forbidding. Fear clawed up my back and the sharp pain in my hands and arms made me shriek.

  “Now.” Dad pushed me, and the boat fell away. I plunged into the sea, and it hauled me down, down into its icy depths. Kicking my legs, I bobbed to the surface. Waves splashed over my head, threatening to shove me back under. Above, the ship exploded, shuddering as if it had taken a lethal blow.

  “Mom! Dad! Brianna!”

  Dad made me promise, but I couldn’t leave. Even when the current pulled me away from the boat, I stared while it burned.

  The ocean won, sucking the boat under and dragging me deeper out to sea, away from everyone I loved.

  Night enveloped everything, even me.

  I couldn’t stop sobbing. Kicking my feet, I aimed for shore.

  I jolted back into myself, and the memory flashed away as fast as it had arrived.

  Goosebumps rippled along my arms as awareness of my surroundings sunk through me. Just touching the water with my fingers had worked, but it scared me out of my mind. Imagine what immersing my entire body would do. I wanted to remember what happened that night, but each flashback I triggered swallowed another piece of my soul.

  My legs trembling, I sat on the edge of the pool and lowered my feet into the water. My skin curled as if I’d stepped into a pit of snakes.

  No wonder I feared this.

  But nothing. No flashback, no clues.

  I already knew the boat burned. The memory I’d just revealed hadn’t given me anything new to work with. Frustration surged through me.

  Maybe I needed to—

  A sound, like the stomp of a foot, echoed through the room. Inhaling sharply, I pivoted, straining to see where the noise might’ve come from.

  Another sound, this time from my right, pulled my gaze toward the long row of bleachers. Darkness peered through the open spots between the steps.

  Someone could be watching from underneath.

  “It’s nothing,” I whispered. I wasn’t scared of being alone. And there was no reason to fear the water. I missed it. Not as much as I missed swimming with Brianna, but enough I needed to find a way to recapture that joy.

  Another scrape, like somebody shifting sideways.

  I scrambled to my feet.

  “Who’s there?” My voice slapped back at me in a sharp echo. I hated how uncertain I sounded. “This is stupid. Stop it.”

  A thump.

  Reeling back, I slipped and fell into the pool, plunging down until my hands slammed against the bottom. Shock replaced surprise, and my body stiffened. The weight of a billion gallons of water pressed on my lungs. My brain. Only an urgent demand to breathe made me thrash up to the surface. I gasped when I broke through, sucking in air. My hands jerky, I shoved my sopping hair off my face.

  Heart shoving itself against my ribcage, I latched onto the side and pulled myself out. As if the water was somehow capable of dragging me back in, I scrambled backward on my butt until my back hit the bench.

  Tiny waves lapped and slurped against the sides of the pool.

  Rising to my feet, I snatched up my towel. I rubbed my body, the rough fabric doing nothing to warm my cold, clammy skin. Clinging to the towel, I skittered to the locker room, my bare feet slapping the tiles.

  I stumbled inside and slammed the door. Leaning against it, I struggled to regain control of my breathing, feeling sillier by the minute.

  Someone moved deeper inside the room.

  My heart flipped, and I slunk down, peering in that direction. On the other end of the long stretch of lockers, a girl stood with her back facing me, pulling up the straps of a one-piece bathing suit. A few fluorescent bulbs had burned out overhead, making the room as dimly-lit as a cave. Shadows glided across her bare skin when she moved.

  “Be careful,” she said in a thick, scratchy voice, without turning around. She pulled a towel from the locker and wrapped it around her lower body.

  “Was that you out there?” My words came out frantic. Defensive. “Or in the library the other day, laughing?”

  A big stretch on my part to equate what happened then with today, but someone was responsible.

  She snorted. “Don’t have much to laugh about lately.”

  Why wouldn’t she turn around? I wanted to stride over and make her face me. Demand she tell me if she was the one taunting me.

  But a stranger would have no reason to scare me.

  “I meant—” I waved my hand toward the exit to the pool. “Was that you out there a few minutes ago?”

  “Doing what?”

  No matter what I said, it would come out sounding stupid.

  It couldn’t have been her. My brain was screwing with me. Again. Afraid of the water following a flashback, I must’ve mistaken the sounds of someone moving behind the bleachers.

  Belly flopping into the pool hadn’t helped my nerves much, either.

  “I just got here,” she said. “You were in the pool when I arrived. Thought I could wait for you to finish. I like to come here when there’s no one else around.”

  Shivers wracked my frame, but I was only cold inside. I wrapped my arms around my waist. “Why did you just tell me to be careful?”

  “The floor. It’s wet. Makes it slippery. You could fall.”

  “I did fall. Into the water.” Shimmying out of my suit, I finished toweling dry. My skin quivered as I yanked on my clothing.

  “Why didn’t you swim longer?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t make myself. Not today. I…I’ve been having a hard time lately. I’m afraid of the water.”

  “There are worse things in life than water.”

  I shoved my wet suit and towel into my bag. “True.”

  “You’re done with the pool, then?”

  “Yeah.” Part of me insisted I should put my suit on again and march back out there. With this girl here, I wouldn’t be alone. But the fear rising inside me suggested I wouldn’t be able to make myself do it.

  And it was clear she’d rather I’d leave. She didn’t even want to turn and look at me as she spoke.

  “I’ll see you around then.” She exited through the second door on the opposite end of the room.

  Bag in hand, I left. As I strode toward the main entrance, I glanced over my shoulder. The girl sat with her feet dangling in the water, her back still facing me.

  She didn’t turn.

  As the week progressed, my aunt spent every evening draining one wine bottle after another. I was seriously considering buying stock in a vineyard.

  I wanted to heat up my investigation, but guardian-sitting and lack of sleep were putting a serious crimp on my free time.

  Searching the Internet again hadn’t given me any leads. It did reveal a few photos of my parents when they’d attended a local charity event. I stared at the pictures, tracing my mom’s face with my finger. She wore a black dress that hugged her frame, plus the pearl earrings from her mother. Dad stood with his arm around her, a big smile on his face.

  Unable to look at them without crying, I shut down my computer.

  On Tuesday morning, after my aunt spent the night passed out on the sofa, it was time to ask Mr. Trudale how I could become an emancipated adult.

  Sitting at the kitchen island, I dumped cereal in the bowl, skipped the milk, and picked at the sugary flakes.

  My aunt sat at the small table nursing her hangover while staring into her coffee cup. Disgusted with her, I said nothing.

  As I was leaving the kitchen, she stood and grabbed my arm. “You have a moment?”

  I shrugged, and she led me into the living room where we dropped down together onto the sofa. Borrowing a habit from the girl in the pool, I didn’t face her.

  “I want to apologize.” She rubbed her eyes with both hands and groaned. “My behavior
has been inexcusable lately.”

  Couldn’t deny that. I crossed my arms and tapped my sneaker on the floor.

  She’d gone heavy with the make-up today, but even so, there was no hiding her bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. An unhealthy sallow color had taken over her face. If she kept this up, she’d have to worry about her liver.

  “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, but I know that’s no excuse.”

  “I’ve basically cared for myself for days,” I said harshly. “There isn’t anything worse than poking your fork at one of the neighbor’s reheated meals while sitting alone in the kitchen.” I’d told myself I didn’t need my aunt; I’d survive this part of my life all on my own. But, through it all, I’d also been wallowing in hurt. “I thought…well, I’d thought we could be friends. Family.”

  “We are family.”

  “Not as far as I can tell.” The fact that I needed her made me feel vulnerable. What if she died like Brianna and my parents? Then I’d truly be alone. “I guess I thought you needed me like I need you. I don’t like being proven wrong.”

  “Ah, Janine. Again. I’m sorry.” Her hands flopped on her lap and trembled. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. Adult issues.”

  “Yeah sure. Because a teenager’s issues don’t matter? Jeez.” My best friend and parents had been murdered and it sure didn’t seem like anyone was doing a damn thing about it. Meanwhile, my aunt fussed about who knows what. It wasn’t like she was sharing. “What I’m dealing with isn’t childish, but no one’s watching me get drunk every night to help me forget. Maybe you need to see a counselor, too.” The words came out brittle, but really. If she wasn’t capable of womaning up to be the parent I needed right now, we’d both be sunk.

  Great. Tears dripped off her face. I growled out my frustration.

  “I just don’t get it,” I said, finally facing her. “Things were going so well.” I’d started to trust her. Now, I couldn’t trust anyone.

  “This…” Her gaze shifted toward the wall filled with my school pictures. One for each year until I begged my parents to stop, hung in a line parallel to the staircase. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had problems.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like growing up in a household where your dad thinks only men matter.”

  “You mean, like he expected you to get married, have babies, and skip a career?”

  “Men inherit wealth from their families, but women are expected to marry into it.”

  “That sounds like the dark ages. What’s wrong with everyone making their own way in the world on an equal basis?”

  “I haven’t lucked out and snagged a wealthy husband.” She sniffed and blotted at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m not sure I want to, either. I like my independence.”

  I had nothing to say about that, because I enjoyed my independence, too. I couldn’t imagine having to marry to be financially secure. Maybe that was why my dad had wanted me to go to college, so I wouldn’t be dependent on a man. Instead, I’d inherited wealth. Not a ton but enough I wouldn’t have to worry about how I’d pay for Internet.

  “You may not know this, but I ran away from home when I was fifteen.” She fiddled with the top button on her blouse, sliding it in out of the hole. “I got mixed up with the wrong people, and I…I did things I shouldn’t have.”

  “Like what? You get a bunch of tattoos? Did you do drugs?”

  Wait. That time we’d run into her at the fair…I’d been ten. And, well, Dad hadn’t exactly introduced her around, but Mom told me who she was. My aunt had smiled up at Dad, her face filled with what I now knew was hope, an ache to be accepted by someone she cared about. But he’d taken her arm and led her around to the back of a booth selling doughboys, as if he was afraid someone would see them together.

  I hadn’t known more than her name, but I’d cringed in sympathy. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if Dad treated me as if I was an embarrassment. While I hadn’t understood why, I’d found it incredibly sad that my father had cut her from his life.

  “What’s she doing here?” Mom whispered. Her sigh went on forever. “We’ve…She just doesn’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “That we can’t keep bailing her out. She needs to learn to stand on her own two feet.”

  Something on my aunt’s face—wistful and resigned—made me want to rush over and tell her I’d be her friend. Because she was family, even if Dad didn’t want to acknowledge her. And families stuck together.

  Growing up, I’d heard about Dad’s much younger sister, but I’d assumed she lived far away and that was why she never visited. She didn’t look like my dad. More like me since we shared the same hair color and deep blue eyes.

  To think I’d had an aunt who was over thirty, and I’d never met her. Families could be weird sometimes.

  “We should go talk to her,” I told Mom.

  “It won’t do any good. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “What does that mean?” I knew of the expression but not how it applied to my aunt.

  “Never mind.”

  “Dad’s from the same tree, isn’t he?”

  “Let it go, Janie. Please.” Her worried eyes remained on Dad and my aunt. “Forget you’re related to her. That’s what your father’s been trying to do for years. If only his partner hadn’t—”

  My aunt coughed. She smoothed her hair, which needed a good combing. “No tattoos.” She snorted. “Though I’ve thought of getting…Well, I’ll talk about that another time. Anyway, some things are so unforgivable, you can’t even get over them yourself.”

  “What did you do?” I asked, beyond curious. I tried to think of what would upset my family enough to shove her from their lives, but nothing outside putting a gun to someone’s head and pulling the trigger came to mind.

  “Let’s just say I didn’t make my family proud.”

  Did anyonw? Life was about making choices even if they resulted in mistakes. “But you got a college degree, you’re a teacher.”

  Her spine ramrodded, and she gave me a pert nod. “I straightened my life around by the time I turned eighteen. Got my GED, applied for loans to go to school, and graduated with honors.”

  “None of this explains why you drank all that wine.”

  “Something Mr. Trudale said upset me.” As if this settled our argument, she laughed and hugged me. When she leaned back, her lips quivered. “I’m glad we’ve had this talk. I feel better already.”

  I didn’t. Something Mr. Trudale said had driven her to drink until she passed out, over and over. I had a good suspicion but I wanted her to name it. Then we could deal with this together. “Tell me.”

  Steel edged into her voice. “It’s no longer a problem. Don’t worry your head about it. I promise I’m not touching another drop of alcohol ever again. I like my new life here with you.” Her hand flicked toward the room in general. “In this lovely house. Lord. There’s security here I’ve never found on my own. A sense of belonging. I won’t do a thing to endanger it.” Her narrowed gaze found my face. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Not really, but I got the feeling she wouldn’t tell me if I asked her to explain.

  My brain led me down a path better not taken. Mr. Trudale had said my aunt was my guardian since I had no other family. She was my sole heir. I didn’t have much but some people would kill for your last dollar.

  Yeah, I didn’t like walking down that dark alley at the moment.

  She was my aunt, and it was important we got along. She’d loved my dad. She’d never hurt him, let alone Mom. “As long as you go back to being the Aunt Kristy who’s been supportive and kind for the past two months and take that other Aunt Kristy out with the garbage, I can live with a few secrets.”

  “I appreciate that, Janine.” Her lips rose in a tremulous smile. “Janie, that is.”

  I decided to let this go as she’d asked.

  Something that happened years ago
couldn’t hurt me now.

  7

  It was time for a little breaking and entering.

  Immediately after school the next afternoon, I sat in the parking lot outside the high-rise where my father had once had an office.

  I’d hit the mailbox before school to drop off a note and set my investigation into motion. Of course, I had a key to the mailbox. Or, Dad had possessed the key, attached to his car ring still sitting in the bowl on the table in the front hall.

  My knees quivered, and every time someone walked near my car, I jumped. But, damn, I was warming up to this espionage stuff. I should consider a career as a spy.

  While brushing my teeth this morning, I’d figured out a plan. In block letters cut from a magazine, I’d written:

  MEET ME TODAY AT 3:00 AT HADLEY’S COFFEE.

  I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.

  I’d driven to Mr. Somerfield’s office and left the note in his office mailbox.

  After all, a scary note in my locker had worked well for me.

  My words were ominous and vague, but bad guys fell for this sort of thing on TV all the time. The big question was: would it work in real life?

  If he was guilty, yes.

  Everything was ready, except for one tiny detail. Mr. Somerfield needed to act.

  By two-thirty-three, I was a wreck. It wasn’t going to work. He was going to ignore the message. I’d have to crawl home and—

  At two-forty-five, a car a few rows away from mine beeped when someone unlocked it. I slunk lower in my seat as Mr. Somerfield rushed across the parking lot toward his car. He got inside, the engine roared, and he peeled out of his space. Without even buckling.

  I watched as his car flew out onto the main road and zipped north.

  Showtime.

  Dad’s badge let me inside the back door and gave me access to the private elevator on the opposite side of the lobby.

  Thank you, Brandon, for letting me know that Mr. Somerfield’s secretary had quit. The office suite should be empty.

  While the tiny elevator lifted me toward the fifth floor, I hummed and fidgeted back and forth on my toes. Solving mysteries was fun when you sat on the sofa munching through a bowl of popcorn on your lap, cheering for the spunky detective on TV. In reality, this sort of behavior was going to fray my nerves raw.