Dead Girl in Love

by Linda Joy Singleton

  Her crazy mother, I thought, sad that I never guessed how bad things were at Alyce’s home. When Mrs. Perfetti was rude to me, I’d avoided being around her.

  After an hour of tossing and turning in bed, I got up and settled in at Alyce’s computer, hitting the power button. I ran a search on mental illness, narrowing down the symptoms until I came up with the diagnosis of paranoia and depression. The signs had been there. If only Alyce had told me. I couldn’t have cured her mother but I could have been there for Alyce.

  Well, I was here for her now. And I’d continue the search that Alyce had started.

  I’d find Sam’s grave.

  Energized by this idea, I dug out the papers Dustin had printed out for me with directions to the cemeteries on Alyce’s list. I thought back to my visit to the Liberty Cemetery and was sure there hadn’t been a grave marked “Samantha” or “Sam.” So I could cross that location off the list. There was only one place left: Pioneer Cemetery in Calaveras County. That was a bit of a drive, off a country road about an hour away. I’d need to pick up Junkmobile, borrow Mrs. Perfetti’s car, or get a ride from someone. Dustin would give me a ride if he was free. So I sent him a quick text and waited a few minutes, since it wasn’t unusual for him to stay up half the night. But there wasn’t a reply, so I guessed he was asleep.

  Then I had an even better idea—Grammy!

  I always hung out with Alyce on weekends anyway. Grammy could drop me off at Junkmobile, then we’d both search for Sam’s grave. And when the timing felt right, I’d explain about Gabe’s tragic past and convince Grammy to meet with him.

  Pleased with my plan, I finally fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the delicious aroma of cinnamon and pancakes set my stomach growling loudly like an alarm clock.

  Not pancakes but waffles.

  Thick, flakey, cinnamon-strawberry waffles.

  I couldn’t have been more surprised when I walked into the kitchen and found Mrs. Perfetti standing by the counter and squashing strawberries in a bowl. Makeup softened her face, and she looked elegant with her hair twisted on her head in a chignon. This was not the same ranting crazy women I’d escorted home last night.

  “Good morning! Are you hungry?” Mrs. Perfetti asked cheerfully.

  She didn’t wait for my answer, ushering me to a chair at the table and flipping two waffles on my plate, then scooping up a huge spoon of strawberries and dumping them on the waffles. She didn’t mention flipping out last night. This was a different Mrs. Perfetti, smiling as she prepared breakfast like a 1950s mom from an old TV show.

  Oh. My. God! Alyce’s home life was insane—literally.

  How had Alyce managed to hide her problems so long without anyone—neighbors, teachers, and especially her best friend—noticing? Hiding such a big secret must have been torture. No wonder she suffered an emotional melt-down.

  I was suffering, too, with Mrs. Perfetti. The way she fussed over me was creepier than her screaming “he’s the devil!” I wished I had a How to Deal with a Psycho Mom manual. Self-help books always clarified things for me and offered solutions. But was there a solution for mental illness? When I tried to ask Mrs. Perfetti what happened last night at her office, she gave me a blank stare as if I was speaking in a foreign language. Then she switched to a “Stepford Wife” smile and offered to squeeze me some fresh orange juice.

  Um … no thank you.

  On the plus side, Mrs. Perfetti was so eager to please me that when I asked to borrow the car she said, “Of course, honey!” with great fervor—as if I were doing her the favor. She even offered her credit card in case I needed gas.

  Then I ushered her into the living room, easing her into her favorite chair and putting on the Judge Nancy Dee episodes she’d DVRd during the week. While Mrs. Perfetti disappeared into the Judge Nancy Dee zone, I stood in front of the sink, bubbles lathering and water spilling, as my mind rushed with plans:

  1. Retrieve Junkmobile.

  2. Talk Grammy into meeting Gabe.

  3. Look for missing grave at Pioneer cemetery.

  This time when I went to a cemetery I’d know what to search for, although I had no idea if there would be an engraved headstone, a plain stone marker, or nothing at all. It was all so mysterious. How did Alyce’s mother arrange a burial for a baby that died without anyone knowing? What had happened that tragic night? And what would happen to Mrs. Perfetti when her secret was revealed? I hoped it would bring closure, not more tragedy.

  My plan would have worked great—except for one detail.

  Grammy had plans, too.

  As I was putting my list in Monkey Bag, I heard a honk from outside and peered out the window to see Grammy-As-Me at the wheel of my mother’s Toyota. I looked again, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. But that was Mom’s Toyota and Grammy was at the wheel.

  Then I ran outside.

  My grandmother wasn’t alone.

  The passenger window rolled down and my heart nearly broke when my little sister Olive grinned at me and exclaimed, “Ally!” From the back seat came more excited squeals from my other two sisters.

  “What’s going on?” I asked my grandmother, feeling kind of dizzy looking at my physical body from the outside. Would I ever get used to this whole body-switching business? Probably not.

  “We’re off to an afternoon at the zoo.”

  “Right now?”

  “Zoo, zoo, zoo!” shouted the triplet choir.

  “Hop in, honey,” Grammy said, grinning. “We want you to come with us.”

  “To the zoo? But I can’t … ”

  “Why not? It’s going to be a beautiful day—I checked the weather report to make sure. I’ve already folded laundry and alphabetized everything in the triplets’ room. Your mother acts like raising triplets is harder than running a large country. She’s too soft with them, not setting up strict rules. I’ll show her that it’s easy to raise triplets if you’re organized. A simple trip to the zoo should be a piece of cake.”

  I wasn’t so sure. I’d babysat a lot and just getting three toddlers to the playground without losing shoes or jackets or my mind was a challenge. But my grandmother was a competent otherworldly business-woman and capable of anything.

  “What are you standing there for?” Grammy tapped her polished fingernails (apparently she didn’t have a nervous biting-nails habit like me) on the steering wheel.

  I shook my head. “I can’t go.”

  “Sure, you can. Climb in the back—it’ll be a tight squeeze but there’s room between Melonee and Cherry. So let’s go.”

  “But I need to pick up Junkmobile from where I left it downtown and then I have to go to Pioneer cemetery. It’s an obligation.” I gave her a knowing look as I leaned partly through the window. My long braid swung into the car and Olive grabbed it with the enthusiasm of a fisherman hooking a giant fish. Giggling, she petted my hair like a cat.

  Grammy crinkled her brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “I have to tell you alone, not in front of … ” I gestured to my sisters, and cried out when my braid jerked painfully.

  “Olive,” Grammy said calmly, “let go of Am … Alyce’s braid.”

  My little sister glanced over at Grammy, shook her head, then tickled her cheek with the end of the braid. It didn’t hurt, so I just shrugged. Olive was a big animal lover and liked to pet anything that looked like fur. This could be embarrassing when someone with a beard came to visit.

  “Grammy, can’t you postpone the zoo or get someone else to take them?” I asked. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Your obsession with cemeteries is beginning to worry me.”

  “It’s not my obsession. It’s Alyce’s search for her … well, that’s one of the things I want to tell you.” I took a deep breath. “I have to find someone who’s lost. And there’s another thing I need to discuss with you.”

  “What?” She sounded impatient.

  “Um … it’s about a friend. It’ll take some time to explain.”

>   “Then it’ll have to wait till later. Do what you have to do while I take my little darlings to the zoo. Afterwards, we’ll get together and you can tell me everything.”

  I nodded, though privately I knew I wouldn’t dare tell her everything-—just enough to convince her to meet with Gabe.

  “We’re off to see lions and tigers and giraffes,” Grammy said with a cheerful wave as she started my mother’s Toyota.

  Olive gave my braid one last tug, then reluctantly let go. “Bye, Ally!” she told me.

  “Bye, Ally,” Cherry echoed from the back seat.

  “Bye, Sissy,” Melonee added.

  “Melonee!” Startled, I jerked back, banging my head on the door frame. “What did you call me?”

  “Sissy bye-bye.” She waved at me from her car seat.

  I was dumbfounded, and I could tell Grammy was surprised, too. The triplets never did call me “Amber,” finding it easier to say “Sissy.”

  “Melonee,” I said gently. “Can’t you see that I’m Alyce?”

  “Sissy looks funny.” Melonee giggled in her shy way, blushing and looking down at her feet, which always made it easy for me to tell her apart from her sisters. Melonee was the quiet, gentle triplet who seldom cried and loved books more than toys.

  I glanced over at Grammy. “She knows!”

  “Hmmm.” Grammy glanced into the rearview mirror. “Interesting.”

  “Is that all you can say? She knows who I really am!”

  “Children can be so perceptive.”

  “Aren’t you worried? What if she tells someone?”

  Grammy shrugged. “She’s not even two years old. I think our secret is safe.”

  “You’re right … still, it’s freaky. How can she recognize me when I don’t look or sound the same?”

  “You can tell the girls apart even though they look and sound the same. I think it’s much of the same with Melonee recognizing you. Still, we should be cautious. I’ll drop you off at your car, but after that avoid being around the girls until after you switch back. So don’t come to the house.”

  “But I still need to talk with you.”

  “Later,” she promised.

  Then she waited while I ran into the house to get my stuff. The drone of the TV covered my hurried steps as I whipped into my room and grabbed Monkey Bag, making sure I had a camera (I bypassed the large one with attachments and choose an easy-to-operate digital camera), a notebook, phone, wallet, and the directions Dustin had printed for me. Pioneer Cemetery was the last name on the list, so there was a good chance I’d find Sam’s grave there.

  I shut the bedroom door behind me and hooked the backpack over my shoulder. As I neared the living room, I saw Mrs. Perfetti dozing off while a gray-haired lady judge criticized a skinny, twenty-something guy for not cleaning up after his Great Dane in a park. I tiptoed past Mrs. Perfetti, who was sprawled across the couch, her mouth slightly open and her head resting against a pillow. She didn’t look scary … only sad.

  Her sadness lingered with me as I stepped out of the house.

  With the triplets gibbering noisily, it was impossible to talk about anything important on the drive to Junkmobile. I enjoyed being with them, though, and wished I really was “Sissy.” It was hard being away from them. But soon I’d switch back, I told myself. I’d solve Alyce’s crisis and we’d both resume our real lives.

  Junkmobile was where I’d left it. I unlocked the door and was slipping into the driver’s seat when I heard a musical ring. Fumbling in the backpack, I pulled out the cell phone and read Dustin’s name.

  “Where are you?” he boomed before I could even say hi.

  “Getting into Junkmobile.”

  “Coming to visit me?”

  “You wish,” I teased. “I’d rather hang out with the dead.”

  “We all have our fetishes.” He chuckled, then added, “Seriously, I got your text and was making plans to get you a ride, but sounds like you’ve got that covered. You still have the directions I gave you for Pioneer Cemetery?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t get lost.”

  “No worries here. This will work out great—it’s both spontaneous and romantic. When you get to the cemetery, look for a black Civic. I wasn’t sure about him at first, but he’s even more antisocial than Alyce. He hates going to movies or clubs, and was cool about meeting at a cemetery.”

  “Oh. My. God. You don’t mean … ”

  “He noticed Alyce around school, and liked what he saw.”

  “Who?” I asked, a sick knot tightening in my chest.

  “Your second date, of course,” Dustin said proudly. “Kyle.”

  Kyle.

  The guy who might have mob connections, a criminal record, and a habit of using girlfriends as punching bags.

  WHAT WAS DUSTIN THINKING?

  Outraged, ready to tell Dustin exactly what he could do with this insane idea, I heard a dial tone. He’d hung up on me!

  Dustin was soooo dead.

  I tossed the phone across the seat. Dustin knew when to make his exit, that was for sure, but he didn’t know anything about matchmaking. If going out with Zachary—a nice, preppy, respectable guy—had been a disaster, a date with a badass like Kyle was sure to be apocalyptic. Well, forget it. I was so not going.

  But then I thought, why change my plans because of some guy? Leaning against the car’s leather seat, I sorted through my conflicting thoughts. If I delayed going to the cemetery, I might switch back into my own body and lose this opportunity. I’d seen Kyle around school and despite his reputation, he didn’t look dangerous. It should be safe enough to meet him in a public place in the middle of the day. Besides, what if Dustin was right and Kyle was a good match for Alyce?

  Shifting the car into drive, I headed for the cemetery.

  The roads became more rural, two lanes without much traffic, curving with the rolling rise and fall of spring-green hills. When I spotted the historical marker for Pioneer Cemetery I pulled off the road, parking in front of a staircase set into a steep hillside. I spotted the Civic right away.

  The car was dark; no sign of Kyle. I glanced uneasily at the wrought iron cemetery gate, where only a few ghostly shapes of tombstones were visible from the street. Although the sun peaked out between smoky clouds and warmed my skin through the car window, I shivered.

  There were no paved walkways at this cemetery, only a rough collage of dirt, rocks, and wild grasses. I climbed the steep steps, inhaling a sweet fragrance of spring foliage that seemed an ironic perfume for a place of death. I unlatched the gate and it swung open, creaking like old bones. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I’d grabbed a jacket. The gate clanged shut behind me and I stepped forward … then gasped.

  A black-cloaked figure rose from a tall stone monument like the dead awakening.

  My shock shifted to recognition. Not a walking corpse—only Kyle.

  He wore a black coat that was so long the hem swept up dirt. He was shorter than I remembered, and draped in silver chains and spiky jewelry. He’d overdone his makeup, so that his face almost glowed white and I could barely see his dark eyes hidden under kohl eye shadow. His chin pointed sharply in a slim, V-shaped beard, and his black hair was slicked back. Was he going for a Goth or a vampire look?

  “Kyle?” I stood still, reluctant to get close to him.

  “Alyce,” he said, nodding.

  “So … um … it’s cool of you to come to such a strange place to meet someone you don’t even know.”

  “I’ve seen you around school,” he said, with a lift of his dark brows that hinted at a deep meaning. “And your friend told me more about you—enough to pique my interest.”

  “You can’t believe everything Dustin says,” I put in quickly.

  “I decide for myself. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “You mean coming to an old cemetery?”

  “No—I go to cemeteries a lot. What I meant was I’ve never met anyone … a girl … like this.”
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br />   “Oh … well, I never do things the usual way.”

  “That’s cool.” Kyle tilted his head as if studying me, and I noticed wicked tattoos spiraling down the side of his neck and into his coat. “So you come here often?”

  I shook my head firmly. “Never before.”

  “Really?” he asked with a smile that showed two sharp, pointed top teeth. Had he filed them down? “I heard you’ve got a thing for graveyards.”

  “You heard wrong.”

  “Why were you at Red Top Cemetery last week?”

  I started to deny the accusation until I realized he was probably right—Alyce had visited Red Top recently. But this just reminded me how little I knew about my best friend. She had this whole other life … without me. I pursed my lips and told him it was none of his business.

  “Fair enough, but you can be up front with me. I’ve suspected what you’re into for a long time—that’s why, even though coming here was short notice, I’ve prepared this.” He lifted a bulky paper bag from a slab of crumbling stone.

  “A picnic lunch.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then what?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” He gave his head a small shake. “Let’s just walk around and check out our companions.”

  “Companions?” I looked around but we were the only ones standing in the gently sloped cemetery.

  “The silent ones.” Kyle gestured to the graves that were half-hidden under shadowy oak trees.

  I stared down at the crumbly gravestones and monuments, most faded, cracked, and completely unreadable. Many were over a hundred years old. I scanned names and dates, searching for a small, more recent grave. But as I walked, dried weeds crackling, I was swamped with a sense of foreboding. I wondered about all the souls beneath my feet that had once breathed and danced and loved; now they were only scrawled words in stones—which was the way things usually happened.