Second Nature (Crimson Cove Mysteries Book 2)

by Tara Brown

  “Don't worry about my brother. Worry that Linds is never going to forgive you for being with Vince behind her back. Trust me, I know that feeling.” Sage hiccupped and got up, followed by Rita slumping down into the spot she’d left.

  “You’re going to find Ashton?” Her gray eyes were half open. “Did I hear that right?”

  “If I can.”

  Her plump lips lifted into a lazy smile. “I think me and him would make a super hot couple.” She laid a hand on my arm and nodded her head. “When you find him, be a good friend and tell him that for me, kay?”

  It was the last straw. I hated Marguerite La Croix and maybe Sage too.

  I jumped up and walked through the party to the beach, pausing for a double take of Andrew with Brooke, a senior, on his shoulders. She was wrestling in the air against Sierra who was on Jake’s shoulders. Andrew laughed and mocked Jake who gave me a look. It was the moment Brooke and Andrew needed to shove Sierra off Jake and dunk them both.

  Instead of pondering my friends and their lack of care for our pending court dates, I turned and ran for the beach. I rounded the house and yard, taking the side path up to the driveway where Vincent was struggling with getting Lindsey into his car.

  He gave me a look. “She’s not excited about leaving. Can you leave your car here, and I’ll bring you back to it when we’re done? I need you to sit in the back with her in case she gets sick.”

  “Yeah.” I climbed in and sat in the back with Lindsey.

  She turned and grinned. “Lain, is the party pooper making you leave too?”

  “No.”

  She leaned in, staring into my eyes. “What’s wrong?” She had no depth perception so she ended up pressing our faces together and speaking straight into my mouth. “Are you mad?”

  “No,” I lied. There was no point.

  Her eyes lowered to my lips. She smiled wide and leaned in, pressing her glossy mouth against mine. It tasted like cherry vanilla and greased half my face before I could shove her back.

  “I kissed a girl and I liked it.” She laughed and fell back into the seat, thumping her head on the door. Somehow that was even funnier.

  Vincent started the car with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. She’ll be asleep before we get home.”

  “It’s fine. I love the fact my first kiss was my drunk best friend.”

  He chuckled and drove off.

  Lindsey was still giggling away, lost in her own world.

  She was the only one speaking for the short drive to her house, except it was all nonsense. Her dad was standing at the front entrance when we pulled up. He opened the door while she was still mumbling and drooling on herself. He caught her as she fell forward, throwing up all over the concrete.

  Vincent sighed in relief.

  “You, young lady, are in some trouble.” Her dad dragged her through her own vomit and away from the car. He gave Vince a look. “Thank you for bringing her home. Sorry if she made a mess in the car.”

  “It’s my fault. I should have been watching her better. I’m sorry.”

  “If you need me to come back, I will.” I grimaced.

  He nodded. “That might be nice. I suspect she’s going to feel miserably foolish tomorrow. And you being here might stop me from murdering her.” He’d said it before he thought. “I mean, not murder.” His jaw dropped, but I laughed awkwardly.

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Vincent, I don't feel so good. I love you, Vincent,” Lindsey mumbled and wiped her puke-covered lips off.

  “Goodnight.” Her dad lifted her into his arms and carried her inside.

  I stayed in the backseat as Vince pulled away. I could sense the tension or anger pulsating off him. He stopped the car at the gate. “This isn’t Driving Miss Daisy, Lain. Get in the front seat.”

  I didn't want to. He was still Vincent Banks. Through it all, he was still a rakish scoundrel.

  He turned, looking hurt. “Really?”

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head as I reached for the door handle. He stomped on the gas, making me fling back against the seat.

  He didn't say anything, not even when he stopped the car on the side of the road near Rachel’s. He parked it and turned it off, climbing out, and closing the door softly.

  I hated that I’d hurt his feelings, even if I had sort of assumed he only had one.

  “I’m sorry.” I climbed out and closed the door.

  “It’s fine.” He sighed. “I have to expect my reputation precedes me.”

  I grabbed his arm, turning him. It was a weird moment for us both, but I shook my head. “It hasn't. I’m just not good—with guys.” The words sounded pathetic as they slipped out.

  His eyes softened. “You can trust me, with anything.” His creepy leer crept across his lips. “Even your virtue.” He winked and walked toward the woods.

  “That doesn't make me feel better.”

  “It wasn't meant to, ass.”

  “Right.” I sighed and hugged myself, noting the ocean air growing colder as we walked into the forest next to Rachel’s house. Images of the night of her death started to take over.

  It was something that happened when I was upset or I didn't control it. Seeing things triggered my memory.

  My feet stumbled forward, my hands gripped my arms harshly, and my stomach tightened, but I couldn’t make my feet stop.

  I did a beeline for the place she had been. Yellow tape pieces were here and there, scattered but no longer roped off the place in the woods. Tears welled in my eyes, maybe begging me to stop looking.

  I didn't need to look. The images were there, perfectly crisp. Her body twisted into a weird and broken shape, the blood. “There was so much blood.”

  Warmth surrounded me, making me shiver from behind.

  “Don't look, Lain.” Vincent wrapped his arm around my shoulder and helped me toward the house. “Nothing good can come from being here.”

  We staggered as if we had been drinking heavily too. Sobs and sniffles broke the silence of the forest.

  When we got to the edge of the yard, I paused again.

  Lights and music filled my ears and eyes. Kids laughing and partying. Rachel screaming. I realized I had heard it. I was dancing. It was just before, and then again after the power went out.

  “She was silent during the dark moment, but as the lights and music came back on, I heard it. She made noise. I thought it was her whimpering in the woods but the music was so loud I wasn't sure.”

  “When?”

  “Before the music cut out and just after. She made noises I could barely make out. I knew it was her. I assumed she was being a diva.” Tears silently slipped down my cheeks.

  “None of this is your fault.”

  “I know.” I paused. “And yet, I think there are a thousand clues in my head that are sitting there meaning nothing. But once we solve this, they will link together, each one tied to the next with blood-red yarn, and make a pattern I should have seen.”

  “If no one told us to be scared, why would we be? We don't exactly live in a dangerous place where worry and suspicion are part of our lives. We are technically the easiest kids to trap in something like this. We expect the world to cater to our every whim.”

  “My biggest worry used to be Ash.” I laughed bitterly and wiped my eyes and nose.

  “You wanted him to know how you felt?”

  “No!” I gasped. “I worried he would know, and I would be an idiot for even thinking it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go before your cheeks light on fire.”

  I lifted my cold hands to them, realizing how hot they were. Even in the moonlight he could see how embarrassed I was.

  We crunched through the grass, stepping on the crimson leaves that had fallen from the red maples surrounding Rachel’s yard.

  Vincent walked straight to a side door downstairs that led to the basement where we never really went. The staff lived there. He dropped to a knee and reached into a hedge in the garden next to the
door.

  I cocked an eyebrow as he pulled a rock out and undid it, lifting a key from the plastic.

  “You snuck into Rachel’s house?” I whispered at his back.

  “Yes.” He didn't offer anything else, and I didn't want to know the rest. Ashton and Rachel had been dating since elementary school, same as Sage and Vincent. Whatever he had been doing in Rachel’s house that he needed to know where the secret hide-a-key was left, was none of my business.

  He slid the key in, pulled the door, and jerked the key to the right with subtle shakes.

  “Tricky lock?” I couldn't help but ask.

  “It isn’t what you think.”

  “I’m sure it’s worse.”

  “It is.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Andrew’s mom wasn't the only one whose company I enjoyed.”

  “Jesus.” My jaw was on the ground, mixed in amongst the red leaves.

  “I ended it at spring break. Rachel was getting suspicious and acting weird. She tried to—anyway. She tried to compete with her mom.” He shuddered and lifted a finger to his lips as he turned the handle and opened the door.

  I followed him into the dark, scared my soul was becoming tainted by just being near him. The smell of laundry soap and heavy sadness greeted us as we snuck into the house.

  “You realize that makes them pedos, right? You were a child.”

  “I was seventeen, and I pursued them.” He led the way, weaving us through the dark house.

  When we got to the main floor via the staff staircase, I knew where we were. I turned and followed him to the hallway on the right where Rachel’s massive suite was. It was over the garage, with a large rooftop balcony overlooking the sea. The room was meant to be the master suite, but she had demanded it be hers. She’d needed to have the best bedroom of us all.

  Here we didn't have to worry about noise so much. Her parents slept on the other side of the house. He opened the door, pausing in the moonlight after he stepped in. “I have never been in Rachel’s room before.”

  I brushed past him. “I have.” I headed straight for the curtains and started closing the blinds and heavy drapes. When everything was closed I turned on the flashlight on my cell phone.

  “The guard at the gate will notice the light if you go in the bathroom or the toy room. There’s no thick curtains in there.”

  He tapped on his flashlight on his cell phone too, giving me a strange look. “Toy room?”

  I cracked a bitter grin. “Rachel played with Barbies and toys far longer than the rest of us. She made me play with her last summer. We were fifteen and she was still into them. She wasn't what she made everyone think she was.” I turned and walked straight for the bookcase with the secret door, something she had also insisted on having. I killed the flashlight and pulled the bookcase back, stepping into the well lit room. The ceiling was more like a conservatory’s and let in heaps of silver moonlight.

  “Creepy,” he whispered and slinked in after me.

  The room was round with a domed ceiling made of windows. Along the walls were dollhouses, carriages, resorts, and cars all set up for play. Each of the Barbies was positioned and dressed in the finest of outfits. Some even matched the outfits Rachel had from designers. Two blondes sat in a car, one brunette stood in the elevator, never getting off. There were Barbies on horses and dolls in beds, tucked in sweetly by their devoted owner.

  “This is insane.” He dropped to his knees and lifted a male doll with the same color hair as his. “I have that dinner jacket.” He turned back, giving me a worried look.

  “Oh I know you do. You were always her secret wish. She was with Ashton because he was the right one, but you were the one she loved.”

  “That’s disturbing.” He pointed at the kitchen with the Barbies in maid uniforms. “If I lift the lid off the pot in the kitchen am I going to find a bunny?”

  “You can’t tell me you never noticed the way she threw herself at you, before her mom and you did it?”

  “I did, but I thought she was just trying to rile up Ash.”

  “No.” That made me chuckle, but I pointed at the single dresser in the room. “That's where she kept her love letters and other things.”

  “Love letters?”

  “Of course.” I rolled my eyes and walked there, pulling the drawers open. I lifted out a bound book with a lock holding it together.

  “Where’s the key?” I rifled through the pages. “She always kept it in here, assuming people would think the key was somewhere cryptic.”

  “Just pry it open. She isn’t going to know now.”

  I looked down at the bound book I had seen her open so many times and remembered perfectly how her eyes would light up with mischief from having knowledge of something we didn't. I swallowed hard and passed him the book. “You do it.”

  He snapped the lock with almost no effort, tearing the binding and carrying it into the other room where he could turn on the flashlight again.

  I rifled through the objects she had collected, remembering each one she had showed me. A lock of hair from the first time she and Ashton kissed. She had cut some of his and some of hers and braided them together.

  A rubber band that had been wrapped around a bouquet of flowers Ashton had sent to her when we were in New York shopping with our mothers.

  Each thing had been flaunted, even rubbed in my face a little. At first I imagined she was unaware, but after a while I noticed she only did it to me. The fact she knew about my memory made it all worse; she obviously didn't care that I would relive the memory from each item over and over. She knew I would suffer, and now I realized she had wanted that for me.

  And yet, the image of her broken body broke my heart, even after all the cruelty I had endured.

  She had been so mean to Lindsey, it was cruel. She always said Lindsey would be the last to get laid in our grad class. But that was going to be me.

  I was always second on the list. She would be mean to me and then crazy nice. High and low, give and take. It was horrible.

  I was the one who would disappoint my entire family. She told me that when she was angry—that I was the punishment my mother received for being such a bitch.

  I didn't miss Rachel.

  Not even a little.

  But I would solve her murder and protect my real friends from the wake of hate she had created.

  Closing the drawer, I got up and walked to where Vincent was on the bed, ensuring I had closed the bookcase so the light wouldn't give us away.

  Before I even got to the bed, he lifted up a ransom note. It was one exactly like the ones he had received, printed in a kidnapper font and not cut-up letters. “She had them too.”

  “What does it say?”

  My heart was beating so fast I had to sit on the bed next to him as he read it aloud.

  “Wine and dine and sixty-nine. But not your boyfriend, instead take mine?” He flipped the paper over and scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Clearly the first part is obvious, and the second part means someone else went on the date with Rach, maybe being forced. Someone who wasn't single.”

  He lowered the paper and continued to rifle through the book. “There’s another. It says, ‘7:00 at the docks and don't forget my cash.’”

  “She met someone at the docks, someone who was taking her on a date.” The pieces didn't add up in my head. “So maybe the girl in Sierra’s dress, the blonde who tried to drug us, is the one who sent these.”

  He paused his page flipping and flashed the book at me. I winced at the photos of Rachel in her bathing suit. She had on bright thick makeup, enough that I hardly recognized her. And heels so high and cheap she wouldn’t have been able to walk. She was posing in obscene ways, making me uncomfortable to be seeing them in the dark with Vincent. Or at all.

  The skimpy bathing suit barely covered her, especially in the one photo where she was looking up at the camera with the red lipstick smeared across her cheek. The look in her eyes would haunt me the
rest of my life.

  “Her pupils are really dilated. She’s high as hell. Her and Molly. She was getting bad with it.”

  “Who’s Molly?”

  He chuckled. “Ecstasy. Rachel had a fondness for it.”

  “Gross.” I looked through the journal again, scanning the papers and the pictures. An idea popped into my mind. “We’re assuming the pictures came after the letters. But what if it’s the reverse?” I lifted the paper with the “wine me, dine me” quote and pointed at the question mark at the end of the sentence. “The paper doesn't say she should take the boyfriend out; it says she did. Rachel must have hooked up with this guy, gotten stoned, and let him take pictures of her. Then the letters started after the photos.” I noticed the silver tattoo and brownish red henna on her hand. “This is from spring fling. We all got matching tattoos. These photos were taken last spring.”

  “That's months before I got my first letter. Rachel was first.”

  I nodded. “Yup. Looks that way.”

  “So some guy seduced Rachel, got her stoned, and took these lovely little snapshots for his girlfriend to blackmail her with?”

  “That's what I would guess.”

  He lifted his gaze and looked at me with serious concern brewing in his eyes. “What now?”

  “Now we find the designer and see what he has to say about the second dress.”

  He nodded. “Have I ever told you how much I adore that brain of yours?”

  “No. But telling me while we’re here alone in our dead friend’s bedroom as you hold her semi-naked photos isn’t making me comfortable with it.”

  “Right.” He grinned. “Anything else here we should be looking for?”

  “You do realize I’m not Nancy Drew, right?”

  “Of course.” Vince shrugged. “You’re way smarter than she is. So think.”

  I closed my eyes and let it all float around me, each face and letter and photo. “I can’t think of anything else. We should go and check out Ashton’s room though. Try to figure out where he might have gone.”