by Mary Frame
Paige sits on Tabby’s bed and gives us pointers while she eats cheeseballs and drinks some sparkling cider that Tabby picked up for her. She poured the cider into a champagne glass so Paige isn’t left out. I think what I love most about Tabby and Jared is how they’ve accepted both of us as a package deal. Because we are.
Tabby does my makeup, and she doesn’t overdo it, thank god.
By the time I slip on some silver strappy heels, I feel like a princess.
“You guys look amazing,” Paige says wistfully. “I wish I could go.”
“You want to hang out with a bunch of old people that smell like Bengay and desperation?” Tabby asks.
Paige winces. “Maybe not.”
“It’s a school night, anyway.”
Paige is staying at Naomi’s and taking the bus with her the next day to school. The last day of school.
We meet each other’s eyes in the mirror, and I know we’re thinking the same thing.
I shrug the thoughts away. Have to focus.
“You all packed up?” Tabby asks Paige.
She is, and we pile into Tabby’s car. We drop Paige off at Naomi’s and then make our way to the senior center.
Jared and Troy should already be here. They planned to arrive before the first guests so that they would be on hand and available to observe the arrivals.
The cafeteria at the senior center has been transformed into something resembling a middle-school dance. The lights are dim, streamers hang limply from the ceiling, and a disco ball slowly rotates in the center. In one corner is a DJ set up on a narrow stage. “The Lady in Red” croons from the speakers.
There are couples all over the dance floor. It’s a sea of colorful sequins and shoulder pads with the occasional dark suit.
I think I catch a flash of dark hair somewhere in the mix of grays—must be Troy or Jared.
Ben is off toward the corner of the room opposite the DJ, behind a long table that’s substituting as a bar. I spy Miss Viola “sleeping” in her wheelchair near him. Her purple sequined dress flashes under the spinning lights.
Tabby and I head in Ben’s direction since that’s her station for the night.
“You guys want a drink? I’ve got cranberry fizzies.” Ben says “cranberry fizzies” like we’re toddlers and he’s trying to entice us to eat our leafy greens. He’s teasing, but underneath his words there’s an undercurrent of strain, like he’s putting on a not-very-convincing act.
“So tempting.” Tabby grimaces.
Ben nods at her and sets down a drink in front of her.
She eyes it for a few long seconds, like she might not drink it at all, but then she takes a small sip. “Ugh. Club soda. This is so depressing.”
“Thanks,” Ben deadpans.
I haven’t seen them together since Tabby told me about the whole no-more-making-out thing, and I can sense some tension here, despite my conversational beating of Ben.
I smile at Ben and thank him when he hands me a cranberry mocktini. “I’m gonna go mingle. Let me know if you see anything.”
I run into Judge and Mrs. Ramsey and stop to say hi and shake hands.
While talking to them, I spot Mrs. Olsen. She somehow found a bright red dress with a purple sequined cat on the butt.
Dear lord.
And then I see Jared. He’s dancing with Mrs. Hale, holding her hand, his arm around her back, waltzing her gently around the dance floor.
He’s wearing a black and white tux that fits his broad shoulders perfectly and tapers down to his slim waist.
His dark-blue eyes slide over me and then double back as recognition lights over his features.
I stop breathing.
His smile is devastation to my sheltered heart.
Dancers move in between us, blocking him from view. When we lose eye contact, I can breathe again. But not for long. When the path between us clears, I try to find him and Mrs. Hale, but they’ve disappeared.
I glance around the room, eventually spotting Mrs. Hale talking to Mr. Godfrey over at the bar, but Jared isn’t with them.
“Hey,” a voice says in my ear.
I jump. “What the hell, Jared? Where did you come from?”
“I’ve got ninja moves.” He smirks. “You look . . . amazing.” His eyes trail from my face down and then back up.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
The tux is even better up close.
I want to climb him like a jungle gym.
“Here.” From behind his back he pulls out a flower in a plastic case.
“What is this?” My heart is thumping so loudly I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
“What do you think?”
It’s a light-blue flower surrounded by tufts of baby’s breath. It matches my dress.
I think I stop breathing.
“Tabby said something about you never going to prom,” Jared says. “So I thought I could, I don’t know, make up for it or something.”
He sounds nervous.
Probably because I’m still standing here, gaping at him like I’m trying to catch food in my mouth and he’s throwing it. I force myself to breathe and shut my lips together.
I’ll never have this opportunity again, and goddammit I’m going to enjoy it.
I take the box and open it, pulling out the flowers. There’s an elastic tie attached to the back.
“Thank you.” I’m literally blinking away tears.
Dear lord, get a grip on yourself, woman. You’re a con artist, not a crybaby.
A lump forms in my throat. I am just a con. And this shouldn’t mean anything.
But it does.
He helps me put the flower on my wrist, then he sets the plastic box on a nearby table.
“Have you seen—” I start.
“What do you—” he says at the same time.
We laugh and I have to avert my eyes from his.
“You go first.” He takes my hand without the flower on it and tucks it in his arm while we walk around the edge of the room.
“Have you seen anything worth mentioning?”
“Not yet. We couldn’t exactly do a pat down of all of these people, but Troy has been checking purses in the coatroom for extra keys. What about you? Have you gotten any strange vibes?”
He gazes down at me and I get lost in his dark eyes for a minute.
“No,” I say. “But the night is young.”
Jared has the list of suspects in his pocket, but he doesn’t need it. He murmurs their names to me as we circle around the room. We stop to talk to people occasionally, but everyone seems normal and completely sober and no one gives off any breaking-and-entering vibes. Eventually, we end up at the bar, where Tabby is still giving Ben the occasional evil eye.
“Anything?” Jared asks them.
Tabby shrugs and Ben shakes his head.
“Nothing,” he says. “They aren’t even trying to steal the maraschino cherries like they normally do. It’s like they’re behaving themselves extra because you guys are here. Maybe you should have hidden or something.”
Jared shakes his head. “Well, if they’re all behaving we might as well enjoy ourselves. Would you like to dance?”
“I can’t dance,” I say.
“You couldn’t swim either.” He’s smiling at me, eyes twinkling.
“Go dance.” Tabby smacks me on the arm. “Look,” she points, “Mrs. Seinfeld is out there with a walker. No excuses. You don’t have to know how to do anything, you just hang on for the ride.”
And then it’s like I’m starring in one of those cheeseball eighties teen movies because the song switches to “Time After Time” and Jared takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor, winding through the other slow-moving dancers.
“What is it with this music?”
“It’s an eighties theme tonight. I guess they’ve been going through the decades since this whole thing started.”
“Oh.” I have no idea what else to say. I can’t speak over the flutters in my sto
mach.
Jared puts one hand on my back and the other grips my hand.
My skin prickles with awareness everywhere he touches, sending electric currents straight to my stomach. I don’t know whether to run away or jump him.
“Are you ready?”
Absolutely not. But I nod anyway.
He moves slowly. It’s not like we can swing around, surrounded by the blue-hairs in all their sequined, shuffling, glory. The disco ball flashes, casting colorful lights all around. It’s sort of magical, even when I nearly trip over Mrs. Seinfeld’s walker and Jared has to catch me.
The heat of his hand on my back is both soothing and tormenting. It’s almost too romantic and I have to remind myself why I’m here in the first place.
“What’s the plan for the rest of the night?” I glance around. “We know our perp has got to be here somewhere. How are we going to catch them?”
“Anderson is parked down the road a ways. He’s going to try and trail people as they leave.” His hand tightens on my waist. “I almost don’t want to find the Castle Cove ghost.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I won’t have any excuse to keep you.”
Startled, I meet his gaze.
His eyes are intent and serious.
“I . . .”
“I know this scares you.” The words are gravelly and serious. “I know you aren’t ready for me. For this. But I’m not giving up. We have something here. I won’t push you, but I will wait for you.”
I’m speechless. Within forty-eight hours, I’ll be gone forever. I can’t lead him on, I can’t make him think this could be something when it could never be anything.
The dancers around us become a blur.
“Jared, I like you. A lot.” Probably the most honest statement I’ve made since we met. “And I cannot tell you how much you mean to me, and to Paige, too. And that’s why I don’t want to lead you on.”
I expect him to get upset or angry, but instead he grins at me like I just said I want to make out with him.
“Why are you smiling?”
He shrugs. “You said you like me. I’m taking that as progress. You’re telling me there’s a chance.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me.
“Hey.” Troy comes up next to us, placing a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt the schmoozing, but we have an issue.”
“What is it?”
“Tabby said Mrs. Olsen is drunk.”
“How is that possible? Ben and I tested all the drinks and we checked all the purses for booze.”
“Well, I’m not sure. But she’s making out with Mr. Godfrey in the coat closet, so we could check in there again.”
We’re no longer dancing, but Jared has my hand in his. He squeezes it once before releasing me.
“I’ll go check in with Tabby,” I say.
They head off toward the coatroom.
Still standing on the dance floor, I glance over at the bar, intending on heading in that direction.
Tabby and Ben appear to be actually talking instead of fighting. I don’t want to interrupt them if they’re making some kind of progress.
Maybe Ben actually listened to me. Maybe they’ll find happiness when I’m gone.
Maybe Jared will, too.
With someone who’s not me.
The fluttering in my stomach turns sour.
I need some air.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The night breeze strokes my face with cool, salty air as I make my way through the parking lot. There’s an overlook with a small bench facing the ocean. I sit, gazing out over the dark water. The contrast of the bright moon against the dark sky sprinkled with stars soothes my weary mind.
A shooting star flashes across the sky and I let out a gasp.
I’ve never seen one before. I’ve never been a big believer in magic, or fate, or any of the lines I’ve been selling, but in this moment, I want to.
I shut my eyes and make a wish. I wish I could stay. I wish I could have this life that I’ve taken over for the last two months. I wish I were stronger.
Too many wishes probably negates the whole thing. I open my eyes and spy a small gap in the wood fence in front of me. It’s the entrance to a narrow, sandy path that leads down toward the beach. I follow the curve with my eyes. The beach leads over to the bluffs where the castle is.
Something glints in the moonlight. Something shiny. I stare at it in the darkness, leaning forward, craning my neck like it will help me see better. It doesn’t really, but the shape does start to make more sense. It looks like . . . a chair.
Wait. Not just any chair. A wheelchair.
“Holy shit.”
It’s got to be Miss Viola’s wheelchair. I frantically think back to the last time I saw her. She was sleeping over by the bar. When I checked on Ben and Tabby before I left the building, I didn’t see her.
I know she’s not as deaf as she pretends, but could she be pretending to need the chair as well?
Her name was on the list both Ben and Mr. Bingel gave us. Both lists. But I never would have even considered her because she can’t walk.
Or can she?
My eyes are drawn back up to the moon.
Full.
I remember what Jared said, what Mr. Bingel confirmed. Walking the plank naked under the full moon.
She’s doing it tonight. Now.
I squint into the darkness, trying to see anything moving on the grassy hill in the distance. Under the light of the moon, something shimmers. The dark purple shimmer of a sequined dress. Miss Viola.
I have to stop her. Even if she’s more agile than I realized, she’s going to get herself killed.
No time to go back to the senior center for help, I scramble off the bench and then down the sandy path after her, toward the bluffs.
“Damn that old lady,” I mutter, air wheezing in and out of my lungs as I run as fast as I can through the sand. My shoes aren’t helping. Irritated, I pull them off and leave them on the beach. I continue running toward the path leading up to the castle, the same one the Newsomes used for their skinny-dipping adventure.
By the time I reach the stairs, I’m winded and my calves are burning. I really need to work out more.
I push myself up the hill toward the castle. I pass by a crumbling bit of giant rock where a purple sequined dress hangs from a jagged protrusion.
Oh, no. I run faster, urging my tired muscles on. When I reach the top of the hill, near the precipice, I see her. She’s wearing a thin white slip. It falls to her knees, the fabric fluttering in the breeze. She looks no bigger than Paige up there on the broad wooden post that spans what remains of the two large towers. And she hasn’t started walking the plank yet; she’s still hovering at the edge, her back against the rock wall.
“Miss Viola!” I call, scrambling up the hill toward the bottom of the closest hunk of rock.
My voice catches on the wind and gets thrown back in my face.
If her hearing is anywhere near as bad as she lets on, there’s no way she’s going to be able to hear me. I’ve got to go after her.
When I reach the bottom of the boulder, I find a series of embedded footholds and wooden grips wedged into the rocks. How the hell did the old lady get up this thing?
Well. There’s nothing for it. I allow myself a few deep breaths, and then I haul myself up toward the plank.
“Miss Viola, don’t move!” I call out. I can’t see her, but hopefully she’s still standing near where I’ll be coming up. The last section is the hardest. My already tired muscles are screaming at me as I pull myself up and onto the ledge. The tearing sound of my dress ripping up the side adds a nice little middle finger to my night.
Dammit. Now I won’t be able to return it.
“Miss Viola, thank god!”
She’s only a couple feet away, just beginning her walk. The wooden board is about three feet wide. There are spots that appear thinner and narrower—and more dangerous—the farther it goes.
“You can’t stop me,” she says when she sees me. “They stopped me once before, but this time I’m going to finish this.”
“Miss Viola, it’s not safe.”
“I don’t care. I hear them talking even though they think I don’t. They still talk about the glory days and how they all got to be in that club. I was invited too, you know, but then the last night of the initiation, we got busted up here and since I never finished, I never got to be a part of it. Well, now that time is over, my little piddle pie.”
Piddle pie?
“Now they’re trying to outdo me. I started up the old tradition. I did all the steps again from beginning to end. And now I am going to be the first initiate in decades. I’m not gonna let them horn in on it and one-up me.”
So on top of surprising athleticism, Miss Viola has developed a streak of paranoia too? “No one’s trying to one-up you.”
“Don’t try to hoodwink me, child. They’re trying to steal my thunder!”
This is the most I’ve ever heard Miss Viola speak without yelling or saying something wildly inappropriate. She looks almost like a ghost up here in the wind, her short white hair fluttering in the breeze with her slip, and she’s not blinking, like at all.
It’s kinda creepy.
“Ruby!” Jared’s voice echoes over the cliffs from the beach access.
The cavalry has arrived. Jared and Troy are flying up the path, Tabby behind them.
“Dammit,” Miss Viola curses. “Not again.”
She starts shuffling faster across the board but falters when she trips over a nail.
“No!” I yell.
She manages to straighten herself a bit before turning toward me, her hands on her hips, her face defiant. “I’m finishing this no matter what, missy.”
“At least . . . let me help you.” She’s unsteady, and it’s more than just the ocean breeze. Who knows how long she’s been sitting in that damn wheelchair unnecessarily, but I know my limbs are sore from the run through the beach and the climb, and even if Miss Viola went much slower than me, she’s got to be tired.
I creep out from my post near the tower where I’ve been gripping the rocks behind me and inch closer to her.
“I can do this on my own.” She shuffles a few steps away.
