Parrish

by Shannen Crane Camp

  “Unless that boy is a psychopath like his father and he’s actually taking Brighton away to murder her,” Jefferson said, quite unhelpfully.

  I didn’t even bother to respond, knowing he was just in a bad mood because our investigation had gotten in the way of his “feelings” time.

  “Wow, this is a really nice car,” Brighton said, her voice starting to sound strained.

  I was almost positive her change in tone stemmed from Jefferson’s less-than-appealing prediction for Logan’s true intentions. Brighton wasn’t the kind of person who just let a thought like that pass over her. At that exact moment, I was sure she was calculating every possible way Logan could kidnap and murder her.

  “Brighton, you’re fine,” I said. “You’re doing great! Just keep up the small talk.”

  “I’m going to throw up,” she said. “Don’t worry, he’s walking around the car to get in. He can’t hear me. But I’m definitely going to throw up. This was a terrible idea, Sade! I can’t do—”

  Her words cut off abruptly as I heard a car door open in my earpiece.

  “So, are you going to school?” Logan asked. He started the car and sped away toward his father’s house.

  “I’m taking a semester off,” she said, sounding less charming.

  “Keep it together, Brighton,” Jefferson warned.

  “But I’ll be starting up at the State University of New York next semester,” she added in a much nicer tone. “History major. Surprise, surprise.” Her breathing was speeding up.

  “Good. Joking is good,” I said, trying to keep her calm.

  Really, I was surprised it had taken her this long to realize she was flirting with a boy. She’d held it together much better than I thought she would.

  Hoping I could be a sneaky tail in our huge Jeep, I started the car and began driving toward Anthony’s house.

  “Ask him why he’s going into law,” I said.

  “So Logan, why law?”

  “My dad is a lawyer, so I think he just kind of expects me to follow in his footsteps,” he said as they neared the house.

  “Do you want to be a lawyer?” Brighton asked.

  “Not really,” he admitted. “Having an office job where you argue with people all day sounds terrible to me.”

  “Amen,” Jefferson said from the passenger’s seat.

  We still hadn’t caught up to Brighton and Logan enough to see his red sports car, but I knew we were nearing the house, so we couldn’t be far behind.

  “Wow,” Brighton said with an appropriate amount of awe in her voice. “This is your house?”

  “My parent’s house, I guess,” he clarified.

  “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  At least she didn’t have to feign her love of the house, no matter how anxious she was.

  “This way,” he said.

  “Anthony is turning off lights in the office,” Deacon said, clearly uncomfortable. “So basically, we’re going to be arrested because we aren’t out of Anthony’s house in time, and Brighton will have been assaulted for no reason.”

  “He’s not assaulting her,” I said.

  “You can’t even see her! And they’ve stopped talking.”

  “We’re right outside of the house, Deacon. Stop trying to steal the title of Crazy Parrish from your cousin.”

  “Yeah, I don’t appreciate it at all,” Jefferson said very seriously.

  “Anthony is leaving his office,” Deacon said. “Get Brighton out of there.”

  “Would you shut it?” Jefferson snapped. “We’re so close. Besides, if Anthony comes home before Brighton gets out, she can just keep pretending to be interested in the little bugger. It’s not a big deal.”

  Deacon made an annoyed sound, but didn’t say anything to disprove his cousin. He knew he was right.

  A light popped on in the front room of the house where we’d seen Anthony hide the letter earlier.

  “Would you like a drink?” Logan asked.

  “This is feeling very Rear Window of us,” Jefferson whispered.

  I elbowed him hard to shut him up. Brighton didn’t need any more reason to think she was about to be murdered.

  “I’d love one.” Brighton gathered her hair to one side of her head so that her long neck and bare shoulders were exposed.

  At least she knew that when words failed her, she had the body of a model to distract boys.

  “I’ll get some ice,” Logan said with a much too devilish grin in Brighton’s direction.

  The second he was out of the room, her sexy posing melted away and her shoulders hunched as she grabbed her stomach and began breathing rapidly.

  “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh,” she repeated over and over again. “I can’t do this, Sade. I can’t keep this up. I’m going to vomit all over this desk that probably costs more than every possession I own.”

  “Brighton,” Jefferson said forcefully. “Take a deep breath, turn around, and tell me if you see a safe.”

  She didn’t take a deep breath or stop whispering “oh my gosh” to herself, but she did turn around and scanned the bookshelf where Anthony had hidden the envelope.

  “Anthony has officially left the office,” Deacon said.

  “I can’t do this,” Brighton whispered. “Sadie, I think I’m going to pass out.”

  “You’re not going to pass out, Brighton,” Jefferson said, before I could respond. He actually sounded soothing, which was surprising. “You’re doing a wonderful job. And we wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for you. Now just tell me what you see on that bookshelf.”

  Brighton placed a hand against her forehead to calm herself and looked once more. Even from our position across the street, I could see how tense she was. She seemed like she might burst into tears at any moment.

  Brighton turned to look over her shoulder at some unheard sound. “Is he coming back?”

  I tried to locate Logan through the other illuminated windows in the large Craftsman. “I’ll watch the rest of the house—just do what Jefferson says.”

  “I see some obviously fake books,” Brighton said, her voice tight and uncomfortable. “The safe is probably behind there.”

  “Move the books to see,” Jefferson said with practiced patience.

  “I can see Logan in the kitchen, Brighton. You’re fine.”

  Unfortunately, no matter how fine I said she was, she seemed to be frozen in place with one hand on her forehead and the other on her stomach.

  “Move the books,” Jefferson said again.

  “I’ve lost sight of Anthony. He drove away and you geniuses took the car so I can’t follow him,” Deacon practically shouted. “Sod it. I’m jogging to the house.”

  “Brighton,” Jefferson said, speaking evenly. “Just take two steps forward and move the books.”

  I couldn’t hear her rapid breathing now, but I suspected it was because she was holding her breath. It seemed like it took her hours to move, but eventually she unfroze, reached into her bra, and pulled out a pair of surgical gloves.

  James Bond Brighton strikes again.

  Utterly impressed with her foresight—or the benefits of her germaphobia—we watched as she pulled on the gloves, reached out to the bookshelf in front of her, and swung open the fake façade of a handful of books.

  Unfortunately, as she did that, a few more books fell off of the book shelf above her, nearly hitting her in the head.

  At first I thought she’d disrupted the books by opening the safe. But even after she froze under the avalanche of books, a few still dislodged themselves without any help from Brighton. As if they were pushing away from the bookshelf of their own accord.

  “You guys are seeing this, right?” she asked, her voice high and tight.

  “Someone doesn’t want you in there,” Jefferson said, as if that was really helping this situation at all. “Maybe Meyer.”

  “Are you saying there’s a ghost in here trying
to keep me from the safe?” Brighton asked, a new level of panic washing over her

  “I don’t see anyone,” Jefferson said. “You should be fine.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t see them,” Brighton said. “They’re ghosts.”

  “You’d be surprised what I can see,” Jefferson said. “Now just tell me what you see.”

  “There’s a safe,” she breathed, barely audible. “It requires a code.”

  “Which we can’t exactly ask the little boy for,” Deacon said, his breathing heavy.

  Apparently he hadn’t been joking when he said he would jog to the house. I would actually pay money to see his awkwardly tall frame sprinting across town while clutching a laptop to his chest.

  “Try 9780451,” Jefferson said.

  “And while you’re at it, try 89432,” I said. “We don’t have time for this, Jefferson. We need to figure out how she can get the code from Logan before he gets back and sees her having a meltdown.”

  “It worked,” Brighton said, before slapping a hand over her mouth to quiet herself.

  I raised my eyebrows at Jefferson. “I know you’re not in the business of answering questions, but how?”

  “You gave me a piece of paper with the code on it,” Jefferson said, sounding like I’d lost it. “You told me to hold onto it until a code was needed. Very cryptic of you, by the way.”

  “Jefferson, I never did that,” I answered.

  This conversation was strongly reminding of the many times my sister Michigan had sworn I’d said things to her that I never did.

  It seemed to be a reoccurring theme in my life.

  “Well, then apparently I’m psychic,” he said, although I didn’t think he really meant it.

  He was just trying to avoid an argument with me. He was really actually convinced that I’d given him the code to the safe. And when we weren’t in an actual life or death situation, I’d have to question him more about it.

  “I can’t hide this folder in my dress,” she said. “Sadie, get over here so I can give it to you through the window.”

  “I’ll do it,” Jefferson interrupted.

  Unfortunately, like his cousin, he was too tall to be subtle. I, on the other hand, was very stealthy with my twelve-year-old boy’s build.

  “Watch my back, Jimmy Stewart.” I gave him a quick wink, before stealing out of the car and darting across the darkened lawn.

  I was definitely cursing myself for the bright yellow dress on a covert mission.

  “What is she talking about?” Deacon asked, still sounding winded.

  “Rear Window,” Jefferson explained with a smile in his voice.

  As crazy as he was, we understood each other. I would wait until I wasn’t on a time-sensitive mission to explore the depressing nature of that fact.

  “I’m under the window, Brighton,” I whispered. I tried to duck down in the bushes in case Anthony came home.

  “How long does it take to get ice?” Deacon asked.

  “Logan’s putting on cologne,” Jefferson said. “I can see him in the bathroom.”

  “I can’t get the window open,” Brighton said. “Oh . . . wait . . . I’m just an idiot.”

  I heard the window pop open above me as the scent of flowers wafted strongly from the interior of the house. Brighton poked her head outside and looked down, her curtain of blonde hair obscuring her face. She handed me the files and her gloves, looking pale and miserable.

  “Just let me climb out the window with you,” she begged. “My eye is twitching and I can’t feel my feet and I think I might be having a stroke. Can you smell burning feathers?”

  “You’re not having a stroke, you beautiful mess of a woman.” I grasped the envelope tightly against me. “Get back in there, put on a brave face, tell him you don’t feel well and need to go back to your car, and I’ll buy you all the hand sanitizer and Xanax you could ever want.”

  “I can’t. Please let me out.” She really sounded like she might pass out.

  “Get back inside, Brighton. He’s coming,” Jefferson said. “And close the safe.”

  With one last pathetic whimper that broke my heart, Brighton closed the window just as headlights cut through the front yard.

  I flattened myself against the ground behind the bushes, pressing my cheek against the mud and hoping Anthony wouldn’t catch me. I still wasn’t sure if I believed Jefferson’s theory that his ancestor was a murderer, but I didn’t want to take my chances just in case that trait ran in the family.

  “Anthony is here,” Jefferson whispered, as if that fact wasn’t painfully obvious. “Sadie, stay down. Deacon please refrain from jogging up to the house when you get here. And Brighton, take a breath and try to be charming.”

  Chapter 29

  “Oh great,” I heard a slightly muffled voice say in my earpiece.

  “What’s wrong?” Brighton asked, her voice somewhere between flirty and panicked.

  It was an odd combination and she just ended up sounding a bit shrill.

  “My dad’s home,” Logan said. “We should probably get going.”

  “And that’s your out,” Jefferson said. “Just keep it together while he drives you back to the party, then you can escape and we’ll never make you be social again.”

  “It’s all right, I was actually feeling a little lightheaded anyway,” Brighton assured Logan.

  Understatement of the year.

  I heard a car door shut and knew Anthony would be entering the house at any second, but I didn’t dare look up or say anything to my friends using my microphone. Despite my rational thoughts, I had started to worry that maybe Anthony was some kind of psychotic murderer who would kill me if he found me hiding in his garden with the files he was trying so hard to keep secret.

  “I’ll tell you when it’s safe to move, Sade,” Jefferson said in my earpiece. “Just stay down until I tell you to come back to the Jeep.”

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was worried this guy might be a serial killer.

  “I’ll go get my keys,” Logan said a moment later, leaving Brighton alone in the library once more.

  “No, you tosser,” Jefferson said. “You can’t leave her alone in there.”

  “I’m going to freak out, you guys,” Brighton whispered through gritted teeth.

  I was just assuming Logan was out of the room by that point. It was either that, or Brighton had completely given up on our charade.

  “Anthony is in the house,” Jefferson said. “And walking toward the library.”

  “Go get her out of there,” Deacon said, still breathing heavily into his mic. “I’m almost to the house.”

  “I can’t believe you ran all the way here,” I whispered. I was still pressed against the wet ground in my dress. “Jefferson, can I leave yet?”

  “Stand by.”

  “Excuse me, but what are you doing in here?” Anthony’s voice came through Brighton’s mic.

  “Sorry . . . I was just waiting for Logan,” Brighton said, her voice sounding shaky.

  Things were falling apart.

  There was silence over my earpiece for a moment, and even when I held my breath, I couldn’t hear what was going on.

  “Jefferson, what’s happening?” I whispered.

  “He’s walking toward her.” He sounded like he was holding his breath as well. “Brighton, the books that covered the safe didn’t close all the way. Don’t turn around and look. Just keep eye contact with Anthony and try to say something normal.”

  “You must be Logan’s dad?” Brighton asked.

  Silence again.

  “What are you doing in this room?” Anthony asked.

  “Just waiting for your son,” she repeated, sounding much too guilty.

  “Brighton, has he broken eye contact with you to look at the safe?” Jefferson asked. “If you think he’s noticed the safe, I want you to touch your hair.”

  I held my breath, wishing I could s
ee what was going on through the window just above me, but there was no way I was going to risk getting caught.

  “Right,” Jefferson said. It didn’t sound like a good response. “We need to get Brighton out of there. I don’t think she’s safe.”

  “Hey, Logan?” Brighton called.

  I jumped at the suddenly loud shout in my ear.

  “Deacon, where are you?” Jefferson asked.

  “I’m two seconds away,” he said. “Take this.”

  I heard a quick exhale and saw a tall shadowy form running from the Jeep across the street up to the house.

  “Deacon just threw his computer at me,” Jefferson said.

  “Sorry, sir, we were just leaving,” Brighton promised.

  “I’m coming, Brighton,” Deacon said, looking more heroic than normal.

  “What could you possibly do?” I asked.

  This was exactly why we investigated places where people had been dead for years. Living people involved a sense of rush, and apparently we didn’t work well under pressure. The loose plan we had come up with was quickly unraveling and we were descending into chaos.

  I could hear Deacon’s frantic knock on the door and suddenly Jefferson whispered, “Run Sadie,” into my earpiece.

  I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but I didn’t hesitate to obey. I jumped to my feet, still clutching the large envelope to my chest, and sprinted across the wet lawn. Jumping into the passenger’s seat of the Jeep, I managed to get mud all over the car interior but didn’t really care as I tried to catch my breath.

  “You have the files?” Jefferson asked, echoing in my earpiece.

  I swallowed hard against the dry lump in my throat and held the envelope up with a muddy, triumphant grin.

  “Now we just have to hope Brighton and Deacon don’t get killed, or we’ll be asking their ghosts for signs of the paranormal.”

  “Not funny.” I leaned over Jefferson to get a better look at the scene unfolding at Anthony’s house.

  Deacon was still standing at the front door, but Anthony didn’t seem to be making a move to answer it. He stood uncomfortably close to Brighton in the library, having some sort of staring competition with her, as if he could intimidate her into revealing her secrets to him.