I don't know if he's telling the truth or just trying to make her jealous, but from her glare, it's definitely working. I hope he's not lying, at least about the friend part.
"Oh, I didn't see her sitting there."
I scoff. How lame. Does she really think we're gonna buy that?
She gives me the body check, up and down, with her top lip curled. "I'm not sure if you realize it, but that style dress is for thinner figures. Rolls only belong with hamburgers." She points to my side.
Tears immediately fill my eyes. I'm frozen, unable to move. Do I suck my stomach in or cover my sides with my arms. What a witch. Kinley was right.
"Why are you here?" Troy asks her. "When we broke things off, you said you never wanted to speak to me again."
We? As in both of them together? So he's not still pining for her?
This new piece of information gives me the strength to blink away my tears. Though it does nothing to mollify the part of my brain that usually gets me in trouble, the part that causes me to put my size eight foot into my size ten mouth.
"That's not what she told her friends," I say.
They both stare at me.
"She told them that she broke up with you because she found someone older and more sophisticated." Gosh, I hope I don't get Kinley in trouble, but this wench needs to be put in her place.
Troy turns back to Shayla. "That doesn't surprise me."
She ignores him and narrows her eyes so much I doubt she even sees us anymore. "How would you know what I said to my friends? Are you some kind of freak psychic? Or just a fat loser?"
"Shayla," Troy shouts.
I touch his arm, thrilled he's not one of those guys who ignores girls like her, but I also want to burrow into the sand because he heard her call me fat. Most of the time I don't pay any attention to my double-digit size. If I mention it, usually when a nice skirt or top no longer fits, Dad says it's part of my genetics and to accept it. His Italian side has thick waistlines, and Mom's black side has thick thighs and ample butts. Basically I'm doomed for thickness.
Instead of hiding though (partly because getting sand in my hair is awful), I plaster on a smile and take the passive aggressive road.
"It's okay. Her words don't bother me. Besides, my aunt's a therapist, and she says that I should pity anyone who's critical of others, because it means they're really insecure about themselves. Plus, you know, sad and pathetic."
Of course it's a lie. Her words bother me more than reaching the bottom of an M&M bag, but after my little speech, I feel a drop better.
She cocks her head to Troy, waiting for him to say something, but he snorts, and she glares more. If this was a cartoon, she'd have steam coming out of her ears and train whistles would sound. She jumps up and stomps back to her friends.
A guy in a black Fedora (Who wears those?) says something to her, but she waves him away, like he's a speck on the bottom of her sandal. He glances at us, our gazes lock for a second, and then he walks off.
"Your aunt sounds cool," says Troy.
I look at him sideways, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand. "Yeah, she would be if she existed. I just read a lot."
He chuckles and squeezes my arm. "You're cool, Piper Grimaldi."
I smile and have to concentrate hard to not show my molars.
* * *
When Troy drops me at home, Dad's in his office (surprise, surprise), another stretch limo is parked outside the Quinn's, and Kinley's dad, Mr. Abbott, says she's at the dentist. So I go to my room to devise a plan to make it look less bare, but it's hard to concentrate. I keep staring at my phone, willing it to beep. Troy and I traded numbers, and he said he'd text me sometime. I took that to mean "as soon as I get home."
I hang my vintage Scream, Halloween, Hide and Seek, and Shutter Island posters. I'd deck out my room in those pretty sugar skulls decorations, but despite their flower eyes and an upside down heart nose, Dad feels it's too morbid. He's such a dad.
"Piper, I'm running to town. Do you want pizza tonight?"
I can barely hear him over the hum of the wonderful air conditioners. He was true to his word. Blessed air, cable, and internet. We're back to civilization.
I open my door and shout, "Deep-dish, no ham, no pineapple, and no anchovies." Not that I've ever seen a pizza with those little fishes. I just heard it on TV. As for the rest, Dad likes to think we live in Hawaii with as many tropical pizzas that he orders. Gross. Fruit belongs in a bowl with whipped cream, or over ice cream…with whipped cream. There's a theme to it.
I look out my window and watch him pull out of the garage and drive off. The stretch limo is gone. Linzy must have gone to wherever she goes to film the soap. Probably New York. Manhattan's a three-hour drive from here, or maybe she flies in a private jet. That would be so cool. I hang a string of crystal beads onto a peg and shake my head. Decorating can wait. Now is the perfect time to snoop.
I race downstairs to Dad's office and slide open the door. He left two lamps on but turned the air in the front window off. He's crazy if this heat doesn't bother him, but it means I'll hear him pull up and can run out before he catches me.
First I'll check the top of his desk to find the latest element he's working on, but I'll have to be careful to not mess anything. Dad's totally OCD about his stuff, and he'll know if I move a dust bunny.
Before I get a chance to search for juicy bits of info, I spot flashing lights out front. I part the curtain and see a police cruiser in front of the Quinn house. Ooohh, this is much juicier than anything on paper. I leave Dad's office, careful to close the door just right and step onto my porch.
Two officers are entering the Quinn house. And I'm not the only one wanting the four-one-one. Every neighbor, including short, old Mrs. Jackson, is observing. After five minutes of sweating with nothing to see, no ambulance, no dead bodies, I turn, more than ready for the A/C.
And spot Linzy at the top of my stairs, inside my house.
What the heck is she doing there, and how'd she get past me?
I run inside, slamming the door behind me, and race up. On the top landing, I expect to see her standing there, demanding her charm back or some lame reason as to why she snuck into my house, but the hall is empty. I go into the bathroom, then Dad's room, our makeshift living room, and finally my room. Nothing. Where'd she go? I even check the linen closet then run back down.
Maybe she went down, and I didn't hear her? I was flinging doors and crouching under beds. But when I hit the foyer, the front door is wide open. She left. What the…?
"Can you close that for me, honey?"
I flinch at Dad's voice and spin to find him carrying the pizza into the kitchen. The cop car is still in the Quinn driveway. Maybe Linzy's in trouble, and she ran out. But why come here? She doesn't even know me. Is it possible she saw me trailing her last night? And am I even certain she was upstairs? All I saw was the hem of a yellow, floral skirt and pale legs. I shut the door.
"Any idea what's going on across the street?" His mouth is full so I have to guess at some of Dad's words.
"Don't know. Hey, did you see anyone leave when you got back?"
He walks into the hall, half of a slice curling over the side of his hand. He narrows his gaze. "Did you have a boy in here? That Troy fella?"
I roll my eyes. "Why would I ask if I'd snuck that Troy fella in here? No. I mean, well…I thought I saw Linzy."
"The kid from across the street? Have you become friends with her too? You're a regular Social Butterfly, huh?" He turns and goes back into the kitchen.
Why are parents so dense sometimes?
I walk back outside as Kinley and her mom pull into their driveway.
She immediately runs over. "What's going on?"
I shrug. I wish I knew.
We sit on my steps and wait. Mrs. Jackson and the Rodriquez mother have already gone inside. It's just us and Mrs. Friedman, who hedges over to the edge of her property, the heels of her shoes on her driveway and the tips on the Quinn
's grass.
"How was the dentist?"
"Oh, wonderful. I just love when they poke you with that metal thing. What about your day?"
I fill her in on hanging with Troy and the convo with Shayla.
Her eyes stay wide the entire time. "She is so hateful. I hope the cops are here because she choked on a chicken bone."
When I gasp, she rolls her eyes. "Fine, choked but didn't die. Better?"
"There's no ambulance," I point out and hold back a giggle.
She hmphs, and we continue to watch.
"I met your dad earlier," I tell her. "He seems cool."
"He's okay. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents. A lot. They took me in. But they're strict, and that sucks."
"Even bio parents can be strict."
She shrugs. "I guess."
"What happened to your birth parents?" I hope she doesn't mind my asking. Sometimes when I'm sincerely curious others think I'm being nosy.
"My birth mom couldn't take care of me, so she arranged for my parents to adopt me. It was an open adoption."
"That means you know your birth mom?"
"Sorta. I've met her a few times when I was little. There are pictures. But she moved out of state about five years ago, and I haven't spoken to her since. Why did your mom leave?"
I take a deep breath. I wish I knew that too. At least the whole story. "Dad says she couldn't handle losing my brother. He was seven. I was four. He drowned in a neighbor's pool."
"Gosh, that sucks, but it sounds like a legit reason."
"Yeah, except it feels like there's more to it. I recall hearing my parents argue. Not the light stuff, like who forgot to change the TP roll, but really yelling at each other. Mom cried all the time, which is normal after burying a child, but I'd catch her talking to herself or to Vincent. She'd deny it. Plus it was so long ago I don't know which are real memories and which I twisted over time."
A silver car passes us and pulls into the Quinn driveway. I stand up. That's Troy's car, well, his mother's. The driver door opens, and Chief Williams steps out. She glances up and down the street, noticing but not acknowledging us, and walks into the Quinn house.
"Why's she here?" I reach into my pocket and text Troy.
any idea y ur moms @ Quinns?
Kinley smirks. "He must really like you if he gave you his number."
I shrug. After Shayla left he seemed more big brother than potential boyfriend material. But a girl can hope.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I nearly drop it from excitement. Yes, I just texted him, but he could've ignored it. It's easy to do if you don't want to talk to the person. So he must want to talk to me. I giggle then read the screen.
Linzys missing
CHAPTER SIX
"No, she's not. She was just in my house." Confusion and a splash of fear replace my giggles.
"What are you talking about?" Kinley peers over my shoulder at the message.
My stomach knots so tight, I'm afraid I'll be severed in two. "Dad?"
The panic in my voice makes him run. His slippers slap along the hardwood floors. He glances at the Quinn's then down to us. "What is it?"
I show him Troy's message, tell him about seeing Linzy a bit ago, again, then fill him in on my spying adventure last night. I don't think I did anything wrong, but I leave Kinley out of it just in case her parents won't agree. When I'm done, she smiles at me, and Dad rubs his chin.
He's going to lecture that I shouldn't have been so reckless, that I need to behave more mature and to think before I act, and then he's going to ground me, and I won't be able to see the fireworks.
"We should tell Chief Williams. Wait here." He jogs down the three steps and heads across the street.
That's it? Where's the lecture? Maybe he's saving it for when we're alone. I replay what I'll say to the chief and remember the charm.
"Be right back," I say to Kinley and run up to my room.
My shorts are still on my floor. I reach into the front pocket but can't find the star. I search again, from corner to corner, but nothing. I pull the material out and spot the hole in the stitching. Damn, it fell out. I look along my floor but don't see it. I throw the shorts down and rejoin Kinley. It's not that big a deal. I don't even know if it belongs to Linzy, and if it does, it won't tell what happened to her.
The Quinn's screen door slams. Dad and the chief walk toward us, deep in conversation. Well, Dad's talking, probably trying to get info, and the chief is silent.
Kinley stands. "I should go. Um, thanks for not saying I was with you. My mom would freak."
Her mom really needs to chill. She only walked to the corner. But I don't say that. "No sweat. I'll call you later?"
I hand her my phone so she can put her number in it.
"I'll put mine on vibrate. Call me any time, even after eight. I want all the details, okay?" She hands it back.
"Will do."
She walks off as Dad and the chief step onto our walkway.
"Let's go inside. I'll put on a pot of coffee." Dad leads the way.
The chief sits across from me at the table and pulls a notepad and pen from her bag. I wring my hands in my lap, but that hurts after half a dozen times, so I grab a paper plate and a slice of pizza and start to nibble. Dad offers a slice to the chief, but she declines. It smells amazing. Dad got sausage, pepperoni, green peppers, and mushrooms. My faves. But it slides down my throat, bypassing my taste buds, and lands in a heap in my stomach.
"Piper, your father says you saw Linzy in your house earlier tonight?"
I nod and swallow hard, a bite of mushroom catching in my throat. "Yes, at the top of our stairs."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing. By time I got up there, she was gone."
Lines punctuate between her brows. "As in vanished?"
"Well not like poof. That's silly. I couldn't find her. She must've run back out while I was looking in the rooms."
"Are you sure it was Linzy Quinn?"
I stare down at my slice. Grease has spilled onto the thin, white plate, making a huge translucent stain. "Not exactly. I've never seen Linzy up close, but it looked like her."
The chief gives one of those tightlipped smiles that says she hears me but doesn't quite believe.
"But I definitely saw her last night."
She leans forward in her chair. "Tell me about that."
I relay all of last night except the Kinley parts, and I don't bother mentioning the charm, since I've lost it. I don't want her to not believe me. Maybe it wasn't Linzy in my house, but she definitely argued with that person last night.
"And you couldn't see the driver or make out the car at all?"
I shake my head. "Just that it looked black, and it may have had four doors."
Dad sets a mug of coffee, the sugar, and carton of half-and-half on the table.
"And have you seen her since? Besides this evening?" the chief asks.
"No. I was with Troy most of the day. I met her sister, Shayla." Hopefully the chief won't want me to repeat that conversation.
She stirs sugar into her coffee and sips it before asking, "How did she seem?"
I shrug. "Fine, I guess. I don't have anything to compare it to. She was flirting with Troy."
His mom purses her lips for a moment then brings the cup back up to them.
Okay, so I said that on purpose to gauge her reaction. I guess she doesn't care for Willowy and Blonde either.
"She was kinda snotty to me. Is that normal?" I can't stop the smirk that lifts the left side of my mouth, so I bite off a large chunk of pizza.
The chief flips her book shut. "Sounds about right."
Oblivious to our innuendo, Dad sits between us and asks, "How long has she been missing?"
The chief glances at me before answering. "Since last night."
As in, I'm the last person to see her? Well, me and the driver.
"And they've only called you now?"
"They assumed she'd be back this morning, tha
t she was with friends."
Dad's color deepens. "At fourteen?"
The chief drinks more of her coffee, then stands. "Celebrities live different lives than us, Mr. Grimaldi. It's not my job to judge, only help."
I know Dad is thinking, in other words, they're irresponsible parents, but he doesn't say it. Maybe we're all thinking it.
As the chief reaches the doorframe, Dad asks, "Do you suspect foul play?"
She narrows her eyes, as if not sure how to answer.
"For my daughter. Do I need to keep her locked up?"
Her expression softens, and she gives me a small smile. "No. Hollow Ridge is a quiet, safe community. I'm sure Ms. Quinn is being dramatic, like girls her age can be, and will return soon."
I wonder if the police said the same to the parents of Buffalo Bill's victims.
* * *
Sleep is futile.
Kinley and I stayed up, on the phone, until midnight, going over every detail of the past two days. The only reason I hung up was because she dozed off twice. The first time I yelled in her ear until she woke up. The second time I gave up. I figured she'd wake in the morning with her cell stuck to her face.
I glance at my clock. It's two a.m., and I can't turn off my mind.
Where is Linzy? Is she just hiding out at a friend's, sulking, pouting, being a typical teenager? Whatever that means. Gosh, I hate when adults have to categorize every teen as moody or dramatic, like we're not individuals, unique. Should we call all of them old and fun-suckers? Well, I guess we do.
Now that Linzy's missing, Shayla won't have time to hang all over Troy.
I smack myself in the forehead. Bad thought, Piper. This isn't about you. But I can't help wonder if this will be my very own first case. No, I don't want anything to be wrong with Linzy, and it's unlikely Dad will allow me anywhere near a mystery, but I can dream, right?
My bladder is full, so I grab my glasses and get up to empty it. When I'm done, I head downstairs for something to drink, to fill it up again. The wood floor is cool against my feet. Most of our other places had wall-to-wall carpeting. I'll have to get used to wearing socks or slippers when the season changes.
I Spy Dead People Page 4
