She turns away and goes to a section of the bedroom I can't see.
"She doesn't hate you," I whisper.
When Linzy follows her sister into the bedroom, I get back up on the stool.
I reach for the object in the corner. My fingers graze it. I lean to the side on my tip-toes and pray the stool doesn't slip out beneath my feet. I grab the corner of the bag and yank it forward. Back on the ground, I set the heavy bag on the stool and pull open the drawstring. I reach in and pull out a twenty dollar bill.
Cool. I love when I take out last year's jacket or an old pair of pants and find money I forgot I had.
Peering into the bag, it seems to be filled with paper or…more money? I carry the bag into the bedroom. "Look what I found."
Shayla's dabbing the corners of her eyes with a tissue at the vanity. She comes over.
I turn the bag upside down and wads of cash fall out.
We stare at one another in amazement.
"That looks like hundreds, thousands," Shayla says.
Linzy's by her door. She disappears, obviously not wanting to answer any questions.
"Maybe this is what she's earned from the soap," I say, but don't people put their money in a bank?
Shayla shakes her head. "No. Since Linzy's underage, that money goes into a special account. Mom and Dad are only allowed to spend a small amount for her personal needs, like new head shots and stuff. Linzy always complained that she should have her own money."
Then where the heck did this come from?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The money totals eight-thousand, seven hundred and forty dollars, in twenties and fifties. We put it back and run over to my house, with Linzy's laptop, as Mr. and Mrs. Quinn pull into their driveway. I shut the door and ask Shayla, "Are they going to wonder where you are?"
"No. I just hope they didn't see me run in here."
Wow, they must really hate me.
"Dad, I'm back. Shayla and I are going up to my room, okay?" I shout through his door.
Suddenly it slides open and he says, "Okay. I need to run out. I shouldn't be long." He smiles, kisses my forehead, and leaves through the garage door.
He's been going out a lot more than usual. He must really like Bridget.
I give his office a second look but decide to go up. There will be time to snoop later, when I'm alone and after dealing with Linzy. Her death is way more important than some old photographer.
Shayla and I settle on my bed and open the laptop. The emails were a bust, but Shayla's now searching through all the other files, looking for a clue about the money.
I excuse myself and walk through the house, looking for Linzy, but she's not visible. Is she still back at her place? I turn to head upstairs, and there are three, loud, urgent knocks at the door. I flinch and hesitate. Is it Shayla's parents?
I peek through the small side window and see Troy. My pulse rises. What's he doing here? I open the door and smile. "Hi."
He pushes past me, while glancing over his shoulder. His forehead is shiny and his breathing irregular.
"What's wrong?" I ask, pulling him in further and pushing the door shut.
"I got it. Oh crap, I got it." He holds up his hand. He clenches a stack of papers so hard that they're crinkled and bent. He's pumped, his eyes darting back and forth, his voice higher pitched than normal, and he looks like he's just run a marathon.
His enthusiasm, or maybe it's fear, is contagious, and I can't wait to learn what he's talking about. "What is it?"
He hands me the papers. "Autopsy on Linzy."
Oh crap is right. My mouth hangs open, and I look down at the sheets. The light is too dim to read anything. "Come on. Shayla's upstairs."
We run to my room. Shayla looks up, wide-eyed. "What's up?"
I return to my spot on the bed and try to focus.
Troy paces my room. "I was in Mom's office, and she had to take a private call. She took her cell into the hall and shut the door behind her. It was the perfect moment. I couldn't pass it up."
He stops long enough to give us a poignant look, then continues. "Linzy's file was on top of her desk."
"Are these the actual reports?" I ask.
He frowns and shakes his head repeatedly. "No. She has a copier in her office. A small one. Can you believe that? Her call lasted so long I was able to copy the file."
I lean up against the pillows and flip through the pages. There's the autopsy report, a toxicology report, notes, photos of the crime scene, witness testimonies, and other pages that aren't labeled. "You got everything."
"That's what I said. I copied the whole file."
Shayla grabs the stack. "Give me that. She was my sister."
I try to snatch it back, but she tightens her grip. "One you hated."
She won't let go, and I'm afraid she'll tear them, so I loosen my grip.
"I didn't hate her. She was just a pain in my side, like you."
"At least give me some. You can't read them all at one time, selfish."
She glares my way but opens her fingers so several end pages fall onto my comforter. The top one is a photo of Linzy's naked, dead body.
We both gasp.
The copy is black and white but the contrast of her complexion to her hair shows how pale she was. Her eyes are shut, her lip is cracked, and her choker looks weird, disfigured, and muted. Troy must've messed it up when he copied the picture.
She was dressed in the river, so this has to be before the medical examiner performed the autopsy. She must've been so cold. That's stupid, Piper. She was dead. She didn't feel the temperature.
Tears gather in my eyes, squeeze at the corners, blurring my vision. I'm not a big crier, usually, and I've never felt moved by a photo, so why now?
"Why's everyone so gloomy?" Linzy's voice sounds.
I look around and watch her appear on my dresser. "Geez, it's like a funeral in here." She giggles.
My throat tightens, and it's hard to swallow. I cover the photos with my pillow. "I don't want to look at these now."
Troy's brows shoot up. "What? I thought this would help."
"It does. It's just a lot and kind of grim." I glance at Linzy. "So I need to look at it in pieces, ya know?"
Linzy hops off the dresser and walks to her sister's side.
"Yeah, I hear you," Troy says.
Shayla tilts her head back and sighs. "I don't need to read this."
Linzy bends down and stares at the page. Something on it makes her gasp.
Shayla lifts the pillow and adds her pages to the stack.
Linzy's eyes widen. She backs away from the bed, through my desk, until she's at the wall.
Shayla stands. "I didn't understand why Mom had the casket closed. I mean, they use makeup and make them look normal, but I'm glad now that she chose that. I want to remember Linzy in full diva mode. Not dead."
No one says anything. Even Linzy looks stunned.
Shayla finally breaks the silence. "I should go. Can I leave that here for a bit?" She points to Linzy's laptop.
"Sure, but why?"
"If my folks see me walk into the house with it, they'll wonder why. I don't want to add any more grief. They barely speak to me as is."
I nod, feeling sucker-punched for the umpteenth time today.
She heads to my door and looks back to Troy. "You're staying?"
Troy glances at me, perhaps looking for an answer.
I don't want him to leave, but Dad may be back soon. "My dad…"
It's all I have to say. His eyes widen, and he nods. "Yeah."
I walk them down. On the front porch, I step out and close the door behind me. That way if Dad pulls in while I'm saying good-bye, I can pretend Troy never entered the house.
Shayla walks to the sidewalk then glances back and gives us a nod. She runs across to her house and goes around to her backyard.
"You'll let me know what the papers say, right?" Troy asks.
"You didn't read them?"
"Some."
He looks down and kicks at the air. "This is new to me. I wasn't ready for some of it. Does that make me a coward?"
I touch his arm. "Not at all. It makes you human."
He looks into my eyes and smiles. It's gentle and warm and makes me wonder all over again how he feels about me. It never feels like the right time to bring up the non-kiss.
"To be honest, I've looked at a bunch of Dad's photos, but this one seems different."
He nods. "'Cause I knew her. I've eaten dinner across the table from her. I've given her rides to the mall. She's watched movies with me and Shayla."
"Yeah, I didn't know her, but I saw her alive. It's not the same thing, but it feels like I knew her." Or it's that I'm getting to know her.
A car drives down the street slow. It's Bridget. She waves at us.
We wave back.
"Do you know her well?" I ask.
"No. She and Mom talk some. I think she talks with everyone in town. Why?"
"I think Dad may be secretly seeing her."
He watches Bridget pull into her driveway and step out of her car. "Really?"
Bridget kicks her back tire, then grabs a bag of groceries from her back seat and enters her house.
"Well, I should go," Troy says.
"Okay, I'll call you."
I watch him get into his mother's car, which he parked across the street, in front of the Freidman's, and drive off. I'm about to head back in when I hear someone call my name. I turn to see Gabi in her front yard. She waves me over.
We meet in the street, by her curb. "I was wondering if you could watch Jazzy tomorrow night? I'm dying to get out of this house."
"Sure. That'll be fine." It's not like I ever have plans.
"Great. Come by around seven."
"Okay, see you then."
As I head back home, I purposely don't look at Kinley's house. I can't bear to see her in her window, watching me, ignoring my texts. Inside I take my stairs two-at-a-time and step into my room.
The papers Troy copied are scattered across my bed and the floor. Linzy stands in the middle of it all. She looks scared, nauseous, and confused.
"What'd you do?" I ask, although the answer is obvious. She found a way to read the sheets without picking each one up. "You shouldn't look at it."
"Why not?" Her voice is shrill. "This is how I died."
She clenches her hands, tightens her body, and groans.
The air charges, feels electric, and a wind circles the room. It ruffles my curtains, lifts and blows the papers about, and rushes through my hair.
I shudder.
Linzy disappears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It isn't until after dinner that I feel like reading Linzy's file, which is completely weird because I usually live for this stuff. My very own case. I never guessed how emotional it would be though. It's like I've been hit by a dump truck which then piled dirt over me. Anything other than just lying here is a major chore. But I know I must push through it, or I'll never learn the truth. And even though Linzy isn't helping, I believe once I figure it all out, she'll move on, which is what's best. Right?
I'm on my bed and have my pillow back on top of the pile, just in case Dad enters in his usual way. I start with the interviews-slash-interrogations. The first is mine. I skim it, not seeing anything different or weird, just what I said. The next ones are from Linzy's family.
Mrs. Quinn last saw her daughter when they argued, and she told her to go to her room. According to Mrs. Quinn, they argued all the time in the past couple of years. It was common and expected. Mr. Quinn last saw Linzy when she put her dinner plate in the dishwasher. Linzy had eaten in her room, as she always did, while he and his wife ate at the table. Shayla was at dance practice.
That must've been where they were going when I saw Shayla the first day Dad and I moved in.
Shayla last saw Linzy when Mrs. Quinn dropped her off at class. It took the parents eighteen hours to realize their fourteen-year-old was missing.
I lean my head against the wall and shut my eyes. The air conditioner hums. I rub my arms from the chill and turn the A/C off and the fan on, then get back to the reports.
Chief Williams also spoke with April who said she and Linzy were best friends. They had no problems, she knew of no problems in Linzy's life, and there was nothing suspicious going on. April's obviously a liar.
There are statements from her teachers, classmates, producer, and the managers or publicity agents of Linzy's co-stars. Everyone said she was hard to deal with.
Linzy showed a genuine talent, but she was a Diva—always late and giving attitude, remarked her producer.
I liked her but she was kind of a bitch, said Margo, her co-star.
Linzy's teachers said pretty much the same thing.
I read each page carefully, but I don't learn anything new. How disappointing.
The toxicology report says there were no drugs in her system. That rules out the Lindsay Lohan rep. The autopsy report is next. Linzy's death was caused by asphyxiation due to strangulation.
I assumed she'd been smothered by a pillow.
There were skin and fabric particles under her nails. A light blue nylon. Linzy on her back, struggling, fighting with whoever held her down. That's sick.
I force myself to finish reading the autopsy. Her stomach contents were ground beef, potato, and corn. Dinner.
Next, I grab the photo I saw earlier and stare at the choker. I run my fingers over it, as if I can feel the material. Then it hits me. She's naked. This photo isn't of her choker but the bruise beneath.
I look away and take a deep breath. I've been so preoccupied with who killed her, I never thought of what she must've went through. The fear, the pain.
Linzy appears, and I'm relieved to see her. It's almost as if the photos and reports aren't true. She didn't die horribly; she's standing right in front of me. But then I stare at her necklace. Has it been hiding her bruises all this time?
"Take that off," I say, pointing to her neck.
"Why?"
"'Cause I want to see your skin."
She raises her brows. "Are you a lezzy?"
"Just take it off."
She shrugs and does as told, which is surprising enough, but when the choker is gone, the purple bruise is there.
My stomach rumbles. Maybe I show my shock because she turns to my mirror and gasps.
"What happened?" Her voice is strained.
"It's how you died."
She steps backwards and sits on my bed.
I scoot up, wrinkling some of the pages, and sit beside her. "Do you remember it happening?"
She gives a nod. It's small and barely visible, but she remembers.
"Tell me about it," I whisper. I don't want to scare her off. I'm also not sure I want the gory details. But I need answers. It's like this gnaw that never lets up. I can't not know, even if knowing is excruciatingly painful.
She gives me a hateful sideways glance. "No."
"Why not?" My voice raises a few octaves. I can't believe she's being so selfish. Okay, so I believe it, but it ticks me off.
She lowers her head. "You don't get it."
Yes, I'm confused as to why she's so darn stubborn. "What's to get? You know how you died and who killed you. Why wouldn't you want to tell, to get it out there, to end this?"
"For someone so bent on solving mysteries, you're clueless," she says and disappears.
* * *
I try to call Linzy back for an hour, but she's not returning. I decide to go to Kinley's. Hopefully she can help, and hopefully our awkwardness can be put aside for a bit. Her mom lets me in. I only have an hour before they go to bed, so I know I have to make this quick. Kinley's in the basement watching Easy A. Emma Stone is so beautiful.
"Hey," I say and sit on the sofa beside her.
"Hey."
"I love this movie."
"Me too."
It's pretty much a duh reply, but I don't comment.
It's the scene wh
ere the gay friend goes to Emma's house to ask her a favor, and her mother says she has a gentleman caller. Kinley and I laugh.
She finally looks at me with a smile and asks, "So why are you here?"
"I was wondering if you remember anything suspicious about the night Linzy died."
Her expression goes from nothing to surprise to narrow eyes. "You came over to ask about your stupid mystery?"
"Yes?" That's obviously not the right answer, but I don't know what else to say.
She clutches the bowl of popcorn and places it on the coffee table hard. It shakes and several kernels fall onto the carpet. "How could you?"
"Why are you so mad at me? Is this still about Eli?"
She jumps up and walks to the far wall. "You mean the boy you want nothing to do with but was holding your hands?"
"I fell. He was helping me off the ground. I hurt my knee."
She glances down to it. "Seems to be fine now."
Well, it is better, but that's not the point.
"I didn't come here to fight about a stupid boy."
"No, you came to pump me for info about what's most important to you. Your case, or whatever you call it. You know you're not a detective, right? You're not going to solve something before the cops."
Her words slap me in the face and rip at my heart. How can she be so mean, even if she is right?
"What's wrong with you? I thought you were different, nice, supportive." My last word comes out like a sob, and I hate that I'm losing it. I don't want to cry.
"Look who's talking. I'm leaving in four days, and all you care about is a dead girl. One that wouldn't have given you the time of day."
If only she knew.
"You said you're happy about leaving. What's there to discuss?"
Kinley starts to say something then clamps her lips shut. "Never mind."
"Fine." I turn to leave.
Mrs. Abbott is standing on the bottom step. How long has she been there?
I push past her and run up, out of their house. When I step onto the sidewalk, Dad pulls out of our driveway. He heads in the opposite direction of me. Where is he going now? How many times can he smooch with the cougar? Boy, was Mr. Abbott wrong about calling her that.
I Spy Dead People Page 16
