Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  Not as willing as Kit to get dirty, Baylee gingerly sat down on the ground. Then as if she’d just thought of something, she handed her trusty trowel off to Quinn. “Here, you can use mine to help Kit with the hole. I’ll use that flat stick over there.”

  Feeling for the first time like she’d truly been included and given some way to contribute in sharing the treasure box, Quinn got into the spirit of the moment and did her part to dig.

  But when she caught sight of a fat reddish, brown bird, she stopped long enough to point it out. “Look at that, a partridge! See it searching for twigs to eat.”

  “As in partridge and a pear tree?” Kit questioned, turning to study the squatty fowl as it pecked the ground for roots and whatever bark it could find.

  “Yep. They’re also known as grouse.”

  “It looks like a chicken,” Baylee noted.

  “It’s in the chicken family,” Quinn stated. “But it’s an omnivore.”

  Kit rolled her eyes and hoped Baylee didn’t ask what that was. It seemed as though everyone knew a lot more about stuff than she did. But this wasn’t school and she wasn’t in the mood to listen to a lecture about some stupid bird. She dug harder in the dirt.

  After working the hole bigger, Kit adjusted the box down inside and the three of them got busy covering it back up again.

  As soon as she was satisfied with the work, Kit stood up and announced, “Your dad should be back with the food by now. Anyone else hungry besides me?”

  “You just ate a sandwich on the way here,” Baylee declared. But realizing Kit didn’t get all that much to eat at home because Alana usually kept her on a strict diet so she wouldn’t get fat, she sighed. “Okay, fine, let’s head back then.”

  “I could eat,” Quinn offered amicably. With so much food around, she never seemed to get her fill, either.

  Huffing out a breath, Baylee grumbled to Kit, “I thought you wanted to go swimming.”

  “Later,” Kit muttered as she led the way, long legs striding back down the hill and out of the grove of trees and back to the house. “Maybe your dad ordered us a pizza.”

  But when they got back they learned Mr. Scott had brought them giant, juicy hamburgers and skinny French fries instead from a little take-out joint in downtown Avalon.

  The man had also managed to remain stone-cold sober during the meal and had even carried on a conversation about what they’d done and seen in the few hours since they’d arrived.

  After stuffing their faces, the three girls recovered from chowing down on the big supper by going back outside. The three of them got comfortable near the water, stretching out on the beach towels Baylee had insisted they bring.

  Staring up at the night sky, gazing up at the sky full of stars overhead, the three girls were grubby and sweaty from the shortcut they’d taken earlier down the side of a hill on their way back, where they had come upon a herd of bison, live, honest-to-goodness buffalo.

  Okay, so maybe the creatures had smelled really bad and the smell had almost made Baylee throw up, but they were still real animals, not just lame pictures in a book. To Quinn, who cared about how badly they smelled?

  “You should be glad you’re Native American, proud of it, you know. That’s a heritage not everyone can brag about. And with all that black hair, you’re really cool looking. You look kinda like Cher,” Kit told her as she patted her stomach and stared out over the calm waters of Avalon Bay.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of boring to have stupid ol’ blonde hair all the time. I wish mine was black and straight like yours,” Baylee admitted. “Tanya says I should be grateful for having curls, but I hate them. They make me look dorky. I want straight hair like you and Kit.”

  Quinn blinked in astonishment. No one had ever thought she was particularly attractive, certainly not cool-looking. In fact, most places where Ella had dragged her, people had often stared at both of them like they were little more than trailer trash. Now, she not only had these two for friends, they thought her Native American heritage made her look like a celebrity.

  While the boom box played a dreamy Michael Bolton tune in the background, Baylee confessed, “I love his voice.”

  “I love his hair.” Kit admitted. “He’s so good-looking.”

  “You want to marry him,” Baylee accused.

  “Sure, like he’d ever want to marry a kid.”

  “I’m never getting married,” Quinn announced. “Adults are stupid for ever going all ape over each other anyway and for ever getting married in the first place.”

  “Yeah, I’m never doing that either. Ever,” Baylee tossed in. She thought about her no-good mother who had up and left her so she could run off to be with her lover. The adults didn’t think she listened to them, but that’s what her dad kept crying about every time he got drunk, which was almost all of the time. “Adults are mean every time they open their mouths anyway.”

  When the song changed from Bolton to Bonnie Raitt’s guitar riff for “Love’s Sneakin’ Up On You,” Quinn confessed, “I’m going to play guitar like that when I grow up. She plays better than those stupid, male rock stars. She’s talented and I bet nobody tells her what to do, either.”

  “Sure they do,” Baylee declared. “She’s got managers and producers, even a director for her videos and all sorts of other people in the background telling her what to do every single day.”

  That assessment made Quinn think of her father, who was supposed to be some stupid famous singer in a band. But since she had yet to lay eyes on the guy, she doubted the whole story was even true. More than likely, Ella had made the whole thing up. But then if that were the case how had she and Ella come to be living with his record producer in the biggest house she’d ever seen?

  She sighed; sometimes she didn’t know what to think about Ella’s story. “But that’s just part of having a successful singing career. I’m going to have a career when I grow up and no one is telling me what to do or bossing me around.”

  That sounded pretty good to Kit, too. “Do you think we’ll ever grow up and be like the boss of ourselves where no adult can…?” She’d almost said hurt us, but at the last minute changed it to, “…tell us what to do?”

  “Sure. We could live together in our own house, not ever get married to anybody, and do whatever we wanted. Be independent women.”

  “Well, we’d have to get jobs. I’m going to be an actress and my dad will direct me in the movies. Quinn’s going to sing and play guitar. What’re you going to do, Kit?”

  Kit thought long and hard to come up with something Alana didn’t allow her to do. Because the list was really long it took her some time to come up with an answer. But sports seemed to upset Alana the most, so she went with that. “I’m going to play volleyball.”

  “You can’t play volleyball for a living,” Baylee stated flatly.

  “Sure you can,” Quinn reasoned. “Kit could be the best damned volleyball player in the history of volleyball.”

  Kit beamed at her. “That’s right, I’ll be legendary” She flexed her biceps. “I’m good at spiking the ball. People will talk about me all over the world wherever I go.”

  But Baylee didn’t think Alana would be too happy about that career choice. “You could paint. I know you love that.” It sounded better than volleyball to Baylee. Little worrywart she was, she thought on it for a bit and then cautioned, “If you play volleyball you’ll be outside a lot. You could get skin cancer spending all that time in the sun.”

  “Geez, Baylee, you’re just full of goodwill and cheer tonight.”

  “It’s true. Tonya read about it in a magazine. Getting too much sun without wearing sunscreen causes something called mel-a-mo-ma. If you get too much, you could die.”

  “It’s pronounced melanoma,” Quinn corrected, risking the fact that these two might make fun of her for being so nerdy. Ella had always made fun of the fact that she liked to read, especially when the subject material was about something as adult as cancer. Plus, that very week, she’d watch
ed a segment on the morning show on TV about that very topic.

  “Well, whatever it’s called, it’s seriously bad news. We should always put on sunscreen when we go outside, even if it’s just for a little while. We’ll start tomorrow when we go surfing and swimming.”

  That was Quinn’s cue to remind them how afraid she was of going into the ocean. “I told you guys when you asked me to come I don’t like the water and because of that I don’t know how to swim. You guys should go ahead though. I’ll read a book or something while you guys do whatever it is you do in the water.”

  “Nope, that won’t work,” Kit reasoned. “You can’t live in So Cal this close to the beach without learning how to swim. Baylee and I’ll teach you.”

  “But I don’t like the water,” Quinn repeated. She wasn’t about to admit no one had ever taken the time to show her how. Even with all the motels she’d stayed in, most of which the closest thing to water they’d had was the bathtub, there had been few opportunities to swim.

  “You will by the time we’re done with you,” Kit stated. “We’ll start you out on a paddle board first, get you used to the ocean. The water’s not that deep right off shore, anyway. It isn’t deep unless you go farther out. And you won’t. We’ll keep you in knee-deep water at first. And we’ll be right there with you.”

  “You aren’t gonna drown, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Baylee reassured. “We won’t let you.”

  Kit took in the scared look on Quinn’s face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s easy. With us two teaching you, you’ll be able to swim in no time.”

  And Kit had been right. It hadn’t taken long for Quinn to learn how to swim.

  Sometime during her first trip to Catalina Island, Baylee and Kit had become her family. That week they’d fought like sisters, fought over anything and everything from the last piece of pizza left in the box to which movies to watch. They’d fought over swimsuits, which shorts to wear with which top, which pair of flip-flops belonged to whom, although Kit’s feet were a lot bigger than theirs. They’d traded jewelry, painted each other’s fingernails. They’d even dabbled with trying on makeup. All the while Mr. Scott directed them in the fine art of presentation.

  They’d laughed like hyenas at the stupid lines from the movie Dumb and Dumber they’d paid to see at the Avalon Theater, pantomimed vocals from Smells Like Teen Spirit horribly off-key, and laughed and giggled until Mr. Scott had yelled at the three of them to settle down for the night and go to sleep.

  After spending most of the day outdoors, swimming, they’d invariably tumble into bed, exhausted.

  Days were spent primarily at the beach, where Kit and Baylee did indeed teach a reluctant Quinn how to eventually do more than dog paddle.

  And just as Kit had predicted, Quinn had fallen in love with the water.

  No longer cooped up in dreary surroundings, Quinn had blossomed on a boogie board. At about that same time she’d envied Kit’s and Baylee’s ability and sheer will to teeter and balance themselves on a full blown surfboard.

  No longer content to just dog paddle, determined to become a stronger swimmer so she could graduate to a surfboard, Quinn worked tirelessly that week to perfect her stroke.

  Dedicated to their friend’s goal, Kit and Baylee set out to do everything they could to help Quinn achieve Esther Williams Olympic gold-medal status.

  From that point forward, they’d turned out to be each other’s strongest advocates. It was during that first trip to Catalina they’d started sharing their fears, their old nightmares, and more importantly, their hopes and dreams for the future.

  Somehow during that first trip, the three became sisters.

  Dropping her bags in the entryway, Quinn pulled herself back from another nostalgic glimmer from the past. “Wow, I haven’t been here in years. This place brings back so many memories, good ones, times when things were a lot simpler.”

  Reese caught the wistful look on Quinn’s face and realized for a while there she’d gone someplace else. At least he could be grateful there had been a few good times mixed in with the early painful, bad ones.

  He glanced around at the spacious, open ranch style floor plan and recalled, “Jake and Dylan and I had our own special places growing up, too.

  “Like what?”

  “Jake’s grandmother’s place in Santa Cruz for one, my father’s cabin in Big Sur, then there was the getaway at Dylan’s aunt’s place near Muir Woods, north of San Francisco.”

  “Oh, I love Muir Woods, one of the best places on the planet to hike among giant redwood and sequoia trees.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “Once. Kit and Baylee and I went up to explore Napa. Gosh, that must have been when Kit turned twenty-one and we decided on a road trip. You know she’s the tallest one of us but the youngest because she has a fall birthdate. Anyway, it was beautiful there in October. We got bored with the wine tour and ended up spending the day outside trudging through Muir Woods.”

  “Just a day? To get the full experience you need to take the time and explore the trails, the winding roads, the wildlife, enjoy a sunset or two. You weren’t there nearly long enough. You like to camp?”

  “Are you kidding? Right here on this Island the three of us spent more time camping out than we did indoors. Haven’t gone camping in ages,” she said as she swiped her hand along the dusty table in the hall.

  “No better place for pitching a tent and enjoying nature than Big Sur or hiking near Big Bear.”

  She shook her head. “A nature lover? Who knew? And here I thought you were mostly a desk jockey. Tell you what, I get my job back, we get all this mess behind us, and first chance we get, we’ll explore some of the trails up and down the coast. But tonight, we get settled. Should we eat or unpack? I’m really hungry. I vote we eat.”

  “You’re always hungry.”

  “True, so I guess I’ll go rustle us up something for dinner first.”

  “You cook?”

  “I’m an expert at utilizing the microwave. Hey, I’m no Kit in the kitchen but I get by. You’ll have to take your chances and eat what’s put in front of you.” She eyed him curiously. “Unless…please tell me you’re a legal eagle by day and a culinary genius by night.”

  “Afraid not. But I’m hungry, too. I use a can opener though and I’m excellent at nuking stuff in the microwave. Dylan said they stocked the kitchen when they were here before.”

  “Yep, that’s what Baylee told me. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” They headed off to peruse the kitchen.

  Opening the fridge, Quinn announced, “Eggs are still good. I can nuke eggs. Milk’s still in date, too. Woot! See if there’s a can of chili in the pantry?”

  Reese wrinkled up his face at the idea of eating anything out of a can. “You’re kidding? A can of chili?”

  “Come on, Brennan, adventure isn’t just a ride in the air or a bounce at sea. Live a little. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Indigestion from hell? Food poisoning?” He did his best not to watch her butt wiggle into the pantry as she bent down and sure enough brought out a can of chili. His lower belly lurched with a hunger that had nothing to do with canned food or eggs.

  “Please tell me that can isn’t left over from the ’90s? Look, why don’t I take you out to one of those cute little restaurants we passed on the way here?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, the can is in date. Baylee said they had all manner of canned food delivered. Do you think I’d risk giving us a foodborne illness? And we don’t need to eat out. I’m tired. After not sleeping much the last two nights, I just want to eat something, take a shower and hit the sack.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t try.”

  She shrugged. “I’m used to winging it with takeout and delivery.”

  He had to admit he wasn’t used to watching a woman as appealing as Quinn work on preparing a meal. It might’ve been overtly chauvinistic, but Reese couldn’t help it. Quinn looked so damned
gorgeous standing at the counter cracking open eggs.

  “Anything I can do?” he finally managed.

  “Open the chili,” she commanded as she scooped up butter, and dropped it into the egg mixture, and added a little milk. She stuck the bowl in the microwave, punched a few buttons and stood back to wait.

  “Seriously. You’re going to serve this with eggs?” he asked as he used the old-fashioned can opener to get into the disgusting contents inside the can, masquerading as meat.

  “Over the eggs. You wait and see how delicious this is, trust me. You set the table.”

  He got down plates from a cabinet, opened a drawer for silverware.

  When the timer dinged a couple of minutes later, she dug out the steaming bowl, replaced it with the one that held the glumpy concoction of chili, and covered it with a generous stream of paper towels to avoid the splatter. While that heated, she grated cheese over the steaming eggs.

  “You’ve eaten this before.”

  “Lots of times; haven’t died from indigestion yet.”

  “Cast iron stomach?”

  “You could say that.” When the microwave sounded, she scooped up several spoons full of chili and plopped it on top of the artery-clogging dish.

  He scanned the contents of the fridge. “Beer, all is not lost.”

  “You’re actually afraid to eat my cooking? Big chicken. I’ll have you know I’m great at throwing together a meal with whatever’s on hand, be it leftovers or out of a can. I’m great at stretching a food dollar, too. Ask Kit and Baylee next time you see them, about how great I am at the grocery store, finding stuff on sale. Give me three ingredients out of any pantry and I can make you a meal.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know what you could do with a can of Spam.”

  “The wonder that is Spam should not be taken lightly. It’s the kind of food you can eat for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, fried, or just out of the can.”