I closed my eyes and pictured Colby’s face, his laugh, his toothy smile. Focus, Jade. You can do this.
I turned the knob and gently pushed the door open.
My hand flew up to my mouth. It was a little girl’s room. The twin bed had a bright purple comforter. Unicorn figurines, small and large, littered the top of a white dresser. A poster on the wall featured an old cartoon that wasn’t even on TV anymore. The room was like a time capsule. A little girl had lived here. One who would be much older than me now, judging by the age of her things.
The only item that seemed out of place was a black, masculine-looking album on the little white desk. If this girl had a scrapbook it would have been pink and glittery. Not like this. I found myself gravitating toward it. I sat on the small chair, pulled the album onto my lap, and opened it.
At first there were only photos. Baby photos, toddler photos, family photos …
I froze. My eyes blinked and refocused to be sure. Yes, there was a picture that showed a much younger Mr. Tucker, with a wife and a little baby girl.
He’d had a family.
What happened to them? I thought about what Kayla had seen when they moved in. The dirt pile in the backyard. No. Just no. Mr. Tucker could not have murdered his family and then kept his daughter’s room as a shrine to her. I knew in my heart this was wrong.
I kept flipping through the album. Disney World, holidays, first day of school, swimming in a pool, sledding … in every picture their eyes were bright and their smiles large. The photos stopped when the girl looked to be around seven or eight years old.
And then came the newspaper clipping.
I read it, with both horror and intense sadness. The little girl had drowned in the inground pool in her own backyard. The mother had been out running errands. The father, Mr. Tucker, had gone in the house to answer the phone. And in those few moments when the girl was alone, something happened, and she drowned. From a quote in the article, it seemed that Mrs. Tucker blamed her husband, calling it an “irresponsible choice to leave our little girl alone.” I assumed she’d divorced him.
He was left alone, in this empty house, surrounded by the constant reminder of the family he’d once had and lost …
… because he wasn’t watching.
I understood it then. Mr. Tucker was harmless. Just tortured. And apparently he considered it his penance to make sure no other girl died on his watch. That’s why, when he learned that a little girl was moving in next door, he filled in his pool. Covered it with dirt. And watched her play in her yard. Watched her grow up. Even watched the day she walked into her house and never walked back out.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I heard the crunch of tires in the driveway.
I had to get out. I returned the album, closed the bedroom door behind me, and dashed down the stairs. As Mr. Tucker turned his key in the front door lock, I slipped out the back window and returned to my home.
Understanding him a little better, but nowhere closer to solving Kayla’s murder.
After I told him about Mr. Tucker’s daughter, Donovan went back home. We needed to regroup, think of another angle to try. And fast.
In a rare stroke of luck, Marie wasn’t feeling well when she and Colby came home from apple picking so she canceled her night out with the other nurses. I wasn’t glad she was sick, don’t get me wrong, but this gave me another opportunity to get out there and search for answers. I’d found out at the football game that everyone was hanging at the clearing tonight.
I’d tried contacting Kane several times during the day, to see if he wanted to get together tonight, but he wasn’t returning any of my texts. So I decided to go on my own. I knew enough of Kayla’s friends now that I could just show up, even if Kane wasn’t there. It actually might be easier for me if he wasn’t. If I found myself embroiled in some good theory-tossing chats again, it would be nice to not have to worry about being pulled away.
A sense of urgency filled me to the marrow as darkness fell. Colby was already sleeping. Marie was huddled under a blanket on the couch with a cup of tea, watching some old black-and-white movie.
“Can I get you anything before I leave?” I asked, inching toward the door.
“No thanks.” She sniffled. “I’m pretty sure I caught what Colby had last weekend. Sometimes these viruses lie dormant for a few days. Let’s hope you don’t come down with it, too.”
Post-possession fever? Yeah, let’s hope not.
I tossed a “feel better” over my shoulder and headed out into the night.
A bunch of cars were already in the park’s lot when I arrived, and I followed the well-worn path through the woods toward the noise and the scent of campfire. As leaves and dirt crunched under my sneakers, I started mentally compiling questions and comments that could segue into fruitful conversations. I ran a thumb over my sterling silver marcasite ring, hoping the tiny filigreed stones lived up to their reputation for bringing about clear thinking. As the orange haze of the fire got closer, my confidence rose. I could do this.
The first thing I saw when I passed the tree line was Kane.
With someone else.
This pretty little freshman with a high ponytail and a higher skirt was giggling and telling him some story while he stood with an amused smile on his face. When her little anecdote reached its crux, they both threw their heads back in laughter and she took the opportunity to put her hand on his arm. He didn’t move it, didn’t flinch. And I wasn’t the slightest bit jealous. If she were doing that to Donovan, I’d probably have given her an ice cream scoop to the eyeball. But I was sort of happy, seeing it. I knew that Kane really didn’t have his heart set on me. Once this was all over and Kayla was put to rest, Donovan and I could come out in the open, be a real couple, Kane would have no trouble moving on, and there’d be no drama.
I stepped fully into the clearing. Kane spied me over the other girl’s shoulder and his faced morphed into an unexpected expression. Not guilt at being caught flirting with someone else. Certainly not happiness at seeing me.
It was rage.
He whispered something in the girl’s ear and stormed toward me with long strides.
What was going on?
Laurie and Madison brushed past me, muttering something about trouble. I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. My eyes flicked around the party. Everyone was watching, anxiously awaiting whatever was about to happen.
“What are you doing here?” Kane said in a clipped voice.
I put my shaky hands in the back pockets of my jeans so he wouldn’t see how nervous I was. “I’m here for the party. Didn’t you get my texts?”
“Those weren’t the only texts I got today.” He spat out the words with such contempt that I flinched.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why you’re mad.”
He yanked his cell out of the pocket of his jacket, pulled a photo up, and handed the phone to me.
Someone had been there last night in the hallway. They’d snapped a picture of Donovan and me kissing. And sent it to Kane. From the looks on everyone else’s faces, it might have gone to more than just Kane.
“Listen,” I began.
“I don’t have to listen to anything.” He started to turn away.
“Wait!” I grabbed his arm. “I never set out to hurt you.” My eyes begged him to believe me. But coldness came off him in waves. “I always insisted you and I were just friends,” I explained. “I never said we were dating.”
Kane’s eyes flared. “You were using me! I knew you were investigating Kayla’s death. I’d heard that around school and I thought it wasn’t a bad idea. But then I find out that you were just using me for information about Kayla, and you were with Donovan the whole time. Him! Out of everyone.”
I staggered back a step. “It wasn’t just about Kayla,” I pleaded. “I want to be friends with you. I always did.”
“You’re sick!” He jabbed the air with his finger, pointing it at my face. “You’re living in her house,
trying to get in with her friends, going after her boyfriend. You’re mental!”
As he raged at me, I watched the hurt in his face. This was about more than me not wanting to date him. Faye had been right. His interest in me was because of history. Because of Kayla. Maybe hanging with me made him feel closer to her. Picking me up at her house, taking me places he’d taken her. He’d been using me just as much as I’d used him. But bringing that up would only infuriate him even more.
“It’s not like that,” I said. “Let me explain.” But I knew, from the fire in his eyes, that I couldn’t make him understand. Not now, anyway, while the wound was fresh.
“No,” he said with finality. “I don’t want anything to do with you. None of us do.”
I glanced around. Everyone stood, clumped in circles, staring at me with contempt. I was out now. Ostracized. Excommunicated from Kayla’s world and her friends. This must have been how Donovan had felt when they’d turned on him. One day in, the next day — out.
Panic gripped me as I realized that no one from that crew would talk to me anymore. So now … how could I uncover the truth?
I retreated from the clearing, the ire from everyone’s eyes burning a hole in my back. But I’d only made it a few steps down the path when someone grabbed my arm.
I pulled it back, defensively, and looked over my shoulder. Faye stood with a finger over her lips. It was dark this far away from the fire, and I could barely make out her features. She jerked her head to the right, motioning for me to move deeper into the woods and away from the clearing. Curious, I followed her.
We were only a few steps off the path and into the thickness of the woods. The party still raged close by. But it felt like we were all alone.
“I need to talk to you,” she whispered.
“So go ahead.” I expected her to revel in my fall with a smug look on her face. But as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw Faye flash me a guilty, almost regretful smile.
“I was the one,” she said.
A branch scraped my neck, and I shoved it away. “The one what?”
“I sent the picture to Kane.”
Faye was the person in the hallway? “Why? Why would you want to hurt him like that?”
“You were the one who hurt him,” she snapped back defensively. “Not me.”
“Then why are you grabbing me in the woods and confessing what you’ve done?” I asked with mounting anger.
“Because … I like you. I think you mean well. I’m sorry about what happened over there. I only sent the photo to Kane. He’s the one who sent it to everyone else and went on a rampage. I never expected him to humiliate you like that.”
So that’s what Donovan had meant when he said Faye was no Kayla. She snuck around, manipulated, and betrayed — but then apologized after. The mean girl, win-at-all-costs persona didn’t fit her as perfectly as it had Kayla.
“I just,” she hesitated for a moment. “I wanted Kane to know, that’s all. I didn’t mean for the rest to happen.”
We stood there in silence for a minute. I didn’t quite know what to say. I understood her motives, but wasn’t ready to forgive her. She’d ruined everything I’d worked so hard to put into place.
Faye leaned her shoulder against a tree. “You know, I always wanted to ask Kayla something, but never had the guts. I could ask you, too, since you find yourself in the same position.” She waited, as if she needed my permission to ask.
“Go ahead,” I said with a sigh.
“If you could have Kane, why on earth would you choose Donovan O’Mara? Not to be rude, but I don’t get it.”
I tried to formulate my thoughts into words. I could say that I was more impressed by Donovan’s integrity than Kane’s popularity. That the sensitive, dark, artsy guy made my knees weaker than the athletic golden boy. That, when I looked at them, Kane was a flashlight and Donovan the sun. But my thoughts muddled, and I knew it would make no sense to Faye who — it was obvious to me now — had always loved Kane.
So I only shrugged and said, “We want who we want, right? No matter what other people say. No matter what reason or reality we’re faced with. No matter what facts our brains process. The heart’s a stubborn organ.”
Faye seemed stunned into silence. She swallowed hard, nodded, and stole a look toward the clearing. “Yeah,” she said, agreeing and possibly understanding.
I felt for her. It must have been tough, all that time, loving Kane while he only longed for her best friend.
“Listen,” I began cautiously. “I know you miss Kayla and this is hard, but if there’s anything you know that can help me …”
She started shaking her head before I even finished the sentence. But I tried again.
“Faye, you were her closest friend. You’re the one who knew her best.”
She broke out into a sarcastic laugh. “No one knew Kayla. Everyone wanted to get into her orbit. But the closer you got to her the more you realized how closed off she really was.”
“So she told you nothing?” I asked skeptically.
“She told me what she wanted me to know. The good stuff. What extravagant gift her parents got her. What compliment some boy said. What award she was up for. But it was all positive.”
“She never … I don’t know, suffered setbacks?”
“I guess she did. She just didn’t speak of them. Her failures, her weaknesses, those were her secrets. And they went with her to the grave.”
“You must have thought about this, though,” I pressed. “You have no theories about who might have wanted her dead?”
“No.”
I tried a different approach. “Someone broke into my house recently looking for something. Do you know what that could be? Did Kayla have something anyone would want?”
“She had expensive stuff, but that all would have moved with her parents.” She threw her hands into the air. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. You’re not going to find any answers.”
Here she was again, acting defensively. Just like when she’d first found out about my investigation. It made no sense. If they were such good friends, wouldn’t she want to know who killed Kayla?
“Why are you so against me looking into Kayla’s death?” I asked. “Why does it bother you so much?”
“Because it was my fault, all right?” She spoke the words fiercely. Then, again, softer this time, she repeated, “It was my fault.”
I took a small step back and a branch reached out and scraped at me like a bony finger. “What do you mean?”
Faye let out a deep, rattling breath. “This isn’t the first time I’ve inserted myself into this little love triangle.”
“I … don’t understand.”
“Let me paint you a picture. Kayla cheated on Donovan. With Kane. I found out and did something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. I told Donovan. Kayla was my best friend, and I should have been loyal to her. I didn’t care about Donovan, and if she’d been cheating on him with anyone else, I wouldn’t have told. I would have stayed out of it. But it was Kane. She could have had anyone in the world. Why did she have to take Kane? So … I wanted to hurt her. It was immature of me. But whatever. I told Donovan.”
My stomach turned. “When?”
“The day she died.”
My intuition was right. Donovan had been holding something back. “So that’s why he broke up with her that day.”
“Yes, and that’s why I denied their breakup to you in the hall. And why I didn’t want anything to do with your little investigation. Because this whole thing is my fault.”
“I don’t get how this makes her death your fault.”
She threw her hands into the air. “If Donovan pushed her it was because of information I gave him. If Kayla was so upset after their fight that she fell down the stairs, it was because of something I set off.” She put her face in her hands and let out a sob. “If I hadn’t told, the day would have gone differently, and she wouldn’t have died.”
My heart went out to
her. “Not necessarily. Not if there was something else going on. Someone who would have killed her whether or not you told Donovan.”
She looked up, shaking her head sadly. Her guilt ran so deep I doubted she was even listening to me. “It’s my fault,” she repeated. “And every Sunday, when I see her parents all dressed up in church, I smile and nod at them, but on the inside I feel sick. Because they don’t know I was the cause of it all.”
“Wait.” I held up a hand. “Her parents still go to church here in town?”
“Yeah. They got a new fancy house in a neighboring town, but still like to return every Sunday to see their friends. I hear them chatting, you know, about work and decorating their new house and all that and sometimes I can’t believe life is moving on without her. Just last week Mr. Sloane was saying that they’re planning a big addition to the house to keep Mrs. Sloane occupied and get her mind off Kayla.”
All dressed up? Chatting with friends about work and home decorating? These weren’t the Sloanes I saw the other day. Something wasn’t adding up. Maybe they didn’t want people to know how badly they were grieving? That they couldn’t even get to work anymore, much less keep up with some grand mansion?
“What mass do they go to?” I asked.
Faye frowned. “Nine o’clock. Why?”
7 has always wanted me. I know this. And maybe the reason I never wanted him back in the same way was because he made it too easy. But I care about him. I always have. And I feel sick over what I’m about to take away from him.
But I know what I have to do. I feel terrible, but I have no other choice. It’s 1 and 2’s fault. I’ll never forgive them. But I’ve figured out a way to make myself feel a little better …
I can give 7 a consolation prize. Make him happy and ease my guilt in one fell swoop. I may be taking away what he considers rightfully his, but I’m giving him the one thing he’d probably trade it for … me.
The Dead and Buried Page 18
