How Perfect You Are (Carlson College Mysteries Book 1)

by Isabel Fox

  Back in the bathroom I turned the hot water up full blast and then struggled to peel my drenched jeans off. I kicked them in the direction of the laundry hamper in the corner of the bathroom and stripped the rest of my damp, cold clothes off. Then, with a relaxed sigh, I sank into the steamy bathwater.

  Closing my eyes, I let the hot water slowly warm me, feeling more content than I had in days. I made a mental note to take baths more often. They were good for the soul. I briefly wished I had thought to bring a book with me. Too reluctant to get out of the warm tub to get one, I made do with letting my mind daydream, focusing on how I would go about spending millions of dollars on the off chance I ever won the lottery.

  Later, when the water had cooled from hot to lukewarm to slightly chilly, I debated adding more hot water and soaking a bit longer. Knowing the positively ancient hot water heater in the house, though, there wouldn’t be much available. I sat very still for a moment, wondering if I could conjure up the earlier warm sensations just by concentrating. When no extra heat was forthcoming I heaved myself out of the tub, wrapping a towel from the nearby hook around me.

  Quickly I toweled off and helped myself to a few squirts of the scented lotion Amber kept in the cabinet. Unlike the strange teas she brought home from the grocery store, the lotions were actually pretty amazing. This one had a strong honeysuckle scent that I loved.

  Electing to let my hair air dry, I retreated back into my room and curled up on my bed, study guide for geology in hand. I passed the time alternating between rereading passages from the book, quizzing myself on the geological periods, and distracting myself from my misery with occasional YouTube breaks.

  After almost an hour had passed, I realized I was starving. I tugged an old, well worn hoodie over my head and made my way down to the kitchen. Humming to myself, I idly gazed into the refrigerator. There was nothing particularly exciting there other than a few neatly stacked containers of leftovers and a mostly empty bottle of ketchup, so I decided to make myself a grilled cheese. Uninspired but a good rainy day classic nonetheless. I was pretty sure there was even a can of tomato soup to go with it.

  I grabbed a block of cheddar and pulled the bread out of the bread box on the counter. A few minutes later the butter was sizzling in the pan, and I dropped my assembled sandwich onto the hot surface. While allowing the bread to toast, I went to the pantry and managed to locate the soup hiding behind a massive jar of pickles, a favorite of Amber’s.

  After I had poured the soup into a pot on the stove, I rinsed the can out and made my way into the small hall that separated the kitchen from the back deck. That was where we normally kept the recycling bin, but I didn’t see it now.

  Remembering that Amber had promised several days ago to take it to the county landfill that also housed the recycling center, I figured she must have left it on the back deck and forgotten to take it. A quick peek outside confirmed I was right. Now it was probably swimming with rainwater along with assorted metals and plastics. Figuring one more can wouldn’t make things any worse, I pulled my hood up over my head. Bracing myself, I hurried outside into the rain.

  I trotted across the length of the deck, my head ducked against the rain which splashed coldly against my bare feet and ankles. I tossed the can into the bin and started to turn back before something caught my eye.

  Laying on the ground near the bin was a small wooden box that didn’t look like it belonged with the recycling. I grabbed it and tucked it in the pocket of my hoodie. I had just turned to head back inside when a flash of movement at the side of the house caught my eye. A black raincoat clad figure disappeared around the corner.

  I froze for just a moment before a rush of adrenaline kicked in. I took off running after the person around the side of the house, my bare feet squelching and sliding on the damp grass. I almost fell but managed to stay upright and in pursuit.

  Around the side of the house there was nothing. I paused a moment. To my right was the wide field that extended all the way to the edge of an old tree farm. I could see almost all the way to the edge of the empty field, so whoever I had seen hadn’t gone that way. Moving a bit more slowly now, I walked forward and peered around the side of the house into the front yard.

  Though the rain was heavy, I could make out footprints in the muddy ground and strips of grass that had been torn up as though some had been running very quickly and slipped. Making my way closer to the front walkway, I glanced all around me and saw no sign of any movement.

  I kept moving around the house, noting that other than a few footprints near the porch and one long slide mark in the grass around the corner there was no sign of anyone. My teeth chattered with both nerves and the cold, and I headed back to the house.

  It occurred to me as I opened the door that whoever I saw might have come inside ahead of me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t locked the front door. That was incredibly stupid of me. The only thing that greeted me inside, however, was the shrill screech of the smoke alarm alerting me to the fact that my grilled cheese had become charcoal cheese. Quickly turning off the stove eye, I tossed the blackened hockey puck of a sandwich in the trash and set the smoldering pan in the sink to soak. Then I went about cracking open the windows and door to usher the smoke outside.

  Once the smoke had cleared and I had coaxed Willow, who was terrified of the smoke alarm, out from her hiding place under Amber’s bed, I took both the cat and the soup- the only salvageable part of my lunch- into my room. I made sure the curtains were drawn before changing once again out of my damp clothes. When my hoodie hit the ground with a surprising thump I remembered with a start the box I had found by the recycling bin.

  With shaking hands I managed to clumsily pry the lid off the box, which was about the size of a deck of cards and made of smooth, well polished wood. Willow watched with some interest from her perch on my desk, her tail swishing slightly.

  Inside the box was a miniature corn husk doll, not unlike ones I remembered trying to make at fall festivals in elementary school. It was nestled in tissue paper and had apparently not been in the rain for long, for nothing inside was wet.

  It was far better than anything my school aged self had ever come up with. This doll had been carefully painted to look like it wore a long, pink dress. Brown eyes, a small nose, and rosy mouth were carefully outlined on the face. And blackish hair that was surprisingly familiar formed a makeshift wig glued on the doll’s delicate head.

  Now I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the phone and dialed Amber. When she answered, I said, “I figured out why he took my hair.”

  16

  “What do you mean there’s nothing you can do?” Amber’s exasperated voice was positively dripping with venom as she addressed the young cop in front of us a few hours later. I had to hand it to her, when properly motivated Amber knew how to take charge.

  She had walked out on her study group shortly after I called her and immediately returned home. Just as she had with the rose petals, she insisted on putting the creepy little doll in a plastic bag along with the box it had come in. Then she had literally taken me by the arm and driven me to the police station where we had sat for close to an hour before finally finding a policeman available to speak with us.

  Unfortunately for us, the only officer available wasn’t the friendly, sympathetic Officer Rodriguez who had come out after the break-in flower petal incident. Instead we got Jonathan Hanson, an old high school classmate of mine. A former football star who seemed to be suffering the effects of one too many concussions, he was struggling to adequately answer Amber’s questions. There were lots of “hmms,” “wells,” and quite a few “uhhhhs,” from him, but little in the way of actual information. He also looked more than a little scared of Amber, who seemed to be absolutely glowing with rage.

  “Look, Jonathan,” I said, leaning forward before Amber could launch herself across the desk at him, something she looked fully prepared to do.

  “Officer Hanson,” Jonathan replied, though not in a smug way. It
was almost like he was a little kid who had gotten an award for making the A/B honor roll and wanted to share his good fortune with everyone.

  “Whatever. Officer Hanson. Look,” I started again. “You know me. I tutored you in US History, remember? Mrs. Sardino’s class? Do you really think I’m the type of person to make a big deal over things that don’t warrant it?”

  “Mrs. Sardino’s class? Man, that class sucked!” Jonathan-Officer Hanson- exclaimed, his blue eyes lighting up. “It was so hard! Like, how am I supposed to know what the factors leading to the American Revolution were? But you knew all that stuff. You were super smart.”

  “Well,” I shrugged. “I like history.”

  “Makes sense. You know, I honestly don’t know how I ever passed that class,” Officer Hanson went on.

  “Me either,” Amber muttered.

  “The point is, I don’t make a big deal out of things. I really, really don’t,” I interrupted. “You can ask anyone.”

  “She really doesn’t,” Amber interjected. “She’s more the suffer in silence type. Once when we were at the beach she got caught in a rip current. She didn’t yell or scream or anything. She just did what they always tell you to, you know, to swim parallel to the shore? She did that, and we had no idea she had almost drowned until she collapsed in a heap on the beach, all gasping and shaky. Another time, she went to work with a 103 degree fever for two days. Cassie does not make a big deal if she can help it.”

  “Uh, right,” I agreed. “I don’t. So the fact that I’m coming to you means it’s a really big deal to me. I...I just don’t feel comfortable. I don’t feel safe.”

  “Look, Cassie,” Officer Hanson said, not unsympathetically, “I don’t know what you want me to say. Yeah, this stuff is weird. Freaky, even. I’ll definitely make a note of it to go along with the report from when someone broke into your house. I’ll keep the creepy doll as evidence, too, if you want. But I can’t go after a ghost. You said yourself you have no idea who this is, right? You didn’t get a good look at the person you saw outside?”

  I shook my head, knowing he was right. It was what I had basically said to Amber on the way to the police station. A small part of me had held on to the hope that maybe this time there would be something more the police would be able to do, though.

  “So I know it sounds dumb. But until you have more information about who it is, or it’s clear that this person is a definite threat-”

  “Definite threat? What constitutes a definite threat?” Amber wanted to know, though I wasn’t entirely sure I did.

  “Making specific threats of violence. Harassment. Assault,” Officer Hanson said nonchalantly, as though he was making a grocery list.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much what Officer Rodriguez said,” I told him, shooting Amber a chill out look in the hopes that she wouldn’t fly into a rage.

  “Look, I am sorry. I know this probably really sucks for you. But you go to Carlson, right?” Officer Hanson asked kindly. When I nodded, he continued, “Well, don’t you all have a break this week? Why don’t you get out of town, give whoever this is time to cool their jets. Maybe they’ll get over it by the time you come back.”

  “Oh my god. Duh! Cassie, you can come home with me! We’ll hang out at my parents’ place, relax for awhile, get away from everything!” Amber reached out and grasped my arm in a death grip.

  “I can’t! I have to work,” I protested.

  “Call in! Come on, I promise Susan will survive without you for a few days. Just tell the Walkers what’s going on. They’ll let you miss a few days, I’m sure of it!”

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” I replied noncommittally. I turned to Officer Hanson. “Thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch if anything changes.”

  “Bye, ladies!” Officer Hanson called in a friendly voice as I stood and pulled Amber away from his desk while she hissed, “Why are you thanking him? He didn’t do anything!”

  Outside the station the rain had stopped but the air remained cool and damp. I took a deep breath of the fresh air and looked around the mostly empty parking lot.

  “What now?” Amber asked, watching me carefully. Her gray eyes were alert and full of concern.

  “I don’t know. I guess we go home. Jenna and Brooklyn are coming over tonight, remember?” I reminded Amber.

  Amber unlocked her car and we both climbed in.

  “Are you sure you’re up for that? We don’t have to do our normal Tuesday night thing tonight, you know,” Amber said as she pulled onto the highway. “We could skip it. I’ll call Jenna and Brooklyn and tell them not to come, if you want.”

  “I know. But I just want things to be normal. I don’t want to sit around with nothing to do but think about what’s going on and how I have nothing I can do to fix it. It makes me feel so damn helpless,” I confessed, tugging at my seatbelt.

  “Whatever you want, Cass. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

  “You say that like it would be easy for someone else,” I said wryly.

  “Well, not that it would be easy for anyone else. I just meant that it must be especially hard for you,” Amber came to a stop at a red light and glanced at me.

  “And why would it be especially hard for me?” I asked, not following.

  “Just...you know. You like to be in control. You like for things to happen how you want them to, when you want them to.”

  “Well, yeah, but doesn’t everyone?” I asked, feeling a bit prickled.

  “Come on, Cassie. Admit it. You’re kind of a control freak. Isn’t that why you said Josh broke up with you?”

  “What?” I exclaimed, my voice rising louder than meant for it to. “When did I say that? We decided together to end things!”

  Amber shot me a side eye. “Uh, that’s not what you told me after it happened. Remember? Brooklyn tried to make you hot buttered rum in our coffee pot but she ruined it and you drank an entire bottle of Sailor Jerry’s instead?”

  I groaned as the incident came flooding back to me. My memory of that particular evening was a little spotty, but I did know it was the main reason I now couldn’t stand any type of rum.

  “Honestly, no. I don’t remember,” I admitted, not entirely certain I wanted to hear what my drunk self had said. I had a feeling it was something I had managed to suppress for a reason.

  “You told me that Josh said you were too difficult and always wanting things to be your way. That he hated it when you didn’t want to do anything spontaneous and he got mad when you got upset over last minute changes. And you always had to have everything a certain way, and you spent all this time cleaning and-”

  “Yeah. I do remember that actually,” I cut Amber off, the spotty memory suddenly a little clearer. “But that was freshman year! I’ve grown up a lot since then. Do you really think I’m still a control freak?”

  “Well, kind of,” Amber admitted bluntly. She must have caught sight of my wounded expression, because she back tracked slightly. “I mean, it’s not a bad thing, exactly. But, you know, sometimes it’s frustrating that you don’t ever want to do anything unplanned. You get stressed out if your schedule changes, and you’re always worrying that you should be doing something else, or something more, or whatever. You spend half of your free time cleaning, or organizing, or trying to get ahead on things that you don’t need to be done with for weeks, and you’re not happy unless you do. I don’t know, I’m not in your head. That’s just how it seems sometimes. Doesn’t it get tiring? Sometimes it’s nice to just go with the flow, let things happen how they will, relax a little, you know?”

  “No, apparently I don’t know,” I replied acidly.

  Amber rolled her eyes. “Come on, Cass. Don’t get pissy on me. I’m just being honest.”

  “I’m not pissy,” I replied softly, crossing my arms over my chest. I knew I was being overly sensitive, but Amber’s word’s still stung.

  As a child, my grandmother had often chastised me about being too particular. My room was always kept a certain
way, and I’d even nagged Eileen to keep the rest of the house in order. I had always automatically turned down last minute invitations to sleepovers, birthday parties, last minute outings to the lake, and all sorts of other things because the lack of advance notice stressed me out too much. I had even gone dateless to my senior prom because the guy who asked me waited until the day before, not leaving me enough time to adjust my plans. I spent most of my free time doing school work and trying to “stay ahead,” as Amber had put it, which in hindsight was kind of a boring way to spend your high school years.

  God, no wonder I hadn’t had a boyfriend in years. I must be a nightmare to put up with. How had I never had this realization before now?

  Amber and I spent the rest of the drive home in silence, feeling a rare, awkward tension between us. When we pulled in the driveway, Brooklyn and Jenna were already there, over an hour early, sitting on the porch. I let out a low groan.

  “Well,” I said, more to myself than Amber, “Cassie versus the change of plans, round one.”

  Amber started to say something, but I had already swung my legs out of the car. I had barely managed to straighten up before Jenna slammed into me, her curls bouncing wildly.

  “Oh, my god! Cassie! Where have you been?” she practically shrieked as she released me from a tight, excited hug.

  “Uh, the police station,” I admitted, seeing no use in hiding my situation from my friends any longer. Jenna, however, was apparently too excited about what she had to say next, because my words didn’t seem to register with her.

  “Tonight! Robby and Paul want to do a double date with us tonight! Please, please, please tell me you’ll go! I don’t think I can go by myself. Plus, then it wouldn’t be a double date. It would be just a me and Paul date, and I’m not ready for that! I need you!” Jenna was speaking so quickly I could barely keep up.