Ghost Flower (28 page)

“Of course. How… was your… visit with Colin?”

I had to grip the phone with both hands. “How did you know about that?”

“I… know everything. We’re… best friends forever.”

“Please. Stop this. Tell me what you want, and I’ll try to see that you get it. But please stop pretending you’re Liza Lawson.”

“I’m… not pretending. What… have to do to… make you believe me?”

“Nothing. Stop. Please. Just stop it.” I felt tears prick my eyes.

“After everything… done for you.”

“You haven’t done anything. You’ve just made things worse! Stop it!”

“Wait… tomorrow… you’ll see.”

“Don’t. Please. Just make this be over.” I was yelling now, shouting into the phone. “Please!”

“Never over. You’re mine… my best friend… What… friends are for.”

“If you want to be my friend, you should tell anything you know about Liza’s death to the police.”

“It’s not about my… death, Ro-ro. It’s about… you.… I’m trying to
warn
you.”

I shook my head even though no one could see. “No. Stop.”

“Trying… to help you.”

“I’m done playing these games with you. Goodbye whoever—”

“
Listen
.” The voice was so urgent that it caught me off guard, and I paused. “You’re… not safe until… you figure out what happened. What… happened to…
me
.”

My eyes narrowed, and I crossed one arm around my stomach. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re just trying to scare me.”

“It was… supposed to… be you. I died in your place. I died… for you.”

My heart stood still.

Her words hung between us. I didn’t want to believe them, but they made too much sense. That would be why Aurora left. Because someone had been trying to kill her.

No.
There are no ghosts. Liza committed suicide,
I reminded myself.

“No,” I said. “That’s not what happened.”

“Find the coat,” the voice said. “Find the truth. But be careful. They… need you dead.”

“Who? Why?” I demanded despite myself.

“Must… pay attention…”

The line went dead. I stared at the phone, running back over the conversation. The impossible conversation.

Supposed to be… you. I died… for you.

The meaning of the words themselves would have been chilling
enough even without the echo of Colin’s. If Colin was right, I was in danger from Bain and Bridgette. But if that really was a ghost, Liza’s killer had unfinished business to attend to. And now that I—Aurora—whoever—was back, it meant that they could finally finish the job.

Either way, I was a target.

I burst out of the women’s bathroom and into the hard, wide chest of N. Martinez, who was standing right outside the door as though I’d conjured my own personal superhero.

He wasn’t in uniform, but wore a very nice dress shirt that smelled like wood smoke and cinnamon and of something I’d like to bury my face in forever.

He quickly stepped backward, jolting me back to where we were. And who I was supposed to be.

“How did you find me?” I stammered.

“The way you flew out of the bathroom, it was more like you finding me.”

I nodded and took a step backward myself, bashing into the wall. “I meant, um, how did you know I’d be down here?”

Instead of answering, he asked me, “Are you all right?” Then quickly added, “I’m not trying to be nice to you, don’t worry. It’s just—you look strange. Upset.”

I knew the right thing to do was thank him and walk away. Bridgette had been unequivocal about talking to the police, and he was clearly there trying to get information from me. He was dangerous.

And he was looking at me like he could really see me. Not Aurora Silverton. Me. More of me than anyone had seen in a long time. And he wasn’t leaving. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and I didn’t want it to stop.

“The ghost just called again.”

He acted like that was the most normal thing in the world. “What did she have to say?”

“That someone is trying to kill me. That it was supposed to be me dead on Three Lovers Point, not her. That I have to find who killed her before they come after me.”

“I could see why that would be upsetting.”

“The thing is,” I said in a small voice, “that’s not what scared me. It’s that I’m starting to believe in her. That it really is Liza’s ghost. Because I can’t think of any other explanation. She asked me why I continued to doubt she was real, and I couldn’t really answer.”

“There’s an explanation. We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Maybe. She also said I should expect a surprise tomorrow.”

“We’ll have to—”

“I was under the impression the police would be leaving the Family alone.” Bridgette’s voice buzzed between us like a crop-duster, cutting short whatever he had been about to say. She stepped from the stairs into the hallway and came and stood next to me.

“They are,” N. Martinez said. “I’m here as Coralee Gold’s guest. I was on my way to the bathroom when I ran into your cousin.”

I wanted to melt into the floor and die. Of course. He hadn’t been looking for me. He wasn’t there to protect me secretly because he cared so much. He was Coralee’s date, and he was going to the bathroom. He wasn’t thinking about me at all.

“Don’t let us keep you from your evening then,” Bridgette said, taking my arm and leading me away.

“I thought you were done talking to the police,” she hissed at me as we made our way toward the dining room.

“I ran into him by accident,” I protested.

“That had better be all that happened,” she said. I wasn’t sure if I
was imagining it now after talking to Colin, but her voice was laced with menace.

As we neared the center of the dining room, that menace was replaced by a warm smile. She seemed to be looking straight ahead, but I could tell she was aware of all the eyes on us. Leading me by the hand to an upholstered chair in the middle of a long table filled with the Family, she said sweetly, “I found the guest of honor. Now we can start.”

T
he first course was handmade pasta ribbons coated with bright green pesto. It was followed by grilled steak for everyone but Aurora the vegetarian, who had a grilled portabella mushroom, served with french fries made from purple potatoes. There were skinny green beans that crunched when I bit into them and onions roasted until they were caramel sweet. For dessert there were three kinds of gelato and tiny bite-sized lemon meringue cakes that melted on my tongue.

For all their discord and bickering in private, the Family worked like a well-rehearsed ensemble cast in public, making just the right number of clever remarks to keep just the right volume of conversation and laughter to make everyone else in the room watch and wonder. They were civil and charming and polite and interesting.

They would all benefit from my death.

It was someone who was there that night. Someone with you now.

Bridgette and Bain had been there that night. Had whatever they were planning now actually begun three years ago?

Pieces clicked into place, things I should have seen all along. Like
looking back over a map of terrain you’ve covered, I saw the signs so clearly. Bridgette and Bain’s too easy acquiescence when I asked for more money. Their lazy omissions of any facts having to do with anyone but the immediate family. The hair of mine that disappeared from my brush the day Bain took me to play tennis. Bridgette’s almost hysterical desire to keep me from talking to the police more than was absolutely necessary. They didn’t really need a live Aurora. Just the body of a dead one.

Maybe it wasn’t even just Bain and Bridgette. Maybe they were all in it together. What if their plan hadn’t been for me to actually pass as Aurora; it had been for me to pass as Aurora outside the Family, just long enough to die. It would explain everyone’s easy acceptance, even Uncle Thom and Aunt Claire who were openly skeptical. It was devious and ruthless and, I had to admit, very smart. It had all the hallmarks of something The Family would figure out for its mutual benefit.

I couldn’t help thinking that the only reason I was still alive was because I’d arrived early and they hadn’t yet had a chance to figure out the most expedient way to get rid of me. They might wait until after Aurora’s birthday, but there was no need to. After tonight, everyone who wielded any power at all in Tucson believed I was Aurora Silverton.

I had to leave Tucson. I only had thirty dollars and no ID. I could continue pretending for a few days and try to find a way to get the ID—and possibly more cash—out of Bridgette’s wallet. But every day I stayed was a day my life was at risk.

I glanced around the table, at the Family, their perfect smiles and easily faked laughter. I’d lived on less than thirty dollars before. I could do it again. I would leave that night, I decided.

Arthur drove Althea and me home after dessert. We spent most
of the ride looking out our own windows, but at one point she said casually, “You know I’ve disinherited you. Not leaving you a penny.”

“I understand,” I said.

“I hear how you can’t control the fury in your voice. You’d like to rip me limb from limb, wouldn’t you?”

“No, Althea. I wouldn’t.” I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded. “The money doesn’t matter that much to me.”

“Oh, yes it does,” she said. She turned to me, and her eyes were blazing. “I know it does. Why did you come back if it wasn’t for the money? You don’t love me. You can’t love them, any of them. We’re a family of unlovable creatures. We’re stunted, every one of us, like plants grown in rocky soil. Deformed and ugly.” She was leaning toward me, and I backed away involuntarily.

“You sit there thinking you’re different because you left, but you’re not. You came back. You came back like a vulture scenting fresh meat. You came back to feed off of my dead body with the rest of them.”

It was suddenly stultifying back there, as though her fury were another creature in the back seat with us, breathing up all the air. I was pressed against the door of the car, the handle digging into my lower back when the car rolled to a stop.

“We’re home,” Arthur said, and I wanted to correct him, remembering what my mother had said about running away from home. This was most definitely not a home.

My knees trembled, and I nearly fell getting out of the car. The next two and a half hours passed as though time had been frozen in amber. We got home at nine, but I knew it wouldn’t be safe to leave too much before midnight. I stuffed the least easily identifiable change of clothes, my $30 in cash, and the original note Bain had handed me into a backpack. I debated leaving a note, but I couldn’t
figure out what to say. And I doubted it would matter anyway. Everyone makes up their own stories, I’d learned.

Finally the clock on my—not mine, I reminded myself—Aurora’s bedside table showed ten minutes until midnight. I flipped off the light switch, opened the door, and listened.

The house was still.

I’d already decided the best way was to go out the front door. The back door sent me around by the garage over which Arthur had his apartment, and it posed a bigger risk of being seen.

I knew the main stairs creaked less than the back stairs, so carrying my shoes, I padded down the hallway in that direction. I glanced down at the courtyard below to make sure it was empty. It was still, stiller and friendlier than when I’d first come.

Once I got outside, there would be no pausing to look back, no one-last-glimpse, I told myself. Once outside, the clock started ticking, and I was on the run. Again.

I took each stair slowly, letting my weight settle a little at a time. I was four stairs from the bottom when one creaked. I held my breath.

“I can’t believe you forgot about that stair,” Mrs. March said, coming out from next to a potted palm. “That was the stair that always got you caught before. Nasty piece of work, always quiet by day but sounds like a shot going off at night.”

I saw she was still dressed. “You knew I was going to sneak out,” I said.

She nodded. “I hoped I was wrong. I’ve been waiting up, every night since you’ve been back. Just in case you tried. In case you really were a coward.”

The word was like a slap. “How is leaving being a coward?” I asked. “No one here wants me. No one needs me. I thought I could come home, but this—it’s not home. Anymore,” I added.

Mrs. March’s gaze didn’t leave me, and it wasn’t comforting. “You’ve been back three days, and you’re moaning about not fitting in. That’s quitting. The Aurora I remember was many things. Selfish. A pain in the ass. Stubborn. But she wasn’t a quitter.”

“That Aurora left,” I said, compelled for some reason to defend myself. “If that isn’t quitting what is?”

“Something happened to that Aurora,” Mrs. March insisted. Her fists were clutched. “
That
Aurora wouldn’t have snuck out in the night like this. She was hurt, and she was confused. And maybe she didn’t pick the best way to handle it, but she felt like she had to go. I am as certain of that as I am of my own name.”

My hands on the straps of my backpack were shaking.

“That Aurora, the Aurora who didn’t know what else to do, that Aurora I can forgive,” Mrs. March said. “But an Aurora who sneaks out in the night? I have no time for her.”

Silence stretched between us. When I spoke, my voice sounded small, like a much younger girl’s, and it trembled. “Why do you care? What do you want from me?”

She nodded to herself, like she was making a decision, and said, “Follow me. There’s something you should see.”

I
didn’t know what to expect as she led me up the main stairs one flight to the room next to Althea’s bedroom. On the plan of Silverton House I’d studied, it was called the junk room.

She opened the door and flipped on the light, and it seemed true enough to its name. There was an old chair in there, a table leaning against the wall, an empty bookshelf, and a massive old armoire. Mrs. March unlocked the armoire and opened one of its double doors.

Inside there was a jumble of objects, some in boxes, some jammed in haphazardly, some gift-wrapped, some in paper sacks. There was a hat with flowers on it and an electric guitar and a Barbie in a box and a baby doll and an unopened computer and a waffle iron and a pink plastic Christmas tree. I saw a set of pots and a set of Winnie the Pooh books, a sewing kit, a hairdryer, and a popcorn popper. There were other packages too that were wrapped, so I had no idea what they were, but some of them were strange sizes and shapes.