I Spy Dead People (4 page)

"So how's it going?"

He's reading what looks like a police file, tapping a pen along a pad of paper with chaotic written notes. Dad's infamous chicken scrawl, as he calls it. He used to put notes in my lunchbox in elementary school, and I'd always come home and ask what he wrote.

I lean forward and peruse his desk, but it's hard to read upside down, so I swivel in my chair to get a better look at the bulletin board he's created on the wall.

A large photo of Cameron McDougal hangs in the center. He was blonde, tan, and had electric blue eyes. For an older guy, he's not bad looking. Totally more horror movie lead than serial killer.

From what I've read on the internet, Cameron lived alone. He spoke with a client around five pm, and at ten-thirty, his girlfriend, who he was supposed to meet for dinner, came by looking for him. She found the front door shut but unlocked and him sprawled across his bed sliced and diced. He was stabbed thirty-two times. Someone was super pissed.

The police suspected his girlfriend and accountant. Chloe is a striking brunette, a model he met during a photo shoot. They had a very public fight the night before, but she swears they made up the next morning, and dinner was their new start. Martin Nixon, a man with two first and last names, had a partial alibi, but when the cops discovered he was embezzling money from his clients, including Cameron, Martin became suspect
numero
uno
.

"It's melting." I lick marshmallow residue off my spoon.

Dad looks up. "Huh?"

I point to his bowl, and a plop of ice cream falls onto my shorts. I pick up most of it with my spoon then smudge the stain with my finger. "So if you don't think the accountant killed him, then who?"

"I've only been researching for a few hours, Piper." He picks up his spoon and pushes a melting scoop into his mouth.

This may be true, but I know he already has a theory. He starts researching a new book as soon as he decides which murder to write about next, way before we leave the last town. I won't push though. At least not tonight.

"We'll get the air conditioners in tomorrow, right?" I hate those window ones, but this place doesn't have central air. One of the good points about Georgia. Everything has central air there.

He returns his focus to the file.

I know better than to try to have a conversation with him on the first night. So why do I keep trying? "Dad?"

"What? Um, yes, I'm on that."

Well at least he hears me. A yawn rises in my head until my mouth stretches like a lion's. I get up, walk around the desk, and kiss his cheek. From sitting in a car for twenty-three hours, with only bathroom and food breaks, then unpacking, mauling a cute boy, and spying on a celebrity, I'm exhausted. "Goodnight, Dad."

He looks up and gives me one of his I'll-always-love-you smiles. "Night, sweetie."

I take his bowl with me and drop both off in the kitchen. Upstairs, I'm so tired I think I might fall asleep while brushing my teeth. I slip out of my clothes and into a nightshirt, then crawl between my sheets. I turn on the oscillating fan across from my bed, via remote, and wait to get comfortable.

Who did Linzy meet, and what was their argument about?

Light footsteps sound on the stairs. Must be time for a pee break. Dad keeps a coffee machine by his desk. After a moment I don't hear the bathroom door or that annoying fan when you turn on the light.

"Dad?"

Silence.

Maybe he changed his mind. I roll over and snuggle into my pillow.

 

*  *  *

 

When I open my eyes, sunlight pours onto my face, and birds sing by my window. I want to chuck a pillow at their chirpiness, but my body is so relaxed, every muscle feels like it's frozen during a long stretch, and I don't want to ruin it. I had a tough time sleeping. I kept waking up from dreams of being chased down a pitch black street by Linzy. She wore a blood-soaked nightgown. The little girl kind with the ruffled hems and little bow at the neckline. She held a large knife, and even though the street was too dark to see where I was headed, she was illuminated by this stark, white light behind her. And the whole time, a car engine roared in the background.

It felt so real, I thought I woke up at one point and saw Linzy standing in my room. But that's just crazy.

Two car doors shut outside. I roll onto my side to go back to sleep. I don't care the clock says ten-thirty-eight. Isn't sleeping until noon what summer break is all about?

Our doorbell rings, and I sit straight up, eyes wide. From the glance in my full-length mirror, that's leaning against the wall, behind the fan, part of my hair is standing straight out to the side. Or so it appears. I grab my glasses off my nightstand, and, sure enough, I officially have the worse bed hair in the universe.

I fling the sheet off me, my skin in a cold sweat from the heat and fan. Maybe it's Kinley, but what's with the car doors? I peek out and see a silver four-door parked in front of our house. Visitors?

I'm about to snatch yesterday's clothes off my floor when there's a knock on my door. "Yeah?"

The door opens, and Dad peeks in. He widens his bloodshot eyes. "Troy and the Chief of Detectives are in our kitchen with coffee and bagels. Please come down and save me."

Put Dad in a suit and an auditorium full of readers, and he can talk about his books, writing, and murder for hours. But have him in his holey Santana T-shirt, in his own home, and he forgets the English language.

"I'll be right down."

He nods and starts to shut the door. "Get dressed first."

Duh. "You too."

With the door shut, I pull the nightshirt over my head and smell my pits. I don't have time for a shower, which means extra deodorant and a spritz of lavender body spray. I change my underwear and yank a tank-style sundress off a hanger in my closet. It's pink, which looks great against my olive complexion, and accentuates my almost C-cup. It's short enough to be flirty but long enough so Dad won't make me change. I tie my too-frizzy-to-be-curly-or-straight hair into a ponytail, making sure it's high enough to lengthen the appearance of my neck but not so high I look juvenile. I've watched a lot of
America's Next Top Model
episodes online. I can totally smile with my eyes.

Dad runs down. He's probably watching the stairs, waiting for my arrival.

I finish with a quick dusting of sparkly pink blush to my cheeks, a flick of black mascara, a swipe of glittery pink, of course, lip gloss, and my favorite multi-colored bangles. Slipping into flip-flops, I thank the cute boy Gods that I gave myself a pedicure the night before we left Georgia and head to the kitchen.

Dad changed into a new blue tee but kept on his gray shorts and brown, velour slippers. Stylish, Dad. Way to impress. Olivia is seated at our round, scratched-up kitchen table, looking very out of place in another beige pantsuit—different from yesterday's. Her skin is dry, not even a fine sheen across her forehead. She must have an internal A/C. Lucky woman.

She smiles when I enter. "Good morning, Piper. Did you sleep well your first night?"

"Yes." It's just a teeny lie. I doubt she wants to hear about my nightmares.

"Hi." Troy's voice is deep and mellow. It sends shivers down my spine.

I turn and see him leaning against the counter. Guess he doesn't want to sit between his mom and my dad. "Hi."

"Chief Williams brought breakfast." Dad points to the plate of bagels and cream cheese.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," she says. "My son says I came across impolite, and I don't want anyone to think they're not welcome here."

Dad shakes his head. "No, no, I understand. You're territorial and don't want someone butting their nose in, trying to insinuate you didn't do your job right."

Troy steps up right behind me, so close I can feel his body heat and smell coconut and musk. It makes me dizzy. I feel like I'm falling and floating all at the same time. It's kinda cool but super rattling too.

"Do you usually run into police resistance?" His breath tickles my ear.

"All the time."

The chief discusses the benefits of Hollow Ridge. I pry my attention away from Troy's scent and energy when she mentions the Fourth of July bash. I'm immediately dying to go.

"There's a firework display by the river. It starts around nine, but a lot of people gather much earlier. They have picnics, play Frisbee, that kind of thing."

"We're gonna go, right, Dad?" It's only two days away, and a party by the river sounds like a blast.

Dad looks hesitant though. He never participates in town events. "Sounds like fun."

I sigh. That's his polite way of saying no.

The chief rises. "Well, I don't want to take up all of your morning. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to call me."

She hands a biz card to Dad then faces her son. "Troy…"

He steps out from behind me. "Mom, do you need the car today? I'd like to show Piper around. She should be familiar with the area before school starts."

The chief glances to Dad, who doesn't give any indication if he's for or against the idea. But when she turns away, Dad quirks his brow at me. I want to shout, "technically this is not a date," but I remain tightlipped.

She throws her keys at Troy. "Sure, just drop me off at the station."

Troy winks at me. Forget about lust. I'm totally in love.

 

 

Troy shows me all the cool places to hang, like the ice cream shop on North Main Street and the coffee-slash-cafe on South Main, then drives past Big Pretzel, which I assume serves big pretzels, in the strip mall. He must really love food. Something we have in common.

Finally he drives to the river where groups of teens are laying out, swimming, and simply hanging. He parks, grabs a blanket from the trunk, and we find a spot halfway to the water.

I sit with my legs folded up and realize I look like a five year old, so I spread them out, pointing my toes to make my legs look longer than what my parents gave me. I debate sucking my stomach in, but it'll be too painful to hold the entire time. "Is this where the fireworks are happening?"

He points to some spot in the distance. "They shoot them from that end, so if your dad parks anywhere along this side, you'll see them."

"I doubt my dad will come. He's not very social."

"You can tag along with me."

Tag along? That doesn't sound very romantic, but maybe it could be. Perhaps he's shy and not direct with girls. Or…images of my last boy-girl encounter flood my mind and accelerate my heartbeat— not in a good way. I need to figure him out before I jump to conclusions. "So what are you into?"

"Current events. I like learning the truth behind things."

That's just like sleuthing.

"I want to be a reporter, but a respectable one," he continued. "After a grieving mother's child's been abducted, I won't ask her how she feels."

I smirk. That's exactly what they do on the evening news.

Journalism means he's smart and probably clean, no major partying, no drinking or drugs. Well, at least that's the stereotype. Not only will we have conversations about something other than sports and video games (two things I know nothing about), but Dad will be impressed.

"And what's Hollow Ridge like? What makes it special?"

He stares off at the water. "It depends who you ask. According to my mom, it's the low crime rate."

"I'm asking you, and we're here
because
of the crime rate." I giggle, but when he doesn't find my line funny, I wish I can take it back.

"Yeah, well McDougal is the first murder case we've had probably since I was born. There are mostly domestic disputes, some burglaries, and a mess of drunken brawls."

See, exactly why I won't become a cop.

"But according to me, the best part is right here. I love the river. It's polluted, sometimes stinks, and attracts a swarm of mosquitoes, but it's special."

I follow his gaze, trying to spot the magic, but all I see is murky water. "Why?"

"My dad used to take me fishing here when I was little."

"Not anymore?" I stare at his profile and watch his jaw clench.

"He died ten years ago."

I sigh, and he turns my way. Another thing we have in common. "My mom walked out on us ten years ago."

He covers my hand with his, and my belly feels like the Fourth of July, two days early. "Sucks, huh?"

Before I get a chance to answer, a wave of perfume and blonde hair plops down on Troy's other side. Shayla.

"I haven't seen you in a while," she says to him, but I notice she sneaks a glance at me. Troy pulls his hand off, but his fingers lie beside mine, and she stares at them.

Up close, she's pretty but not as gorgeous as I thought she'd be. That's not me being petty or jealous either. The tip of her nose is crooked, and her left eye is noticeably larger than the right. It doesn't make her ugly, just odd.

"We broke up, Shayla. Not seeing one another is a requisite of that."

She pouts. "That doesn't mean we have to avoid each other."

"No avoidance. We just don't run in the same circles. Although I'll probably be seeing you a bit more now."

She smiles and perks up. "Why?"

He nods to me. "Piper lives across the street from you, and we're becoming fast friends."

I don't know if he's telling the truth or just trying to make her jealous, but from her glare, it's definitely working. I hope he's not lying, at least about the friend part.

"Oh, I didn't see her sitting there."

I scoff. How lame. Does she really think we're gonna buy that?

She gives me the body check, up and down, with her top lip curled. "I'm not sure if you realize it, but that style dress is for thinner figures. Rolls only belong with hamburgers." She points to my side.

Tears immediately fill my eyes. I'm frozen, unable to move. Do I suck my stomach in or cover my sides with my arms. What a witch. Kinley was right.

"Why are you here?" Troy asks her. "When we broke things off, you said you never wanted to speak to me again."