The Dead And Buried Part 17

"Tell me, anyway." I shifted in my seat. "To be honest, I can't believe you even dated her to begin with. You seem like opposites."

"At first I was running on pure flattery." He smiled sheepishly. "When the most popular girl in school asks you out, you say yes. But then, you know, reality set in."

"The reality that you were dating a soulless evil demon girl?"

The side of his mouth twitched. "Not that, no."

"Then what?"

He hesitated, like he was trying to find a way to translate his thoughts into words. "I think people, by nature, want to believe that there's good in everyone. That if you peel back the layers of the onion you'll find an explanation, an excuse, a justification. The bully is bullied by his own father. The bad girl is ignored by her parents and just wants attention, even if it's negative. So I had this romantic notion that if I dug deep enough, I'd find goodness at Kayla's center. And I'd fix her. Help her to become the person she could be."

"And what did you find at Kayla's core?"

"Nothing." He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Maybe I didn't dig deep enough. Or maybe the conventional theory is wrong, and some people really aren't any deeper than their outside layer."

I gave him a long look. I couldn't help feeling that Donovan was holding something back. Some key piece of information. But why would he do that? Especially now when we were working together?

"I have a game plan for this afternoon," he said, changing the subject.

"And what's that?"

"I think we need to talk to this witness. The man who told the police I was the only one who went inside the house that day."

"Mr. Tucker?"

"Yeah. Your creepy neighbor. He always gave Kayla the w.i.l.l.i.e.s."

"He has that effect on me, too. Okay, let's meet after school."

From the increased decibel of the noise in the hallway, I knew it was time to get to homeroom. I swung my bag over one shoulder. Donovan motioned for me to go before him through the narrow doorway. The hall was packed and a group of guys ambled toward me, arguing in loud voices about some trade the Patriots made.

Donovan placed his hand on the small of my back, protectively, and steered me around them. I stiffened at the shock of his touch, and he quickly drew his hand back, probably thinking I hated the feeling of his hand on my body. But I didn't. Not at all. And, for a long time, while my first-period teacher lectured us about something I should have been paying attention to, all my mind could think about was Donovan's hand on me. And how I wished it were still there.

"The heroine of the novel comes to her new home and finds that her husband's dead first wife still has a hold on the house. The so-called ghost of Rebecca and the villain of the story, Rebecca's loyal servant Mrs. Danvers, pose a threat to both our heroine's marriage and sanity."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair in last-period English as Mrs. Mayhew lectured about Rebecca.

Mrs. Mayhew paced the front of the cla.s.sroom. "The heroine feels that she'll never be as satisfactory to her husband as Rebecca was and she worries that her husband is still in love with his dead wife. But by the end of the novel, what do we find out?"

Some boy in the back answered, "She wasn't all that."

"Correct." Mrs. Mayhew smiled. "Despite all the wonderful things said about her and her undisputable beauty, Rebecca was - underneath - quite an evil person."

Everyone else was feverishly copying Mrs. Mayhew's words into their notebooks, but not me. The parallels to my life were disturbing. The four walls of the cla.s.sroom seemed to be closing in. I needed air. I needed to get out.

Thankfully, just as I was about to bolt, the bell rang. As soon as I reached the hallway, the pressure on my lungs lifted. I took a deep breath and calmed myself.

I went to my locker to grab my things. Donovan and I were supposed to meet in the parking lot. So I was surprised when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"I thought we -" I started, spinning around. But then stopped. It was only Faye. She wore a tight pink shirt and a short skirt. She'd curled her hair into long corkscrews.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said at the look on my face.

"I'm not disappointed, Faye," I lied to spare her feelings. "I was just expecting someone else."

She crossed her arms tightly. "How's your little investigation going?"

I turned back to my locker and pretended to look through the books, even though I'd already taken out everything I needed. "Fine."

"I heard Donovan O'Mara is helping you. Isn't that like asking the defendant to investigate his own case?"

I sighed heavily. "Donovan didn't push her. Kayla herself said it. You were there."

"She might have been confused. Maybe he came back in after he left."

I spun around to face her again. "Donovan broke up with Kayla that day. Why would he kill her if he didn't want her anymore?"

Faye's face turned a fiery red. "He didn't break up with her," she said through clenched teeth.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she was above him," Faye spat. "She was prettier, more popular. Above his station. Why would he put an end to that?"

Well, h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Danvers. "Maybe she wasn't as perfect as you think."

Faye shook her head so hard the curls trembled. "No one dumps Kayla. Plus, he never told anyone he broke up with her. That makes no sense."

Except me. Why would he tell only me? I suddenly got the feeling that this was a secret I should have kept to myself. "I must have heard him wrong," I said. "Don't tell anyone. It's ... it's bad information."

"You're d.a.m.n right it is," Faye said indignantly.

Despite her poor att.i.tude, part of me respected Faye's defiant defense of her friend, even in death. Faye took a few steps away, then stopped. Her head turned slowly back in my direction, taking in my outfit. My non-designer jeans and Interpol T-shirt. Not exactly Faye's taste and I could see that on her face.

"So," she said, "your whole 'playing hard to get' thing seems to be working on Kane."

Not this again. "I'm not playing hard to get. We're really just friends and that's it."

"Don't deny it. I'll admit, it's smart. The boy who can have almost anyone always wants the one he can't have." She took a step closer to me. "But who does the girl want? Donovan or Kane? Kane or Donovan?" She twirled a curl around her finger. "It's the age-old question." When I didn't respond, she curled her lips and hissed, "He's only using you to try to feel closer to her. It's sick."

I stiffened as she put into words the worry I'd had about Donovan in the back of my mind all day. But I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd gotten to me. I lifted my chin and pulled my shoulders back. "Donovan isn't ..." But my voice trailed off as a smug smile came over her face.

She sneered. "I'm not talking about Donovan."

Faye had unnerved me at my locker. But I put that information in a little box and shoved it into a dark corner of my mind so I could focus on the task at hand.

I pulled into my driveway. Donovan parked his little black car behind mine. I walked up as he lowered his window.

Donovan looked out at Mr. Tucker's house. "So ... should we go knock on his door?"

"There's no need for that," I said. "Just wait."

A moment later, a face appeared in the window on the side of Mr. Tucker's house. Like clockwork. I straightened and waved at Mr. Tucker, motioning for him to come outside. Then the face disappeared.

I leaned back down. "He's coming out."

As creeped out as I was by Mr. Tucker, I still knew I had to talk to him. He was the only other person around the afternoon Kayla died.

"Does he always do that?" Donovan grimaced toward the window.

"Yeah. Every day when I come home, seconds later, his face appears at the window. He's always watching."

"He's even creepier than I thought." Donovan reached for the car handle.

I held a hand up. "No, wait in the car."

He paused and looked up at me. "Why?"

"He might be less forthcoming with his answers about that day if the last kid he saw leaving the house is the one asking him the questions."

"Touche."

I left Donovan and walked to the property border. Mr. Tucker ambled over a minute later.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tucker. Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." He eyeballed the shadow in the car. Did he recognize Donovan from here?

"Mr. Tucker, the morning after my, uh, party, when we talked ... why did you tell me to be careful?"

He shifted his weight. "Because those kids at your party were the same kids who paraded through that house last year. And we both know how that ended."

"Do you think Kayla was pushed?"

He looked past me at the house and the yard. "I watched that girl grow up doing cartwheels and flips in the backyard. Her father even fashioned a balance beam for her from a plank of wood. I can't imagine someone with her athleticism and grace perishing from a simple fall." His focus returned to me. "That's why I was forthcoming with the police. About the boy I'd seen coming from the house. The same boy who's staring at me from that car right now."

I looked over my shoulder. Donovan's face was poking out of his car window. He was eavesdropping, and not very subtly. I turned back to face my neighbor, trying to sound braver than I felt. "Mr. Tucker, Donovan is my friend. And I'm sure that he didn't push Kayla."

"How can you be sure of something like that?"

I couldn't exactly tell him it was because Kayla herself had told me. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Then trust me and watch yourself, because no one else went in that house except Kayla and that young man. And he was the only one who came out."

He turned and began walking away with a slight limp. I knew if I followed and badgered him with more questions, I'd risk him telling my parents everything - about the party, my new friend Donovan, me asking about Kayla. So, with a heave of my shoulders, I returned to Donovan's car.

"I a.s.sume you heard all of that?" I said.

"Sorry if I ruined it," he said sheepishly.

"Nah, I don't think he knows any more, anyway." I paused, wondering what to do next. I didn't want Donovan to leave yet, but we were done with our plan for the day. I kicked at a leaf on the ground. "Um, do you want to come in for a while?"

Marie and Colby were at one of their Mommy and Me cla.s.ses. Dad had left at dawn for his next business trip. So we had the house to ourselves.

Unless Kayla showed up.

I hadn't thought of that. But now the offer was out and I couldn't exactly retract it. And I wanted to spend time with him. And Kayla wasn't around all the time ...

Donovan gazed at the house, then back at me. "Sure."

He followed me up the walk and stepped into the living room, almost as hesitantly as I did. I took a moment to feel the energy in the room. But this, thankfully, seemed like one of the times when she was ... wherever it is ghosts go when they're not haunting people.

"Are you okay? Being in here?" I asked as Donovan's eyes swept the room.

"Yeah, sure." He flashed a quick smile. "I was here for the party, remember?"

"I know, but still. If you're uncomfortable you don't have to stay."

He reached out and took my hand. I felt a blush spread down my neck like a stain. "Jade, it's fine. With your parents' furniture and being here with you ... it's like a different house."

I was able to push out an "okay" from my tightened throat. He let go of my hand.

"Want to go over what we've learned?" he said, motioning toward the couch.

I didn't know if I'd be able to concentrate sitting next to him. I wanted to suggest the dining room, with a giant table between us, but that would be weird. So instead, I said, "Sure. Let me get us some sodas."

I returned from the kitchen a minute later and found him sitting comfortably. I settled beside him on the couch, not too close, yet not suspiciously far away, and placed the gla.s.ses on the coffee table.

"What do you think about what Mr. Tucker said?" he asked, pausing to take a sip. "About how I was the only other one in the house?"

I shrugged. "He only usually starts watching when I get home, so he probably wasn't watching the house all day when it was empty. Maybe someone went in before you and Kayla arrived. Someone who was already there, waiting in the house."

"But if he heard someone arrive," Donovan argued, frowning, "he would have looked out the window, thinking it was Kayla."

A disturbing thought flashed through my mind.

"There is one other explanation ..." I aimed a thumb in the direction of his house.

Donovan looked slightly surprised. "Mr. Tucker?"

"What better way to cover his own tracks than to be the helpful witness who talks to the police? Maybe he saw you leave, knew no one else was home, went in, and killed her himself."

"But why?"

"Maybe he was obsessed with her, who knows. He watches me constantly from the window; I a.s.sume he did the same to her." I shivered at the notion.

"Yeah, he did," Donovan muttered. His fingers trailed along his chin as he thought. "But I always got a harmless old dude vibe from him."

"Vibes aren't evidence." I'd been reminding myself of that a lot lately. My thoughts turned to what Faye had said at school and I blurted the question out. "Why didn't you tell anyone you broke up with Kayla?"