The Dead And Buried Part 22

Mr. Sloane placed his hand on his wife's shoulder and responded, "It helps to keep her occupied. The color choices and the decorating ... it's work she loves."

"Excuse me?" I interrupted. "Mr. and Mrs. Sloane?"

They turned to face me with identically polite smiles on their faces. I could see them searching their minds for a name to match to my face, but coming up blank.

"Um, you don't know me," I said. "I live in your old house."

The polite smiles faded and the well-dressed man quickly excused himself.

"I'm very sorry about your daughter," I started.

"Thank you." Mrs. Sloane clutched her pearls. "That's nice of you to say." The words were spoken as a dismissal, and they began walking, clearly anxious to get away from me.

I boldly stepped in front of them. "I need to ask you something."

The force I spoke with surprised them and me. But my concern for their grief was gone. This little act they put on here in town, refusing to show weakness, maintaining this air of arrogance at all costs, materialism above all else. It bothered me. Enough to ease any misgivings I'd had about talking to them. Besides, I only had one simple little question.

"Someone broke into the house this week and searched the room that used to be Kayla's. Do you know why someone would do that?"

"Obviously to steal something of yours," Mr. Sloane replied coolly. "All of Kayla's belongings are gone."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," he insisted. "We either kept them, donated them, or distributed them to her friends."

"Her friends," I muttered. "Did any of them ask for anything in particular?"

"No, we just gave a few of her closest friends some of her clothing," Mrs. Sloane said, but her husband's expression had changed. Like he was remembering something.

"Well, there was one thing," he said. "But it didn't exist."

"What?" I pressed.

He turned to his wife. "Remember, someone asked about a diary?"

"Oh yes." She waved her hand. "It was silly because Kayla never kept a diary. And if she had, we would have found it among her things."

Unless she hid it so well that it was still in the house, I thought. "Who asked for it?"

Mrs. Sloane tapped a manicured fingernail against her chin. "You know, I don't remember. It was the day of the funeral and there were literally hundreds of people coming up to me. And I was ..." For a moment, the mask of togetherness she wore slipped a bit. "I was in a bad place."

"And I'm sure it has nothing to do with your break-in," Mr. Sloane said, leading his wife away. "Good luck."

Maybe it didn't or maybe it did. But the only person who knew for sure whether or not Kayla kept a diary ... was Kayla herself.

Dad was coming home later that afternoon, and Marie was running around like a crazy person, cleaning the house and planning dinner. When I offered to play board games with Colby up in his room, I thought she was going to drop to her knees and kiss my feet.

"Thank you, Jade," she said, patting my shoulder. "You're such a help."

Guilt lay like a block of lead in my stomach. If only she knew what I was really planning.

Colby was on the floor in his room, paging through a Star Wars sticker book. I didn't want to involve him in this. But it was the only way. And I was doing it to save his life, after all. But that didn't make it any easier.

"Hey, buddy." I sat cross-legged beside him.

He looked up at me and smiled. One of his top front teeth was loose. It would fall out any day and that smile would be forever changed. Part of me didn't want it to happen, didn't want him to grow up, to lose his innocence. Even though, in a way, he already had.

"You know how I promised you that I'd make the ghost girl go away?"

The smile faltered, but he nodded slowly.

"I'm working on doing that ... but I need your help, Colby."

He blinked his big brown eyes. "What can I do?"

"You're the only one who can communicate with her. And I need you to do it. Just one more time. I need to get some answers from her. And then I'll be able to send her away."

"For good?"

"For good," I repeated.

He pondered that for a moment. "Okay. I'll do it."

"Great." I clapped my hands together. "We'll just wait until the next time she comes around and then you can help me ask her some questions."

"We don't have to wait," he said, closing his book. "I can call her."

"You can ... make her show up?"

"Yeah, I did it before by accident."

That could have been a coincidence, but I plastered on an encouraging smile. "Okay, then let's do it now."

He crossed to his bed and sank down, closing his eyes. Only a moment later, my whole body hummed as Kayla's now-familiar energy filled the room. I couldn't believe it. Colby could not only see her, he could summon her.

The temperature plummeted. Colby opened his eyes. His head snapped suddenly to the right and he fixed on an empty corner. There was nothing there, but I knew Colby saw otherwise.

A chill seeped into my veins.

His eyes never left the corner. "She's here."

As Colby sat on his bed, expressionless, I realized he was much braver than me. Sweat trickled down my spine despite the cold in the room. I slowly stood to my full height, though my bones felt like they were made of jelly. If I took one step forward, my legs would collapse underneath me.

I angled my body in the direction Colby was looking and cleared my throat. "I'm close to the answer you wanted, Kayla, but I just need to know a few things first."

My eyes slid to Colby.

"She's waving her hand," he said. "Like she's saying, 'Go on.'"

"Okay." I faced the girl I couldn't see. I pretty much knew the answer to my first question, but wanted to be sure. "Are you here all the time?"

Colby said, "She's shaking her head no."

"Did you see someone break into the house a few days ago and search the upstairs?"

"She's shaking her head no again, but this time she's frowning, too."

"Did you keep a diary?"

I looked over my shoulder at Colby and his confused expression as he tried to read her. "I think she's nodding," he said finally.

"I need to know where it's hidden," I said.

"She's shaking her head no."

"I need to read it, Kayla. Someone broke in here looking for it. There must be something in there."

"She's covering her face." Colby squinted as he watched her. "I think ... she's embarra.s.sed. She doesn't want anyone to ever read the diary. Yeah, she's nodding to that."

"I have to read it," I pleaded. "Don't you want me to figure out who did this?"

"She's pointing to herself," Colby said.

Meaning she wrote it and even she can't figure out who killed her.

"But maybe I'll see what you couldn't," I said. "I may have information you don't. And when it's put together ... I could figure out who it is."

The room was eerily silent for a long moment. "What's she doing?" I asked.

Colby shrugged, puzzled. "Just standing there. Maybe she's thinking."

I wrung my hands as I waited. She needed to agree. Had to. My access to her friends was cut off. This was the only angle I had left. "Please ..." I whispered.

Colby shot up and jumped off the bed. "Under there!"

"What?"

"She's pointing under the bed!"

That made no sense. People would have found it under the bed. This house was empty when we bought it. Still, I threw my weight against the frame and moved the bed a few feet over.

Colby pointed enthusiastically at a spot on the floor. "There! She's pointing there."

At ... nothing? I got down on my knees and ran my hand over the hardwood. Maybe a loose board? I pounded my fist around haphazardly until the pressure on the end of one board caused the other end to lift up. I gasped.

Colby reached over me, his nimble little fingers pulling up the board in seconds. And there, underneath, was a black leather-bound journal. I picked it up slowly, then clutched it to my chest. I stood and spun around, ready to thank Kayla for trusting me. But the energy leaked out of the room, the temperature rose, and I knew she was gone.

Her secrets hadn't died with her. They'd been buried within the house the entire time.

I pulled an all-nighter. A feverish, determined, adrenaline-fueled night of reading. As everyone in town closed their eyes, mine raced across Kayla's looping script. While the house slept, I learned Kayla's deep, dark secrets. I knew why she hadn't wanted anyone to read the diary. Many of the entries were sociopathically devoid of empathy for other people. But I held back all judgments and read each one as evidence.

By morning, I had the quirks and curves of her handwriting memorized. She used a numeric code, giving everyone in her life a sequential number, starting with the first time they were mentioned in the diary. Her parents were 1 and 2 and so on. I'd figured out the ident.i.ties of the main players, taken notes, worked on a chart, and finally discovered what Kayla hadn't.

I knew who'd killed her.

My phone chirped and I gave it a glance. Donovan calling again. This was call number ... four? Five? Plus countless texts. I hadn't returned one of them. He hadn't lied to me, but he sure hadn't shared everything he knew, either. And I didn't know why.

Plus, since I'd found the diary, I'd been kind of busy.

But now ... I had time to answer his call. Tell him everything I read. Ask him why he hadn't told me the big reason he'd dumped Kayla. My thumb hovered over the b.u.t.ton, but the phone went silent.

Just as well. This was something better done alone.

I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror. Dark bags circled my eyes and my hair was a frizzy mess. But I didn't want to waste any time showering. I wanted to get this over with. The digital clock on my desk read 9:00 a.m. A little early for a Monday with no school. We had the day off due to some teacher conference. But I didn't want to wait. Not now that I was so close to finishing this. To giving Kayla the closure she sought - and to saving my family.

Going downstairs in the same clothes I wore yesterday, plus the haggard look on my face, was begging for parent trouble. So I stripped off my shirt and reached around the pile on the floor for whatever was closest. My hands brought up a tight green long-sleeved tee. Good enough. I pulled it over my head and was about to leave the room when I saw my jewelry box.

I carefully lifted the agate pendant out and held it up to the light. It was a beautiful brown stone with streaks of orange and yellow. It had always reminded me of a sunset, but I didn't choose it now for its looks. It was a truth charm. And that seemed fitting. I clasped it behind my neck.

It was time to confront a killer.

I checked to make sure the recording function worked on my phone's app, then slipped it into my pocket. I slung my empty backpack over my shoulder and headed downstairs. The TV was blaring SpongeBob, so I knew Colby was down there. I was disappointed to find my father sitting beside him on the couch. It was so much easier to lie to Marie.

"Where are you headed this early?" Dad asked. "No school today, remember?"

He wore a Celtics T-shirt and his flannel pajama pants. His arm was draped up over the back of the couch and Colby was tucked up against him, warm and safe. The sight tugged at my heart. I wanted so badly to join them. To sit mindlessly on the couch, giggling at SpongeBob and Patrick's escapades.

Hopefully I would do that, very soon.

"To Alexa's house," I answered, averting his eyes. "Study session. Plus a ... um ... group project."

"I hope you won't be gone all day," he said, disappointment lining his voice. "I was hoping for some family time."

"Me, too," I said. I put my hand on the k.n.o.b of the front door and didn't allow myself the last glance over my shoulder that my heart wanted. "I'll be back."

Several minutes later, I parked my car and walked up to the door of Kayla's killer. I pounded my fist on the wood. And waited for footsteps.

A few moments later, a shuffling came from within the apartment, and the sounds of someone fumbling with the lock. I slipped a hand into my pocket and hit the b.u.t.ton on my phone. Recording. Ready to provoke a confession.

Kane opened the door with a sleepy but open face that shut down as soon as he saw it was me. He wore blue athletic shorts and a thin white undershirt. Running a hand through his bed-head mop of hair, he squinted at me and frowned. "You look like a girl who's been up all night."

I straightened my shoulders and stared him right in the eye. Confidence bloomed inside me like an awakening flower. With a strong voice I said, "I have."

"Well, I'm sorry your guilt is interrupting your beauty sleep, but I'm not interested in whatever apology you came here to give." He started to close the door in my face.

I slammed my palm against it and pushed my foot in the opening. "And what about your guilt, Kane?"

He reopened the door a slice. "What are you talking about?"