The Liar Society Part 11

I continued down the hallway. Cla.s.sroom doors were open on both sides of me, but boxes, desks, chairs, and other random pieces of furniture blocked the line of windows and any light they would have let in. As a result, it grew darker and darker as I moved away from the door. I finally came to the end of the corridor, and the hallway split in two directions. I could go either left or right. c.r.a.p.

I looked both ways as they had taught me at Safety Town and noticed something shiny on the wall to my left. It was a tiny metallic sticker of a heart. Guess I wasn't the first person to seek the heart of Brown. My finger briefly lingered over the sticker, and I figured the choice had been made for me. I turned left and had only made my way a few feet into the hallway when I saw it.

I'm not sure if it was intentional or not, but the door itself looked like a giant heart. It had two rounded peaks at the top and then subtle panels that formed a deep V.

I drew in as much air as my blazer would allow and pulled the door open. The air reeked of incense, but it was free of dust. I dropped my hem from over my mouth and breathed deeply.

The room itself was large and clean. The ceilings were higher than those in the hallway, and it was clear that the room was used regularly. All of this should have lent the room an airy feel, but someone had made the ridiculous decision to paint the walls black. Dim light filtered through a row of high rectangular windows, but the dark paint seemed to suck the daylight out of the room.

I saw a switch to my right near the door and flipped it on out of pure habit. Black light showered down from the ceiling, and the walls came to life. They were covered with names. Chase Roman. William Vaughan. Kellan Wood.

"The writing is on the wall," I murmured to myself and looked around in awe. Every single one of the names belonged to a boy. I spun around in a circle, taking in each of the names until I saw one that I recognized.

Richard Sinclair. Or, as I knew him, Headmaster Sinclair.

I pulled my slam book and a pen out of my book bag and got to work. I wrote, "The writing is on the walls," and underlined it three times. Next, I listed Headmaster Sinclair's name, circled it, and then jotted down a few of the other names that stood out to me.

When the sound of shattering gla.s.s ripped through the silence, my blue pen streaked across the page, crossing through part of Chase Roman's name.

A small object covered in paper skidded across the floor and landed at my feet. My heart thudded to life in my chest, hammering so hard and fast I thought it might burst. I briefly considered booking it out of there without the message that had come crashing through the window, but my curiosity overcame my fear. Paper beats rock, I thought as I unwound a rubber band securing the paper and flattened it out on my thigh. In bloodred ink and block handwriting, the note read: Ashes, ashes, we're going to take you down.

Lightning flashed in the distance, and I instinctively counted, "One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand..." as I waited for thunder. At four-one-thousand, thunder cracked. I tossed the note and rock into my book bag and ran through the dark hallways.

The air around me felt charged with electricity, possibilities, and danger. I knew I'd never be able to run fast enough. Sooner or later I'd have to stop and brave the storm.

Chapter 27.

Half screaming, half laughing, we rushed from Liam's Jeep through the door at Starbucks, both shielding our heads from the pouring rain with our blazers. As soon as we pushed through the door, every head in the coffee shop turned like Pavlov's dogs to check us out.

"You get the seat, I'll get the drinks," Liam suggested, handing me his dripping blazer. "Skinny Frappuccino, right?"

"Um, have you met me? I'm a full-fat Frap kind of girl. I don't subscribe to 'skinny' drinks." I considered asking for extra whipped cream to really make my point, but I figured that might be overkill.

I headed over to my favorite couch and threw my wet body down onto it. In spite of all the Beefany awkwardness, I was happy to be here with Liam again. He made the threat I'd received at the heart of Brown feel a little bit farther away than it had felt fifteen minutes earlier.

But when his blazer vibrated on the couch cushion next to me, I jumped, my heart pumping blood through my ears. I guess I wasn't quite as removed as I thought. His phone slid partway out of his pocket, and I hoped whoever was calling or texting wouldn't cut our date short.

I shifted my shoulders a few times and realized that with my soaking-wet shirt sticking to my skin, comfort was virtually impossible. Liam was still waiting at the counter for our drinks, so I draped both of our wet blazers over the couch cushions to save our seats and ducked into the restroom.

By the time I made it back to our spot, my hair had been partially dried under the hand dryer. I'd also ditched my wet b.u.t.ton-down for the semi-dry tank top underneath and wrapped Grace's long pearls around my neck three times instead of twice. Liam sipped a black coffee, and my Mocha Frappuccino sat chilly and inviting.

But when I moved my blazer aside, I noticed a small white note sticking out of the pocket. I hadn't put anything in my pockets. In fact, I'd been careful to put the rock and the threat in my bag for safekeeping. My eyes flickered to Liam, who smiled at me.

"I'll be right back," I mumbled, slipping the note into my palm. "I think I left something in the bathroom." Yeah, my sanity.

I hurried back through the restroom door and, after bending and peeking beneath the stalls to make sure I was alone, opened the paper.

Hush, little Kate, don't say a word. We hear everything.

Same block handwriting, same bloodred ink. Despite my damp tank top, I felt feverish. Paranoid, I scanned the ceiling-for what? Cameras? The bathroom suddenly felt too small, so I pushed back through the doors, seeing each customer in an entirely different light than before I'd walked through the door.

A young kid wearing a black trench coat sat a few feet away from us. I stared hard at him and wondered. An older couple chatted animatedly near the door; the man met my eyes for a second but returned to his partner's. Was he watching me? A girl around my age sipped coffee and typed into her laptop a few tables over. Could she have left the note?

And then there was Liam sipping coffee, his uniform shirt unb.u.t.toned to reveal a vintage T-shirt underneath. His cell phone vibrated in his blazer pocket again, and I watched his face darken as he examined the screen. He looked toward the door and then back at his phone. Could I really trust him? Suddenly I wasn't so sure.

I felt a little sick, and I had no idea what to do next. I couldn't just whip the note out of my pocket and demand to know who had written it. If Grace were here, she'd clap her hands together and jump up and down at the thought of something actually happening. She would have told me to sit my a.s.s back down, suck on my Frappuccino, and keep my eyes and ears open. So I returned to the couch just as Liam finished typing a message.

"Is everything okay?" Liam asked with a concerned look on his face, sliding his phone on the table.

"Sure." I said, but it sounded more like a question. I picked a piece of lint from my uniform skirt, letting my mind wander again.

And, big surprise, it wandered straight back to the heart of Brown and all the pieces of Grace's puzzle. On top of the names, the heart of Brown was used as some sort of meeting place. And then there was that crumpled note I'd stuffed into my book bag.

Someone not only cared enough about me being there to send the threat, but even more disturbing, they knew I'd be there. And apparently one note wasn't enough. They'd followed me here and delivered a second ultra-freaky warning. Clearly I was getting a little too close for comfort. Otherwise why would they bother? Too bad I still didn't have any idea what all of this really meant and how it might connect to Grace.

"h.e.l.lo? Kate? You still with me?" Liam's voice made me realize that I'd been staring blankly at his shoes.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about..." Headmaster Sinclair? No, that was just gross. The Brown School for Boys? That was just weird. Rocks? Weird and geology focused. I shrugged.

Liam shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and I wondered if something more than just our awkward conversation was making him edgy.

"I'm gonna grab a water. You need anything?" Liam asked, standing up.

"Um..." I thought for a second about all the things I needed, but I waved my hand and shook my head.

As soon as Liam entered the line to order, his cell phone vibrated again. I craned my neck to evaluate his position in line and casually reached to retrieve his phone-in the name of my investigation, obviously.

On the screen, Beefany's name was listed next to two new text messages. Without thinking I opened the first text.

Remember what we talked about.

I cleared his screen and tossed the phone back on the table, annoyed. What exactly was going on between them? And what exactly was going on between us?

After paying for his bottle of water, Liam lowered himself into the couch and shot me a smile I couldn't possibly return. His phone vibrated again, and as he typed, I considered all the things he might be saying to Beefany, things about me, things about threatening notes. At this point, he could have been typing just about anything. I took one last sip of my Mocha Frappuccino and set the half-full cup on the table. Things had to be bad for me to abandon a Frappuccino.

"I'm out of here." I pulled my damp blazer off the couch and threw it over my arm. Liam's forehead wrinkled as he looked up at me and then over to his phone, which had just begun to vibrate for the millionth time. I could almost hear the struggle playing out in his mind. Kate or Bethany...Kate or Bethany.

"Oh, and, you might want to get that. Rumor has it that Bethany doesn't like to be kept waiting," I snapped, adjusting my blazer. Before I could grab it, a piece of crumpled notebook paper floated into Liam's lap. On it was my drawing of the crest with the words Audi, Vide, Tace underlined repeatedly. I almost s.n.a.t.c.hed it up myself, but Liam grabbed it and took in the picture.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Liam asked, silencing his phone.

"I just wouldn't want Bethany to get upset." I cursed myself for admitting I'd snooped in his phone but figured it didn't matter. I was leaving. "Have fun texting about me." I turned to go, but I felt words bubbling up in my throat that needed to be said. "I should have known you'd be a liar too."

Liam reached up and grabbed my arm. "If you're so into the truth, why don't you tell me what this means?" He held up the picture of the crest.

I opened my mouth to say something and quickly snapped it back shut. I stood there stewing for a few seconds until Liam broke the silence.

"So, what does it mean?"

I wasn't in the mood to be cooperative. "Why does she keep texting?"

"If I told you there's nothing going on with Bethany, would you believe me?"

"If I told you I don't know what the picture means, would you believe me?"

He took a swig of his water. I sat back down and reached for my Mocha Frappuccino. No use letting it go to waste.

"There's nothing going on with her," Liam whispered.

"I don't know what it means," I said.

And that was it. We both had our secrets. We were stuck: willing to trust each other enough not to lie but not enough to tell the whole truth. As I looked at him, his damp hair wavy, his wet shirt clinging to his skin, I wanted to believe him, to trust him.

"So let's start over." Liam shook the hair from his eyes, which had magically switched back to light blue. "I think I remember one of the questions I wanted to ask you."

"Wait. You planned a question to ask me?"

"Well"-he turned a little red-"yeah, but only if things were going really bad, which, in light of recent events..."

I laughed one of those belly laughs that always seem to catch you by surprise. It felt good.

"So...what are your favorite things? You know, what do you really love?"

"Um..." I laughed, a little uncomfortably now, because it was kind of a personal question. "Well, I can't live without Mocha Frappuccinos," I said, rattling my near-empty cup. "I love infomercials, and even though I know it's total bulls.h.i.t, I check my horoscope daily." The conversation had taken a 180, and my face flushed with something I hadn't felt in a while. Something like happiness.

"So what did it say today? Mystery date with a hot guy?" he asked with a laugh.

"Yeah, a hot guy who spends half the date texting with some other girl." A shadow pa.s.sed over his face, and I felt bad for ruining the moment. But, hey, the truth hurts.

"Yeah, what an a.s.shole," he joked halfheartedly. "Although, now that I think about it, my horoscope might have said something about meeting a girl with a big secret."

Laughter shone in his eyes, and I considered telling him everything. Yeah, he might think I was totally crazy, and I'd probably be putting myself in danger, but I was ready to be done with the secrets and lies.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets, my fingers brushing against the note still crumpled inside. Suddenly the words that were on the tip of my tongue were gone, and I knew this wasn't even close to being over.

Chapter 28.

If someone held a feeling chart up in front of me (you know, the one with all the cartoon faces that guidance counselors use to help us describe our emotions?) and asked me to show how I was feeling, I could probably have pointed to each cartoon face listed.

My emotions were all over the place. One second I was terrified, fearful that someone was out to hurt me. Then the next I was captivated by the thought of finding a boy I actually liked. And then, as always, there was the bottomless sadness of not being able to share any of this with Grace.

Despite my confusion, I knew I had work to do, and I wasn't about to let a guy come between me and the truth, no matter how charming he seemed.

And that's how I found myself working Google again with Sat.u.r.day afternoon drift, drift, drifting away. I started with the usual "Richard Sinclair" and got about a million random hits. Duh. Next up: "Richard Sinclair, Pemberly Brown Headmaster." I got a bunch of hits with a Pemberly Brownaapproved bio. Boring. But one hit was about Richard and Robert Sinclair, brothers who had broken all kinds of track records during their years at PB.

I stretched my back, cleared the search box, and tried "Robert Sinclair, Pemberly Brown, Ohio." Bingo. A PDF of track-and-field records from 1970 came up. Backing out of the PDF, I clicked on results linking to school newspaper archives. I skimmed one, an interview with Robert about his track career. In one answer he mentioned his younger brother, Richard.

I backed out of the article and clicked on another. This one was far more interesting than the fluffy interview. Apparently Robert Sinclair had been accused and acquitted of attacking a girl in his grade at Pemberly Brown. The article discussed the impact on his track career.

The paper left out the girl's name to protect the innocent while noting that other publications hadn't been so kind and that the victim had been bullied by cla.s.smates as a result. Now this was getting interesting. The headmaster had a brother who had been accused of attacking a girl? Somehow I didn't find that hard to believe.

Unfortunately I couldn't find the girl's name anywhere on the site, leaving me with no other choice-I needed to go public. And by public, I mean the public library, where the books I needed wouldn't have pieces sliced out of them.

Faster than you can say "acquittal," I grabbed my stuff, hopped on my bike, and ten minutes later was locking it to the rack outside the library. I know, I know, I was one leisurely ride away from sporting spandex shorts and one of those aerodynamic helmets. I shuddered at the thought.

Pulling open the ornate doors, I stepped into the atrium and breathed in the smell of musty books. They smelled like answers.

The old wooden floors creaked beneath my feet, and books sighed as people turned pages. Every time I visited the library, I admired the stately rooms that housed row after row of books. Some eccentric millionaire had donated his mansion to the city for a library back in the '40s, and even though the floors were chipped and the paint was peeling in many of the rooms, the library still oozed a stately elegance.

It was a library you could get lost in. Tiny rooms with oversized armchairs and small side tables were peppered between larger rooms lined with tall shelves of books. The sterile buildings that usually housed books paled in comparison.

I wove my way through room after meandering room before I finally found the help desk.

"How may I help you?" The man behind the desk looked up at me over his gla.s.ses.

I figured I might as well get the easy stuff out of the way first.

"Do you have a book called Pemberly Brown: 150 Years of Excellence by..." I glanced down at my slam book, "Calvin Markwell?" The library was my last chance for good old Calvin. Every online bookstore said the book was out of print.

It might have been my imagination, but I swear the librarian sitting a few feet away from him stopped typing as I asked my question.

"Let me see if we have any copies. We just began allowing some of the reference materials to go out on loan." He typed into his computer and looked up at me with a smile. "You're in luck. Pemberly Brown: 150 Years of Excellence by Calvin Markwell. Computer says we have one copy available. Follow me."

I gave him a smile, but it wavered when I felt the other librarian's eyes on me again. I followed the nice old man, eager to get away from Eva Eavesdropper over there.

The library was set up in a similar way to the Academy library, only on a much larger scale. Bookshelves loomed around me, and computer terminals dotted each section.

"Say, you don't happen to know Officer Dorothy?" the man asked as he led me to the nonfiction section. "She mans the PB library after hours."

"Yeah, she's awesome! Everyone loves Ms. D."

"Well, you'll never believe this, but she was my History teacher way back when. If you don't find what you're looking for here, just ask her. She knows everything there is to know about PB."