Buried (18 page)

She almost chokes on her donut. But she swallows fast and doesn't laugh.

I nod, relaxing a little. “Since I told you my real name, will you tell me yours?”

“Rune,” she answers.

“No, really.”

“Really honest-to-Goddess truth. The name on my birth certificate is Rune. My mother found it in a Wicca baby name book.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “What's your second secret?”

“Music. I used to only sing and play my guitar in private.” I shrug, then add, “But I guess it's not such a secret now.”

“Not for anyone who saw you on stage. You were amazing.”

“Thanks.” I pause, knowing what is coming next and reconsidering this new honesty. How can I tell Rune about my finding? It's freaky and unexplainable. The only person who really understands what it's like to be psychic is Sabine.

What if Rune thinks I'm delusional?

“So what's number three?” Rune drums her black fingernails on the table.

I take a deep breath and spit it out.

“I'm a Finder.”

“What's that?”

“A psychic ability.”

“You mean you see ghosts?” she asks curiously.

“Not if I can avoid them.” I shudder. My few experiences with ghosts creeped me out. “The technical term is psychometry. I get visions of how to find things when I touch objects. As a kid, I thought it was fun. I always won at hide-and-seek. Mom used to lose her keys a lot and I could always find them. Other kids babysat or mowed lawns, but I made money by finding lost pets, until a neighbor got suspicious and accused me of stealing her cat for the reward. That's when I learned to be cautious and hide what I could do. No one believed me, anyway.” I meet Rune's gaze. “So the question is—what do you believe?”

“That everything is possible,” she says. “I've never told anyone before, but I've seen ghosts twice. The first time was my great-aunt, who came to my room to read me my favorite picture book,
Two At The Zoo
, an hour after she died. Another time my cat Kiki, who got hit by a car, appeared on my bed and I could even hear her purrs. Does that happen a lot with pets?”

“I'm not an expert on ghosts, but it's cool you got to see your cat again.”

“And your finding thing is cool. Can you show me how it works?”

“It's not a game.” I glance down at donut crumbs on my plate. “Sometimes it leads to tragic things you wish you'd never found.”

“Tragic?” She arches her pierced brow. “Like what?”

I shiver at the memory of a dirt-crusted blanket and tiny bones. “It's hard to talk about.”

“No more secrets, okay? You can tell me anything.”

“Well … ” I bite my lip then give a slow nod.

And I tell Rune about the grave.

T
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T
hat sheriff is a moron if he suspects you!” Rune complains when I finish, the plate with her half-eaten donut pushed to the side.

“He said he doesn't, really. He knows I only moved here a few months ago. Still, he grilled me like I was a criminal.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he wants to break me down so I'll tell him more.” Uneasiness gnaws at my stomach. “He thinks I'm lying to protect a friend.”

“What friend?”

I give her a meaningful look.

“You mean …
me
?” Her kohl-shadowed eyes widen.

“I don't know, but it's no secret I hang out with you and Amerie. I didn't give him names.”

“Still, if my parents hear the sheriff suspects me, I'm dead.” Rune clicks her tongue stud with her teeth. “They're obsessed with their status in the community. I don't want them to lose trust in me or they'll take away my car, credit card, and freedom.” Rune grabs my hand. “Thorn, we have to find out who buried that baby.”

“Duh.” I roll my eyes. “What do you think I've been trying to do?”

“If the girl goes to this school, it shouldn't be hard to track her down. Do you have any suspects?”

“I had a lot, but now only one.” I explain about the locket. “Skarla.”

“Are you serious? But she doesn't even have a boyfriend.”

“She did last year, but she acted secretive when the topic came up.”

“A baby secret?” Rune touches her chin thoughtfully. “I remember hearing that Skarla had some kind of family issue last spring and missed a lot of school. This would explain why. Case solved. You should tell the sheriff that Skarla is guilty.”

“Only she might not be. I don't have enough information.”

“So use your finding radar to get proof. Aren't you meeting at her house tonight?”

“I should be there now,” I say with a wry smile.

“I'll drive you over right now so you can spy.”

“I don't spy,” I say indignantly. “But I would love another look in her bedroom. If she took the locket, that's where it'll be hidden. Then I'll know for sure she's the one.”

Rune jumps up. “I'll drive you.”

We make it to Skarla's house in less than ten minutes.

When I reach up to take off my midnight blue wig and jewelry, Rune stops my hand. “Don't change for them,” she says. “I dare you to go inside just as you are.”

“Not a good idea.” I tap my dangling tombstone earrings so they swing like nooses against my neck. “The CCCs won't like it.”

“Since when did that matter?”

“I don't know, it's just that lately … ” I take a deep breath. “But you're right. It doesn't matter what they think about me.”

“Or anyone else,” Rune adds. “Be proud. Be gothtastic.”

“That's not even a word.”

“It should be.”

Feeling more like myself, I wave good-bye to Rune, then follow the white gravel path to Skarla's door. There's a weird moment when Skarla's grandmother stares at me like I'm a stranger until her gaze falls on my guitar. Then she recovers with a quick smile and invites me in.

When I enter the family room, the CCCs stop clogging. The trio stares at me with expressions that could freeze sunshine.

“Look who finally showed up,” Barbee says coolly.

“What happened to your hair?” Micqui frowns. “You were cute as a blond.”

“I knew you'd revert back to goth freak,” Barbee snarks.

“Barbee, shut up,” Skarla snaps, then turns back to me. “Thorn, you aren't going to, um, look like that tomorrow. Are you?”

“Not for the show,” I assure her.

“Okay. So we're okay.” Skarla sighs with relief. “Now let's get to work.”

We practice for over an hour before Skarla's grandmother announces dinner.

This is my chance
, I think as I set down my guitar. But I need to play it cool so no one gets suspicious. I get a flash of the baby clothes in Skarla's trunk. I don't know if this is a finding intuition or my unconscious pushing me to do something. Could the locket be underneath the baby clothes or tucked inside a jewelry box?

Time to find out.

Using the bathroom excuse, since it worked before, I detour into Skarla's room and shut the door behind me.

There isn't much time. I visualize the golden locket, trying to trigger my finding sense. But I get nothing. I go around the room touching random objects: a lamp, shoes, a backpack, a jewelry box. Still nothing.

The baby clothes
, I think. I need to touch them again. So I go to the trunk and lift the lid. I gently pick up a green knitted bonnet and hold it in my hands, closing my eyes and concentrating. A grave, a baby, something … I search my mind for answers.

Instead of a baby, I get a sense of a man. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the soft clothes in my hands. A tall man with an anchor tattooed on his tanned forearm. He held these clothes … bought them. It's a fleeting thought, but one that feels right.

That familiar tingle of finding surges through me. Opening my eyes, I set down the clothes and let the urge lead me to a tall bureau near Skarla's closet. I empty my mind and my body moves on its own. I open a bottom drawer and rifle under heavy sweatshirts until my fingers touch something hard.

A photo album.

Flipping open the book, I stare at a photo of a man in sailor's cap and rough work clothes. His arm is around a slender woman who looks a lot like Skarla only she's older. I flip the page, but then stop when I hear a creaking door. I glance up just as Skarla screams, “THORN!”

I whirl around, all the blood rushing from my face.

“What the hell are you doing with my baby album?” Skarla demands. Micqui and Barbee stand behind her, glaring at me.

“Baby album?” I repeat, shocked that she'd admit this.

She snatches the book from my hands. “This is my private property. You have no right to be in my room!”

“I warned you about her,” Barbee says. “But I didn't know she was a thief.”

“I'm not a thief !”

“We caught you in the act,” Barbee retorts. “What did you steal?”

“Nothing. I would never do that. I was trying to find something.”

“What?” Skarla demands, in the coldest tone I've ever heard from her.

I purse my lips, trying to think of a believable answer.

“I thought you were my friend,” Skarla rushes on. “I invited you into the group and into my home. I deserve to know what's going on.”

I stare at her, my heart aching because despite my suspicions, I like Skarla. But I need to know the truth, too. I gesture toward the trunk of tiny clothes. “I wanted to find out about the baby.”

Skarla knits her brows. “What baby?”

“You already know. You hid the baby clothes and the album so no one would find out what you did.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Skarla sounds so outraged I almost believe her act. But there's no other explanation for the hidden baby clothes. “You had a baby.”

“A baby!” she exclaims.

“Don't deny it. I know the baby died because I found the grave.”

Micqui and Barbee gasp.

“Ohmygod!” Skarla's hands fly to her cheeks. “You're the unidentified teen who found the baby's grave!”

“
Your
baby's grave,” I correct her, then soften my voice. “I don't judge you. What you did wasn't easy. You must have been scared and panicked.”

“
I was not pregnant
!” Skarla waves the photo album like she's going to hurl it at me. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!”

“Then explain the baby clothes.”

“I don't need to explain anything to you! But I will.” She flips opens the album to the photo of the sailor. “This man is my father.”

“Your father?” I whisper, stunned.

“It's the only picture I have of him. And those baby clothes were all he ever bought for me—before he left my mother and died from an overdose. My mother wanted to throw them out but my grandmother insisted on keeping them for me.”

“You mean … you didn't have a baby?”

“Of course not!” Skarla's face reddens. “How could you even think such a thing?”

My mouth is open but I can't think of anything to say.

“If you suspected me, why not just ask?” Skarla demands. “Instead you lied and deceived me. I really liked you, Thorn. But this is unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable,” Micqui echoes, with a stomp of her foot.

“Told you so,” Barbee adds smugly. “You can't trust girls like her.”

“Leave, Thorn.” Skarla points to the door. “You're no longer welcome in my house.”

“What about rehearsal?”

“Rehearsal is over for you.” She hugs the photo album to her chest. “Return the hat and costume tomorrow. You're out of the group.”

T
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I
'd been dreading the finals, but now that it's over for me, I'm
numb. I totally screwed up. I was wrong about Skarla like I was wrong about Ruby. I should leave the investigating to Sheriff Hart.

And I don't even have a ride home. My humiliation worsens when I have to ask to use the phone to call Mom.

She doesn't say anything until she pulls into our driveway and turns off the car. Then she turns to me and asks what happened. I thought I was hiding my emotions well, but her mom radar surpasses my sixth sense. And I cringe inside, knowing what I have to tell her. Mom was so proud of my being in the contest—the disappointment will cut deep. But by tomorrow night everyone will know anyway, when the Cotton Candy Cowgirls take the stage without me.

Staring at a ragged scratch on the corner of the leather seat, I tell her. I omit a few details, and just say that there was an argument and I got kicked out of the group.

“Oh, honey,” is all she says, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

“Do you hate me?” I ask. Stupid tears spill from my cheeks. Damn.

“Of course not. You're talented and I'm proud of you.”

“But I won't—” My throat tightens. “I won't be able to help with the money.”

“What money?”

“If we won the $5,000, I was going to give my fourth to you and Dad.”

Mom shakes her head. “No, you would not. Any money you earn goes to a college fund.”

“But our family needs it and I want to help out.”

“Your job is to go to school. If you want to help out, wash the dishes more often. Amy hates that job and I get sick of hearing her bitch.”

“Mom! You swore!”

“So what? I'm a minister, not a saint.”

“But you're always so … so good. Not like me.”

“You're not so bad,” she says, with a playful tug on my blue wig.

“Then why did a stranger write letters complaining about me?”

“For your information, that busybody only used you as an excuse to stir up trouble. She hoped to get me fired so her husband could take the position.”

“You
know
who wrote the letters!” I jump, bumping my elbow against the car door. “How did you find out?”

“Her husband brought her over to apologize. He caught her writing another letter and was furious. We all had a long talk and I've promised not to reveal their names. But I want you to know that this was never about you. You were only a victim of church politics. I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

“Sorry enough to unground me?” I ask.

Mom laughs, then says, “Maybe.”

The next morning, I fold the western fringed skirt and blouse into a box. I set the pink hat on top of the box. I'm still not sure if I'm more disappointed or more relieved about not being in the contest anymore. Maybe someday I'll play my guitar in offbeat pubs for small audiences. But for now, I have no aspirations for fame.

Pink is out. Black is back.

I zip into leather-studded pants, then drape a velvet black cape over a beaded blue top. Then I open the Halloween zombie makeup I bought yesterday and paint my face wicked shades of pasty white and bloody crimson. Slashes of dark blue eye shadow match my eyes and the midnight blue wig.

I survey myself in the mirror. Gothtastic.

K.C. and I leave for school early in order to drop off the CCC costume at Skarla's. When Skarla's grandmother answers the door, I shove the box and hat into her arms and hurry back to the car. The costume originally belonged to Priscilla anyway, and now she can wear it again. It never did fit right.

Lunch on the steps with Rune is the same yet different. She has her usual weird fact (a woman lost her toes due to frostbite and strung her toe bones into a necklace). But we have moments of silence, too. We're just comfortable hanging together and don't need to fill the space with words.

Then Amerie rushes up like a sudden wind storm, fluttering down to the middle step between us.

“I can't stay long,” she says, her face shining as if she's glowing inside. “I have so much to get ready for tonight. But I wanted to see you both before … well … before everything changes.”

“What's going to change?” Rune asks with sharp suspicion.

“If you're going to say something snarky about Philippe,” Amerie threatens, “I'm leaving right now.”

“Fine.” Rune sighs. “He's perfect and I have nothing evil to say about him. Can we get past that now?”

“Of course! I can't stand it when we fight.”

“You're the one who stopped talking to me,” Rune reminds her.

“I know, and it felt awful. So much is going on and I want to share it with my best friends.” She looks at me, her expression sobering. “Oh, poor Thorn. I heard what happened with the Cotton Candy Cowgirls. I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm okay,” I tell her.

“Don't pretend with me. You must be utterly devastated! How awful to be kicked out of your own group.”

“It was never my group. And I'm
not
devastated.”

“I tried talking sense to Skarla.” Amerie rushes on as if she didn't hear me. “I asked her to take you back, but she already has a replacement.”

“Priscilla,” I add. “Yeah, I know.”

“It's so unfair! What did you do to piss Skarla off?”

“My tactful personality.”

“How can you be so casual? If it were me, I'd be in tears. Your chance for fame and money is destroyed. You're so brave.”

“Really, I'm not. I'd rather watch the show from the audience.”

“So you'll be there?” Amerie asks hopefully. “I was afraid you wouldn't come. It's such a historic event and it would be tragic to miss it. Tonight is going to be life-altering amazing.”

“But it's also the end for you and Philippe.” Rune raises her brows as she studies Amerie. “When the contest ends, he'll leave.”

“It's not the end for us. Tonight is going to be the best night of my life.”

“What are you planning?” Rune asks suspiciously.

“I'll never tell,” Amerie answers, in a way that's very telling. Then she jumps to her feet, her gauzy wings unfolding so they peek out over her shoulders, and rushes off.

Rune's gaze follows her until she flies around a corner and out of sight. “It's obvious what she's planning.”

“I know,” I say softly.

“She's going to be with Philippe tonight. Then, he'll leave tomorrow and she'll be destroyed.”

“You can't stop her,” I warn.

“I know, and it sucks.”

The warning bell rings, and Rune balls up her lunch bag and tosses it toward the Dumpster. She misses and tries again.

“She'll survive.” I shoot a high shot and my bag sails in.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a group of guys in blue letter jackets moving down a walkway. Even from this distance, I recognize Jay's confident stride. I think back to auditions and how he moved much more furtively, sneaking out from backstage.

And I think to myself,
Amerie's not the only one hiding secrets
.

The Singing Star contest finals begin at seven p.m.

Just enough time to go home, check email, and have dinner.

I delete spam, postpone reading the email from a goth friend back in Sheridan Valley, and click open an email from Manny. It's a photo of Skarla, looking svelte in a Lycra mini-dress last March. I groan.
Now
he sends me this? No wonder I didn't find the locket in Skarla's room.

The phone rings. It's usually one of Mom's parishioners calling for her, so I continue reading email until Mom comes into the family room holding out the phone.

“It's your friend,” she says, then leaves.

Does Skarla want me back in the group?
I think for a wild moment. Instead of being excited by the thought, I'm slammed with anxiety. My misgivings about losing my chance for fame are gone, now. Being kicked out was a good thing. I'm just not the diva type.

“Thorn, I can hear you breathing, so I know you're there.”

“Sabine?” I smile. “How's everything?”

“I'm great, but what about you? I'm getting a weird vibe from you.”

I switch the phone to my other ear and lean back in the chair. “Tell your psychic vibe to chill. Things have been crazy, but I'm okay.”

“Good.” There a rush of relief in her voice. “My spirit guide told me to warn you not to go anywhere tonight. I'm glad to find you at home and safe.”

“No worries. The most dangerous thing I'm going to do tonight is watch a school singing contest.”

There was a pause. “You're going out tonight?”

“Only to school.”

“Don't go.” She sounds so worried. I imagine her in her attic bedroom, holding the phone with one hand and twirling a curl of her long blond hair with the other.

“The only danger tonight is being bored by a few singers that stink.” I chuckle. “Tell your spirit guide that I'll be fine.”

“Seriously, Thorn, stay home. Opal saw danger from a gun.”

“Get real, Sabine. We both know your spirit guide is all drama and doom. Why can't she predict good news?”

“She did have some good news for you,” Sabine says defensively.

“What?”

“That you will ‘soon achieve the highest success and ascertain a prosperous name in competition.'”

“Impossible. I was involved in one of the singing groups, but that's over now. There's absolutely no chance for me to ‘achieve the highest success.' If she's wrong about that, then I'm safe from bullets. ”

“I hope so,” Sabine says. “But Opal's predictions have a weird way of coming true. So be careful.”

“Aren't I always?” I'm chuckling as I hang up the phone.

As if anything dangerous could happen at a school singing contest.