Clarity (11 page)

“I dunno. He’s not answering his cell phone. I can’t find him anywhere.”

“So why are you acting all sketchy, pulling me under the boardwalk to talk to you?”

“I know what everyone in town says.” He mimicked a high voice. “ ‘Billy and Frankie share a brain.’ ”

“So?”

“So whoever scared Billy enough to make him run away might think I’m in on whatever Billy did. I’m staying hidden until he comes back.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I asked, but a thundering boom muffled my words.

I jumped and twisted around. The night sky lit up with sparkling purple and blue hues, followed by applause and a smattering of “oooh"s and “ahhhh"s. I’d have to bring Frankie somewhere else to continue this conversation if either of us was going to hear a word. I turned back.

Frankie was gone.

I ducked and peeked under the boardwalk but saw only black. I wasn’t about to head under there again. So Frankie was free of me.

For now.

I called Gabriel’s cell and quickly relayed the information to him. We made plans to catch up tomorrow. But now, all I wanted was sleep.

I made my way back through the swarms of people, fireworks booming overhead, and by the time I got home the grand finale had ended and most of the crowd were working their way home as well. I trudged up the walk toward the front porch, then stopped.

The outside light was off.
That’s weird,
I thought. I never forget to put the light on, and I was the last one to leave. With the entire porch shrouded in darkness, it seemed different, scary. I told myself to grow up and keep walking. I’d probably been so distracted by Gabriel’s company that I’d forgotten to put on the light on my way out.

I pulled out my key and squinted at the darkness so I wouldn’t trip on the stairs. The wood creaked beneath my feet. Then I heard something else. Steady, deep breathing. I gazed at the shadows along the porch. One shadow in particular on the porch swing. I squinted hard, desperate for enough light to make out what or who it was.

The shadow moved. Slightly, but enough for me to recognize that it was a person. With my key held out before me like a weapon, I yelled, “Get up and tell me what you want!”

“Ahhhhh! Wha? Huh?”

I’d recognize that babbling anywhere. “Perry?”

“Clare?”

I quickly turned my key in the lock, opened the door, and switched on the outside light. The once menacing shadow morphed into the familiar frame of my brother as he sat up.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that. I was this close to stabbing your eye with my house key. What are you doing sleeping on the porch swing?”

He raked his hands through his hair. “Sorry. When I left this morning, I didn’t bring my key. No one was home so I lay down to wait for you or Mom, and I must have fallen asleep.”

My blood pressure ballooned. “Where have you been all day and night? You missed your readings. Mom’s wicked mad.”

Perry picked at a chip of paint peeling off the swing. “I didn’t want her to read my thoughts. To know I was with Vicki the night she was murdered.”

I crossed my arms. “You can’t stay away from Mom forever. She’ll find out soon enough. She may have already plucked it from
my
mind. Who knows with her.”

“You’re right.” He hung his head. “I’m having a tough time with this. I feel so … guilty.”

My heart sped up. “About what?”

“Vicki’s death. If I hadn’t left her alone, maybe I could have saved her.”

Survivor’s guilt,
I thought.

“Or maybe you’d be dead, too.” I tried to be supportive and say the right thing, while inside I was wondering if he
was telling the truth. I couldn’t believe I was thinking like this about my brother.

I gazed up at a moth fluttering against the bright porch light. Then an idea took form. My energy returned as adrenaline kicked in.

Perry stood up slowly. “Anyway, I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m heading upstairs to bed.”

“Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm. “You can make it up to me.”

“How?”

“Come with me to the King’s Courtyard, to Victoria’s room, and try to contact her.”

He blanched.

“She might be able to tell you who killed her and then this nightmare will be over.”

Perry agreed, under duress, to come with me. We got to King’s Courtyard just before midnight.

“By the way,” Perry asked as he drove, “how are you planning on getting into her room?”

I smirked. “I have my ways.”

We pulled up to the main office. I told Perry to wait in the car. I hoped that creepy guy was behind the desk. He was, and he recognized me as I walked in, the bell jingling as the door closed behind me.

“What can I do for you?” he asked nervously.

My hopes were that he assumed I was with the cops since
I’d been at the crime scene with Gabriel. If so, this would be easier than I thought. I wouldn’t even have to bat my eyes or flip my hair.

“I need the key to the room again.”

He hesitated, as if it suddenly occurred to him that I might not have the right to be there.

I added, “Gotta get this scene squared away so you can finally have your room back.” I flashed a smile, hoping he couldn’t sense how nervous I was. I added, “Like you said, those murder groupies will pay you big bucks to stay in there.”

He perked up at that, and moments later I held the key to room 108 in my hand. I returned to the car where Perry was sweating in the driver’s seat.

“Did you get it?”

I dangled the key in front of him. “Never doubt your sister.”

We pulled into a spot a few doors down from Victoria’s room and made sure no one was watching as we snuck up to the room and let ourselves in. I bounced from foot to foot, feeling like I’d had three cups of coffee.

“I don’t like this,” Perry whispered as I shut the door behind us. He reached for the light switch and I grabbed his hand.

“What?” he asked.

“If we don’t want to arouse suspicion, it’s best to leave the lights off.”

“But, it’s dark in here. And, you know, the ghost.”

“How old are you, eight? There’s enough light coming
through the blinds. And since when are you afraid of ghosts? You talk to them for a living!”

“Yeah,” he said. “Little old ladies who died of geriatric diseases contact me to tell their grandchildren about the money hidden in their knitting baskets. Not murdered girls who I’ve, you know, slept with!”

“There’s a first time for everything.” I pushed his shoulders down, urging him to sit on the bed.

He jumped up. “Clare! Not there! That’s where she was killed!”

“Shh. Keep your voice down. Fine.” I pointed toward the chair in the corner. “Sit there. Just focus and let’s do this thing before we get caught in here.”

He slumped into the chair and closed his eyes. I’d seen this look on his face a thousand times. Chin to chest. Long, slow breaths. No sound, no movement. He needed complete silence for the deep concentration that was required for his gift to work.

I gazed around the darkened room at the shadows. A chill passed over me, and I rubbed my shoulders. Once again, I was glad to have my gift and not Perry’s.

But I hoped he was able to summon her. Maybe it could really be this easy. She’d tell us who did it and this would all be over.

Perry sat up straight, and his eyes snapped open.

“She’s here?” I whispered.

He held his finger up to shush me and slowly panned the room until his eyes stopped in the corner. He stood and inched his way closer.

“I’m sorry for —” he began, then stopped as if interrupted.

It was as if I was eavesdropping on one end of a phone conversation.

Perry moved forward again, pleading with his hands. “Wait. I just want to ask you some questions.”

His eyes widened. “That’s not true!” He stumbled backward a few steps. “Please, let me explain.”

The temperature dropped, and I could see my quickening breath in the air.

“Wait!” Perry yelled. Then, as if a plug had been pulled, all the energy drained out of the room. Perry sank down to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

“She’s gone?” I asked.

He nodded. “Doesn’t matter. She won’t talk to me.”

“Why not?”

He looked up at me with sad eyes. The same look he’d given me countless times as a child when he’d broken my toys by playing too rough with them. Remorseful, pleading, and ultimately easy to forgive.

“Why won’t she talk to you, Perry?”

He looked away. “Because she says I killed her.”

TWELVE

THAT WENT WELL. NOTHING MAKES YOU FEEL AS warm and fuzzy as when the ghost of a murder victim says your brother is her killer. I’d brought Perry to the motel hoping to end this whole thing, clear his name, and drag him out of the depression he’d spiraled into. Instead, I’d made it a whole lot worse.

Victoria said he’d killed her. Great. This would be one more secret I was keeping from Justin and Gabriel, and the usually stoic Perry was on his way to a nervous breakdown. At least I convinced him to go back home with me rather than hide somewhere else from Mom.

The next day, I woke early, before my alarm. I should have gotten up to shower, but instead I was staring at my ceiling as clouds of uncertainty fogged my brain. What if Perry’s erratic behavior wasn’t survivor’s guilt? What if it wasn’t just an
assumption
on Victoria’s part that Perry did it? What if it was the truth, staring me in the face, and I was going along for the ride, protecting him? Protecting a murderer.

My brother.

I jerked in surprise at the loud ringtone of my cell.

I reached over and grabbed it off the nightstand. “Hello?” I croaked.

“Clare?”

“Yeah, Justin.”

“Oh, it didn’t sound like you.”

“This is what I sound like when I get woken up too early.” Though it wasn’t the phone that had woken me up.

“Scary.” He snickered. “Anyways, get up. You’ve got to come down to the station.”

“Why?”

“They have Joel Martelli in custody.”

“Victoria’s ex-boyfriend?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. But before I could stand, the phone rang again in my hand.

“Yeah?”

“One more thing.” Justin paused. “Will you have your mother drive you? And, like, bring her in?”

I’m not even going to ask.
“Fine.”

Before I jumped in the shower, I padded down the hallway to Mom’s room to pass on the message about her presence being requested. She was delighted. There’s nothing she loves more than feeling needed.

After showering, I swept my tangled mess of curls up into a ponytail and put on a violet sleeveless blouse and a tan skirt. I wanted to look semi-professional, but there was no way I was wearing pants in this heat. The casual skirt would do.

As Mom started the car and sped to the station, my thoughts again turned to Perry. Now that I was up and the sunlight burned away the darkness of the previous night, the doubts returned to their small little corner of my brain and sisterly worry took their place. I hadn’t seen him around the house this morning. He hadn’t looked good last night after we came home. Who would, considering what had happened. I wondered if he was up yet, but I didn’t want to ask Mom and set her off. If worrying about your children were an Olympic sport, she’d get the gold. No need to stir up that storm.

Justin met us at the door to the station and pulled me aside. “Thanks for coming and bringing your mother,” he whispered.

“No problem. What’s going on?”

“They’re putting Joel Martelli in a lineup for the witness.”

I knit my brow in confusion. “What witness?”

“Starla Fern.”

“My mother didn’t see anything.”

“No, but she can hear what he’s thinking.”

My mouth dropped open. “I thought you were bringing us down here for something official.”

He shrugged. “Your mother might give them something to go on. Somewhere to start. It’s worth a shot. What’s your problem?”

“I have two, actually. First, Detective Toscano will never go along with this. Second, now that you’ve claimed you have a witness, my mother’s going to be in the murderer’s sights. Thanks, you just placed her in mortal danger.”

“It’s a one-way mirror. If Joel is the killer, he won’t see your mom’s face. Nothing to worry about there. And Detective Toscano … well, let my father deal with him. This was his idea.”

I had to admit I was curious to see if Mom could get anything useful out of Joel. And if she wasn’t in danger … “Okay,” I said hesitantly.

Justin stayed in the lobby while Harry Spellman led Mom and me into a small room with concrete walls and a large glass window. I lowered myself into an uncomfortably hard chair and looked around. I’d seen these rooms in movies and on crime TV shows, but never in real life. I peered through the one-way glass at the other side, where the “suspects” would line up, and was surprised by the little thrill I felt in my chest. Working with the police was definitely more exciting than being holed up in our house doing readings for tourists all day.

Mr. Spellman had left the room to go tell the doubting detective the plan. The raised voices I heard coming our way were a sure sign that my prediction was spot-on. Anthony Toscano wasn’t having it. He burst into the room, startling my mother, who put her hand to her mouth.

“Sorry to frighten you, Ms. Fern,” Anthony said.

“No problem, Detective.” She paused and tilted her head to the side. “And I agree, my daughter and I do look a lot alike.”

Anthony’s cheeks colored. He paused, as if reconsidering, then turned to Mr. Spellman. “I’ll go along with this circus show on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Spellman asked, crossing his arms.

“Don’t tell her which one is our suspect.”

“Ah, a test,” Mom said.

“There’s no need to waste Starla’s time by having her listen to the decoys,” Mr. Spellman said, but Mom interrupted with a touch on his arm.

“That’s fine, Harry. I’ll do whatever the detective needs me to do. I’ll listen in on them all.”