Projection (4 page)

Gretchen blinked. This wasn’t possible. She couldn’t reconcile the lifeless body on the bed with the woman she had talked to just a few hours ago. She could see the warm smile, the legs peeking out from her black dress when she walked, the honey-colored anklet shifting as she moved. Gretchen’s wide eyes flashed again at her mother’s twisted ankles. They were bare.

A gentle hand fell on her shoulder.

It was Tina, pulling her away from the door. From behind her she could hear urgent voices, the crackle of a radio, heavy steps on the stairs. Men in uniforms were pushing past her, carrying bags and equipment. Their voices sounded muddled and far away, as if under water.

Forty-five-year-old female
.

“Come on, Gretchen,” Tina said softly, leading her away.

Dead on arrival
.

“Let’s go downstairs and make you some tea.”

Neck wounds consistent with strangulation
.

“Your dad wants to talk to you.”

Homicide detectives on their way
.

The day of the
funeral was bright and sunny, the type of perfect California day that Octavia Harris had always loved. Gretchen could just picture her mom throwing open the curtains and insisting that they all go do something outside because a day like this was too good to waste. As she sat in the backseat of the hearse with her father, Gretchen stared out the window and wondered if sunny days would make her sad now for the rest of her life.

The detective assigned to her mother’s case had no suspects and no leads. He had interviewed everyone who’d been at the party, but it was impossible to pinpoint exactly where each guest had been at the crucial moment. Nobody remembered seeing her mom arguing with anyone that night, either. In fact, nobody even really remembered seeing her mom at all, aside from when she greeted them at the front door. A few different people reported seeing a shadowy figure running out of the side yard shortly after they heard the scream, but their descriptions were too vague to be of any value.

Gretchen, however, was not about to let things drop so quickly. There was a nagging voice in the back of her head, and it kept telling her that the detectives had missed something. Rather
someone
: Ariel Miller. Gretchen was positive she’d seen Ariel sneaking in through the kitchen door that night.

Of course, at Gretchen’s insistence, the detectives had questioned Ariel, but they had come back with nothing. Her story was solid, they explained. She went out to an early dinner with her mother, then the two of them went home and watched a movie together. They’d questioned both Ariel and her mother separately, and both had provided the exact same story. Besides, the detectives reasoned, there were dozens of people in the kitchen the whole night. If Ariel had snuck in, someone would have noticed her. Not a single person at the party could recall seeing her there.

What they said made sense, but still, Gretchen wasn’t convinced.

She held her father’s hand as they walked through the cemetery toward the fresh mound of earth that had been removed from the ground to make space for her mother’s casket. Her father broke into heavy sobs as they approached the grave site, but Gretchen just stared straight ahead. It had been four days since her mother was murdered, and still, she hadn’t cried.

My mother is dead. My mother is dead. My mother is dead
.

She’d been repeating this to herself every night as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling. While her brain knew it to be true, the rest of her just didn’t—couldn’t—believe it. She had no emotions, just questions. Who would want to do this? Why? And most of all, what had her mother meant when she said that things were going to happen to her?
Things you can’t
even imagine
. The words fluttered in Gretchen’s mind like a sheet on a clothesline, twisting and turning in the wind.

The funeral was packed; everyone from the Oculus Society was there—along with Gretchen’s friends and teachers from school, business associates of her father, and random friends her mom had picked up along the course of her life. Gretchen appreciated them all coming to show their respect. But the only person she wanted to see was her best friend. Jessica’s parents had both died in a horrible car accident when she was six. She was the only other person Gretchen knew who had lost her mother. She was the only person in the world who could possibly understand what Gretchen was feeling. She’d already proven it: Jessica had been by the house every night, sitting with Gretchen for hours at a stretch, talking about nothing in particular, just trying to keep her mind from drifting back to what she’d seen in her parents’ bedroom.

Gretchen spotted her in the crowd of people, standing almost directly across from the white folding chairs that had been set up graveside for the family. The chairs reminded her of graduation, and her chest tightened. How was it possible that it was just four days ago when it felt like four years ago? She remembered her mother standing on stage in her white suit with her beige pumps and the amber in her anklet glowing in the sunlight.

That was another nagging question: what had happened to her mother’s anklet? After the police had left that first night, and after her father had taken a sleeping pill and passed out in the guest room, Gretchen had gone to her mother’s closet and opened the drawer where she kept all of her jewelry. But the anklet wasn’t there. The next morning, as soon as there was enough sunlight to see the ground, she’d scoured the floor of the tent and the grass around the pool. She’d even dug up an
old metal detector from the garage. When she was younger she’d gone through a period of wanting to be an archeologist (to impress her ancient-Greece-obsessed mother, she could now admit), and Tina had given her the metal detector as a birthday present. It was old and kind of crappy, but it still worked. Maybe the anklet had come unclasped and fallen off at some point during the night. But Gretchen never found it. It bothered her that it was missing, almost as much as it bothered her that nobody else had seen Ariel Miller at the party.

The women from the Oculus Society stood together in a semicircle next to the grave, all in black suits and dresses. To Gretchen, they looked like a coven of beautiful witches. Not evil.
Special
, powerful, removed from the rest of the crowd, and bound to her mother by a secret bond. She tried to keep her eyes focused on them and away from the mound of dirt and the casket that held her mother’s body. As the priest began to speak, Gretchen noticed that some of them—Michelle, Tina Holt, her mother’s friend Joan—were whispering fiercely to one another. She fought to decipher the conversation but was jolted back to the ceremony by the priest, who, in keeping with Greek Orthodox tradition, had begun to loudly sing the Trisagion.

“
Agios o Theos, Agios ischyros, Agios athanatos, eleison imas
.”

He sprinkled dirt on the coffin in the shape of a cross, then invited everyone to place a flower on the casket. Gretchen watched as the guests formed a line. It seemed endless. There were her cousins and her aunts and uncles. There were some of her friends from school. There was Jessica’s uncle Rob, and there was Nick Ford, who made a somber face at her as he passed by her chair. Then came the members of the Oculus Society. Tina went first, then Joan. Gretchen expected some
of the older, more senior members to be next. To her surprise, Tina ushered Jessica to the front.

That’s strange
, Gretchen thought.

And then it was all over, and she and her father were being led away to a car, leaving her mother behind in a dark wood casket where a mound of earth used to be.

The summer wore on
slowly and painfully. In the first days after her mother’s murder, Gretchen cancelled her plans to spend four weeks at sleepaway camp. She wasn’t up for all of the laughing and lightheartedness; she wasn’t ready yet to pretend that she was fine. She knew that was coming, of course. Once school started, she’d have to act breezy and strong. But with nothing to do all day except sit home and be sad, she grew bored and anxious.

Worse, Jessica was beginning to distance herself. She’d been calling and texting less and less; she hadn’t come by in almost two weeks. Not that Gretchen could really blame her for it. No doubt Jessica was gearing up for high school. Ninth grade at Delphi High comprises two eighth grade classes; one from Delphi Middle School, where they had gone, and another from Outer Delphi, the other middle school in their township. That meant there would be another two hundred kids to navigate and another “cool crowd” vying for popularity. No doubt Jessica was also anticipating the gossip that
would be swirling around Gretchen; she would be “the girl whose mom had been murdered in her own house.” She got it. If she were Jessica, she wouldn’t want to be associated too closely with her, either. But still, they were best friends, and if you couldn’t count on your best friend at a time like this …

As if thinking about her loneliness had somehow conjured some company, there was a knock at her door.

“Hey, Gretch?”

It was just her dad: the same zombie she passed in the silent halls of their home, day in and day out. She tried to muster a smile from bed as he pushed open the door. He’d lost weight since the funeral. He’d also stopped caring about his appearance. His hair was uncombed, his pale jowls unshaven. His face looked sunken and hollow.

“What’s up?” Gretchen asked.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Do you remember that anklet that Mom used to wear? The one with the orange-y stone in it? I can’t find it anywhere. Have you seen it by any chance?”

Gretchen’s heart skipped a beat. “Actually, I’ve been looking for it, too. She was wearing it the night of the … party.”

His eyes sharpened. “She was? Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. We were talking in the tent right before everyone came, and I remember noticing it. But when she, um, when she was, you know, in the bedroom … it wasn’t on her. I looked in her jewelry drawer, and I checked in the tent and in the backyard. I thought maybe it had fallen off. But I never found it.”

Her father’s brow creased. He shifted on his feet again. “Why were you looking for it?”

“I don’t know. It was pretty, and she was wearing it that night, and it reminded me of her. I just wanted to have it.”
Gretchen paused and sat up in bed, tossing the covers aside. “Why are
you
looking for it?”

“Same reason,” he said with a shrug. He started to turn, then hesitated. “Did you mention to the police that it was missing?”

“No. Why? What’s so important about it?” Suddenly, it dawned on her what he was thinking. “You don’t think … Dad? Do you think whoever killed her stole the anklet? It wasn’t valuable, was it? She told me it was something she found at a vintage store.”

He shook his head. “No. That’s not what I’m thinking. It was an old piece of junk, like you said. Nobody would want it.” He coughed twice—two staccato,
huh-huhs
into his hand. Gretchen crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her dad always did that when he was holding something back. Her mom used to joke that he would have made a pathetic poker player because he had such an obvious tell.

“What are you not telling me?” Gretchen demanded.

“Nothing.” He forced a strained smile. “I mean it, Gretch. I just wanted it for the same reason you did. It reminds me of her, that’s all.” His eyes were welling up. He saw her looking at him, and he dropped his head for a few moments to collect himself before he could speak again. “I’ve got some work to do, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

He closed the door. Gretchen didn’t bother mentioning that he’d probably see her at dinner, too. It was only 4:30 in the afternoon.

Gretchen texted Jessica twice
the next day—
hey, miss u, what’s going on? Did u get my text b4?
—and once the day after that—
r u ok? Haven’t heard from u in a while.

No response.

It was just plain rude at this point. On the morning of the third day, Gretchen’s heart pounded as she reached for her phone.

WTF Jess?? The radio silence is NOT COOL.

Her finger hovered over the send button, but she hit delete instead. She curled back up on her bed. Maybe she should never leave. (It wasn’t as if she left her bed much anymore, anyway.) Was she really going to be an outcast at Delphi High? How would she ever get through the year? How would she even get through the first day? She could just picture everyone whispering about her and the fake sympathy smiles she would get in the hallways. Worse, she kept imagining herself having to see Ariel Miller.

Gretchen picked up her phone without moving from the fetal position.

I know u were at my house that night. Just admit it already.

This time she had no trouble hitting the send button. Then again, this was the sixth time this summer that she’d sent the exact same text.

Maybe I could transfer to a private school
, she thought. One of them might still have a spot left for the fall.
Or maybe boarding school, even
. She could get the hell out of Delphi and away from all of the reminders … But, no, she could never leave her dad. Besides, she couldn’t even imagine how she would introduce an idea like that to him.

Her phone vibrated.

U r sick. Text me again, and I WILL call the police.

Gretchen texted her back immediately.

Go ahead. Maybe they’ll question u again and find out the truth.

The doorbell rang just as she hit send, startling her.
Shit
. She threw the phone on her bed. It was probably just a real estate agent. Ever since her mom had died, a new one had
been popping by every week or so.
Just canvassing the neighborhood, checking to see if anyone is thinking about selling and might need some help
. As if they hadn’t heard the gossip about the woman who’d been killed in her bedroom. Most people, Gretchen imagined, probably would want to sell after something like that. But despite the fact that her father hadn’t set foot in the master bedroom since the murder, he hadn’t even mentioned the possibility of moving. Instead, he just slammed the door in the agents’ faces, yelling that they were worse than ambulance chasers.