“Hey!” Stephen bellowed. “Don’t push me!”
“Don’t touch my sister,” Perry countered.
Mom stood frozen with her fist covering her mouth.
Just as I thought they’d go to blows, a finely manicured hand appeared on Stephen’s arm. He looked over his shoulder and immediately calmed and stepped back. Cecile Clayworth had that effect on people.
Her silky black hair hung evenly to just above the shoulder, where a handbag worth about the same as my brother’s car hung. Stephen’s mother hadn’t been born an upper-crust WASP. Rumor had it her childhood was a rough one, spent in foster care and bouncing around. But she had big dreams and high hopes and the looks to match. Landing a man like Dallas Clayworth was a life-changing prospect, and she’d easily molded herself into a snob.
“I apologize for my son’s behavior,” Cecile said, her voice smooth.
If there was anything Cecile Clayworth hated, it was a scene, and she avoided them at all costs. Anytime Stephen got into trouble, Cecile dealt with it by pretending it had never happened.
She took off her oversized Hollywood sunglasses and peered at the small crowd that had formed in response to Stephen’s outburst. Her eyes said “move on.” And they did.
She whispered something in Stephen’s ear, and he immediately slunk over to the nearest bench and sat down.
She turned back to us and spoke softly. “You’ll have to excuse my son. I think the election has put all of us under stress lately.” She smiled delicately.
Then, as quickly as she had materialized, she was gone. What could have been a knock-down, drag-out fight (my money was on Perry, by the way) ended as quickly as it had escalated. Cecile came off as classy and mildly apologetic and before we knew it she’d steered Stephen away like a naughty little boy who had to go home.
“Let’s head back,” Perry said, putting one arm around me and one around Mom.
“You two go on,” I said. I wasn’t in the mood for a movie at home anymore. “I’m going for a walk on the beach, to clear my head. I’ve got to meet with Justin and Gabriel first thing in the morning and start working on finding Victoria Happel’s killer.”
Perry’s arm fell from my shoulder.
“What?” I asked. “You know Justin asked me to work with the police on this case.”
He only nodded.
What was his problem? Then, it hit me. Always the over-protective brother.
I reached up and patted him on the head. “I’m not going to be in any danger, Perry. Stop your worrying.”
With that, I turned on my heel and followed the sound of the pounding surf.
I’ve always loved the ocean, the smell of salt in the air, the sand under my feet, the wind in my hair. Justin and I had spent many days at the beach. He’d given me my first-ever kiss over by the jetty. I had realized I was in love with him while we held hands under the boardwalk. Even in winter, we’d strolled across the sand, laughing as the wind whipped our hair into our faces.
I could have stayed with Justin. He wanted to stay together, swore he would never cheat again. Things would have been easier on me if I’d stayed. But my pride wouldn’t let me. I broke up with him and returned to untouchable status.
I didn’t go to the beach for a month.
I was glad to return now. The first time was bad and I’d shed a few tears, but now the beach was mine again and I could ignore the memories of Justin and focus on the beauty of the ocean.
I sank down onto the sand and closed my eyes. I was so focused on the rhythmic push and pull of the tide that I didn’t hear footsteps behind me. I didn’t know anyone stood over me, until two hands squeezed my shoulders.
SEVEN
I BOLTED UPRIGHT.
Perry backed up, hands in the air. “I figured you heard me coming.”
I put a hand over my heart. “No, I didn’t. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He sat on the sand facing me. He looked strange, his eyes dull, his face slack, as if he were in shock.
“What are you doing out here? I thought you were going home.”
He turned away and looked at the sea. The light of the half-moon shimmered on the ocean, giving the small waves a metallic look. “Kind of calm tonight, huh? Not that choppy.”
Nice dodge. I paused and waited for him to answer the question. When he didn’t, I said, “You’re acting weird. What is it?”
He turned back to me. “I was with a Vicki Saturday night.”
I rocked back in surprise. “What? Who’s Vicki?”
“I was with a girl Saturday night. She was eighteen. I never got her last name, but her first name was Vicki. Short for Victoria, I guess.”
I swallowed hard. “A tourist?”
“Yeah. She took me back to her motel room.”
“Don’t tell me.” I put my hand up in front of my face. If he didn’t say it, then it wouldn’t be true. If he didn’t say the words, then maybe this wasn’t happening.
“King’s Courtyard.”
My stomach twisted. “Who was she here with?” I asked, still hoping for this to be a joke or a coincidence.
His face shut down and his voice was flat. “No one. I met her at Yummy’s. She was all pissed off. Something about her best friend betraying her and what she came to the Cape for wasn’t working out and life never worked out for her and all that stuff. I tried to cheer her up, we got to talking and then, you know.”
“Perry.” I shook my head.
He pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. In that one motion, he stopped looking like my confident older brother and instead morphed into a worried child. “What are the chances that more than one Vicki was staying alone at the King’s Courtyard Saturday night?” he asked in a small voice.
“Not good,” I said. I chewed on my lip. I hated to even ask, but had to. “Do you know who did this?”
He shook his head and stared at the sand. “She was alive and content when I left. She wanted me to spend the night, but I wanted to get back home before Mom realized I was out so late. I left her there.” He paused and added, with a catch in his voice, “And now she’s dead.”
I knew Perry was a player, but we usually steered clear of conversations regarding his escapades. I didn’t need to know the details of his overactive love life. In this case, though, I had to ask. I braced myself for the question. “Did you have sex with her?”
He broke eye contact and mumbled under his breath, “Yeah.”
My nostrils flared as a jumble of emotions rumbled inside me. I was angry at Perry for his reckless behavior. Worried about the consequences for him. Freaked out about Mom finding out and having a breakdown. And furious at Perry’s whorish ways for causing it all. I yelled, “You didn’t even know her!”
“She wanted to!” He stood quickly, kicking up a small sandstorm. “What was I supposed to say? No? Clare, I’m an eighteen-year-old guy. When an opportunity like this comes around, I take it.”
“Just shut up, Perry. I can’t even stand to think about this.”
I put my face in my hands. He sat back down and we both stewed in silence for a few minutes. Slowly, my anger receded. He was right. What single guy would turn that offer down? Yeah, the situation sucked, but it could be worse. He could have stayed and ended up shot, too. I couldn’t even let my mind go there. I focused instead on the problem at hand. I had to protect my brother.
“Did anyone see you leave the restaurant with her?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. The place was mobbed. The Saturday night of the busiest week of the year, everyone was there.”
“Who’s everyone?”
Perry’s eyes lifted up to the black sky as if the stars had the answers. “I don’t remember.”
“This isn’t good, Perry.” I paused, my mind turning with possibilities. “Keep this info to yourself for now.”
“You have to tell the police, Clare. You’re working with them now.”
“I don’t have to do anything of the sort,” I said, my vo
ice steady. All the competing emotions cleared. I knew what had to be done.
“I was with her the night she was killed,” Perry said. “That makes me a top suspect. Hiding that information would make you an accessory or whatever. I don’t want to get you in trouble for keeping this from the police or from Justin.”
I stood up and dusted myself off. “Screw the police and screw Justin. Family first. Keep your trap shut.”
I marched home with Perry following at a distance, head low, like a shamed dog. With each pounding footstep, my thoughts raced. Perry had done something stupid, sure, but I wasn’t going to the cops over it to offer him up like a sacrifice. They’d waste their time focusing on him rather than the real killer.
Perry had nothing to do with this. Of course he didn’t, I repeated silently. I glanced over my shoulder at Perry slinking in the darkness.
He couldn’t have.
The phone rang at some ungodly hour the next morning and I picked it up, my voice thick with sleep. “Hello?”
“Clare, this is Harry Spellman.”
I sat straight up in bed. Had I missed the meeting? I’d been up half the night worrying. I squinted at my digital clock. No, it was only eight. “Good morning, Mr. Spellman.”
“I wanted to thank you for coming to my office today to meet with Justin and Gabriel Toscano. I also wanted to apologize because I won’t be at the meeting.”
“No problem. You must be very busy.”
“It’s not that, Clare. I won’t be involved in this part of the investigation at all. Justin will be acting on my behalf. Detective Toscano’s son, Gabriel, will be acting on his behalf. The three of you will need to work together on this.”
Mr. Spellman was a nice man. While Justin and I had dated, his parents never seemed to mind my … idiosyncrasies. In fact, they believed in them. I wondered if that had changed. “You don’t believe in me?” I asked.
“Of course I do. I always have.” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, Clare. This is the first murder we’ve had in Eastport in many years. The townspeople are in a panic. They want to know the police are on the job — not teenagers, not our resident psychic. You know I respect and admire you and your family, but if I want to be re-elected, I need to keep myself out of any … questionable predicaments.”
I sighed, too. It made perfect sense. “I understand.”
“The same goes for Detective Toscano. He’s busy running the formal investigation and he doesn’t really buy into this. In fact, he’s only allowing his son to work with you as a favor to me.”
“Okay.”
“I apologize again. But I trust that you will work well with Justin and Gabriel. I really think you’re going to help us with this, Clare. And I appreciate it.”
I arrived at the mayor’s office on time. As promised, Mr. Spellman was nowhere to be seen. Only Justin and Gabriel were there, standing in front of the mayor’s desk. On the desk sat a plastic bag that my eyes went to immediately. Then I looked at Justin and Gabriel. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other was a jolt stronger than my morning Diet Coke. Those were two handsome guys. Unfortunately one was a jerk.
I nodded at both of them. “Justin. Gabriel. Good morning.”
Confusion fell over Gabriel’s face. “Clare? What are you doing here?”
Now it was Justin’s turn to look bewildered. “You two know each other? ”
“Wait, wait,” Gabriel said, putting his hand to his forehead. “Clarity Fern. Clare? Clare is Clarity Fern?”
I kept my smile on even though inside it was faltering. “Yes, we’re one and the same. Why?”
“You’re the nutjob?” Gabriel asked.
I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. All the air went out of me. They’d gotten to him. He hadn’t even entered the school halls yet, but the kids had gotten to him. Told him I was a freak.
My heart sank. We’d hit it off so well. He was the first guy I’d thought of “in that way” since Justin. I had been instantly attracted to him, and he’d actually flirted back. I’d gotten my hopes up and now it was all over.
He was just like the others.
My mind reeled. I searched for a snarky retort. Grappled for an insult to thrash out at him, my instinctive self-preservation I’d practiced so much in school. But nothing came.
Justin put a warning hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Watch yourself, new guy.”
“Justin, could I speak to you alone for a moment?” My voice sounded young and vulnerable and I hated it.
“I’ll be outside.” Gabriel stormed out. I heard him mutter something about “ridiculous” before he slammed the door.
I turned to Justin. “What the hell?”
He held his hands up in a shrug. “I told you he’s a tough guy.”
“Yeah, but what’s with the name calling?”
Justin sat down and rested his elbows on the desk. “Apparently, he has a big beef with psychics.”
“Lovely.” So this had nothing to do with the other kids in town and my reputation. Perhaps even worse, this was something already inside Gabriel. That “stupid idea” of Justin’s that Gabriel had spoken of yesterday was actually me.
“He agreed to work with you, but only because my father is forcing his hand.”
I rolled my eyes. “As if I didn’t hate you enough before.”
“Come on, Clare. It’s not like you’re doing this as a favor to me. It’s the right thing to do.”
That was true. And now I had a more urgent motivation to get the case solved quickly: I had to protect my brother. “Fine,” I said.
“Great. Let’s get started.” Justin opened the bag on the desk and pulled out a wallet, a tube of lipstick, and a cell phone. “These were hers. You want to give it a try?”
I shrugged and picked up the lipstick first. Closed my eyes. Nothing.
I tried the wallet next. Again, nothing. I was glad Gabriel had left the room. So far I was proving to be completely useless.
Then I took the phone.
Instantly, I was sucked in. I saw only swirls and haze, nothing concrete, but the emotions were strong. I was crying. No, Victoria was crying … in anger. I squeezed the cell tighter, focused harder.
You don’t own him.
Her voice was loud, insistent. A muffled response was out there in the distance, but I couldn’t decipher it.
Well, he obviously doesn’t want you anymore, Victoria continued. He wants me.
Static crackled. I tried to hold on as long as I could.
We’ll see about that.
Victoria’s words trailed off and I opened my eyes.
“What was that?” Justin asked, wide-eyed.
“I got something. I’m not sure if it’s relevant, but it might be.” I repeated what I’d heard. I wondered for a moment if Victoria could have been talking about my brother. No, they’d just met that night at Yummy’s, right? That’s what he’d said.
Justin nodded as I returned the phone to the desk. I felt a small swell of pride. I’d just gotten our first lead. Maybe I would be useful after all.
I looked over my shoulder at the door, and sighed. “Time to deal with Mr. Tough Guy, huh?”
“Good luck,” Justin said dryly.
I left the office and found Gabriel pacing the hallway. I tried not to notice how good he looked in his cargo shorts and dark blue tee. I focused on the fact that he’d called me a nutjob.
I was invigorated by the vision. My confidence was back up and I was ready to get involved. Figuring the meeting got off on the wrong foot, I tried to make nice first. “I understand that you have worries about working with me,” I began. “Maybe if I explained my ability, that would make you feel better?”
Gabriel wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Doubt that.”
Okay, forget nice. My guard went up like a drawbridge. I hardened myself and faced him like I’d faced Tiffany, Billy, Frankie, or any of the others time and time again. With the only defense I had. Words. “Listen, I
gather you have a problem working with a psychic. Believe me, I don’t like working with a jackass any better.”
His eyebrows rose and his mouth opened slightly.
I continued, “Mayor Spellman is forcing me to do this as much as he’s forcing you. So how about this? I won’t get in your way and you don’t get in mine. We solve this thing quickly and then we never have to speak to each other again. Deal?”
There was a flash of respect in his eyes. He stared at me for a moment while twirling his keys around his finger. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m supposed to bring you to the motel room and let you do your thing there. Then I’ll bring you home.”
He started walking and waved me forward, but I followed at a distance. I needed to take a minute to regain my composure. I shoved my trembling hands into my pockets and took a few deep breaths. Telling him off had salvaged my pride and possibly earned me some respect. But underneath my outer bravado, my chest was tight and a slight ache filled me.
Yeah, I was Clare Fern, tough psychic chick, member of the freak family. But if they stripped all those labels off, people might be shocked to find a normal girl beneath. Who doesn’t want to spend her days on the defensive. Who wants what everyone else wants.
To be loved.
EIGHT
KING’S COURTYARD WAS A SINGLE BUILDING OF connected rooms that arched in an L-shape around an outdoor pool. They advertised it as “water view,” but when you looked out your window all you mostly saw was your car staring back at you. There were two floors. Victoria Happel’s room was 108, first floor, tucked into the corner of the L, farthest from the office.
Yellow police tape stretched across the motel room door. I stood beside it, waiting for Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt to finish up in the office.
Only yesterday, he’d been all interested in me — flirting and flashing his perfect smile. And now Gabriel acted as if I disgusted him. I crossed my arms and tapped my foot.
He finally came along with a lanky hunched-over man, who I assumed was the motel manager from the room keys he had bunched up in his hands. Gabriel had told me on the way over that his father had called ahead, giving the heads-up that a “trainee” was coming to take a couple more photos.
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