“Can you drive?” Rafe asked in a voice that seemed far too calm under the circumstances.
Violet saw the big black SUV parked behind her car, and she knew that Rafe had driven Sara’s car to meet her.
She nodded. “I’m fine.” It was a lie. She was certain she could drive, but she wasn’t “fine.”
“There was a gas station down the street, on the corner. Follow me. We’ll stop there and then we can call Sara.”
Violet took a shaky breath as she started her engine, waiting for Rafe to pull out in front of her. She worked to get her quivering nerves under control.
Somewhere back there in the darkness, buried beneath an old pine tree, was a body wrapped in a tarp. And for some strange reason, it felt at peace.
Violet followed Rafe as he turned into the gas station, one with a crowded parking lot and lots of lights. She still wasn’t sure her heart would ever beat normally again.
He didn’t head for a designated space, he just parked off to the side of the lot, and Violet pulled up behind him and waited.
Rafe tapped on the passenger-side door, and Violet reached over to unlock it. He nodded at her as he climbed in. “You sure you’re okay? You’re kind of a mess.”
Violet looked down at her hands, at the dirt crusted beneath her fingernails, and then at her jacket, which was smeared with grime. Her fingers were still trembling, but she ignored his concern. “Do you want to call or should I?”
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
Violet was grateful to just sit there and listen. The conversation was brief, and again Violet had the feeling that very few words were needed between the two of them.
“She found a body at the Hartman place; it’s out back, under a tree.” He paused to listen. “You’ll see it; she was digging for it when I got there.” Another brief pause, and then Rafe shot her a sideways glance, as if searching for confirmation. “Yeah, she says she’s fine.” After he listened for a few seconds, he hung up, no good-bye, nothing more from his end. And then he looked to Violet, really looked at her this time. “I mean it. Are you gonna be okay driving yourself home? It’s a long way.”
She inhaled, and even her breath was shaky, but she nodded anyway. “I just want to go home and shower.”
Rafe studied her for a few long moments, and then seemed satisfied with her well-being. But before he could leave, Violet stopped him. “I really am glad you came, Rafe. Thank you.”
He smiled in his sly way and slid out of the car. Like with Sara, he gave her no other response. She supposed he wasn’t much of a talker.
Once she was alone again, she had time to think. She was nervous about what—or rather, who—Sara would find when she got there. She was afraid that it would be Mike’s mom—Serena Russo. And that Violet might be the reason that his family discovered that she didn’t actually run away all those years ago, but that she was dead, buried at the base of an old pine tree.
But there was another part of her, a part that felt good about what she’d just done. Accomplished even, for the first time in a long time. A part of her that felt like maybe she’d helped.
She needed to get home. She needed to wait for Sara to call back, to tell her if what she suspected was true.
And she needed to deal with the fact that maybe Sara had been right after all, that maybe Violet could give people the answers they were looking for . . . even if they weren’t the ones they wanted to hear.
Chapter 26
Violet poured herself a cup of coffee as she waited for Jay to pick her up for school.
Her mom frowned at her as she carried a box of cereal to the table. “Rough night?”
“Something like that,” Violet answered vaguely.
Rough was an understatement. Violet had lain awake half the night, anxiously wondering when Sara—or Rafe—might call about her discovery behind Roger Hartman’s house.
Fortunately, since this body, for whatever reason, felt settled and at peace, Violet wasn’t plagued by the lingering discomfort she normally felt when she left a body behind. She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever fully understand her strange ability.
She pulled the cell phone from her pocket and checked it again. Still no messages.
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that your friend’s dad is stopping by today with all of the contact information for the cabin.” Her mom offered Violet the cereal. “You look like you could use a getaway right about now.”
Violet waved the box away as her stomach sank. With everything that had happened yesterday, she’d nearly overlooked the fact that they were supposed to leave tomorrow.
So much for that plan, she thought sourly. After what she’d discovered at Roger Hartman’s place, the last thing Mike and Megan’s family would need was a vacation.
On top of everything else, guilt now weighed her down. But until she heard from Sara, she decided it was best to keep up the pretense that everything was going ahead as scheduled.
She managed a weak smile, fake at best, as she downed the rest of her coffee. “I think I hear Jay,” she lied, giving her mom a quick kiss on the cheek and picking up her backpack. “I’ll see you after school.”
Violet hurried out the door and waited the last few minutes out in the driveway, letting the crisp winter air fill her lungs. And numb her thoughts.
Sometime during her third-period class, Violet felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. When she checked, she saw that she’d just missed a call from Sara. She told the teacher that she wasn’t feeling well and took a pass for the nurse’s office as she slipped into the quiet of the hallway.
She waited nervously for Sara to pick up on the other end, and when she did Sara got right to the point. “I’m sorry, Violet, it wasn’t what you thought. It was just a dog.”
And with those words, the chill from the echo was back. Violet wasn’t sure what to say. “Wh-what do you mean it was a dog?”
“I took a team to the Hartman place, and we found the body inside the tarp. It was a dog, a German shepherd. We haven’t been able to reach Roger Hartman yet, but I’m guessing he had something to do with it.”
Violet’s head was spinning; she was speechless. It was a dog buried beneath the tree?
Not Serena Russo . . .
Oh God, Violet moaned internally. She’d sent Sara, and who knew how many other people, out to Roger Hartman’s home looking for a body . . . a person’s body. Humiliation rushed over her. All of her good intentions were gone in an instant, all of her hopes of doing something positive shattered.
Violet took a deep breath. “Why do you think he had something to do with it?”
Sara didn’t hesitate to answer. “The dog didn’t die of natural causes. Its neck had been broken.”
Violet had her back pressed against the wall, and she leaned forward, one hand on her knee, the other gripping the phone to her ear. She just needed a moment to catch her breath, to gather her thoughts.
In her head, Violet pictured the little black cat lying in the box beside her car, its tiny neck broken.
She heard herself saying good-bye, her voice sounding detached, like it belonged to someone else. She waited there, alone in the silence of the hallway, until she felt the wooziness pass, until she felt steady enough to walk.
Violet thought she understood now why the body she’d discovered hadn’t called to her, insisting to be found. Someone—maybe Roger Hartman, even—had buried the dog.
Someone had given it a sense of closure.
She realized also that despite her embarrassment about sending Sara and the others on a wild-goose chase, there was a positive side to all of this.
Mike and Megan’s mother might still be alive.
Maybe she had just run away. That would be better, wouldn’t it? For them? That there was still a chance they could be reunited?
Violet put her phone away, since she was supposed to be at the nurse’s office and not making phone calls, before she headed back to class.
Maybe her mom had bee
n right this morning. Maybe she really did need a getaway after all.
Chapter 27
The next morning came quickly, and, as usual, Chelsea had been right. Violet was going to the cabin with her friends.
Although she was still having doubts, second-guessing her decision, the wheels were already set in motion, and Jay would be there soon to pick her up, along with Chelsea, Mike, and Claire.
Jules had opted out of this particular trip, declaring that she’d rather jump into a shark-infested pool wearing only a meat bikini than subject herself to a weekend of watching Chelsea gush over Mike. That, and Jules didn’t really like the snow . . . unless there was a board attached to her feet and she was hurtling down a mountain at Mach speed. Snowmen and hot cocoa weren’t exactly her thing.
But they were definitely Claire’s, and she was already choosing teams for the big snowball fight she had planned.
Mike’s dad, Ed Russo, had stopped by while Violet was at school on Friday to introduce himself and give all the necessary information to her mom, including the phone number to the convenience store that was just a few miles away, since there was no phone service—or cell coverage—where they would be staying.
And even though the number was actually to a pay phone, he’d explained that there was a corkboard where the owners would pin messages; he assured her mother that he would make regular stops at the store, just in case.
Her parents were fine with the arrangement, it was only one night, after all—something Violet continued to remind herself of over and over again.
She could handle anything for one night.
“So what do you guys want to do first?” Claire asked excitedly from the backseat.
“Oh my God, Claire. I don’t know, but maybe you should ask us again in five minutes. We haven’t had enough time to think about it since the last time you asked.” Chelsea’s mood had gone downhill quickly during the car ride into the mountains, and she had lost her patience for everyone—including Claire—who was usually safe from her temper.
“Effin’-A, Chels, I was just asking.” Claire’s lips drew together tightly as she crossed her arms in front of her. It was as close to swearing as Claire ever got. Claire must have really been tired of Chelsea’s snippy tone.
Chelsea didn’t apologize; instead she closed her eyes and took another deep breath, leaning her head back against her seat.
“Do you want me to pull over again?” Jay asked, glancing anxiously at Chelsea in his rearview mirror. He shot a nervous look at Violet, and Violet knew exactly what he was thinking.
He didn’t want Chelsea to puke . . . in his car.
Chelsea sighed with annoyance. “Why, Jay? So I can walk around in the cold again, talking about how fucking—yeah, that’s right, Claire, I said fucking—sick I feel? No, thank you. Just keep driving. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get out of this hellhole.”
“No offense taken. Right, Jay?” Mike laughed, hitting Jay’s headrest playfully. Apparently he thought he was safe from Chelsea’s caustic remarks.
He wasn’t.
“That’s too bad,” Chelsea shot back without opening her eyes. “Maybe someone should take offense. Maybe it’s not the car making me sick, maybe it’s the driving.”
Violet started to laugh but caught herself, just barely, in time to stop the sound from actually escaping her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand so that only those with their eyes open could see her.
Ha-ha, Jay mouthed, when she glanced sideways in his direction, making it even harder to contain herself.
Sorry, she mouthed back to him, when she finally felt like she had enough control not to laugh.
Violet thought Chelsea might feel better if she were to sit up front, but she didn’t offer to trade places with her friend again. She’d tried that already, when they’d stopped to let Chelsea get some air, and Chelsea had snapped at her that she was fine, that she didn’t need to change seats.
Violet was convinced that Chelsea had only refused because she didn’t want to lose her seat beside Mike, but after having her head chewed off once, Violet wasn’t about to make that proposal again. So instead she sat quietly, pretending that it wasn’t at all uncomfortable, as they tried to comply with Chelsea’s imaginary wall of silence.
At first, Violet tried to ignore the faint sensation that crept over her, the strange quivering that began at her core and gently rippled outward in short, shuddering bursts. But the car was moving at a steady pace, despite the increasing snow on the ground as they moved higher and higher in elevation, and it wasn’t long before the quivering became vibrating, and then turned to something more tangible.
A warm wave of fragrant air washed over Violet, bringing with it the sweet summer scent of Popsicles and sticky sunscreen and chlorine that filled the interior of the car. The temperature unexpectedly skyrocketed around her.
“Can you turn down the heat?” Violet whispered to Jay as she tore the hat from her head and tugged at her scarf.
And just as she said it, she heard Claire’s horrified gasp.
Violet turned to look out the window.
On the side of the road was a deer, lying unnaturally prone, broken and abandoned against a dirty drift of plowed snow on the shoulder of the highway. Blood seeped into the slushy pile where its face was awkwardly pinned. Its mouth was open, its tongue frozen against its mangled jaw.
Jay reached over and squeezed Violet’s knee as they passed, and suddenly the inhospitable temperature and the summer smells made perfect sense to Violet. It was the deer’s echo.
Violet and Jay used to play that game when they were little. While other kids played car games involving state license plates or finding the letters of the alphabet in road signs, Violet would point out dead animals on the sides of the highway. Sometimes visible and sometimes not. Some discernible only by the echoes they’d left behind.
She would sense them, sometimes as far back as several hundred yards, and she would describe their unique echo to Jay in as much detail as she could while he would try to spot the corpse that had been left behind.
Road Kill, they called it.
It was sick, sure, but they were just kids . . . with a morbid fascination for all things dead. And she was a girl who could seek them out.
Now the echo felt intrusive, and Jay’s presence soothing.
“We’re getting close,” Mike announced from the back. “Up ahead is the store where we can stop to get some snacks and anything else we need. Last stop. If you need to make a phone call, now’s the time to do it,” he added.
Violet pulled her phone from her purse and checked to see if she had service. Mike was right; there was no signal up here.
“Oh, thank God. Violet, will you get me some crackers? And see if they have some 7UP or Sprite? I feel like shit.”
Violet turned around to look at Chelsea, who still had her head back and refused to open her eyes, but it was Jay who answered. “Are you sure you don’t want to get out and maybe stretch your legs a little?”
“Don’t worry, Captain Concern, I won’t ruin your precious leather,” she snarled. “But if you’re so worried, leave me a bag or something.”
Violet saw Mike lean down and whisper something in Chelsea’s ear, his face etched with concern. Chelsea grimaced and turned her head away from him. She didn’t even make an effort to be polite about it.
She must really be sick, Violet thought, to turn on Mike like that.
The outside of the convenience store was rustic and charming; the exterior walls were rough-hewn logs, giving it the illusion of being a quaint country store. The inside was cluttered and disorganized. The owners—probably out of necessity and in an effort to stock as many items as possible—somehow managed to fill every inch of shelf, floor, and countertop. Even the walls were crammed with items for sale. And where there weren’t actual wares, there were signs with products that could be ordered.
It was almost as cold inside the store as it was outside. Violet was glad she’d wo
rn her snow boots and her heavy winter coat on the ride up, and that she’d put her hat and scarf back on before getting out of the car.
It was easy to fill Chelsea’s requests, and then it just took a few more minutes for the rest of them to stock up on chips, beef jerky, pop, and an assortment of snacks, including the pack of Oreos that Jay bought for Violet.
Violet thought briefly about calling her parents, just to let them know that they’d made it up the mountain safely. She’d seen the pay phone lodged tightly into an open space between the ice cooler and a shelf piled high with motor oil and propane tanks. Just above the phone, there was a small corkboard littered with colorful sticky notes and scraps of paper.
But she dismissed the idea almost immediately. Her parents weren’t expecting her to call unless there was a problem, and Violet was trying to be more independent, to prove to them that they could trust her to be safe on her own. Calling them to “check in” felt like it would defeat that purpose.
So she passed by the phone without a second glance on her way to the cashier.
If she would have stopped, she would have noticed the message pinned there.
Addressed to her.
Jay had decided to park his car down by the road rather than to risk the steep and winding driveway leading up to the cabin. He was afraid it would get trapped in the thick layers of snow there.
And even though Mike’s dad’s truck was gone, it was apparent that he’d already been there, by the newly plowed tracks he’d left. But Violet agreed with Jay that it wasn’t worth taking the chance. Jay’s car wasn’t equipped, even with the snow chains, to make it up such a treacherous grade. Not in this weather.
So they’d been forced to carry their things up the hill to the cabin. It wouldn’t have been that difficult had it not been for the nearly two feet of snow they had to wade through. Fortunately, they were able to walk in the tracks of Mike’s dad’s truck.
It seemed that the crackers and Sprite had worked their magic on Chelsea’s upset stomach, because she was back to herself again by the time they’d arrived. Violet even heard her apologizing to Mike for being so “grumpy,” a word she’d never heard Chelsea use before. Especially not in that octave.
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