“Flirty?”
“Well, now that you mention it.”
“You’ve obviously been talking to Drea and Amber,” I say, spreading on a thick layer of jam.
“Actually, I was talking to Chad. He said she really came on to him last night.”
“And he was a helpless victim?” I take a bite of my bagel, noticing right away that the center is still cold from the freezer. But my stomach has been growling for at least the past hour, so with the sweetness of the jam, I don’t even care.
“I’m not saying he was a victim,” Jacob continues. “It’s just that we know Chad. We don’t exactly know Clara.”
“And what does that mean? Just because I don’t know Clara that well, I’m not going to help her?” I get up and grab a stream of paper towels from the roll and a red dry-erase marker from the board on the fridge. At the top of the paper towels, I write Clara’s name. Then, below it, I write the words I’LL MAKE YOU PAY, trying to make it look like it did on her wall—the pointed capital letters, the K and the two Ys the most pronounced. I concentrate a moment on the color, wondering why someone chose to use red paint, if it has any significance.
But I just don’t know. I can’t seem to think straight. I push the towels to the side and resume eating breakfast, hoping a little food energy will help do the trick.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Jacob continues. He eyes the paper towels, my attempt to make sense of the message. “I think you should help Clara.”
“Then what?”
“It’s all about trust.”
“Well, obviously Clara doesn’t trust me enough to tell me everything. And why should she? It’s not like I haven’t broken into her house behind her back.” I take a sip of iced coffee, hoping to cool the agitation I feel boiling up inside me. I mean, why am I feeling all defensive? It’s obvious that Clara does have a flirting fetish. I mean, between Casey, PJ, and Chad . . . and those are just the guys we know about. “I’m sorry,” I say, finally. “I’m just frazzled.”
“It’s okay.” Jacob reaches across the table to take my hand, not even minding that my fingers are sticky from jam. “You’re not alone on this, Stacey. I’m willing to help you. I want to help you.”
“I know.”
“Then why don’t we do a spell together? Something to help us focus on Clara, on the graffiti message, the photos, or the cold vibrations you’ve been getting.” He squeezes my hand and concentrates on me hard, making my heart do that ratta-tap-tapping thing; I picture it like a cartoon, when the giant red animated heart starts pumping out of the character’s chest.
“Maybe I just need a little break.”
“Anything particular in mind?”
“How does an overnight frat cruise sound?”
“Are you serious?” he asks, his eyebrows arched high for surprise.
“Chad told me you didn’t want to go.”
“And you do?”
“I just thought you might have asked me.”
“Sorry,” he says. “It just didn’t sound like your type of thing.”
“It isn’t, but I might have to go anyway.”
“Why?”
“Clara. I think she might be going and, if she is, I should probably plan on going as well.”
Jacob looks away, completely avoiding the unspoken question.
“Well?” I ask.
“What?”
“Tell me you’ll go, too.”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “It sounds kind of lame.”
“Yeah, but if I have to be there—”
“I don’t know,” he repeats.
“Are you serious? We can get our own room. We can think of it as some time away to ourselves.”
“How?” he asks. “You’re going to be too busy with Clara.”
“Not the whole night. Plus, I can make sure she gets a room right next to ours.”
“Maybe,” he says, finally.
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“It’s just—”
“Just think about it, okay?” I reach across the table to clasp his fingers again.
He nods and smiles at me, and I feel my cheeks warm over. I’m just about to get up and plant the most delicious kiss across his lips when I hear a knock at the door. I get up to answer it.
It’s the police.
The same two officers from Clara’s cottage stand in front of me, flashing their badges in plain view. “Stacey Brown?” the female cop says. “We need to talk to you about your visit to Clara’s cottage earlier this morning. Are your friends,” she checks her notepad again, “Amber and Drea available for some questions?”
I look back at Jacob, and he stands from the table. “They went out,” he says.
“Do you know where they went?” the other cop asks.
Jacob shakes his head, still focusing on me.
“We’re not in any kind of trouble,” I ask, “are we?”
“We need to talk to all three of you,” the female cop says, failing to answer my question.
“Well, it’s just me right now,” I say. “Will that do?”
“For now.”
“Fine,” I say, looking back at Jacob. “Let’s get started.”
twenty-one
Since I haven’t exactly been charged with anything yet—including breaking and entering, of which I am totally-and-without-a-doubt guilty—the police try and keep things as casual as possible; at least it seems like they’re keeping things casual. They don’t insist that we head down to the station to discuss the details, but rather they suggest that we go over things in the quiet of our living room.
I’m just hoping Amber and Drea stay away until after I’m done.
I introduce Jacob, and he takes a seat beside me on the sofa, on the bed linens and blanket still set up from Clara’s stay. He reaches over to hold my hand, pumping it a couple times to remind me that he’s here, that I’m not alone.
“So,” the female officer says, eyeing around the room. Her gaze pauses on the paper towels lined up at the edge of the kitchen table, where I wrote Clara’s name as well as the message from her bedroom wall in the bright-red marker. She looks at them and then at me, the words clearly legible.
I cough as though that might distract her a moment, make the words go away. But it doesn’t. And they don’t. So she just stares at me, waiting for me to break—for the walls all around us to come crashing down. When none of that happens, she resumes her questioning. “Clara mentioned that you went into her cottage early this morning when she wasn’t at home. Is that correct?”
I nod. “But it was only because I was looking for her. She was staying with us last night, and when I woke up and saw that she wasn’t here, I got worried and went to look for her. I thought that maybe she went back to her cottage for something. The door wasn’t locked.”
The other cop stares at me from behind those microscopic glasses. I make an effort to smile at him, to break the tension, but his face remains expressionless.
“And what time was that?” the cop-lady continues.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Around 2:30 maybe.”
She jots the detail down in her notepad. “Did you see anyone coming in or going out of Clara’s cottage at that time?”
I shake my head and proceed to answer the rest of her questions—questions that detail how Amber and Drea came in afterwards; how they had been looking for me since I ran out of our cottage all a-tizzy; how no, we didn’t see the envelope of photos at the time, but yes, we did notice the graffiti; and no, we have absolutely no idea who could have done this.
She pauses a few moments to jot down some notes, the end of her ballpoint pen bobbing back and forth with vigor. “I don’t suppose,” she flips a page back in her notebook, “that Chad is around for some questions?”
I shake my head, wondering how she even knows about Chad. I mean, what did Clara say to her about him? “Why would you want to talk to him? I mean, he was sleeping when we went to Clara’s this morni
ng.”
“I can attest to that,” Jacob says. “He, PJ, and I share the same room.”
“And at no time during the night did you hear one of your roommates get up?”
“Well, just once,” Jacob says.
Here we go. What is Jacob thinking? I squeeze his hand extra hard, trying to wrangle him to his senses.
“Who?” she asks.
“I think Chad might have gotten up once for some water, but that’s normal for him. He gets up frequently during the night.”
“Because of the water,” I add, as though she needs the explanation.
“Do you know what time he might have gotten up?” she asks.
Jacob shakes his head and squeezes my hand, perhaps letting me know that he’s sorry for saying something in the first place. The other cop notices. He looks up at me—deep into my eyes as though he’s not buying any of this.
“Well, that will be all for now,” she says. She takes one last look at the paper towels, one penciled-in eyebrow raised high for effect. “But we’ll probably be in touch.” She hands me her card and tells me to have Drea and Amber give her a call when they get back.
The two officers leave, and Jacob and I just look at each other. “What just happened?” I ask him.
Jacob shakes his head, completely baffled as well.
twenty-two
As soon as the police leave, Jacob and I head over to the Clam Stripper to look for everybody. Part of me wants to wait around for Clara, to find out what she said to the police, though I’m not so sure she’d tell me. It’s obvious that if she wanted me to know, she wouldn’t have made me leave in the first place.
I press the sea-glass amulet between my fingers and breathe the salt air in, concentrating on the sound of the waves as they rush against the sand, trying to remind myself that clarity comes with mindfulness. I need to keep a level head.
Jacob reaches for my hand, as though sensing my mounting anxiety. “We’ll figure this out,” he says. “The police are just doing their job.”
I nod, telling myself that that’s true—that obviously they had to come and talk to us. I mean, we did break into Clara’s house. We were the first ones to see the graffiti on her wall. For all she could know, we’re the ones who did it.
I take a deep breath and lead us onto the Clam Stripper deck. Amber is the first to spot us since it seems Chad and Drea are too busy making up. They’re sitting at the picnic table, so close to one another that you couldn’t even squeeze a measly French fry between them. There’s a small box of Godiva chocolates—Drea’s favorites—with a pink ribbon sitting on the table in front of her. It’s the telltale sign that the happy couple was in a fight, and that Chad is trying to patch things up.
“Hey guys,” she says, resting her head against Chad’s shoulder. She looks up at us for about half a second before focusing back on Chad—kissing his cheek and nuzzling her forehead against his chest.
“Someone get these two a room.” Amber sighs.
“How about we get ourselves a room instead?” PJ goes to drape his arm around Amber, but she pushes him away.
“I’m nobody’s sloppy seconds,” she says.
“You guys,” I say, cutting through their banter. “We need to talk.”
“What’s up?” Chad asks, pausing from a smooch.
“The police were just at our place. They questioned me about going to Clara’s, about seeing the graffiti. They also want to talk to you guys.”
“All of us?” Drea asks.
“Well, everyone except PJ and Jacob.” I continue to tell them the details about the questioning and how Clara didn’t want me to hear what she said to the police. I also tell them about the envelope full of Clara photos I found underneath her bed covers.
“Why would they want to talk to Chad?” Drea asks. “He wasn’t even with us this morning when we went to her place.”
“I know,” I say, “but they didn’t give me any details.” Drea looks thoroughly concerned for him. She kisses his cheek yet again, as though the fact that the three of us are being questioned is completely irrelevant.
“It’s probably just routine,” I say, finally taking a seat. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“Stacey’s right,” Jacob says. “We need to talk to Clara.”
“I knew that skank was trouble.” Amber tosses a fry down on the table.
I look at PJ, wondering if he’s going to try and defend Clara, but he doesn’t. We continue to discuss the whole predicament for several more minutes, until the conversation at our table comes to an unexpected halt.
“Hey guys!” Clara giggles.
I turn around and there she is, practically out of nowhere, standing behind our table.
“Where did you come from?” Chad asks.
Drea shoots him a dirty look, as though he’s not even supposed to talk to her.
“I went by your place, but nobody was home. Are you here for brunch or lunch?” She nervous-giggles and looks at her watch.
“How did it go with the police?” I ask, cutting through her question.
“And how come you kicked Stacey out while you talked to them?” Amber plucks a fry from the box and evil-eyes Clara.
Clara’s smile wilts in response. She looks at me. “Sorry about that. It’s just . . . I wanted to talk to them alone.”
“Why?” Drea asks.
Clara shrugs. “I wanted to tell them about my ex-boyfriends and stuff. I don’t know, I guess I didn’t want anyone to hear all that bad stuff.”
“Is that who you think is doing all this?” I ask her.
Clara looks away, her cheeks all flushed. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to imagine anyone I know doing stuff like this, especially someone I might have been seeing.” She makes an effort to smile, but I think she can sense everyone’s reluctance toward her. While Amber sizes her up, Drea cuddles in closer toward Chad, marking her personal territory.
“Are your parents back yet?” I ask her.
“Finally. My mom is totally flipping over this. They came home while I was talking to the police—right at the end.”
“So you’ve told them everything.”
She gives a slight nod and looks away again, like maybe she isn’t telling the truth—at least not the complete truth.
“Well, at least you won’t be staying alone now.”
“So maybe we can get together later,” she says, changing the topic. She looks toward PJ, but he hasn’t so much as peeped in her direction once. She turns to Chad. “What do you say? Sound good? We could go hang out downtown. There’s this cool surf shop with tons of boards, if you’re into that.”
“Why do the copsters want to talk to me and Drea?” Amber asks, ignoring her suggestions.
“They do?” Clara cocks her head in confusion.
“The police came by our place a little while ago,” I explain.
Her eyebrows furrow as though she’s thoroughly perplexed. “I might have mentioned that you guys saw the graffiti before I did, but I didn’t make it sound weird or anything. I said you guys were looking for me and thought I went home. I told them the door wasn’t locked.”
“And now they think we did it,” Amber says, batting her eyelashes at Clara.
“I’m sorry,” Clara says. “I don’t know—”
“Why do they want to talk to Chad?” Drea asks, interrupting her.
Clara shakes her head and bites her lip, her eyes extra wide.
“I have to go,” Jacob says, amidst all this—like it couldn’t get any worse.
“Where?” I ask.
“There’s something I have to do.” He smiles slightly, as though that’s supposed to assure me, make it all okay.
“Like what? We’re on vacation; what could you possibly have to do?”
He gets up. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
“I thought we might go swimming . . .”
“Later,” he says, kissing my cheek. I watch him walk away, just like that, and feel my heart sta
rt to crumble up.
“Maybe he’s got cramps,” Amber says, replacing the sweat-drenched tissues in her cleavage with a couple fresh napkins.
Drea reaches across the table to squeeze my forearm, obviously sensing my disappointment. She pries open the box of chocolates. “Dig in,” she says. “They’re best when they’re melty like this.”
“No, thanks.”
“Maybe I should go, too,” Chad says. He gets up and taps PJ on the shoulder, gesturing for him to give us a little girl time as well.
“Should I leave, too?” Clara asks when it’s just the four of us. Her face is all red, like maybe she’s sensing her own awkwardness.
I shake my head and glance down at my amethyst ring, knowing that I need to keep my priorities straight, that Clara’s life depends on it. “No,” I say. “If misery loves company, I think you’ve definitely come to the right place. Speaking for myself, of course.”
“Guys can be such jerks,” Amber says, turning to me.
“Is that why all your dates are inflatable?” Drea asks her.
“For real?” Clara giggles.
“At least they’re not taken,” Amber snaps.
Clara ignores the comment. She takes a seat beside Drea on the bench, causing Drea to stiffen up a bit.
“Is Jacob still being all negative about the cruise?” Amber asks.
I nod. “He definitely doesn’t want to go . . . not that I do.”
“So you two are having problems?” Clara’s eyes suddenly widen.
I shake my head since I really don’t feel like getting into the complexities of my love life with her, of all people.
“He’s so mysterious,” Clara beams. “I mean, if you don’t mind my saying so. I think that’s a good thing, you know? Kind of sexy.”
I shrug.
“He was telling me last night how when you guys first started dating, you were much more relaxed.”
“Excuse me?”
“He just thinks you’ve been kind of uptight lately. Have you been? I mean, I guess you have reason to be—considering the nightmares and all.”
I feel my mouth drop open. “When were you talking to him?”
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