Читать книгу The Good Girl - Christy Barritt - Страница 6

The police ushered me out of the room so they could do their thing. Candy lingered close to the bathroom, her phone out as she probably updated her social media sites with ectoplasmic photos or, at least, some great tales that were sure to entertain others at my expense.

Which left me in the living room with Ben Cooper and Gaga.

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” he said. His tone acknowledged that he knew how lame he sounded. What exactly did you say to comfort someone in a time like this? I had no idea, but assuring someone that there was a reason for the crazy around her was a good start.

I nodded. Another Good Girls Rule, of course. Better to bite your own tongue than to say something that will come back and bite you later. “A logical explanation. Of course.”

“Scare tactic?” His gaze looked earnest as he rubbed his chin in thought.

“Why would someone try to scare me? No one knows me here.”

He stared at me another moment, his crystal blue eyes still sincere as if he honestly wanted to help but came up blank. “They’re trying to scare Lana and didn’t realize that she’s out of the country?”

“Unfortunate timing for me, then.”

“Just lock your doors tonight.”

Lock my doors? Did ghosts care about locks? Now I was thinking like a crazy person. Never would I admit it, though. “I will.”

He nodded toward the door and took a step back. “I’ve got to go pick up my son, Austin, from his friend’s house. Remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.”

I nodded, understanding that he wanted nothing to do with this mess. I couldn’t blame him. “Got it.”

When the police left a few minutes later, Candy followed them out the door, mumbling something about having to go to work and that she’d see me on Sunday.

See me on Sunday? I didn’t even ask. Nope. I closed the doors, locked them, and then stared at the house. What now? Wasn’t this what I wanted? Time alone?

So why did I feel so freaked out then? Why did I actually, just for a moment, miss Candy’s chatter? Should I go to a hotel for the night? Or should I tough it out at Lana’s place? I would tough it out, I decided. If I could survive what I had in Florida, certainly I could survive a ghost in Minnesota.

Right?

I paced over to the bookshelf and looked at a picture of Lana and me from when we were teens. I missed those youthful days when our futures seemed so bright. When I was determined one day to be a teacher, a wife, and a mother. When I just knew my life would turn out perfectly.

There was also the small factoid that I wasn’t even sure I was a Christian anymore. My doubts about God had simmered beneath the surface for a long time. Each time they tried to emerge, I shoved them down with a vengeance.

But now I was in St. Paul. Now it was time to let them boil to the surface.

My cell phone rang. I grabbed it and answered. Lana. I sank onto the couch, propping my feet up and letting my head fall back.

Her perky and loud voice sounded worse than an alarm clock right now. “What’s going on, big sis? How do you like the place?”

“It’s nice, Lana. Very unlike you.” I’d expected something sleeker for my ever-in-vogue sister. Maybe a new condo decorated in cool tones of gray? A grungy apartment in downtown? An industrial loft near the Mississippi? She was the type of woman who’d drop $400 for a trendy new purse, all while forgoing paying her rent, so a house this normal seemed like it’d be the bane of her existence.

She laughed, the sound carefree, just like Lana. “I know. It is, isn’t it? That’s why I decided it was perfect.”

I stared at the white ceiling and remembered the threatening note. “Listen, there are a couple of things I need to tell you.”

“Me, too. Tara, you’ll never believe this—Nate popped the question last night. We’re getting married!”

A foreign emotion filled my chest. I realized I needed to react and forced out a congratulations. She went on and on about how he proposed and when they would get married. They’d probably have a perfect life together. Lots of children and laughter and love.

That’s the way it worked for my sister. She never followed the rules. She lived for herself completely, and life had been all rainbows and blue skies.

“Tara? You still there?”

I snapped back to reality. “I’m really happy for you, Lana.”

“Thanks, big sis. Listen, take care of Doggie Gaga for me. Nate and I might extend our vacation, make it more of an early honeymoon. Are you okay with that? I know we planned to spend some time together when I got back, but sometimes these things happen.”

“I’ll be fine, Lana. Don’t worry about me.” Gaga jumped in my lap, and I stroked her soft white fur.

“And don’t let the ghost scare you away.”

I remembered the eerie messages I’d found and stiffened. “Ghost?”

Lana laughed. “Yeah, there’s a rumor that a ghost haunts the place. That’s why I got the house at such a good price. Some woman died there or something. That’s what the story is, at least.”

I swallowed, though my saliva didn’t want to go down. “Is that right?”

“Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Not so much, Lana.” I hugged Gaga to my chest. “Do you have any enemies?”

“More than I can count. Why?” She said it without a care in the world. Nope, she didn’t give a second thought to what people said about her. Must be nice.

I told her about the note and the message on the mirror.

“Really?” She screeched, sounding fifty-percent excited and one-hundred-percent intrigued. “That’s crazy. Who would do that?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“I have no idea. It’s creepy.” She paused. “I have a couple of pretty sick friends. I’ll call them and make sure they’re not behind it. In the meantime, if you have any trouble, my friend Candy can help you out. She did pick you up from the airport, right?”

“I did meet her.” I didn’t want to sound like a tattle-tale.

“And there’s this guy named Mark I want you to meet. He’s super cute and just the RX you need right now.”

“Not interested.” I picked some stray dog hair from my shirt and shook my head as if Lana could see me.

“Oh, come on, Tara. One day, you’ll have to start dating again.”

“Not really. Being single isn’t that bad. It beats subjecting myself to more heartache.” I mentally “amened” myself, even throwing in a “you got that right, sister.” Who needed actual friends when I had a whole choir in my head backing me up?

“You picked a bad one, Tara. You’ve got to face that. Peter was no good. Don’t let him ruin your future.”

Lana did not understand. At. All. “Call it what you want. I don’t think I can ever trust a man enough to have a relationship again.” Girl, we don’t blame you. We’d be the same way. I loved my mental choir.

“Well, just in case you change your mind, I’ll call Mark and ask him to keep an eye on you.”

“Lana...” I threatened.

She laughed. “What?”

“Don’t play matchmaker.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. Sometimes you’ve just got to let your hair down and live a little.”

I couldn’t even argue with her. My mental chorus of support disappeared. “Maybe you’re right.”

She gasped. “Are you admitting that I could quite possibly be on to something? This is a first. Listen, sis, I’ve gotta run. Give Gaga a big kiss for me.”

I set the phone back on its cradle and stared at it. My sister...I shook my head and laughed. Could we be more opposite?

Don’t let the ghost scare you away...

My laugh faded. Ghosts? They weren’t real.

Despite my logic, I really wished Lana hadn’t told me that.

~*~

I yawned and pushed myself back into the couch. I’d wasted three hours flipping through TV stations, staring blankly at inanimate objects and otherwise feeling bored out of my mind. My sister subscribed to three magazines: Vogue, TV Guide, and the National Enquirer. None were really my thing. So, instead, my thoughts had done their daily replay of all of my mistakes, faults, and missteps—a nightly routine, it seemed. Some people counted sheep; I counted my mistakes one by one.

Finally, I stood. It was time for bed, that dreaded time of night where sleep made you vulnerable to the world around you. Ever since I was young, darkness and nighttime had frightened me. Still, to this day, my fears could get the best of me, especially when I was alone. Fears over creeps and crime and home invasions. The events of today only made my fears more real. Someone had been inside my home. Would they come back?

I turned off the light in the kitchen, then moved into the great room and tugged both lamps off. It was June, and I was too stubborn to turn the AC on. After all, I’d escaped the stifling heat in Florida, where opening the windows up made the house feel like a sauna. The weather here in Minnesota beckoned me to enjoy it. During the day, the house had felt perfect after I’d cracked the windows and let a gentle breeze roll through. Right now, the house was warm, but I didn’t dare keep any windows up. The thought of someone cutting the screen and sneaking inside as I slept was too vivid in my mind.

Not that anyone could sneak up on me with these squeaky wooden floors, I comforted myself. The oak-stained planks might be beautiful as they stretched across the entire level, but they were old—original to the house maybe?—and every other step I took was announced with a squeak or a groan.

The light from my bedroom illuminated my path. I cracked one window by my bed, only because there was a safety latch that allowed it to stay open a mere three inches. No one could fit through that opening. A crisp breeze crept inside.

I stripped down to my underwear and a tank top, threw back the thick comforter, and crawled between the cool sheets. Once I was settled, I calmed myself by taking inventory of Lana’s bedroom decor. Lana had probably been thinking of a summery white when she decorated the monotone bedroom. It boasted an alabaster comforter on a silvery, metal bed, billowy ivory curtains, paintings of pasty white roses in pale frames, a snowy-colored rug on a light oak floor. The gang at HGTV would be proud of her overall look. To me, it was all...spooky, ghost-like.

I ignored my shivers and hesitantly reached for the light by the bed. My fingers lingered on the twist. I held my breath, then turned the plastic knob and ducked under the sheet before I had time to stare the blackness in the face. My heart raced, and I listened for any suspicious sounds.

A car zoomed past on the street outside. A dog barked. The alarm clock hummed on the nightstand. The house creaked. It was just settling, I told myself. Old houses did that.

I’m still here.

The words from the note echoed in my mind. What if someone was still here? What if they were hiding in the basement or the attic or the garage? Had the police considered that? Had they checked those places?

The sheets still covered my head. I should move them down, act like a grown woman. Instead, I breathed in and out. My breath hit the silky fabric around me, warming my nose and cheeks. My hair tickled my face. My heart pounded in my ears.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to think about something else.

My hand skimmed across the empty space in the bed beside me, and I thought of Peter. It was a toss up which subject was less appealing—ghost or ex-husband. But my thoughts went where they went.

Though we’d only been married for two and a half years, I still felt like Peter should be beside me, protecting me from anything the world threw our way. That’s what marriage was about, right? Being there for each other in the good times and bad. In sickness and health. In times of peace and in times of ghostly hauntings.

Everyone said we were cut from the same cloth, a perfect match. Unfortunately, they were right. We’d both cared too much about what people thought of us. When Peter had the chance to distance himself from the disaster surrounding my life, he’d done just that. I, on the other hand, had been stuck with myself.

At one time, I’d thought Peter was charismatic, confident, and righteous. Somewhere along the road, those qualities had morphed into being flighty, arrogant, and judgmental. Funny how your perspective changed with experience.

I had to admit, I hadn’t been the easiest person to live with after I’d been arrested. I’d withdrawn. Bottled up my emotions, trying to hide the fact that I felt sorry for myself. I did feel sorry for myself—I’d just decided not to let anyone else know that.

Yeah, that’s me. Good Girls Rule #23: Always appear strong even when your muscles are jelly. Kind of similar to wearing a girdle to look skinny and then taking it off and letting your flab flounder.

I wish now I’d cried more, opened up more, saw the counselor more than once.

Maybe things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t been in denial about my problems and my marriage.

Tears wet the pillow in my cocoon, and I knew I should peek my head out of the covers. Thinking about Peter was not a good alternative to thinking about the creepy things that had happened today. But I was frozen.

The same fear haunted me every night. The fear of someone breaking into my house, watching me while I slept. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind before, and I certainly couldn’t now.

I forced my breathing to steady. This fear was just my overactive imagination, after all. There was nothing to be scared of. Gaga would protect me.

The thought made me smile. I tugged the sheets down and let the fresh, cooler air fill my lungs. But I still found myself holding my breath again.

On the count of three I’d open my eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

I yanked my eyes open, and the stark-white room came into focus. It was empty. No spooky ghouls or unwanted visitors were staring at me from the foot of the bed.

The clock on the nightstand read 12:28.

I tried to relax against the mattress. When would I ever get over this childhood fear? I turned over, dug my head into the fluffy, feather pillow, and searched for the sleep that felt so elusive.

Metal clanged outside.

I tensed and gripped the covers. Was it just my imagination? No. This wasn’t my imagination. Something clicked and squeaked and groaned.

I sucked in a deep breath. I knew exactly what the noise was. It was the rusty gate leading into Lana’s backyard. I’d heard it earlier in the day when I’d let Gaga outside. I distinctly remembered fastening the stubborn thing. Someone was either going into or coming from my backyard.

Logic told me to peek out the window. Fear told me to freeze. Fear won.

Why would someone be entering or leaving the backyard at 12:30? Why would someone be going into the backyard at all?

I forced myself to practice yoga breathing for calm. There had to be an explanation. Maybe Cooper’s little boy had tossed a toy into the yard and Cooper was going to retrieve it. That made sense.

But not at this hour.

Maybe he’d thrown something into the yard earlier and Cooper just now found the time to get it.

I convinced myself it was a plausible possibility. Tomorrow, I’d ask Cooper and he’d explain it. Then we’d have a good laugh. I’d chide myself for being so silly.

I pulled the covers tighter, listening for any more telltale sounds. It was silent. Shivers attacked my limbs as the note continued haunting me.

I’m still here.

Who? I wondered. Who was still here?

Would I live to find out the answer?