Believing (Lily Dale #2)(39)

Mom might not have left an actual paper trail, but she might have left a record somewhere else.

Before Calla can blurt anything to her father, he shakes his head abruptly and gets into the car. “I’ve got to get going. It’s late and I’ve got an early flight in the morning.”

“I know . . .” Calla’s thoughts whirl. Should she even suggest it? Would it upset him further?

He reaches out and turns the key in the ignition. “You’ve got to get to bed and so do I.”

They hug each other fiercely.

“I’ll come back to visit again in a few weeks,” he promises before driving away, leaving Calla with a major lump in her throat.





Lurking in the dense growth of shrubs outside the yellow brick building that houses the community theater, he watches people trickle out to the parking lot.

Voices call out cheerful goodnights, car doors slam, engines start.

Hayley Gorzynski has yet to appear.

Tense, he waits, making sure to stay well out of the glare each time an arc of headlights swings past on the way to the street. His breath puffs smoky white in the cold night air.

There’s supposed to be a first frost by morning. Erin Shan-nahan wouldn’t have survived this, he thinks in frustration.

Renewed anger ignites inside him just as the theater doors burst open one last time.

Sure enough, a pretty blond emerges, flanked by a middle-aged woman and a lanky dark-haired kid he recognizes as the boy who’s playing Danny Zuko. All three of them are carrying what look like scripts, the woman’s attached to a clipboard.

“So if you can both stay late after rehearsal tomorrow night,” the woman is saying, “we can go over that dance scene until we get it right. I know the choreography is tricky.”

“She’s got it down,” the kid says. “I’m the one who’s having a hard time.”

“You’re doing great. We just need to practice together, that’s all. We’ll be fine by opening night.” That’s Hayley’s voice, sweet and melodious.

He wonders what it would sound like pleading for her life. Or screaming.

You’ll find out soon enough, he promises himself. Meanwhile, there’s that other problem to take care of.

Yes. It’s about time for a road trip.





TWELVE

Monday, September 10

12:51 p.m.

Seeing Dad was great, but on Monday morning, Calla is glad to get back to the routine of school.

The old brick building already feels familiar, and she’s getting the hang of the daily rhythm here already. When she saw Willow this morning, she offered to help Calla again with math, tomorrow night. She said she can’t do tonight because she takes a class in the Dale. She didn’t say what kind of class, but Calla figures it’s much more likely to be in metaphysics than, say, gymnastics.

It was Calla’s turn to be team captain in gym, so she picked Kasey first and was rewarded with a smile and an invitation to eat lunch together.

She said she’d try, not sure what to do about Willow and Sarita.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. She finds Jacy waiting for her, leaning against the wall outside the door to the cafeteria. At least, he seems to be waiting for her, because the moment he sees her, he straightens and says, “Come on. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Outside. For a walk.”

She wants to point out that they’re not allowed to leave the school during lunch period. But then, he knows that. He just doesn’t care.

Does she?

Not enough to tell Jacy to go without her.

He leads the way down a flight of back stairs past the janitor’s rooms, then out a door that opens onto the athletic field, behind the bleachers.

The day is breezy, and the golden September sun shines brightly overhead. Calla, dressed in a short-sleeved top and a cute, summery skirt, wishes she had a coat.

“Here,” Jacy says, and shrugs out of his own jean jacket as they cross the grassy meadow alongside the track. He hands it to her.

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“You’re cold. Take it.”

She is cold. She slips it on and is enveloped in the clean, unfamiliar masculine scent of him. This is what it would be like if she were in his arms, she decides. Well, almost.

And she really hopes he doesn’t know what she’s thinking.

They quickly reach the dappled shade of the woods on the far side of the field. A narrow path cuts through the brush, and Jacy follows it so easily she can tell he’s done it dozens of times.

“Is this where you come when you skip lunch?” she asks, her voice hushed because it seems necessary here. Almost as though this is some kind of sacred place.

“Sometimes I come here,” Jacy says with a shrug. “No one else is ever around, so I like it.”

She nods. If he were any other guy, she might think he was trying to get her alone in the woods so he could make a move on her.

Not Jacy. Which is almost too bad, because despite how badly she wants to talk to him, she honestly wouldn’t mind his making a move on her, either.

It’s cooler in the woods, and the air smells of moist, damp earth and decomposing leaves.

For a split second, Calla thinks of poor Erin Shannahan, lying for days in a remote forest, left for dead.