Two Can Keep a Secret(15)

“Don’t. We shouldn’t touch anything.” And then my disgust takes a brief backseat to another unwelcome thought. “Shit. I have to be the one to report this again.”

I got lucky last week, sort of. The new girl, Ellery, believed me enough that when we went inside to tell an adult, she didn’t mention she’d found me holding the can. But the whispers started buzzing through the cultural center anyway, and they’ve been following me around ever since. Twice in one week isn’t great. Not in line with the Keep Your Head Down Till You Can Get Out strategy I’ve been working on ever since Declan left town.

“Maybe somebody else already has and the police just haven’t gotten here yet?” Mia says, looking around. “It’s the middle of the day. People are in and out of here all the time.”

“You’d think we’d have heard, though.” Echo Ridge gossip channels are fast and foolproof. Even Mia and I are in the loop now that Katrin has my cell number.

Mia bites her lip. “We could take off and let somebody else make the call. Except … we told Katrin we were coming here, didn’t we? So that won’t work. It’d actually look worse if you didn’t say something. Plus it’s just … mega creepy.” She digs the toe of her Doc Martens into the thick, bright-green grass. “I mean, do you think this is a warning or something? Like what happened to Lacey is going to happen again?”

“Seems like the impression they’re going for.” I keep my voice casual while my brain spins, trying to make sense of what’s in front of us. Mia pulls out her phone and starts taking pictures, circling the mausoleum so she can capture every angle. She’s nearly done when a loud, rustling noise makes us both jump. My heart thuds against my chest until a familiar figure bursts through a pair of bushes near the back of the cemetery. It’s Vance Puckett. He lives behind the cemetery and probably cuts through here every day on his way to … wherever he goes. I’d say the liquor store, but it’s not open on Sunday.

Vance starts weaving down the path toward the main entrance. He’s only a few feet away when he finally notices us, flicking a bored glance our way that turns into a startled double take when he sees the mausoleum. He stops so short that he almost falls over. “What the hell?”

Vance Puckett is the only person in Echo Ridge who’s had a worse post–high school descent than my brother. He used to run a contracting business until he got sued over faulty wiring in a house that burned down in Solsbury. It’s been one long slide into the bottom of a whiskey bottle ever since. There were a rash of petty break-ins in the Nilssons’ neighborhood right around the same time that Vance installed a satellite dish on Peter’s roof, so everyone assumes he’s found a new strategy for paying his bills. He’s never been caught at anything, though.

“We just found this,” I say. I don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself to Vance Puckett, but here we are.

He shuffles closer, his hands jammed into the pockets of his olive-green hunting jacket, and circles the mausoleum, letting out a low whistle when he finishes his examination. He smells faintly of booze like always. “Pretty girls make graves,” he says finally. “You know that song?”

“Huh?” I ask, but Mia replies, “The Smiths.” You can’t stump her on anything music-related.

Vance nods. “Fits this town, doesn’t it? Echo Ridge keeps losing its homecoming queens. Or their sisters.” His eyes roam across the three dolls. “Somebody got creative.”

“It’s not creative,” Mia says coldly. “It’s horrible.”

“Never said it wasn’t.” Vance sniffs loudly and makes a shooing motion with one hand. “Why are you still here? Run along and tell the powers that be.”

I don’t like getting ordered around by Vance Puckett, but I don’t want to stick around, either. “We were just about to.”

I start toward Katrin’s car with Mia at my side, but Vance’s sharp “Hey!” makes us turn. He points toward me with an unsteady finger. “You might want to tell that sister of yours to lie low for a change. Doesn’t seem like a great year to be homecoming queen, does it?”





CHAPTER SIX





Ellery

Monday, September 9

“It’s like Children of the Corn around here,” Ezra mutters, scanning the hallway.

He’s not wrong. We’ve been here only fifteen minutes, but there are already more blond-haired, blue-eyed people than I’ve ever seen gathered in one place. Even the building Echo Ridge High is housed in has a certain Puritan charm—it’s old, with wide pine floors, high arched windows, and dramatic sloped ceilings. We’re heading from the guidance counselor’s office to our new homeroom, and we might as well be leading a parade for all the stares we’re getting. At least I’m in my airplane wardrobe, washed last night in preparation for the first day of school, instead of a Dalton’s special.

We pass a bulletin board covered with colorful flyers, and Ezra pauses. “It’s not too late to join the 4-H Club,” he tells me.

“What’s that?”

He peers closer. “Agriculture, I think? There seem to be cows involved.”

“No thanks.”

He sighs, running his eyes over the rest of the board. “Something tells me they don’t have a particularly active LGBTQ-Straight Alliance here. I wonder if there’s even another out kid.”