Two Can Keep a Secret(30)
I frown. “Ezra is your friend backup? You’ve known him for two weeks!”
“We’ve bonded. We like all the same music. And you have no idea how nice it is to finally have a queer friend at school.”
I can’t fault her for that, I guess. Mia’s taken shit for years from guys like Kyle and Theo who think bisexual equals threesome. “You should just go with Ezra, then,” I say. “Forget the Café Luna girl. She’s pretentious.”
Mia tilts her head, considering. “Maybe. And you should go with Ellery.” She shoots me a shrewd look. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Of course I like her,” I say, aiming for a casual tone. I fail.
“Oh my God,” Mia snorts. “We’re not in fourth grade, Mal. Don’t make me ask if you like like her.” She props her boots against my glove compartment. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. I think she likes you, too.” A lock of hair falls into her eye, and she peers into the rearview mirror to readjust the clip holding it back. Then she goes rigid, twisting in her seat to look out the back window. “What the hell?”
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that something distracted her. “What?”
Mia’s still staring out the window, scowling. “Where’s she going? I thought she was in for the night.” I turn to see Daisy’s gray Nissan backing out of the Kwons’ driveway, heading in the opposite direction from us. “Follow her,” Mia says abruptly. She pokes me in the arm when I don’t move right away. “Come on, Mal, please? I want to see what she’s up to. She’s such a freaking vault lately.”
“She’s probably going to buy Tylenol,” I say, but execute a three-point turn to get behind Daisy’s rapidly disappearing taillights. I’m curious, too.
We follow her through the center of town and past Echo Ridge Cemetery. Mia sits up straighter in her seat when the Nissan slows, but Daisy doesn’t stop. I wonder if she thought about visiting Lacey’s grave, and then couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Daisy leaves Echo Ridge and winds her way through two neighboring towns. I start copying her turns like I’m on autopilot without paying much attention to where we are. It’s almost four-thirty, nearly past the point when we’ll be able to get to Bartley’s in time to meet the twins, when she finally pulls into the driveway of a white Victorian building. I brake and ease onto the shoulder of the road, shifting into park as we wait for Daisy to get out of the car. She’s wearing shades even though the sun is low on the horizon, and walks quickly toward the building’s side door. When she disappears inside, I ease the car forward so Mia and I can read the sign out front.
northstar counseling
deborah creighton, PsyD
“Huh,” I say, feeling oddly deflated. I’d thought whatever Daisy was up to would be more surprising. “Well, I guess that’s that.”
Mia scrunches up her forehead. “Daisy’s seeing a psychologist? Why wouldn’t she just say so? What’s with all the sneaking around?”
I drive past Deborah Creighton’s office, looking for a good spot to turn the car around. When I reach the empty driveway of a darkened house, I pull halfway in and then reverse out so we can go back the way we came. “Maybe she wants privacy.”
“All she has is privacy,” Mia complains. “It’s so weird, Mal. She always had a million friends and now she doesn’t have any. Or at least, she never sees them.”
“Do you think she’s depressed? Because she lost her job?”
“She quit her job,” Mia corrects. “And she doesn’t seem depressed. Just … withdrawn. But I don’t know, really. I hardly know who she is anymore.” She slumps down into her seat and turns up the radio, too loud for us to talk anymore.
We drive in silence until we pass the “Welcome to Echo Ridge” sign and make our way to Manchester Street, stopping at the light in front of the common. Mia snaps off the radio and looks to our left. “They’re repainting Armstrong’s.”
“Guess they had to.” There must be only one coat of paint on Armstrong Auto Repair’s wall so far, because you can still see the faint outline of CORCORANS MAKE KILLER QUEENS beneath it. A ladder leans against the wall, and we watch as a man slowly makes his way to the bottom. “Is that Vance Puckett?” I ask. “Somebody actually let that guy use a ladder? And trusted him to paint in straight lines?” Echo Ridge’s town drunk and alleged petty criminal isn’t usually the go-to guy for odd jobs. Armstrong Auto Repair must have been desperate to get the job done fast.
“That’s a worker’s comp claim waiting to happen,” Mia says. She cranes her neck and squints. “Hold up. Is that your future homecoming date heading his way?”
For a second I think she means Ellery, until Brooke Bennett gets out of a car parked across the street. The light turns green, but there’s no one behind me, so I stay put. Brooke slams the car door shut behind her and walks quickly toward Vance. Almost as though she’d been waiting for him to finish. She tugs on his sleeve as he steps off the ladder, and he puts a can of paint on the ground before facing her.
“What the hell?” Mia pulls out her phone to zoom the camera in on them. “What could those two possibly be talking about?”