Black Opal (13 page)

I opened the box and gasped at the pile of junk inside it. Letters folded into origami shapes stuffed the top trays. The handwriting on the letters matched the writing on the back of the photo I’d found. Each letter was addressed to “Pookie” and signed “Punky.” Disgustingly cute.
These must be companions to the letters Trey left on his desk.

I set the letters aside and sifted through the rest of the box’s contents, finding a stale bag of marijuana, a broken charm—the kind that fit on a charm bracelet, and a wad of scarves at the box’s bottom. On top of them sat a slim volume full of loopy girlish handwriting. It had to be Shayne’s journal, diary, or whatever kids called them twenty years ago. The makeup box was a treasure trove of information, but I wondered which piece was important.

Not the letters. If Shayne’s appearance with Trey’s ghost meant anything, it was that he didn’t kill her. Someone, however, had buried Trey’s coin with Shayne. Who would do that and why?

The charm meant nothing to me. The marijuana couldn’t help me. The journal had to be my clue.

I sat down in a corner of the filthy room and started reading.

13

I cracked open the journal, hoping for a page that read “so-and-so killed me.” Of course, it’s never that easy. And it’s always painful and odd finding out other people’s secrets. There was usually a reason the secrets were secret.

The first page of the diary got right into the thick of things.

My name is Shayne Fayette Turgeau, and I bought this book to talk about the person I hate most in the whole world, Lisette Marie David. She is just awful.

Wow. So much for Shayne’s friendship with Dean’s ex-wife. If Shayne hated Lisette, why had she continued any kind of relationship with her? Family pressure? Social pressure? Only one way to find out.

I skimmed through a junior high entry about Lisette getting angry and passing a rumor that Shayne had head lice. It didn’t surprise me. Despite Dean’s talk about Lisette having a hard home life, no excuse existed for her kind of nasty.

I flipped through the book, just reading a few sentences here and there. The entries followed Shayne the remainder of junior high and into high school. Though more and more time passed between entries, the accounts became more and more disturbing.

Today was the worst. Lisette came home from Cancún bragging about losing her virginity to some stranger. She cheated on my brother and expects me to think it is great. I threatened to tell Dean what she did. She begged me not to tell, to let her come over here tonight and talk to me about it. Try to talk me out of it is more like it. This time, she’s gone too far. Dean loves her, and this will hurt him. But what if he marries her? He told me they’re applying to the same college in Florida. I can’t stand the thought of her just treating him like shit. I want to tell him, but will he hate me for being the one who hurt him?

Shayne and Lisette’s talk must have been more of an argument. The next entry, dated a few days later, documented the price of standing up to Lisette.

That bitch. She passed a rumor that I stayed home over spring break because I had an abortion. Everybody now knows Trey and I slept together. Now that we’ve broken up, I feel so stupid for having done it. Things are miserable here at school. Someone wrote baby killer on my locker. For all I know, it could have been Lisette herself. And I didn’t even tell Dean about her cheating. I can’t hurt him like that, not when he’s so in love with her. But the other thing is I’m scared of her. I’ve seen what she can do when people cross her.

Another entry revealed the extent of Lisette’s willingness to make Shayne miserable.

Someone—one guess who—put garbage in my locker. My books are ruined, and I had to go around all day with sour milk splashed on my new jeans. Mom is going to be furious. Do I tell her about what’s going on with Lisette? Mom loves her like family. Lisette’s family, even though her mother is a lush, is part of our social circle. I wish I could ask Dean for help, but then I’d have to tell him why she’s angry at me, and it would break his heart. But maybe telling him she cheated on him would be best. She’s doing all this to try to scare me out of telling him. If I told him because of it, it sure would be ironic.

The final entry chilled me the most.

Today was the last straw. Lisette said she wanted to make up and brought me iced sugar cookies from Slice of Heaven Bakery. I believed her because I want our feud to be over and ate them all. After lunch, I got so sick I threw up. Mrs. Simmons saw me get sick in the girl’s room and took me to the nurse’s office. When I started talking about patterns and flashing lights, the nurse called Mom. She freaked and took me to the hospital. They said I’d been doing drugs, probably LSD or mushrooms. Mom’s mad as hell, doesn’t believe I didn’t take the drugs on purpose, and I’m grounded. Lisette must have dosed those sugar cookies. I’ll keep her secret about cheating on Dean, but I won’t be her friend any more. Never ever.

The entry was dated April 19, 1991. The newspaper article in the library said Shayne disappeared several days after that, on April twenty-fifth. The hair on the back of my neck rose. I set the journal aside gently, even though I wanted to throw something. What an awful existence for a teenage girl.

After witnessing Lisette’s fuckery over the past day and a half, I was willing to believe her capable of anything.
But murder?
The horror of the idea notwithstanding, I doubted Lisette had the physical strength to kill someone of equal health and fighting skill.

Or did she?
Shayne could have slipped and taken a fatal fall, or any number of things that would have left her dead and Lisette panicking. If Lisette was willing to slip her an LSD mickey, she might have drugged her and…I didn’t want to imagine the rest. Shayne lured me into this room for a reason. She wanted me to find this journal of terror. It had to mean something.

I tried to imagine how Dean would react to me accusing Lisette of murdering his sister.
I need proof.
Dean liked to have all his facts and figures straight. The first time he took me on a real date, he had everything planned down to the moment he took my clothes off. I shook away the memory.
Not now. Too distracting.

After more than twenty years, where would I find proof Lisette had anything to do with Shayne’s disappearance? I set the book aside and fingered the scarf lying across the box’s bottom. The fabric had a metallic gold thread woven through it. Very pretty. I wondered why Shayne left it up here. I pulled it from the box and drew in my breath at the layer of micro cassette tapes lining the box’s bottom. I picked up one of them, the label on the jewel case reading “
Traiteur
interview. 2-25-91.” The interview tapes from Shayne and Colton’s project. I opened the tape case even though I had no way of listening to them and found a slip of paper folded into a tiny square tucked inside.

It was a receipt for the sale of a used computer to some random person. The receipt was initialed, but the handwriting was so horrible, I couldn’t tell what it said.
Why would Shayne have that?
I packed both the receipt and the tape back into the case and put the cassettes back into the box. The Turgeaus would probably love to have them as a remembrance. But, for now, I’d leave them be.

My wild goose chase ended, I needed to figure out a way to connect what I’d learned about Lisette to Shayne’s murder.
If I just had a piece of proof, something to shake her up.

As I struggled to stand, the journal slipped from my fingers onto the floor. I picked it up and noticed something written in the back cover. I held the book open and squinted at the scratchy handwriting, obviously Shayne’s but written while she was upset or in a hurry. A list of names stretched down the back cover. I recognized the names from the tapes I’d found in the bottom of the makeup box.
Traiteur
was circled. To help her remember where the receipt was? Try as I might, I couldn’t see the purpose of the list.

I bumbled out of the of the attic room, ready to be away from this dark, lonely hideout. I locked the attic door behind me and slipped the key into my pocket. Then I set about finding my way to Shayne’s old bedroom. When the teenager’s ghost appeared and motioned to me, I followed more gratefully than I cared to admit.

###

I followed Shayne, who knew the big house much better than I, down several unused hallways. She stopped in front of a bookcase and pointed to a lever beside it. I turned the lever, and the bookcase clicked open, revealing an unlit passageway.

The dim light from the hallway barely put a dent in the darkness. A damp, mildewy smell wafted out at me.
How many secrets does this place hold?
I would have never noticed the lever next to the bookcase had Shayne not pointed it out. Devoid of enthusiasm, I followed her down the corridor. I didn’t trust her, but I also didn’t want to be left alone in there.

Cobwebs tickled my face, and a couple of times I heard something scurrying on the floor. By the time we reached the end on the hallway, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I wanted a shower. Light flooded into the passageway from a keyhole. It was enough for me to see the knob and pull the door open. I found myself in a coat room with another closed door facing the one through which I entered.
What the hell?
I’d wanted to go back to Shayne’s bedroom to plan my next move.

Voices drifted in from the next room. I walked to the other door, knelt, and peered through the keyhole. Julienne, Dean, and Lisette sat in the parlor. All of them held drinks. Lisette’s nose had swelled quite nicely and purple half-moons hung under her eyes. I smiled, but one look at Dean’s surly expression killed my mirth.

“You said you wouldn’t press charges on Peri.” Outrage stripped away the good old boy accent he usually employed.

I sucked in a shocked breath.
Press charges? Oh, that bitch.
I bit back a string of ugly words begging to burst from my mouth.

“My husband was insistent.” Lisette managed to turn down her lips and manufacture a sigh. All for Julienne’s benefit, no doubt.

A cold hand closed around my arm, pulling me from the drama in the parlor. Shayne gestured at a big, red purse hanging on the wall. Had to be Lisette’s. Too ugly for Julienne. Too big for Madeleine.

I pitched my voice low. “I am not touching her belongings.”

Shayne’s anger filled the room. The purse quivered against the wall for a few seconds and began to swing. When it gained enough momentum, it bounced off the rod and hit the floor, right side up. Shayne’s apparition appeared next to the purse and kicked it. The purse flew over on its side, spewing its contents on the floor.

No, no.
Lisette already wanted to press charges on me for popping her a good one. This would only make things worse. I fell to my knees and stuffed the junk back into the ugly red bag, trembling in my hurry to not get caught. Shayne slapped each thing I picked up out of my hands, but then gestured for me to pick up something else. I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. Shayne grabbed my ear and nearly yanked out my earring. I cried out before I could stop myself.

“What was that?” Julienne’s voice drifted in from the parlor.

I crouched low on the floor, like doing so would make me invisible if someone opened the door.

“Some of that junk you’ve got sitting in the cloak room.” Lisette laughed. Neither Julienne nor Dean joined her.

I rose to my knees, listening for the creak of someone getting out of a chair. Once Dean went back to trying to cajole Lisette out of pressing charges, I stood. And elbowed a coat rack. The stupid thing bounced against the wall and then hit every single fucking thing in the room before it rattled to the floor. Footsteps walked across the parlor. I felt the fingers of cold dread worm its way through me. I was so busted.

Shayne motioned to an old, tooled leather zippered purse, one that might store coins. I shook my head and whispered, “Too late.”

Shayne’s cold fingers danced over my ear again, fumbling for my earring. I ducked out of her reach and grabbed the pouch off the floor. When I did, a shiny piece of metal tumbled out and hit the floor where it bounced.

The door swung open and Lisette peeked into the room, her big mouth open to say something witty. Seeing me, her eyes widened and darkened with rage. “Where did you come from?”

The item from the coin purse finally tumbled to a rest, the metal pattering against the floor like a drumroll. I grunted in surprise when I recognized Shayne’s ugly emerald and ruby ring, the one I’d seen in the painting, the one I felt someone take off her/my finger in that awful, vivid nightmare.
How ugly.
Heaven help me, it looked like a damn watermelon. I looked for Shayne and found her standing near the door from which we entered the room, a smile on her face.

“Who is it?” Dean walked across the floor and peered around her.

About that time, Lisette saw the ring and sprang into action, trying to get to it before I could. I scooped it up and stuffed it in my jeans pocket. Shoving Lisette out of way, and spoke to Dean. “I need to talk to your mother.”

“Give me that.” Lisette grabbed at my arm.

“I’ll kick your ass all the way to New York City if you touch me again.” I held my hand over my pocket, afraid she might try to reach in there and get the ring. I elbowed my way out of the closet, ran across the room to Julienne, and handed her the ring. Lisette thundered along behind me but stopped cold when she saw who had the ring now. Her face turned a particularly satisfying shade of gray.

“I might have some explaining to do, but I think you have more.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why don’t you explain how you ended up with a dead girl’s ring?”

14

Lisette tried to smile at Julienne, but she looked like she was about to hurl. Julienne examined the ring and set it on the table next to the love seat.

Still poised, she asked, “Why do you have my daughter’s ring?”

“I bought it a pawn shop the summer after Shayne disappeared.”

Julienne gasped. Dean’s mouth opened and closed, his eyes wide. He said, “You
what?
”