Dark Water: A Siren Novel (23 page)

Or maybe not. Because this girl, who looked to be a few years older than me, was in no rush. She rinsed and dried her hands, took lotion from her purse, and moisturized her palms for what seemed like minutes. Then, apparently too moisturized, she washed her hands again and repeated the same process with a smaller amount of lotion. Each time, she took not one but two turns at the dryer, which was understandable since the ancient appliance had always blown more cold air than hot.

Once her hands were appropriately moistened, she redid her makeup. She took one item—lip gloss, mascara, blush—at a time from her purse, and lined them all up on the small metal shelf beneath the mirror. She spent several seconds on each facial feature, which wasn’t quite as understandable since her makeup already looked perfectly—and recently—done. After all that, she moved on to her long brown hair, brushing and arranging and spraying like she was preparing for a professional photo shoot.

Unwilling to leave the restroom without doing what I’d come here to do, I did my best to stall. My purse, however, wasn’t as well stocked, and it took some quick creative thinking to come up with reasons to linger. I was buttoning and unbuttoning the long cashmere sweater I’d borrowed from Charlotte and examining my appearance in the mirror when the girl turned to me.

“You look familiar,” she said. “Have we met?”

“I don’t think so. But have you been to Betty’s Chowder House lately? I’m the hostess there.”

Her green eyes narrowed and her pink lips puckered. “I don’t do seafood.”

“Are you from Winter Harbor?” I asked. “My family’s been coming here forever, so maybe we’ve seen each other around town.”

“Maybe.” She sounded doubtful.

My face warmed as she studied me. A long moment later, she shrugged and turned back to her mobile makeup counter. I swallowed a sigh of relief as she brushed all of the cosmetics back into her purse at once. A few minutes more and I might’ve passed out before I could rehydrate.

“
I
know!” She spun back, her smile wide and eyes bright. “You’re that girl.”

I paused. “What girl?”

“The one from last summer. Whose sister fell off a cliff and died.”

As she beamed, clearly proud of her supreme powers of recall, I grabbed the sink to steady myself.

“I’m amazed you came back.” She took her jacket from the side of the sink and started toward the door. “I mean, most family members dread returning to the scene of the crime … or at least that’s how it goes in the movies, right?”

A sudden loud noise echoed through the room. She stopped, facing the door, and I bent down to pick up her cell phone, which must’ve fallen from her jacket pocket. The phone was open, and as I handed it to her, I caught a glimpse of shiny red floor tile moving across the small screen.

“Thanks.” She grabbed the phone and disappeared into the lobby.

Too afraid to waste time and energy by crossing the room to lock the door, I leaned against the sink, turned the water on full blast, and plugged the drain. I took the snack bag of salt from my purse and emptied its contents into the small, swirling pool.

“You’d think we’d all share the same basic set.”

I gasped, turned off the water, and spun around. I’d been so taken aback by the brunette’s comment and distracted by my weakening body, I’d forgotten about the restroom’s other occupant. She stood, a pretty, heavier-set blonde, in the open doorway of the third stall, dabbing at her eyes.

“But some people are just born without, I guess.” She sniffed, stepped out of the doorway.

I inhaled, exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled. “Without what?” I asked, when I could finally speak.

“The most rudimentary set of social skills. The kind that keeps you from blurting out terrible things to a complete stranger in a public bathroom—or at least makes you aware that’s what you’re doing and prompts you to apologize, if you absolutely can’t stop yourself.” She took a deep breath and blew her nose. “Also the kind that keeps you from standing up the poor, pathetic woman who finally worked up the nerve to invite you to a movie after seeing you at the same coffee shop every morning for a month.”

For a brief moment, I forgot my own problems. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” She balled up the tissue, tossed it toward the trash
can. It missed and landed on the floor. “Normally, I would’ve burst out and given that brat a piece of my mind, but I knew I’d just start blubbering all over again. And that wouldn’t have done anything for anyone—except for maybe the rude girl who probably would’ve gotten a good laugh.”

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “Want me to stand guard outside and not let anyone in until you’re ready to come out?”

She smiled. “Thank you, but that could take a while and I’ve already been hiding out for twenty minutes.” She shuffled across the room, picked up her discarded tissue, and dropped it in the trash. “But there is something else you can do.”

“Name it.” I started to take my phone from my jeans to text Simon and let him know I was fine but needed another few minutes.

“Be careful.”

My fingers froze in my pocket.

“It doesn’t matter what they tell you or what you want to believe … guys cannot be trusted.”

She gave me another sad smile, yanked a handful of paper towels from the wall dispenser, and left the room.

I turned back to the sink, which was nearly empty despite being full moments before. The remaining salt water gurgled past the old rubber stopper and slid down the drain.

“Great,” I muttered. I’d been in a hurry to meet Simon earlier and had brought only one bag of salt.

I turned on the faucet, cupped my hands beneath the water,
and drank. Regular water didn’t do for my energy what salt water did, but it was still something. And I needed whatever I could get if my legs were going to carry me all the way to the concession stand.

“Vanessa.” Simon strode across the lobby when I entered it, cell phone in hand. “Are you okay?”

Not trusting my body to remain upright, I stopped and let him come to me. “Of course,” I said.

“You’ve been gone ten minutes.”

This was surprising to me, too. It hadn’t felt like that long. “I’m sorry.” I gave him a quick, reassuring hug when he reached me. “There was a situation.”

He held me at arm’s length. “What do you mean? What kind of situation?”

“The red-eyed-girl kind.” I nodded toward the cinema exit, where the blonde was heading for the double doors, her arms filled with the bags of candy she’d apparently bought while I was still in the restroom. “Poor thing was stood up.”

Simon’s arms relaxed. “That’s terrible.”

“It is. That’s why I offered her a listening ear. If I hadn’t, she probably would’ve set up permanent residency in stall three.”

He leaned closer, kissed my forehead. “You’re sweet.”

“And I still owe you a soda, which I was just about to get. Meet you inside?”

“That’s okay, I don’t need it.”

I held firm when he tugged gently on my good hand. “I insist.”

“All right,” he said, giving me an uncertain grin. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“But I don’t want you to miss any more of the movie.”

Normally, this wouldn’t be enough of a reason for him to leave me unattended when he was already worried. But just as I was trying to be braver, he was trying to be less overprotective. So he gave my hand another squeeze before releasing it.

“See you inside,” he said.

I waited until the theater door closed behind him before moving as fast as my body would allow toward the snack counter. Because both movies were well underway, there was no line and only one employee manning the concessions.

I ordered a large popcorn, a large soda, and a bottled water. My presence seemed to throw off the employee, a tall, gangly boy who looked no older than seventeen. According to his name tag, his name was Tim. He dropped my money, gave me too much change, and bumped into the candy case before finally making it to the beverage counter. Returning to me took even longer as he dumped half the soda en route and had to go back for a refill. When he left the drinks in front of me and turned toward the popcorn machine, I opened the water, emptied a saltshaker inside, shook the bottle, and drank.

By some miracle, the popcorn was easier for Tim to handle, and he came back with the bucket while I was still guzzling.

“Extra butter,” I said, coming up for air. “Please?”

“Sure.” His face broke into a smile, like I’d just asked him to ditch this part-time gig and run away to Vegas with me.

I tried to return his smile but couldn’t. As I continued drinking, I realized something was very wrong—the salt water wasn’t working. The white spots popping across my vision faded with each swallow, but the instant the water reached the bottom of my throat, they reappeared. The more I drank, the more they multiplied and the faster they moved. Soon my head joined them, spinning so quickly, I couldn’t make sense of my thoughts.

“Is this enough?” Tim asked. “Or do you want—”

He stopped. I couldn’t see much through my blurred vision, but I saw enough.

Like his brown eyes, wide, unfocused. My good hand, reaching out. My fingers grabbing his yellow polo shirt. My palm pressing against his chest.

An explosion of silver, swallowing my entire field of vision.

“Vanessa?”

At Simon’s voice, my hand fell to the counter. I blinked, and my vision cleared.

“Did you hear that?”

I did. There were two soft, high-pitched notes. The first lasted several seconds, and wavered at the end. The second ended almost as quickly as it began. Both seemed to come from inside my body and nowhere near it at once.

But this unearthly music, it turned out, wasn’t what Simon was referring to.

“That girl,” he said, when I turned around. “The one who was stood up? I knew there was something familiar about her and I just figured out what it was.” He stepped toward me, not
even glancing at Tim, who I assumed was still behind the counter. “She had blonde hair. Her shoes were pink and her bag was green. Just like—”

“The pictures,” I finished, not believing I hadn’t put it together myself. “From the e-mails.”

“Do you think it’s her?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

The scream outside said it all.

C
HAPTER 18
 

T
HE VICTIM’S NAME WAS
E
RICA
A
NDERSON
. She was twenty-eight and had grown up in Winter Harbor, gone to college in upstate New York, and returned to Maine after working around the northeast for a few years as a professional nanny. She’d gotten a job at Waterside Nails & Tails, the local salon, to pay rent, but often talked about going back to school for a master’s in education. She’d adored Poppy, her cocker spaniel, which would now be looked after by her parents and younger brother, who still lived in Winter Harbor.

“That’s all?” Paige asked. “What about her shoe size? Or her love of macaroons and Trivial Pursuit? Or the fact that years before she was a professional nanny, she was the most popular babysitter in town?”

“This isn’t your fault,” I said gently, not for the first time.

She sat back, away from the
Herald
Web site displayed on the computer screen. “I should have recognized her.”

“She babysat Simon and me,” Caleb said, “and we didn’t recognize her, either. The pictures never gave a clear shot. And with the weight gain and dyed hair, she looked totally different.”

“I talked to her minutes before and didn’t put it together. Even if one of us had, would it have mattered? We couldn’t know for sure that this was going to happen.” That’s what I’d been telling myself anyway. I had yet to believe it.

“Paige has a point, though.” Simon scrolled down the page. “There’s a lot of information about Erica … but nothing about what happened to her.”

“Maybe the police want to investigate more before they say too much,” I said.

“Or maybe they’re so exhausted from last summer, they’ve simply given up.” Paige shook her head. “I mean, it was the middle of the day. In the middle of town. How were there no witnesses?”

It was a good question, and we didn’t have an answer. Erica had been discovered lying by a Dumpster in an alley between the theater and a bagel shop. The scream we’d heard inside the theater lobby had come from the older woman who’d spotted Erica’s leg sticking out from behind the metal bin, while walking with her grandson. Simon and I beat the police there by minutes; I’d stayed back, unable to look away from the discarded pink kitten heel, but he’d gone right up to the body. After checking for a pulse and obvious signs of struggle, he’d sprinted down the alley and around the block in search of her attacker.

But the attacker had escaped—somewhere, it seemed, with
a smartphone. I knew because Simon had been standing next to me, still catching his breath, when Caleb had texted to let him know they’d received a new e-mail.

Neither of us was surprised when the attachment was a photo of Erica’s lifeless face.

“It had to be the guy who stood her up.” Simon looked at me. “Don’t you think? He probably even agreed to the date with the intention of doing what he did.”