Secret of the Sevens

Woodbury, Minnesota

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Secret of the Sevens
© 2015 by Lynn Lindquist.

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First e-book edition © 2015

E-book ISBN: 9780738745060

Book design by Bob Gaul
Cover design by Lisa Novak
Cover images: iStockphoto.com/11874622/©MarcusLindstrom
iStockphoto.com/55411964/©ThomasShanahan

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To the Author of all things, from your storyteller.

One

I can be such an ass
. I know this, and yet I can't seem to stop myself.

The closer we get to the graveyard, the tighter Emily squeezes my arm. “So this is it.” I lower my voice. “The site of the infamous Singer School murders.”

The air, chilly from a rain shower earlier tonight, smells like moss and damp dirt. With a full moon casting shadows across the crumbling tombstones, this location looks straight out of a horror movie.
Perfect.

“If there ever was such a thing as a haunted place”—I say it softly so she leans closer—“this would be a sure bet.”

Okay, so maybe it's not the nicest place to bring a newbie, but visiting the Singer graveyard is practically a rite of passage at our school. Hell, most of my script comes from Marcus' annual hazing of the freshman football team. And Jake used the same tour when he dragged half the JV baseball roster through here last Halloween. I can't help it if I prefer the company of women.

I tow Emily through the gate.

“This cemetery's most famous residents are William and Mary Singer.” I keep my voice fluid and monotone. Marcus says it gives the words a more ominous feel. “I'm sure you learned all about them when you enrolled. They founded our school. ”

Emily stares up at me with Muppet eyes, but doesn't answer. My arm snakes around her waist. Her heart races through her thin T-shirt, and I almost feel sorry for her.
Almost.
When she's pressed against me, it's hard to feel anything but those curves.

“William Singer owned Singer Enterprises. He was a wealthy oil tycoon who grew up in foster care. When he and his wife couldn't have children, they decided to start a philanthropic boarding school for kids from troubled homes.” I'm rolling through my speech, smoother than a tour guide on a Disneyland ride.

We're twenty feet into the tombstones when I point out a small building in the distance. “The story goes that Mary died exactly where her mausoleum stands today, when her skull was crushed after she was thrown from her horse.”

My face dips toward Emily's like I'm sharing a secret. “William was heartbroken. He spent the next five years mourning her and expanding the school that was so important to her. They say he lost his mind when he lost his heart.” I love that line. Came up with it myself.

When Emily cranes her neck to look at the mausoleum, I brush my lips against her ear. “At exactly 8:00 p.m. every night,” I whisper, “Mr. Singer would leave his estate home and walk down Rucker Road, on that same gravel path that stretches between the chapel and Mary's tomb. For five years, he visited her vault every evening to say good night to his sweetheart.”

Emily slowly twists her head back toward me. I can see a wad of chewing gum in the side of her open mouth. She grips the front of my T-shirt with trembling hands.

And the award for outstanding actor in a dramatic role goes to … me.

“Until that fateful night when William entered Mary's tomb to kiss the nameplate outside her crypt, never realizing it would be his last night … on this side of the wall.” Now all that's missing is organ music and a far-off howling.

Emily swallows hard. “Talan?” She grabs my bicep like it's a life preserver. “I think I want to go back now.”

Oh come on, I haven't even started my grand finale …

“
Of course.” I run my fingertips down her arms and feel goose bumps. “I just have one more spot to show you, and then we'll leave.”

My hand presses on her lower back to veer her toward the remains of the burned-out chapel, but the girl isn't budging. Sometimes I'm too talented for my own good. I push her a little, but her feet are set firmer than the headstones in the ground. I give up. I'm manipulative, but I'm no bully. I can improvise.

I nod to the ruins. “See there?” She blinks sidelong at the chapel remnants. “William Singer was murdered in that chapel. It's been almost two decades and it's still a mystery. Legend says that Mr. Singer handpicked seven students to form a mysterious society. They wore hooded cloaks and no one knew their identities or purpose. He trusted them with all kinds of secrets and treasures, but they ended up murdering him for his money. On a warm March night, they ambushed him and bashed his head with a heavy stone. Maybe the very headstone you're standing on.”

Emily jumps off the grave marker for
Eliza Becker 1850–1860.

Sensitive guy that I am, I gather her into a hug. “The students got trapped in a fire they lit to hide the evidence. They ended up dying right along with William Singer … right where those ruins stand today.”

With a blank expression, Emily turns and stares at the skeleton of the chapel. I can't see her face, but I'm betting it's as white as the moon about now. I coil my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder. Despite my attempts at cuddling, she's rigor-mortis stiff.

I whisper in her ear, “The weird thing is—”

I stop and wait for her to turn around. Slowly, she twists inside my embrace and stares up, hungry for me to finish. Her bottom lip quivers in anticipation.

Here we go. Grand Finale:

“—there were only five bodies discovered with Mr. Singer's. Which means two members of the secret society were never found.” I'm about to bring it all home when Emily takes off running.

Damn.
Didn't see that coming. Usually they beg to get out of there and hang on me the whole trek back
.

I bolt after her. It's almost curfew and the cemetery is off-limits to students. Not to mention that the headmaster's house is just down the road from here. If Emily gets lost or caught, it's an infraction for both of us. I already have a curfew violation, and I just got off probation for my grades.

The two of us reach campus at the same time. “Whoa, Emily. Slow down. It's just a story, relax.”

She steps toward me, huffing and coughing. “Sorry,” she says, all breathy, “but you scared the crap out of me.” Emily giggles in a pitch that would bother dogs, and my shoulders creep towards my ears. “I started thinking maybe you were one of the missing students,” she says.

My face crumples. She obviously wasn't listening very carefully to my lines. “It happened almost twenty years ago. That would make me, like, thirty-eight years old.”

“Oh yeah.” She giggles again. When she snorts as an encore, her curves lose some of their appeal.

The clock tower bongs eleven times, warning me it's now past curfew.
Damn
. Is a quick hookup worth a month's detention? Probably.

But another detention means I'd be benched for the first football game of the season. No way I want to be riding the pine for the Oakland game. I love playing linebacker. But I also love women. Talk about a moral dilemma.

Emily takes a step closer and bats her eyes at me, running a purple fingernail up my arm. I'm about to surrender when her finger lands on the scar on my bicep. She traces the bumpy T with her finger. “Is the T for Talan?” she asks. “The gangs in my old neighborhood did that too.”

I backpedal a few steps. “Well, it's already a couple minutes past curfew.”

Her head tilts and her eyebrows scrunch together like I'm throwing away a winning lottery ticket. I take another step backward and nod my head in the direction of my student home. “I should probably get back before I'm busted.”

When she snaps her gum, it hits me like a starting gun. I spin around and take off running. Ignoring her calls, I race past the library and over the soccer fields. Weaving through the park, dodging playground equipment and hurdling bushes, I'm making record time when I finally reach my yard.

Light forces itself through the back door, but no one's inside the kitchen. I jiggle the knob quietly. It's already locked.
Dang
. Mom Shanahan must already be starting room checks. If only I left my window open.

I race around the side yard to Marcus' room and see Mom Shanahan in the doorway talking to him. There's no way I'm going to sneak into any of the rooms on this side of the house. She'll catch me for sure. I creep around the south wall instead, ducking under the window where Mr. Shanahan sits filling out paperwork in his office. No way I'll get in here, either. I'm left with only one option.

There's a single bedroom on the opposite side of the house. If I can climb in that window, it'd be fairly easy to slip out of the room and into the basement. I could pretend I was in the bathroom down there the whole time. It's perfect. It's also the last place Mom Shanahan would suspect me of sneaking in. I race around the backyard and peek through the glass.

Delaney is already sleeping.
Of course.

Her bed is right beneath the window. She's stretched out under a white sheet with her back to me, all smooth and curved like a snowdrift.

I tap on the glass. “Delaney. Open up the window. It's Talan.”

Laney rolls over, half asleep. She glances at the window and jumps up, clutching the sheet to her chest. When she recognizes me, angry lines gather between her big brown eyes. Lifting one arm, she yanks the drapes closed on my face.

“Very funny.” My voice rises above a whisper. “C'mon. Please, Laney. Let me in before I get caught.”

I peek through a break in her curtains. She lies back down, pulling the covers over her head.

“I'm not leaving until you let me in. Please … you're my last chance.”

Delaney sits up slowly, unclenches her fists, and swings the drapes open again. Her slitted eyes tell me my last chance isn't looking too good.

“Please?” I plead with folded hands. “If you help me out, I'll owe you. I'll do whatever you want. You won't be sorry.”

I give her my best pouty look and she rolls her eyes. Still, she reaches over, unlocks the window, and scoots back to make room for me. I climb over the sill and slither onto her bed.

“Hurry and shut the window,” she whispers. “It's freezing in here now, thanks to you.”

I can't help myself. I glide my hand over her sheets. “I know how we can warm it up.”

“Please tell me it's by setting you on fire.” Laney pushes my legs off the side of her bed. “Move. Now. You're getting mud all over my clean comforter.”

Her voice is irritated. If she tells on me now, I'll lose my starting position for sure. Time to work the charm. I bump my shoulder into hers and flash my trademark dimples. “Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? You should enjoy me while you can. When you get chosen for the Pillars tomorrow, you'll hardly get to see me anymore.”

“
If
I get chosen.” She climbs around me to the end of her bed. “Don't jinx me.”

I slide over and sidle up to her again. “You'll get picked. And then you'll move to Winchester House with the other pampered pledges and forget all about your beloved house-brothers.”

She chews on her thumbnail, the way she always does when she's nervous. “There's no guarantee I'll be chosen.”

“Gimme a break,” I say. “All that volunteering and studying and leadership crap? You're a sure thing. They'll probably retire your halo in the Singer School Trophy Case.”

Her lips compress to a faded hyphen. “Get outta my room, you jackash.”

“Jackash,” I snicker. “I love that. I'm going to miss that dorkiness. The way you won't curse. The way you blush whenever Marcus talks about sex. No drinking, no weed, God forbid you miss curfew. You couldn't break a rule if your life depended on it, could you?” I shake my head. “Just once, before you leave, I want to hear you swear. C'mon, do it for me—tell me to fuck off.”

“I say it to you all the time in my head, trust me.”

“Say it out loud.”

“You're ridiculous. I'm not going to swear for you.”

“You can't do it, can you?”

She shoves me in the arm. “I definitely won't miss you picking on me, you pain in the asp.”

I bust out laughing and have to muffle myself.

Laney goes to whack me, but I cuff her wrist. Her other hand rises to attack and I grab that one too. “Settle, Laney. This is probably my last chance to tease you.” I hold her arms apart. “Don't deprive a poor orphan of one of the few pleasures in his life.”

Laney's eyes soften. That always gets her. Laney is the proverbial tenderhearted-do-gooder. She must get it from her mom and dad. The Shanahans have worked as houseparents at Singer School for almost twenty-five years, fostering teenage boys no one else wants for a salary no one else would put up with.

“You won't tell your parents, will you, Lane? Cut me a break one last time before you go. I can't miss the season opener. It's my last chance to kick some Oakland ass.” I let her wrists go and they drop to her sides.

“You should have thought of that before you went night-crawling.”

“So will you help me?”

Her shoulders rise and fall in a heaping sigh. “Oh, whatever.” She's frowning. I'm not sure if it's at me or herself. “So, who was the lucky flavor of the day this time?” She stands up. “Vanessa? Taylor? Ashley?”

Laney moves in front of me with her hands on her hips, leaving me face-to-face with her chest. Delaney Shanahan is a brainiac, goody-goody pain-in-the-ass, but she has a hell of a body housing all that nerdiness. It takes me a second to remember the answer to her question. “Emily Dombrose,” I spit out.

“The new girl?” She crosses her arms, blocking my view. “So you ran out of desperate women and you're preying on the newbies now?”

“You know, Laney, you sound like you might be jealous.”

Her mouth opens but it takes a second for the words to come out. “I have a boyfriend. Remember?”

“Oh yeah, Colon Le Douche.”

She leans forward, jutting her jaw centimeters from mine. “Kollin LeBeau. And he's awesome.” I fight the urge to look down her shirt. “You're the one who sounds jealous, if you ask me.”