Part 10 (1/2)

Naomi sighed and ran her hands through her hair. ”You know I can't tell you that. But I promise they didn't have anything to do with Grace's death.”

”Please...” I was ready to start begging, but Naomi just shook her head and stood to leave. She hesitated before getting back into the car, but she didn't say another word.

Looking down at the cards on my lap, I knew without a doubt my missing invitation would have filled in another corner of the crest. But who had the fourth piece?

Chapter 24.

That evening, my parents were working late as usual. I used the twenty dollars they left on the counter to order my favorite Pad Thai. I'm not sure if it was the peanut sauce, the solitude, or maybe the small charm of the crest I'd been staring at all day, but I was feeling sorry for myself.

I dragged my desk chair over to my closet and pulled down another box of Grace memories. As part of my healing process, Dr. P. had prescribed packing away all of the things that most reminded me of Grace. Theoretically, that was supposed to curb my obsession with her death. But in reality I just fixated on the boxes stacked in neat rows at the top of my closet. Thanks for that, Dr. P.

The second I lifted the lid, I smelled her. The scent was a mixture of Johnson's Baby Shampoo (she swore by it) and vanilla, essential Grace. Tank tops, sweaters, T-s.h.i.+rts, dresses, even a pair of jeans were folded in the tub, all of them belonging to Grace. Well, at least they used to.

We'd shared clothes constantly, Grace borrowing the outfits she wished her mom would let her buy, me borrowing the ones Grace cast aside, many still with tags. I pushed my hand to the bottom, gently lifting my favorite piece. It was her orange cashmere sweater. Grace had given it to me to wear to one of our eighth-grade dances.

”It'll look better on you,” she had said. Grace was as impulsive with her gifts as she was with everything else in her life. ”Make your eyes pop.” I had doubted it at the time, but on the night of the dance, with the orange reflecting onto my face and my skin practically glowing, I had never felt prettier.

Pulling the sweater on over my T-s.h.i.+rt, I shut my eyes and imagined away all of the heartbreak and sadness of the past year. And as if on cue I heard the ding of the new-email sound from my laptop.

I knew it would be from her before I even opened my mailbox.

To: [email protected] Sent: Tues 9:03 PM From: Subject: Re: (no subject) The writing is on the wall.

Look into the heart of Brown.

Our time is almost up.

They're coming for you.

My stomach twisted as I read and reread that last line.

They're coming for you.

I still didn't know who ”they” were; I wasn't even sure if it mattered anymore. What mattered was uncovering the truth.

My eyes drifted back to my box of memories. Guess Dr. P. was right. It was time to put the past behind me. I slid the sweater up and over my head, carefully folding the material and placing it back into the box. As much as I cherished all of my memories of Grace, they weren't going to bring her back. But figuring out what really happened that night just might.

Chapter 25.

The heat had finally broken, making it the perfect fall morning, but I was too tired to appreciate the weather. Instead of sleeping, I had spent the entire night rereading Grace's email and checking the lock on my window.

Between bites of toaster pastry, Seth chattered about the new neighbors being secret agents. He couldn't say for sure whether they were working for the CIA or for Russia, but apparently he'd seen both of them sneak out of the house late at night wearing earpieces.

I was 99 percent sure they were trapped in a loveless marriage and using Bluetooth headsets to make late-night booty calls, but instead of bursting Seth's secret-agent bubble, I stuck with ”ahhing” and ”hmming” my way through the conversation.

My mind was elsewhere, and I could not turn it off. One line from Grace's email played over and over again.

Look into the heart of Brown.

Did some rule force ghosts to speak in riddles? Why couldn't Grace just tell me what the h.e.l.l was actually going on?

I'd already Googled my b.u.t.t off trying to find out something, anything about the ”heart of Brown.” Clearly the reference was to the old boys school and most likely involved one of the three Brown buildings that still dotted the perimeter of the upper school's campus.

But I was fairly certain the buildings were used for storage, and I knew for a fact they were locked. Even if I did manage to figure out the right building and get inside, how was I supposed to know what I was looking for?

I was left with only one choice.

”Seth.” Apparently he was enjoying the conversation he thought he was having with me, because he didn't hear me interrupting him. ”Seth.” This time I elbowed him. He rubbed his ribs and finally stopped talking and actually looked at me. ”What do they use the old Brown buildings for?”

He needed a second to process my seemingly off-topic question. I could almost hear the gears in his brain working.

”Storage, mostly. At the end of every school year, teachers weed through the department closets and haul old sets of textbooks, outdated student files, and other random junk down there. Why?”

”I just have an art project about Brown's architecture and wanted to check them out.”

”I can get you in. I'll walk you over. Just meet me at the office after ninth period.”

I leaned my head against the cool window. I didn't have the energy to think about what a field trip to the old buildings would be like with Seth buzzing in my ear. As I stepped off the bus, I wondered why this couldn't be easier. Why couldn't I run across campus right now and throw open the door to the heart of Brown and find Grace's big, fat clue staring me in the face?

For one, I couldn't skip anymore cla.s.ses. I had suffered through two days of morning detention (one of the days alone with Mr. McAdams-apparently there wasn't a law against that if the door was left open, which thankfully it was), and I was already on Headmaster Sinclair's s.h.i.+t list. Not to mention my parents who were on the brink of giving Dr. P. consent to use shock therapy to zap the Grace obsession right out of me. Worse (and about five thousand times scarier), I seemed to have someone on my trail. Someone comfortable using threats to get what he wanted.

So instead of booking it over to Brown, I mentally explored the edges of campus, searching for imaginary clues as I navigated the maze of hallways to my locker. After s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my combination three times, I stopped and focused on the numbers. When a voice said, ”Hey, Kate,” I jumped, yanked my locker open, and slammed the metal door into my head-in that order.

Liam.

”Holy...” I threw my hand to my chest, covering my pounding heart.

”Oh, I...didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to say hi.”

I turned back to my locker without even acknowledging his presence. Did he really think he could humiliate me in front of Beefany and then show up at my locker to flirt a few days later?

”Oh, so you're allowed to talk to me now? Bethany won't get p.i.s.sed?”

He blushed, and I felt myself waver just a little bit. G.o.d, why was it so cute when boys blushed?

”I...well...it's a long story. I just...I don't know. It's not like that...anymore.” He looked down, suddenly fascinated with one of his shoes.

”Could've fooled me.” I grabbed my English Lit book and slammed the door to my locker shut.