Part 15 (1/2)

”Thanks again for stopping by.” A new voice rang out in the still night air, and this time I was positive it was Cameron's dad.

”Of course.” The voice trailed away as Mr. Thompson and the visitor moved toward the front door. ”I hope the information...alternative schools...Cameron...support...” was all we could make out.

”Come on! They're moving to the front of the house.” I grabbed Seth and started to take off for the front yard, but suddenly the entire backyard was flooded with blinding light. It must have been a motion sensor.

Two sets of footsteps pounded back toward the kitchen and the screen door screeched open.

s.h.i.+t.

Chapter 33.

I don't think I'd actually ever seen Seth run before. If we hadn't been in danger of being busted by Cameron's dad and his sketchy visitor, I'm sure I would have taken more time to appreciate the fact that Seth ran like a prep.u.b.escent girl, but I was too busy sprinting.

”Hey! You! Stop right there!” Cameron's dad had made it out of the house and was chasing after us.

Thankfully, he gave up about halfway through his ma.s.sive front yard, and I didn't think he'd be close enough to see the license-plate number as Seth's minivan tore down Cameron's street. I tried to twist around to get a good look at the other man behind the voice, but he must have ducked back inside.

The car was completely silent except for our ragged breathing. I don't think either of us wanted to jinx our getaway until we knew for sure we were safe. When we made it to my driveway without the sound of sirens wailing behind us, I released the breath I'd been holding.

”Oh, thank G.o.d. I can't believe we made it.” I grabbed Seth's arm, and he must have interpreted my fingers digging into his upper arm as ”I'm so grateful-ravish me” instead of ”I'm terrified and need to squeeze something, and your arm just happens to be in reach,” because he placed his fingers on my chin and pulled my face to his.

”It's okay, Kate,” he said softly, leaning forward.

”Eww, Seth!” I yelled, shoving at his chest. ”Lay off!”

”What?” He held his hands in the air. ”I thought maybe...oh forget it.” He didn't even pretend to be hurt anymore; it was like he'd expected the reaction before I even had a chance to react. ”And what the h.e.l.l is that c.r.a.p about sisters? Cameron doesn't have any sisters.”

”What did you say?” I asked.

”Sisterhood. The headmaster said something about the sisterhood.”

”The headmaster? What are you talking about?” I b.u.mbled, my mind struggling to connect the pieces.

”I'd recognize his voice anywhere. I work in the office, remember?”

”You're sure?” I asked, trying to understand the significance of Headmaster Sinclair visiting the Thompsons. Maybe it was protocol? But his visit had to be so much more than that. My mind reeled back to Seth's other realization.

”Sisterhood,” I repeated. ”Why does that sound familiar?” I closed my eyes for a second, and then it hit me.

”Elisa, at the nursing home. She said something about sisters.” I opened my eyes and suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to start clapping. ”I thought she was being general, but now it makes sense. Abigail Moore's death and Grace's are connected somehow.”

”By a group called the Sisterhood?” Seth asked breathlessly. I could almost hear him mentally composing his post for the conspiracy-theory boards he frequented.

”I think so. Ever heard of them?”

”Um, no? Wait...” Seth looked up at the ceiling as though he was scanning the file drawer of his brain that housed long-term memories. ”Well, maybe. And I think I know exactly where to look.”

Seth started backing the car out of my driveway. ”Hey, what are you doing?”

”You're coming to my place.” Seth deftly pulled up his own driveway and maneuvered the car into the garage.

”But why?”

”You'll see.”

Seth sprinted through the door and yelled, ”MomI'mhomeKate'shereandwe'vegottachecksomethingforschoolquick. Okay? Okay.” He practically shoved me up the stairs to his room, leaving his mother downstairs asking about eight hundred questions that we could no longer hear.

”Okay, there's this guy who always posts on my blog...”

”Wait. You have a blog? Seriously?”

Seth looked offended. ”Do you want me to help or not?”

”Yeah, yeah, I want you to help,” I said guiltily.

”Okay, so like I was saying, there's this guy I know who specializes in regional secret societies.” Seth typed furiously into his PC as he talked. ”He's totally obsessed with a society that supposedly formed in the Midwest sometime after World War II, and guess what they're called?”

”The Sisterhood?”

”Yup.”

”Here, take a look.”

Sure enough, there was a quick paragraph about the Sisterhood. ConspiracyLuvR (and, yes, that was indeed his actual screen name-you can't make this stuff up) had never been able to find any definitive proof that the group existed. Just anecdotal mentions in old diaries and letters, but based on what he'd pulled together, the group had formed in the Cleveland area during the 1950s.

I looked up from the computer.

”And does...”-I could barely bring myself to say his name out loud-”ConspiracyMother think they're still active today?”

”It's ConspiracyLuvR, and, yeah, he's always trying to dig up proof, but they're too smart and they lie very low. None of that Skull and Bones c.r.a.p for them. He thinks they're very active and expanding.”

”Wow,” I breathed, trying to make sense of all this. And then it occurred to me. The letter on the crest. ”Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

”Yeah, I'll ask my mom to bring up some snacks.”

”No, I mean about the crest. The S. It's not supposed to be a P. It's supposed to stand for the Sisterhood.”

As I said the words, I could practically hear the sound of a puzzle piece clicking into place. This was it: the truth that might set Grace free.