The money totals eight-thousand, seven hundred and forty dollars, in twenties and fifties. We put it back and run over to my house, with Linzy's laptop, as Mr. and Mrs. Quinn pull into their driveway. I shut the door and ask Shayla, "Are they going to wonder where you are?"
"No. I just hope they didn't see me run in here."
Wow, they must really hate me.
"Dad, I'm back. Shayla and I are going up to my room, okay?" I shout through his door.
Suddenly it slides open and he says, "Okay. I need to run out. I shouldn't be long." He smiles, kisses my forehead, and leaves through the garage door.
He's been going out a lot more than usual. He must really like Bridget.
I give his office a second look but decide to go up. There will be time to snoop later, when I'm alone and after dealing with Linzy. Her death is way more important than some old photographer.
Shayla and I settle on my bed and open the laptop. The emails were a bust, but Shayla's now searching through all the other files, looking for a clue about the money.
I excuse myself and walk through the house, looking for Linzy, but she's not visible. Is she still back at her place? I turn to head upstairs, and there are three, loud, urgent knocks at the door. I flinch and hesitate. Is it Shayla's parents?
I peek through the small side window and see Troy. My pulse rises. What's he doing here? I open the door and smile. "Hi."
He pushes past me, while glancing over his shoulder. His forehead is shiny and his breathing irregular.
"What's wrong?" I ask, pulling him in further and pushing the door shut.
"I got it. Oh crap, I got it." He holds up his hand. He clenches a stack of papers so hard that they're crinkled and bent. He's pumped, his eyes darting back and forth, his voice higher pitched than normal, and he looks like he's just run a marathon.
His enthusiasm, or maybe it's fear, is contagious, and I can't wait to learn what he's talking about. "What is it?"
He hands me the papers. "Autopsy on Linzy."
Oh crap is right. My mouth hangs open, and I look down at the sheets. The light is too dim to read anything. "Come on. Shayla's upstairs."
We run to my room. Shayla looks up, wide-eyed. "What's up?"
I return to my spot on the bed and try to focus.
Troy paces my room. "I was in Mom's office, and she had to take a private call. She took her cell into the hall and shut the door behind her. It was the perfect moment. I couldn't pass it up."
He stops long enough to give us a poignant look, then continues. "Linzy's file was on top of her desk."
"Are these the actual reports?" I ask.
He frowns and shakes his head repeatedly. "No. She has a copier in her office. A small one. Can you believe that? Her call lasted so long I was able to copy the file."
I lean up against the pillows and flip through the pages. There's the autopsy report, a toxicology report, notes, photos of the crime scene, witness testimonies, and other pages that aren't labeled. "You got everything."
"That's what I said. I copied the whole file."
Shayla grabs the stack. "Give me that. She was my sister."
I try to snatch it back, but she tightens her grip. "One you hated."
She won't let go, and I'm afraid she'll tear them, so I loosen my grip.
"I didn't hate her. She was just a pain in my side, like you."
"At least give me some. You can't read them all at one time, selfish."
She glares my way but opens her fingers so several end pages fall onto my comforter. The top one is a photo of Linzy's naked, dead body.
We both gasp.
The copy is black and white but the contrast of her complexion to her hair shows how pale she was. Her eyes are shut, her lip is cracked, and her choker looks weird, disfigured, and muted. Troy must've messed it up when he copied the picture.
She was dressed in the river, so this has to be before the medical examiner performed the autopsy. She must've been so cold. That's stupid, Piper. She was dead. She didn't feel the temperature.
Tears gather in my eyes, squeeze at the corners, blurring my vision. I'm not a big crier, usually, and I've never felt moved by a photo, so why now?
"Why's everyone so gloomy?" Linzy's voice sounds.
I look around and watch her appear on my dresser. "Geez, it's like a funeral in here." She giggles.
My throat tightens, and it's hard to swallow. I cover the photos with my pillow. "I don't want to look at these now."
Troy's brows shoot up. "What? I thought this would help."
"It does. It's just a lot and kind of grim." I glance at Linzy. "So I need to look at it in pieces, ya know?"
Linzy hops off the dresser and walks to her sister's side.
"Yeah, I hear you," Troy says.
Shayla tilts her head back and sighs. "I don't need to read this."
Linzy bends down and stares at the page. Something on it makes her gasp.
Shayla lifts the pillow and adds her pages to the stack.
Linzy's eyes widen. She backs away from the bed, through my desk, until she's at the wall.
Shayla stands. "I didn't understand why Mom had the casket closed. I mean, they use makeup and make them look normal, but I'm glad now that she chose that. I want to remember Linzy in full diva mode. Not dead."
No one says anything. Even Linzy looks stunned.
Shayla finally breaks the silence. "I should go. Can I leave that here for a bit?" She points to Linzy's laptop.
"Sure, but why?"
"If my folks see me walk into the house with it, they'll wonder why. I don't want to add any more grief. They barely speak to me as is."
I nod, feeling sucker-punched for the umpteenth time today.
She heads to my door and looks back to Troy. "You're staying?"
Troy glances at me, perhaps looking for an answer.
I don't want him to leave, but Dad may be back soon. "My dad…"
It's all I have to say. His eyes widen, and he nods. "Yeah."
I walk them down. On the front porch, I step out and close the door behind me. That way if Dad pulls in while I'm saying good-bye, I can pretend Troy never entered the house.
Shayla walks to the sidewalk then glances back and gives us a nod. She runs across to her house and goes around to her backyard.
"You'll let me know what the papers say, right?" Troy asks.
"You didn't read them?"
"Some." He looks down and kicks at the air. "This is new to me. I wasn't ready for some of it. Does that make me a coward?"
I touch his arm. "Not at all. It makes you human."
He looks into my eyes and smiles. It's gentle and warm and makes me wonder all over again how he feels about me. It never feels like the right time to bring up the non-kiss.
"To be honest, I've looked at a bunch of Dad's photos, but this one seems different."
He nods. "'Cause I knew her. I've eaten dinner across the table from her. I've given her rides to the mall. She's watched movies with me and Shayla."
"Yeah, I didn't know her, but I saw her alive. It's not the same thing, but it feels like I knew her." Or it's that I'm getting to know her.
A car drives down the street slow. It's Bridget. She waves at us.
We wave back.
"Do you know her well?" I ask.
"No. She and Mom talk some. I think she talks with everyone in town. Why?"
"I think Dad may be secretly seeing her."
He watches Bridget pull into her driveway and step out of her car. "Really?"
Bridget kicks her back tire, then grabs a bag of groceries from her back seat and enters her house.
"Well, I should go," Troy says.
"Okay, I'll call you."
I watch him get into his mother's car, which he parked across the street, in front of the Freidman's, and drive off. I'm about to head back in when I hear someone call my name. I turn to see Gabi in her front yard. She waves me over.
We meet in the street, by her curb. "I was wondering if you could watch Jazzy tomorrow night? I'm dying to get out of this house."
"Sure. That'll be fine." It's not like I ever have plans.
"Great. Come by around seven."
"Okay, see you then."
As I head back home, I purposely don't look at Kinley's house. I can't bear to see her in her window, watching me, ignoring my texts. Inside I take my stairs two-at-a-time and step into my room.
The papers Troy copied are scattered across my bed and the floor. Linzy stands in the middle of it all. She looks scared, nauseous, and confused.
"What'd you do?" I ask, although the answer is obvious. She found a way to read the sheets without picking each one up. "You shouldn't look at it."
"Why not?" Her voice is shrill. "This is how I died."
She clenches her hands, tightens her body, and groans.
The air charges, feels electric, and a wind circles the room. It ruffles my curtains, lifts and blows the papers about, and rushes through my hair.
I shudder.
Linzy disappears.