Second Nature (Crimson Cove Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Instagram Hipster

  We crept through the house, not making a sound. Rachel’s room was just as I had left it.

  Lindsey entered and crossed the floor, heading for the closet and not the secret Barbie room at all.

  I paused in the middle of the room and watched as she opened the closet door and pulled a huge mirror with a kiss mark in the top right corner off the wall. She lifted the hook the mirror had hung on, flicking it like a switch.

  The back of the closet slid open.

  I gasped, stepping back. “What? How did you—?”

  “Shhhhhhh.” She slid a finger over her lips. She gave me a wicked look and crossed the closet, stepping into the doorway that had appeared out of nowhere.

  Of course I followed.

  What I found was not what I expected. “I knew her closet and dressing room had gotten smaller. She told me I was crazy, but I knew it.”

  “She had it altered to create this little secret nook. Her parents don't even know about it. They were in Germany for two weeks when she had it done.”

  The room was filled with beautiful photos, the kind Instagram whores took.

  Rachel on a beach with her feet in the water, staring out at the waves.

  Rachel in a canvas jacket with a steaming mug of coffee and a winter hat.

  Rachel holding a red leaf in her pale hand.

  Rachel in front of a pile of logs, wearing a knitted winter hat.

  The second dressing room was tiny, more like a walk-in closet in a suburban home.

  The clothes from the photos lined the walls around us, all of them in earthy tones and baggy cuts. She had scarves and striped cotton shirts. Half the stuff looked like it could be part of a Where’s Waldo marathon.

  At the back of the secret closet were wigs. All of them were styled with beachy waves like the coffee shop girls. There was a long blonde one with streaks that looked like the sun had kissed the hair. And a shoulder-length brunette wig with a couple of bright-blue streaks. There was a red-haired one that looked like it had been modeled after Sierra’s hair.

  She had a shelf for hats. A lot of them were those knitted beanies that the hipsters wore. But there were also fedoras and wide brim hats, not the sort we wore on Sundays. No, these were wooly and cheap. That was the word for it all—cheap. Nothing was designer. Nothing was special. She would have blended right in.

  “Rachel was a secret hipster?” It didn't even make sense, but it confirmed what Rita had said.

  Lindsey folded her arms over her chest. “She was. Whenever Rachel met a new friend, one outside our little crowd, she tested them and their love for this crap. If they liked it too, she kept them secret from us. We assumed it was because she didn't want to be caught hanging with losers, but that wasn’t it at all. She wasn't testing them to see how cool they were before she brought them into the fold; she was testing to see if they were like her. If they were, she never brought them into the fold. She labeled them losers and saw them in her private time.”

  “Like how she tested Rita by taking her to that fashion show.” I glanced at the photos and noted there were tons of other people in the pics—people I didn't know.

  “Exactly.”

  “Not that this isn’t intriguing, but what does it have to do with her death? Being ashamed of being grungy isn’t exactly an offense. Not one people kill for, not even us. And when did you figure this out?”

  “I knew she had the closet built. She used the guy I used to make Louisa’s dressing room smaller and smaller every few months.” Lindsey laughed.

  “You have a sickness, just so you know.”

  “I know. But it was so worth it. She kept telling my dad that the room was shrinking.” Lindsey chuckled as she lifted a mirror from the wall, revealing a safe. “This is where she kept all her biggest secrets.” She lifted a finger and punched in an eleven-digit code.

  “What biggest secrets? Being a dirty camper wasn't enough?”

  Lindsey laughed. “No. Rachel kept a diary, and she had other secrets.”

  “You mean other than the sexy choking and Ecstasy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm.” I wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t opened the safe and pulled out a large scrapbook-looking album. “How do you know this?”

  “She told me once when she was really drunk, that because she had such bad friends who snooped and didn't respect boundaries, she kept her diary with all her best secrets in a safe. I have searched this room high and low, looking for the safe.”

  “Well, not to be a dick, Linds, but she had a point.” I looked around. “Here we are, snooping in her things.”

  “I know. I’m a bad friend, blah, blah, blah.” Lindsey laughed and reached into her back pocket, producing a small envelope. “Anyway, this showed up last Thursday.” She handed it to me.

  “So that's why you wanted to come here today.” I opened it, lifting the tiny RSVP card from the envelope. “Nosey bitches united. To find the prize you must find the safe. But don't get lost staring at yourself. Eight-seven-five-four-two-one-nine-eight-six-five-three. It’s a pattern. Two numbers and then skip one.” I lifted my head. “Those are the numbers you pressed on the safe. Someone sent you the code?”

  “Look at the address on the back.”

  I flipped it over and found Rachel’s return address above Lindsey’s. “Why would Rachel send you this? Not even considering the fact Rachel is dead, why would she send you this?”

  “I don't know. I just know that the moment it showed up I knew what it was to. I found the safe before, but I never knew the code.”

  “This is weird. The postmark isn’t from here. It’s from Denver.” I turned and looked at the empty room beyond the doorway. “We should leave. This might be a trap.”

  “I need to see what’s in this book first.” She put it on the floor and dropped to her knees. She opened it like it was some sort of significant archeological find, turning the pages delicately.

  Lindsey scanned, doing her speed-reading thing that I was not able to do.

  Her finger zoomed the pages for several moments before she stopped and lifted her head. “Oh shit.”

  “What?” I couldn't help but keep looking back.

  “Vincent’s mom.” She swallowed, processing what she had read. “Vincent’s mom was committed into Silver Hills.”

  “The mental hospital?” It was much more like Club Med and less like an institution.

  “Yeah. Rachel’s mom took her there. Rachel heard her mom talking to Vincent’s dad about it when she was little. His mom didn't want to go, but Rachel’s mom forced her. She didn't know why.” She lowered her gaze on the book to finish scanning the rest of the pages. When she was done, my feet were aching and I was tired of standing. She looked up, seeming disappointed, and wrinkled her nose. “What a letdown. It was like reading my own diary. Boohoo, my parents won’t let me be a photographer. Boohoo, I have to date Ashton and he’s dull as balls. What the ever-loving eff was that? The dirt on Vincent’s mom was the only usable info.” She slumped.

  A thousand ideas and images flashed in my mind as I contemplated Vincent’s mother.

  She was absolutely the mother we never saw—the mother Vincent also rarely saw. Would she have come back for her revenge? Adding Silver Hills to it, the story started to make perfect sense. Especially if she was unstable.

  “What if she’s the killer?” That seemed worse somehow. Not only was she mentally unwell, or at least had been at one point, but she was also an adult. I’d had the impression it was a guy our age. But a full-grown adult meant it might have been perfectly planned.

  “Then this might get interesting.” Lindsey swallowed hard and looked back down at the book as if she were trying to find a secret passage in it as well.

  I closed my eyes and visualized it all. Vincent’s mom might have come to torment us, the kids of the people who ruined her life and took away her kid. But then maybe she h
ad realized she needed to do more to get her revenge on the adults. Maybe that's how it went from notes and blackmail to murder.

  Another idea popped into my mind. “I know someone who worked at Silver Hills.”

  She gave me a look. “What? Who?”

  “Lori.” I nodded. “She worked there before your dad hired her. Remember he said that?”

  Recognition filled her face. “Oh yeah. Whatever.” She sighed and closed the diary. “How is this thing so boring? Rachel was a freaking asshole. There should be more dirt. I legit have been frothing at the bit since last Thursday. It was half the reason I was so pissed you and Vince came here without me. This was my Ark of the Covenant.”

  “Don't be mean.” I scowled and opened the safe again. “Come on. We have to get out of here. I think this safe is a trap. We need to go ask Lori if she remembers Vincent’s mom.”

  She got up and dumped the book back into the empty safe. I closed it and pressed the button with the word “lock” on it. She was already waiting in the bedroom with an annoyed expression when I returned the mirror to its original spot. I closed the closet after putting everything else back where it had been.

  We headed for the door, freezing mid step when we heard something.

  I pressed myself against her to try to see over her head into the hallway where the voices were coming from.

  “No, we don't expect any answers. The police are stuck. There is no motive. They think a transient must have found Rachel in the woods at the party or something like that,” Rachel’s dad muttered as he walked through the hallway. “Or maybe a jealous ex-boyfriend.” He was lying to whomever he spoke to. The death of Mr. Henning canceled out any ridiculous notions like those.

  We hurried and ran to the bed, both of us lying on the floor next to it as he entered the room.

  “My wife wants it all gone. She doesn't want to come home until all the toys are gone. And we have so many, we don't want them going to waste.” He walked to the secret Barbie room and opened the door, pausing in the entryway. “We haven’t come in here since it happened.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Swanson. I can’t even imagine what this is like for you,” a woman whose voice I didn't know spoke. “And do you know how Mrs. Henning is doing?”

  “Not well at all. She’s been with my wife at Silver Hills for the past week or so, just taking a small break. They both needed it. I told them to take a vacation, but she said she wanted to stay close to home, for Andrew. At least the older boy has left home and isn’t here, needing her around.”

  “How does poor Andrew seem to be taking it?” The woman sounded concerned, but it was nosiness. I knew how to tell the difference.

  “Not well either but better than his poor dear mother. She has always been the best wife and mother a man could ask for. She’ll bounce back.” He said it like he really meant it. “They both will.” He sounded creepy when he said that. It was creepy for him to think it. How would Rachel’s mom ever bounce back?

  “What a brave woman, to be able to realize she needs a week for herself.”

  “I know we never imagined this was where we would end up. Who knows, maybe I’ll take a week myself.” He tried to chuckle, but he sounded so forlorn as he pulled back the secret door and entered the Barbie room. “Anyway, it’s fortuitous that you called Friday about these dolls. I had planned to have one of the maids bag them up and take them to Goodwill.”

  “Oh no, we are so very excited to get them at the women’s club. So many ladies bring their kids and the child-minding center is vigilant about keeping things in pristine condition. One of the women at the club was mentioning the collection your daughter had and suggested we inquire about it. She didn't think you would want them anymore.”

  “And we don't. This is the room.”

  “Oh my, she really was a true collector.”

  “Yes, she loved her dolls. She really was a sweet girl.” Mr. Swanson’s voice cracked a bit as he and the lady stepped inside even farther.

  Lindsey peeked overtop of the bed, then jumped up and hurried to the door without making any noise. She motioned for me to come as she was lookout from the doorway. I didn't have her ability to snoop and sneak. I was terrified I would trip or sneeze or God only knew what.

  Taking a deep breath I got up, not looking back, and ran for the door. Lindsey grabbed me and dragged me into the next room. She cupped my chin and whispered harshly, “You need to chill your shit.”

  I nodded, but I didn't mean it. I was having a stroke or a heart attack. My chest was tightening, my eyes were fuzzing in and out of focus, and my mouth was dry. I blinked and gasped for air, fighting the light-headedness.

  “Jeeze, Lainey. You’d think I’d asked you to steal their first-born—” She paused, her cheeks flushing. “That's not what I meant.”

  I winced and whispered back, “I know. I just want to leave.”

  “Okay, time for some ass hauling. You do as I say and don't look back.” She listened at the edge of the door for a moment before stepping back into the hallway. Her feet moved fast and silently as she hurried down the hall to the servants’ stairwell.

  Like some kind of hound, she paused and lifted her head to the air, maybe convinced she heard better this way. She waited a moment before taking the stairs.

  I lumbered behind her, making far more noise than she did. She wasn't graceful unless she was sneaking.

  We slipped down into the basement, passed the laundry, and went out the door we had come in. I breathed the fresh salty air like a prisoner who had finally finished her time and was free again. It looked more like gasping than breathing, but I didn't care. I was free.

  I followed her along the pool house to the side yard. We avoided the woods and ran for the front of the house, leaving by the driveway. It was ballsy and stupid, but the woods were out of the question. Neither of us wanted to be back there.

  When we got to the car I sighed, taking my first real lungful of air. “Oh my God, I don't know how you do it.” My legs were jelly and my heart was racing.

  “It feels awesome. I feel so alive.”

  “Not me.” I shook my head. “I feel dirty.” It was true, I felt like I needed a shower.

  “You are such a pansy.” She cocked an eyebrow as she climbed into the car.

  I took several deep breaths before I got into the car too. “Maybe but at least I won’t do five to ten for trespassing.”

  “He wasn't supposed to be home. No one ever is. I didn't know he would be showing the toy room.” She rolled her eyes and drove back to the school where my car was waiting for me.

  “It’s weird that the women’s club called Friday to get those toys out today. And you and I had planned on being there today, at the same time. It’s a bit of a coincidence. I wonder who the woman was who suggested they get the toys.”

  Lindsey gave me a look. “There’s nothing coincidental about it. There’s a reason it’s happening today. We just don't see the reason. Maybe the killer thought his notes would be found before you and I got there to hide them or destroy them. Maybe the killer doesn't know you and Vince went to Rachel’s house already and took the notes to keep as evidence.”

  “Maybe.” The whole thing was alarming. “Either way, we need to find out about Vincent’s mom.”

  “Before we tell Vince,” she added, giving me a worried look. “He doesn't like to talk about her much. So I’d rather have the information before I start him on a quest to accuse her of murder.”

  “Agreed. But where do we go from here?”

  “Straight to the source. I say we go pay Mrs. Henning and Rachel’s mom a visit, maybe bring them some nice chocolates or something. Flowers for their rooms.”

  I winced. “It’s not a hotel. It’s a mental institute. Just ‘cause we visit someone doesn’t mean we’ll be given information.”

  “Then we need to be super convincing.” She had that smile again, the one that told me she had a plan, an evil one.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Silv
er Hills

  Silver Hills was in New Canaan, and it was the place all wealthy people ended up at one point or another. Presidents, actresses, children of famous people—everyone. I knew I would likely cross the threshold of Silver Hills at least once in my life. I had hoped it would be more graceful and under better circumstances than someone’s husband being murdered.

  I carried the flowers and Lindsey carried the chocolates from Munson’s. She smiled and looked like we were meant to be there, something she had lectured me on for the entire car ride.

  But I didn't belong there. I didn't smile and fit in. I was stressed. I was even sweating, thinking about getting caught for being in the hospital under false pretenses. I racked my brain to recall if that was an offence of any sort.

  The large country-club look to the hospital, along with the staff’s ability to actually keep a secret, made this place the crème de la crème of mental wards.

  “Is that the guy from that movie with the aliens?” Lindsey leaned in.

  I narrowed my gaze and nodded. “Yeah. I read that he was fighting some addictions. Maybe prescriptions.”

  “He’s hot.” She led me down the hall, away from him.

  “He’s all right. I don't like dudes with addictions.”

  We walked to the end of the hall. Lindsey led the way across the floor of the main house. “She’ll probably be in the women’s house. It’s more private.”

  We left through the living room, strolled out past the chapel, and headed to the smaller building where women transitioned out of the facility. It was also the spot women stayed if they were only at the hospital for a short reprieve.

  We hurried across the grass to the transition house, leaving behind the stately mansion that was the main house.

  Lindsey climbed the stairs effortlessly, moving too easily there. She was too comfortable doing dishonest things. It was where we didn't match.

  The great room we walked into had three women: Mrs. Henning, Mrs. Swanson, and a lady with large black sunglasses and white hair.