The Good Girl. Christy Barritt
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or the attic or the garage? Had the police considered that? Had they checked those places?
The sheets still covered my head. I should move them down, act like a grown woman. Instead, I breathed in and out. My breath hit the silky fabric around me, warming my nose and cheeks. My hair tickled my face. My heart pounded in my ears.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to think about something else.
My hand skimmed across the empty space in the bed beside me, and I thought of Peter. It was a toss up which subject was less appealing—ghost or ex-husband. But my thoughts went where they went.
Though we’d only been married for two and a half years, I still felt like Peter should be beside me, protecting me from anything the world threw our way. That’s what marriage was about, right? Being there for each other in the good times and bad. In sickness and health. In times of peace and in times of ghostly hauntings.
Everyone said we were cut from the same cloth, a perfect match. Unfortunately, they were right. We’d both cared too much about what people thought of us. When Peter had the chance to distance himself from the disaster surrounding my life, he’d done just that. I, on the other hand, had been stuck with myself.
At one time, I’d thought Peter was charismatic, confident, and righteous. Somewhere along the road, those qualities had morphed into being flighty, arrogant, and judgmental. Funny how your perspective changed with experience.
I had to admit, I hadn’t been the easiest person to live with after I’d been arrested. I’d withdrawn. Bottled up my emotions, trying to hide the fact that I felt sorry for myself. I did feel sorry for myself—I’d just decided not to let anyone else know that.
Yeah, that’s me. Good Girls Rule #23: Always appear strong even when your muscles are jelly. Kind of similar to wearing a girdle to look skinny and then taking it off and letting your flab flounder.
I wish now I’d cried more, opened up more, saw the counselor more than once.
Maybe things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t been in denial about my problems and my marriage.
Tears wet the pillow in my cocoon, and I knew I should peek my head out of the covers. Thinking about Peter was not a good alternative to thinking about the creepy things that had happened today. But I was frozen.
The same fear haunted me every night. The fear of someone breaking into my house, watching me while I slept. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind before, and I certainly couldn’t now.
I forced my breathing to steady. This fear was just my overactive imagination, after all. There was nothing to be scared of. Gaga would protect me.
The thought made me smile. I tugged the sheets down and let the fresh, cooler air fill my lungs. But I still found myself holding my breath again.
On the count of three I’d open my eyes.
One.
Two.
Three.
I yanked my eyes open, and the stark-white room came into focus. It was empty. No spooky ghouls or unwanted visitors were staring at me from the foot of the bed.
The clock on the nightstand read 12:28.
I tried to relax against the mattress. When would I ever get over this childhood fear? I turned over, dug my head into the fluffy, feather pillow, and searched for the sleep that felt so elusive.
Metal clanged outside.
I tensed and gripped the covers. Was it just my imagination? No. This wasn’t my imagination. Something clicked and squeaked and groaned.
I sucked in a deep breath. I knew exactly what the noise was. It was the rusty gate leading into Lana’s backyard. I’d heard it earlier in the day when I’d let Gaga outside. I distinctly remembered fastening the stubborn thing. Someone was either going into or coming from my backyard.
Logic told me to peek out the window. Fear told me to freeze. Fear won.
Why would someone be entering or leaving the backyard at 12:30? Why would someone be going into the backyard at all?
I forced myself to practice yoga breathing for calm. There had to be an explanation. Maybe Cooper’s little boy had tossed a toy into the yard and Cooper was going to retrieve it. That made sense.
But not at this hour.
Maybe he’d thrown something into the yard earlier and Cooper just now found the time to get it.
I convinced myself it was a plausible possibility. Tomorrow, I’d ask Cooper and he’d explain it. Then we’d have a good laugh. I’d chide myself for being so silly.
I pulled the covers tighter, listening for any more telltale sounds. It was silent. Shivers attacked my limbs as the note continued haunting me.
I’m still here.
Who? I wondered. Who was still here?
Would I live to find out the answer?
Chapter 5
Lying in bed the next morning, I watched as gray turned to orange outside. The tropical colors eventually morphed into a hazy, lazy white. I remained under the covers, wishing I’d doze off again.
My head felt as if it were stuffed with tiny lead beads. When I’d finally drifted off to sleep, somewhere around 2:30, Gaga had jumped in bed with me. Of course, I’d thought it was an attacker. My heart raced for the rest of the night, yet some invisible chain had kept me in bed and unable to move.
I glanced around Lana’s room again. The white did look pleasant in the sunlight. In the daytime, everything seemed so much friendlier and my fears seemed so unfounded. Still, there was the butcher knife, the note, the supposed ectoplasm, and the squeaky gate. Add that to my already-in-place fears, and I was done for.
Gaga barked at my feet. “What? You need to go outside?”
She barked again. I threw on some shorts and a robe and followed Gaga to the backdoor. The morning sunlight looked so glorious that I couldn’t resist stepping outside.
My gaze meandered over the grass and patio set and garage. My perusal skidded to a halt when I saw the gate. The open gate. The noises last night hadn’t been my imagination. Someone really had been in the backyard. A shiver zinged up my spine.
I walked barefoot down the brick sidewalk and closed the gate, thankful I’d followed the dog outside. Otherwise, Gaga might have run away and Lana would never forgive me. Sure, my sister acted like the dog was an accessory half of the time, hauling her around in rhinestone-studded bags and buying her designer clothing. Sometimes I thought Paris Hilton was her role model. But I did think that deep inside, the dog was Lana’s baby. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have left me a note, asking me to tell Gaga a bedtime story every night—not that I would ever actually do that.
I had closed the gate yesterday, hadn’t I? I stared at the latch, remembering how difficult it was to force down. Yes, I’d definitely closed it.
And some ghost had opened it while I was sleeping.
“Good morning.”
I half-gasped, half-screamed and threw myself back toward the house. My foot landed on a sharp rock in the process. I grabbed it, rubbing the indention. When I looked up, Cooper stared at me from the fence, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” I started. I dropped my foot and shook my head. “Well, you did, but not by any fault of your own.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
I nodded and pulled the robe closer. Though I was wearing shorts and a tank top, I felt exposed. “Fine. You?”
“Just enjoying some coffee and watching the sunrise.”
“You’re an early riser,