The Bad Sister. Kevin O'Brien
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I ask?”
“I’ve already fessed-up and told Hannah and Eden that we’ve googled them,” Alden said, sitting in an easy chair.
“Why, yes, you do have a big mouth,” Rachel sighed.
“It’s okay.” Hannah smiled. She sat down on the sofa, making sure not to crowd Rachel. “I checked you out online, too. Your hair was longer in all your photos.”
Rachel pointed to her pixie cut. “This is Jean Seberg damage—from last week. I saw a double feature of her movies Breathless and Bonjour Tristesse. Next thing you know, I was going for the scissors. My stylist cleaned it up the following day.”
“Well, I love it,” Hannah said. She meant it, too. In just a matter of minutes, she’d done a complete about-face on her first perception of Rachel. Her “big sister” wasn’t crazy at all. She was unique, stylish, sophisticated, and fun. Already, Hannah wondered if Rachel might sometime let her borrow that cute top or the Capri pants. She and Rachel looked about the same size.
After only one glass of champagne, Hannah had become quite relaxed and didn’t mind telling them all about the half-sister thing—and how her family was affected by Eden moving in with them. She even explained how the thing that happened had wrecked her friendships at school. After her second glass of champagne, Hannah realized she’d been monopolizing the conversation. “Aren’t you sorry you asked about my sister?” she finally asked. “Listen to me. I didn’t mean to talk your ear off.”
“Are you kidding?” Rachel said. “I read about what happened—with the murders and all. So I was curious. But hearing you tell it, well, suddenly, it’s not just some news story. It’s real. It happened to you and your family.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “God, I didn’t realize how late it is.” She turned to Alden. “If you still want to go to Lake Bluff, we should get cracking.”
Hannah had a bunch of questions she wanted to ask them—mainly if they were dating each other. But suddenly, the two of them got to their feet. Alden collected the empty flute glasses and set them by the kitchen sink. Rachel switched off the music and then took her cell phone out of her purse. “We should let you unpack and get settled,” she said, staring at her phone as she texted someone. “Feel free to turn on the TV or the sound system. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. You’re probably dying for a shower. The bathroom’s upstairs . . .”
“And remember while you’re in there, if it’s yellow, it’s not mellow!” Alden added as he and Rachel headed toward the door.
“Gross,” Rachel said. She glanced over her shoulder at Hannah. “If you go out, don’t forget to lock up. See you later!” Then she stepped outside and shut the door behind her.
Hannah went to the front window. Rachel and Alden walked to the curb, and a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up. Alden opened the back door for Rachel, and they climbed inside. Obviously, it wasn’t an Uber. The vehicle must have been waiting for them down the block. They’d left in such a hurry that Hannah couldn’t help thinking she’d talked too much. Or maybe they were just late for something.
She watched the Lincoln Town Car head down the street. The living room suddenly seemed hot and stuffy again. And in an instant, she felt hopelessly lonely. Her eyes watered up. Was this how homesickness was going to hit her—in these awful, unpredictable tsunami-like waves?
She wanted to phone home. But she knew she’d start crying as soon as she heard her mother’s voice—her mother, toward whom she’d been so critical and snippy these last few years. Everything her mother did had struck Hannah as stupid and embarrassing. Now, she missed her so much that her stomach ached. Or maybe it was the champagne making her over-emotional. She couldn’t call home now anyway. They’d want to talk to Eden.
Wasn’t that just like her to disappear? Typical.
Hannah went back into the narrow bedroom, opened her suitcase, and unpacked a few items. It was still smoky in there. She moved over to the window.
She gazed out at the slightly unkempt garden next door and shuddered. She couldn’t help thinking about what had happened in the bungalow that had been there fifty years ago.
CHAPTER SIX
Thursday, 8:16 P.M.
By the time Eden reached the parking lot of the Sunnyside Up Café, she was exhausted.
She’d explored the campus. Most of the buildings were closed up—except for a couple of dorms and the student union, which didn’t look too interesting. She wanted to check out the recreation center, which included an indoor pool, but a sign on the locked door (she’d tested it) said the rec center didn’t open until tomorrow.
Eden also checked out the surrounding neighborhood. A street of old mansions along the lake bluff had been converted to housing for upperclassmen, up to twenty students per house. At least that was the story Eden got from a gabby middle-aged woman walking her Irish setter. Closer to town, large, graceful private homes occupied the lakefront property. Alongside the driveway to one of them, Eden discovered a trail down to the beach. Both the pathway and the beach were probably private, but that didn’t stop her.
Taking off her shoes, she must have walked at least a mile along the shoreline, sometimes in the hot sand, sometimes with her bare feet in the cool water. Though it was late, the beach was still dotted with swimmers, mostly kids screaming and laughing. If not for them, Eden would have stripped down and swam in her panties and T-shirt.
She hadn’t slept much last night, and it started to catch up with her. Still, she kept walking. That was Eden’s trademark. “You’re always pushing things to their limit,” her stepmother, Sheila, had told her. This criticism usually came up when Eden was driving. She never stopped for gas until the needle was on empty. And she rarely moved into the right lane to exit until the very last minute. It was a game she played, staying in the fast lane for as long as she could. It made life more interesting.
So Eden kept walking—even though she was tired and hungry and had to pee. She told herself that it wasn’t really an emergency yet.
But by the time she’d found another trail up from the beach and back to town, it had become a definite emergency.
The Sunnyside Up Café was half-full with customers, and nearly all of them looked up and gaped at her as she staggered in. She spotted a sign for the restrooms and made a beeline toward them.
It wasn’t until she came out of the bathroom and sat down at the counter that Eden got a good look at the place. It was definitely a dive. The ramped-up air-conditioning couldn’t diminish the strong smell of fried onion rings and bacon. The walls were decorated with framed, sun-faded vintage ads for Coke, Canada Dry, Jell-O, Hunt’s ketchup, and the like. The battered pressed-wood and avocado Formica tables looked like hand-me-downs from a Denny’s that had closed. The cushioned seats in the booths were covered in orange Naugahyde that was cracked and taped in places. At least the red tape almost matched. “Working My Way Back to You” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons was playing over the sound system.
What a surprise, an oldie, Eden thought. The place was from another decade. But she liked it. And the menu had several vegetarian items that looked decent. She could imagine parking herself here at a table for hours in the evening, drinking gallons of coffee while toiling over her homework or maybe chatting with some of the locals. The town probably had some interesting characters.
The waitress was a skinny, tall, sixtyish woman with short gray hair and a dimpled smile. The nametag on her mustard-colored uniform read ROSEANN. “What’ll you have, hon?” she asked.
Eden ordered lemonade, a veggie burger, and fries. She guzzled down the entire lemonade a minute after it was set in front of her, and the waitress gave her a refill.
While she waited for her food, Eden dug the freshman orientation packet out of her purse and looked it over. There really wasn’t much for her to do tomorrow. She had to report back to Emery Hall to get her photo taken for her student ID and her cafeteria