SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 (11 page)

Wednesday!

Even though Ashley didn’t bother to invite either Lissa or me to tag along, we weren’t going to pass up the chance to have a look. We’d just have to concoct our own plan.

“By the way, have the police followed up any more on your mom and that cult she’s in?” Ashley asked Chelsea.

“They’re getting close.” Chelsea cast a meaningful glance my way. “And my mom called late last night.”

I gasped. “Did they trace the call?”

“She was phoning from a fitness gym somewhere west of town” came the disappointing words. “At least we know she’s still in the area.”

“Maybe she’ll call again,” I offered, hoping to comfort my friend.

Ashley’s eyes widened. “Well, I certainly hope so. Everyone at church is praying that she’ll come home soon.”

I wanted to say,
Be careful how much you tell her
but spooned up some applesauce instead. Only God knew whether Mrs. Davis would come home soon or not. And He certainly wasn’t to be underestimated. Not in the least!

The next day, Tuesday, Lissa and I sat together in study hall. We ended up passing notes, working out a plan for gracefully bumping into Stiggy Eastman and his wonderful awardwinning photography. Tomorrow!

For me, it really didn’t matter much, mainly because I was fairly certain my own subject matter was superb. The beam of light hovering over the old hut was both dramatic and unique, but I wouldn’t know how well I’d captured it until I picked my photos up after school.

Lissa was mighty charged about seeing the kind of competition we were up against. She whispered to me when the teacher wasn’t looking. “If Stiggy’s work was really incredible, you know the judges will be looking for more of the same quality this year.”

She was right. “Don’t worry, just do your best,” I advised, deciding to cool it and get to work. The study hall teacher was beginning to scowl; her eyes glared a warning.

I mumbled a barely audible sound, and Lissa knew that, for now, our conversation was history.

The time passed quickly, and soon the dismissal bell rang. I walked with Lissa to her locker in the middle of an ocean of kids.

“Mind if I tag along to the photo lab with you?” she asked, twirling her combination lock.

I smirked. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m serious. I wanna see my competition.”

“It’s probably not a good idea,” I said, stalling—hoping she’d drop the subject. “You know how I am about this. If I show you, then Chelsea and Ashley…
everyone
will want to be in on it.”

Lissa’s eyelids fluttered upward in disgust. “C’mon, Mer, no one else has to see.”

I shook my head. “Can’t.”

“Why, ’cause you think your pictures are so good?” There was a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“Actually, you never know,” I replied. “My lighting could be all wrong.” It was true—the lighting had been tricky that day—the one thing that most concerned me.

“Well, have it your way.” She reached for her books and slammed her locker.

Chelsea came over with several other girls. “Riding the bus home?” she asked me.

“I plan to if I get back from the photo lab in time.”

Chelsea’s face lit up. “Oh yeah, I wanna see your pictures.”

I was afraid of this. Chelsea was the only person who knew about my subject matter for the contest—that is,
if
she’d paid attention that day in the forest. I couldn’t be totally certain, though. Chelsea had been literally freaking out behind the tree trunk.

Lissa leaned against her locker, her arms crossed, waiting for my reply. She would be hurt if I gave in to Chelsea’s request, ignoring hers.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’d better pick up my prints all by my lonesome. That way no one’ll feel left out.” I shot a sympathetic smile at Lissa, who pinched up her face in response.

“Aw, Mer!” Chelsea wailed.

Lissa leaned forward. “It’s okay—we’ll get to see Merry’s incredible work soon enough.”

Lissa and Chelsea were still yakking when I excused myself and slipped away to the photo lab down the street.

The white-haired man behind the counter seemed confused. “How many rolls of film did you say?”

“Only one—twenty-four exposures.”

He searched through the alphabetized packages for the second time, humming off-key as he did. I could see that he was coming to the end of the stack, and my throat felt tight.

“Excuse me,” I ventured. “Is the woman here, the one who took my film yesterday?”

The old gentleman shook his head. “I’m sorry, young lady, but that was the manager’s wife, and she and her hubby are off to New York City on a business trip.”

“I see.”

What experience does this guy have running the place?
I wondered.

“But not to worry,” he added. “I’m fairly certain your pictures will turn up.”

Fairly certain? Yee-ikes!

He opened a drawer and pulled out a pad and pencil. “Let’s have your address and phone number.”

“Uh…sir, you don’t understand,” I said, willing the panic out of my throat. “I
have
to get those pictures back. It’s important…for a school photography contest.”

His watery blue eyes seemed to register my concern. “I’ll call you the minute I locate them.”

“Where else might they be?” I persisted, trying to sound mature about this despite the knot in my stomach.

“Wait right here.” He turned and shuffled off toward the back room.

Peering over the counter, I read the upside-down names on the packages. I was clear up to the
d
’s when he returned. Stepping away from the counter, I noticed his hands were empty.

“No such luck.” He tilted his head to the side, and his hands flew up in front of his face. “I did all I know to do, but—” and here he sighed—“I’ll keep tracking them for you.”

“Please, will you call me the minute you know something?” I pleaded.

“I certainly will.”

He waved as I left. I didn’t.

The sun cast intermittent splotches of light along the sidewalk as I hurried back to the school. “I can’t believe this,” I muttered as the frustration mounted inside me. I took the steps to the high school two at a time.

Chelsea was coming out one of the front doors as I pushed on the metal bar opposite her. “Oh, Mer, there you are,” she greeted me, eyes searching. “How’d your pictures turn out?”

“Don’t ask.” I shrugged. “They’re lost.”

“They’re
what
?” She started to follow me inside.

I put up a hand. “Hold the bus for me. I have to pick up my English notebook and some other stuff.”

“You got it.” She turned and headed back outside.

The semi-empty building seemed almost hollow, reminding me of the afternoon Chelsea had first told me the startling news about her mom.

Dashing through the hallways toward my locker, I took note of the muted sounds my tennies made in the hushed corridor. Quickly, I passed the many narrow rows where the upperclassmen had been assigned lockers earlier in the year.

Someone down the hall was saying. “Oh, Jonathan, how funny!” A tight little laugh followed.

I rotated my combination lock.
Click
. Cautiously, I glanced over my shoulder and pulled down on the lock at the same time.

Two people, way at the end of the hall, were talking. One was laughing. I heard Jon’s name again, and then Jon himself said something. The echo distorted the sound of his voice, so I couldn’t make out exactly what the Alliteration Wizard was saying. But there were a few words I did catch—something about helping to set up a photo shoot Friday after school.

I slammed my locker door, the sound reverberating through the vacant hallway. As fast as I could, I ran for the front doors and down the steps.

Chelsea leaned out one of the bus windows, calling to me. “Hurry, Merry!”

Rushing into the bus and up the steps, I stopped to thank the driver before sliding in next to Chelsea.

“Never a problem,” Mr. Tom said, reaching for the lever to pull the bus doors closed.

When I looked out the window on Chelsea’s right, I noticed Jon Klein strolling out of the building. His eyes spotted the bus, but he turned to speak to a girl—probably the same one who’d been laughing while they talked in the deserted hallway.

Fuming, I called to the driver. “Better wait. Here come two more stragglers.”

Mr. Tom reached for the lever, and the doors screeched open wide. I fumbled for my English notebook, pretending to read as Jon hopped on the bus, followed by none other than Miss Ashley Horton.

“What happened to your pictures?” Chelsea asked.

I stared down at my English notebook, trying to block out the vision of Jon and Ashley boarding the bus. For all I knew, they were sitting together!

“The pictures,” Chelsea repeated. “Where are they?”

“No one seems to know,” I muttered, not looking up.

“But how could this happen?”

My eyes bored a hole in my notebook.

Chelsea nudged me. “Mer?”

“Never mind,” I said through clenched teeth. “And don’t turn around if you know what’s good for you.”

She controlled herself—didn’t careen her neck like a giraffe and scope out the situation the way I thought she would. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

“Tell you later. Get off with me at my house, okay?” I sounded mechanical through stationary lips.

“Deal,” she replied, lips clamped.

We burst out laughing at our robotic antics. I did my best to keep my eyes forward.

Next thing I knew, Lissa showed up and scrunched her petite body in next to mine.

“Hey,
three
don’t exactly fit here,” I said, squirming.

“Listen, I’ve got some really good stuff.” Lissa bent low, and Chelsea and I matched our heads to hers. “Ashley meets Stiggy Eastman at the sandwich shop tomorrow. Twelve sharp. Be there!” Almost as quickly as she came, she disappeared.

“Oh-ho,” I shouted. “I love you, Lissa!”

Chelsea grinned. “What do you care about Stiggy and his work? That’s last year’s stuff. You’ve got a fantastic setup for
this
year,” she encouraged me.

“Yeah, if the photo lab ever finds it.”

“Maybe you should call them again when we get to your house.”

I nodded. “Genius.”

That’s what we did. The minute Chelsea and I walked in the back door, we slipped past the expectant faces of four felines and headed for Dad’s study.

After finding the number in the phone book, I dialed the lab. The old man answered. “Photo lab, may I help you?”

“I hope you can. This is Merry Hanson calling. I wonder if you’ve been able to find my single roll of developed film.”

“
Who
did you say?”

I went through the whole rigmarole again, reminding him who I was, what I wanted, and why I was concerned.

Finally, he said, “Ah yes. I’ve been trying to phone you, but there’s been no answer.”

“Well, I just got home,” I explained. “So…you must’ve found my pictures.” I tingled with excitement.

“Yes, yes, they’re here.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. I’ll pick them up first thing tomorrow.” I paused, grinning at Chelsea. Then, turning my attention to the voice on the phone, I said, “You’ll hang on to them for me, won’t you?”

“I certainly will, young lady. Glad to be of service.”

Actually, when it came right down to it, I couldn’t wait to see the photos. The minute Mom arrived, I pleaded with her to drive with me down to the photo lab. She had other things on her mind.

“Evidently, you girls haven’t heard the latest,” Mom was saying.

“About what?” I asked, peering wide-eyed at Chelsea.

“It seems that someone has discovered a page of repetitious writing—something similar to what’s in your mother’s diary, Chelsea.” Mom looked at her, then me.

“Where?” Chelsea asked.

Mom’s eyes shone. “In a gas station somewhere in the area of Mt. Pisgah.”

“Really?” I couldn’t believe it.

Mom said, “The news report I just heard indicated that a cult group has been located and certain members identified.”

“This is so-o incredible!” Chelsea exclaimed.

I gave her a squeeze. “Your dad’s probably beside himself, don’t you think?”