The Dead of Summer (18 page)

Marnie took the hint. “I’m going to go get you some crackers.” She scurried off to rummage through the box of goodies I knew she kept in her desk.

“You’re not doing a crazy starvation diet, are you?” Carson asked as I leaned my back against the table leg. “Just so you know, I happen to like you just the way you are.” Suddenly I felt like I was going pass out again, this time in a puddle of melted gooey insides.

“No, I’m not dieting.”
Although I probably should. This shirt feels a tad bit tight and restricting now. Ugh. And are my boobs getting bigger? Isn’t it a little too late for me to get
more
boobs?

Carson was staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain my grand collapse. I glanced around and made sure Marnie was still rummaging through her food cabinet.

“I know I have crackers and peanut butter in here somewhere!” she called out. She was like a squirrel with her food supply.

I motioned for Carson to move closer and I covered my mouth with my hand as I whispered, “Mark Ryan is my daddy.”

Carson’s eyes widened in shock and he opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted him. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want Marnie to get even more suspicious than she is now.”

Carson nodded and then said loudly, “We’ll have to get you home, Kennedy!” He winked at me as he spoke.

“Oh no you don’t!” Marnie poked her head over the top of the counter. “She’s gotta get something in that belly of hers!” She puffed over to us, waving a sleeve of saltines in the air. “I told you I had crackers somewhere.”

“And I believed you,” I told her as she shoved a cracker in my hand. I nibbled on it obediently. “But I want to get home to lie down. I feel like maybe I’m coming down with a bug or something,” I explained, trying not to spray crackers in Marnie’s face as I spoke.

Germaphobe Marnie backed off just then. “Well just take these crackers then and promise me you’ll eat them and go straight home to your mama.”

I took the plastic sleeve from her and nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, of course.”

I struggled to my feet with the help of Carson and the table top and caught a glimpse of the computer screen, the tabs still open to our searches. I tried to make eye contact with Carson so I could mentally instruct him to close out the windows, but he was practically dragging me to the exit doors. “Don’t you think we should log out of the computer?” I asked Carson, my eyes growing wide, praying he would understand what I was trying to say.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sugar. I can—” Marnie started to say, but Carson beat her to the punch.

“No problem!” He set me down on the chair and raced over to the computers, clicking his fingers rapidly and closing the tabs before Marnie could even move. Then he calmly helped me to my feet. Even though I didn’t need the help, it certainly did feel good to have Carson’s taking care of me like that, all chivalrous.

“Did you erase the history?” I asked when we were safely on the front lawn of the library, the bright sunshine blinding us and Marnie behind the glass doors of the building, out of ear shot.

“Sure did.” Carson bobbed his head. “That was a good catch.”

I sat down on the steps of the library, still feeling dizzy.

“So you fainted because you saw your daddy’s name in the newspaper? You think that the abandoned car belonged to him? ” Carson was bouncing on the balls of his feet and chattering excitedly.

“I don’t think so,” I said, shoving a cracker into my mouth. “My daddy has been dead for years. He was killed overseas.”

“I’m sorry,” Carson said as he plopped down on the steps next to me. He laid his hand on my knee, sending chills up my body. “Why didn’t you tell me? I went on and on about my mama and you never said anything.”

I shrugged. “It’s not the same. I didn’t really know him.”

Carson thought about that for a minute and then said, “Well, then it definitely can’t be him. Just a weird coincidence.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think it is a coincidence. I think it’s all connected somehow. I feel it in my gut,” I said. My mind was replaying the séance with Lindy. The one where “my daddy” told us that he was buried in the basement. I knew it was ridiculous, of course. Still, the thought gave me goosebumps that went all the way to the ends of my hair.

I didn’t tell Carson about the Ouija board and I expected him to tell me I was being downright ridiculous for thinking there was a connection between this abandoned car and my dead daddy. But instead, Carson completely shocked me and said, “Maybe it’s someone impersonating your daddy.”

My mouth hung open.
Why yes, that was totally possible wasn’t it?
I had heard of people sifting through obituaries to find someone who matched their age and sex and whatnot and then stealing their identity. It was a hell of a lot easier to steal a dead person’s identity than a live person’s; there was nobody to protest your credit card bills and stuff if people thought you were dead.

Carson stood up and began to pace, deep in thought. “And maybe the guy showed up at your house for some reason…I haven’t figured out what yet. But bear with me here. He showed up and your mama knew he was a fake and she killed him. That would explain why he was dead in your basement.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe she would just kill someone like that!”

Carson pursed his lips together as he paced, kicking up dirt on the path he was creating for himself. It hadn’t rained in weeks and it was dry as a bone on the library’s front lawn. “Hmmm. Well maybe
he tried to attack her. You know, to keep her from talking and she hit him over the head with something and it was hard enough to kill him—just trying to protect herself. But then she got scared, thinking the police wouldn’t believe that’s what happened and she hid him in the basement till she could figure out what to do.” He ceased his pacing, dust swirling around his feet as he abruptly stopped, and smiled at me triumphantly.

At that moment I wanted to throw myself into his arms and hug him, kiss him.
Of course that’s what happened!
The low life jerk tried to hurt Mama, who was just defending herself, and then she got scared when the guy died. It made so much sense that I couldn’t stop the tears that were falling from my eyes—it was like they were spewing from a broken dam.

“Crap, Kennedy, are you okay?” Carson asked, awkwardly leaning toward me like he wanted to comfort me, but didn’t want to make me cry harder.

I nodded. “Yes, yes,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes.
Do not act like a simpering fool!

Carson stared at me for a second, looking uncertain about continuing.

“Okay, well then what we need to do is find out about this alleged Mark Ryan.”

“Mark Ryan? Your daddy?” Lindy’s shrill voice cut through the summer heat. My head whipped around and I saw her leaning up against the side of the building.
When did she show up? She was like a mountain lion stalking her prey.

“Lindy!” I chewed the inside of my cheek, making it bleed. I remembered the pictures of Sam sitting by herself. Lindy had a scowl etched on her face and her arms were crossed over her chest. “What are you doing here?” I asked redundantly. I knew exactly what she was doing. Making my life a living hell.

Lindy pushed herself off of the building. “Oh, just returning my book,” she said with a sneer. She waved the book around and I could see the cover. It was the book I had left under the hydrangea bush. I tried not to react as she pulled the paper with my poems out. “Can’t forget to take my bookmark, now can I?” She sashayed up to Carson and waved the paper at him. “Could you hold my bookmark for me?”

Carson stood motionless as Lindy waved the piece of paper in front of him. Colt emitted a low growl. Lindy ignored him and fluttered her lashes at Carson—she wasn’t paying attention to anyone but him. Seizing the opportunity, I jumped to my feet and lunged for the paper, but Lindy was too quick. She pulled it away before I could get my hands on it.

“No, no, Kennedy,” Lindy chastised as I landed in the dirt. “You don’t want me to give this to Carson?”

“Lindy—” I practically growled.

“Well if you want to hold my bookmark yourself, you need to tell me what you’re talking about,” Lindy said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Carson opened his mouth to protest, but I snapped, “Fine.” I stood up and held my hand out for the book.

Lindy smiled triumphantly and thrust the book at me. She shoved the piece of paper in her back pocket, however. “So what are you kids up to today?”

I glanced at Lindy while I tucked the book into the waistband of my shorts. Obviously I needed to tell her something, but I wasn’t sure how much info to give her. Carson was with me when I discovered the body, so he was in all the way. Lindy didn’t know about the body, however. There had to be a way to pacify her without spilling too much.

Fortunately, Carson jumped in just then. “Kennedy wants to know more about a guy is his late thirties or early forties named Mark Ryan. She thinks he may be impersonating her dead daddy.”

“Maybe we should do a computer search on all the Mark Ryans in the country,” I suggested as I picked the package of crackers off the step and shoved them in the garbage can. I was suddenly not hungry anymore.

“It seems like it’d be a pretty popular name,” Carson said. “I bet there’s over four hundred Mark Ryans.”

“Crap, that’ll take all day,” I sighed as I sank back down on the library steps.

“Okay, are you two done being stupid?” Lindy asked. She plopped down on the steps and pulled out her phone. She shoved the dog out of her way. After giving her a dirty look, Colt got up from where he was resting and moved away from her.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Carson asked, raising his eyebrow at me over Lindy’s head.

“Duh, checking Facebook. Every old person is on Facebook. They never use Instagram or Snapchat or anything remotely cool,” Lindy said.

“She’s got a point,” Carson said reluctantly. Lindy beamed at him like he told her he’d take her to the prom.

“But wouldn’t his profile be private?” I asked, desperate to burst her bubble.

Carson shook his head. “Most of the older people using social media aren’t too savvy with the privacy settings. My aunt had everything on public. She used to post nauseating pictures of her and my uncle in their bathing suits on tropical vacations and buying expensive crap. And she would check in everywhere she went. My dad always warned her that a stalker could easily know when she’s out and break into the house, but she kept ignoring him. Somebody wiped out their house two years ago when they were in Europe.”

I nodded. I was pretty sure Mama wasn’t too careful either. Which, could possibly be how this guy who was impersonating my daddy found her to begin with.

“We can scroll down and check some of them out. We can rule out anyone who looks too old or too young,” Carson said.

“You know, sometimes people don’t use their own pictures for their profile,” Lindy said all matter-of-factly.

“True,” Carson said, eyes cast downward. I guess he wasn’t too thrilled to be corrected by Lindy. “But it’s still a start.” Both of us leaned over Lindy’s shoulders as she scrolled down on her phone. A few times, I glanced up nervously, certain that anyone who saw us would know what we were up to. But then I realized we just looked like kids staring at a cell phone—just like every other teenager on the planet.

On the third page, I pointed to one of the pictures on the screen. The profile photo was a slightly blurry shot of an unsmiling man in a tuxedo, maybe at a wedding or something. My gut was screaming with recognition. “Try that one.”

“That looks a lot like the guy,” Carson remarked, tilting his head to the side.

“You saw this guy?” Lindy asked, snapping her cinnamon flavored gum.

My eyes met Carson’s over the top of Lindy’s head. We had to be careful if we didn’t want Lindy to find out about the body in the basement. It was
our
secret. Well, ours and Mama’s.

“Uh, hmm,” Carson muttered as Lindy tapped the screen. “Just briefly.”

“Do you think that picture was taken at his wedding?” I asked poking at the screen and hopefully effectively changing the subject.

“Maybe,” Carson replied. “We’ll have to see if we can get into his page.”

“There you go. It’s not set to private,” Lindy sang out.

My eyes scanned the page and I leaned over her shoulder. “Can you click on
about
?” Lindy clicked. We stared.

“It says this guy is in a relationship, but it doesn’t say married,” Carson said.

I stared at the screen with the man who obviously was not my daddy, but was oddly enough, pretending to be him. He was tall, like I imagined my daddy had been, and very handsome, his finely chiseled face wearing a bit of a scowl. It looked like he was looking directly into the sun at whoever was taking the picture. And now, he was exactly like my daddy…
dead
.

“Are there pictures of him with a woman or…man or whoever this significant other is?” I asked.

Lindy scrolled down the page, shaking her head. “No, nothing with his arm around anyone. There’s a few posts on here about places he’s going to. Um, Amarillo and Chicago and oh, a new restaurant that opened in Dallas. He has lots of pictures of him hunting and cracking cans of beer open with a bunch of guys, but no pictures with women or with any kids or anything like that. He does have it listed that he has a fifteen year old daughter, but I don’t see any pictures of her on here.”

The chills that were already tingling at my skin now rippled through my body, causing me to shudder.

“Are you okay?” Carson asked with concern. Lindy didn’t even notice.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied. “That seems so weird. You know, that he would have a fifteen year old daughter, just like my real daddy. Well, I mean, he died when I was younger than I am now, but you know what I mean…”

I trailed off and didn’t mention the fact that little vignettes were playing through my head. Visiting a relative in a retirement community in Amarillo, surrounded by old, wrinkly people. Remembering the deer head that hung in our living room that used to scare the bejeezus out of me, and the gun cabinet that I was never supposed to touch. It was either an eerie coincidence or this man had truly aspired to live life not only
posing
as Mark Ryan, my daddy, but to
be
Mark Ryan, my daddy. Maybe it was someone that my daddy had known when he was alive.