The Secret (Seacliff High Mystery Book 1) (2 page)

“Mac’s a computer savant,” Trevor added playfully. “In fact, I’ve often wondered if she has computer chips implanted where her brain is supposed to be.”

“Very funny.” Mac kicked Trevor under the table.

“So we have a real computer genius in our midst.” Alyson took a bite of her salad. “I can barely manage to surf the Web without getting all flubbed up. I’d love to get some one-on-one instruction from someone who knows all the tricks.”

“Sure, anytime,” Mac offered.

“How about you, Trevor?” Alyson asked. “Any special talents I should know about?”

“He’s probably the best jock in the county and he’s got the prettiest face in the whole state. Don’t you, pretty boy?” Mac teased.

“Knock it off, Mac,” Trevor complained. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“I just call ’em as I see ’em.”

“I should have punched you out in the first grade when you first started calling me that. Maybe I could have ended it right then and there.”

“You know you’d never hit me.” Mac threw a French fry at Trevor’s head. “You love me too much. Besides, I’d have kicked your butt in the first grade and we both know it.”

Alyson watched the playful banter and wondered if maybe the two of them were a couple after all. Of course they seemed more like squabbling siblings than hot and steamy lovers, but who knew? Love was strange and could be expressed in a lot of different ways.

After lunch Alyson went off to PE, where the only familiar face was Chelsea’s, and she didn’t acknowledge her, and then computer lab, where she recognized no one. She’d have to work on making a friend in PE; it was always good to have an ally when people were throwing balls of one sort or another at you. Computer lab was a self-study program, so she actually preferred to go it alone. If she got her work done early she could surf the Web and keep an eye on the goings-on back home in New York without her mother worrying that somehow someone would track her down through the maze that was the World Wide Web.

“I’ll pick you up after school for your appointment at the DMV,” Mom said the next morning as she slid light and fluffy blueberry pancakes onto Alyson’s plate.

“I hope there are no problems with my new birth certificate. This is the first time we’ve really tried it out.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Donovan knows what he’s doing. We didn’t have any trouble enrolling you in school.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Alyson poured warm syrup over the mound of pancakes in front of her and took a huge bite. “You make the best pancakes.” Alyson chewed slowly to fully savor the flavor. “Truly, if you ever get tired of the art world, you could always become a chef.”

“I appreciate the compliment, but I love painting and I can’t wait to get back to it. It’s been so long,” she added a little sadly. “Now that you’ve somehow managed to miraculously open the rusted lock, how about helping me clean out the attic this weekend so I can set up my studio? I have a contractor coming over this morning to fix the stairs.”

“Sure, Mom, I’d love to help. There certainly is a lot of stuff packed up there. Do you ever wonder why the previous owner left so much behind?”

“The Realtor mentioned that Barkley Cutter lived here his entire life until he died four years ago. The place has been empty ever since.”

“But what about his heirs?” Alyson questioned.

“I’m not really sure. I bought the house from some type of trust. Actually,” Mom elaborated, “I offered cash, so they didn’t ask a lot of questions, and I wanted to keep things as simple and quiet as possible, so I didn’t ask a lot of questions either.”

“It’d be kind of neat to learn the history of the place. I mean, it’s really old, probably from the nineteenth century. And it must have been fabulous at one point—three stories of living space, a huge attic, and a dark and dank but fairly large cellar. And you can’t beat the view.” Alyson looked out the large picture window to the blue waters of the ocean beyond.

“Maybe you could dig up some information on the house at the local historical society. That is, if this town even has one,” Mom suggested. “If not, maybe the local library.”

“I think I’ll do that. Maybe I’ll ask around. The kids I met yesterday seemed like they’ve lived here a long time, so they probably know at least a little bit about the place.” Alyson looked toward the clock above the brand-new stove that had been installed two weeks earlier. “Right now,” she added, taking her dishes to the sink, “I’d better get going or I’ll be late for school.”

“I’ll get my coat,” Mom said, getting up from her chair.

Mac waved enthusiastically as Alyson walked in the classroom for first period. Alyson felt an immediate affection for this quirky little town and its friendly residents. She’d lived in New York her entire life, and had many good friends there, but she’d never received quite as warm a welcome as she had from someone she’d met only the day before.

“We were talking about the Kickoff to Football Season dance in two weeks,” Mac began to speak as soon as Alyson got within hearing range. “You’re going to come, aren’t you?”

Alyson sat her new backpack on the table in front of her and climbed onto the tall stool.

“You simply have to,” Mac added without giving Alyson a chance to answer. “Our first home game will be on Friday night, followed by the annual bonfire out at Cutter’s Field.” Mac squirmed on her seat, completely caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment. “Then, on Saturday, there’s a parade and a pancake breakfast in the morning and a dance that night.”

“Boy, you people really love your football, don’t you?” Alyson observed.

“Yeah, I guess you could say this is a football town.” Mac flipped one of her long braids over the shoulder of her Seacliff Pirates sweatshirt. “So how about it? You’ll come, won’t you?”

“I’d love to. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Alyson was surprised to find she really meant it. Who’d have thought? High school football, and she felt excited at the prospect.

“Trevor is the best quarterback in the state,” Chelsea boasted, hugging his arm possessively.

“We’re really going to kick some butt this year,” Mac agreed. “We might even make state finals.”

“It’s about time the cheerleaders get the exposure they deserve. After two years of cheering for a lackluster team, we deserve to go to state.”

“Chelsea,” Mac reasoned, “don’t you think that maybe it’s the players and not the cheerleaders who deserve a little recognition?”

“If they do their job I guess we’ll all get what we want.”

“Class, can I have your attention?” Mr. Harris spoke from the front of the room.

“We’ll talk more at lunch,” Mac whispered to Alyson as she turned to give the teacher her full attention.

The dining selections hadn’t improved from the day before, so Alyson selected a couple of pieces of fruit and went to join Mac, Trevor, and Chelsea, who were already seated at a table by the window.

“The menu for the lunchroom could use a serious makeover,” Alyson complained, setting her selections on the table next to Mac’s.

“Tell me about it,” Chelsea agreed. “This place is definitely not diet friendly. I usually just bring a protein bar to school instead of ruining my diet with the crap they serve here.”

“Your figure is fine,” Trevor responded. “I don’t know why you girls are so diet crazy anyway.”

“Keeping an absolutely perfect figure like this takes work,” Chelsea explained. “But thanks for noticing,” she added, cuddling closer to the hunk sitting next to her. “Besides, diet is only part of it. There’s exercise, and massage, and of course there’s always . . .”

“So, Alyson,” Mac interrupted, “are you doing anything this weekend? I thought we could go to the Cannery on Friday night, and then maybe I could show you around a little on Saturday. Not that there’s much to see, but I figured being new and all, you probably don’t know the better places to shop.”

“Sounds like fun, but I promised my mom I’d help her clean out the attic on Saturday. She likes to paint and she wants to use the space as a studio. I’d love to do something on Friday night, though.”

“You just moved here and you already need to clean out your attic?” Trevor dipped one of his big, greasy onion rings in a mound of ketchup.

“Actually, we bought a bit of a fixer-upper and the previous owner left all of his personal stuff behind. It’s mostly junk, but the attic is packed floor to ceiling.”

“Why’d the previous owner leave his stuff when he moved?” Chelsea asked.

“He didn’t move. He died.” Alyson took a bite of her apple.

“You didn’t buy the old Cutter place, did you?” Trevor wiped a dollop of ketchup from his chin.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Man, that place is a dump.” Trevor took a huge bite of his hamburger, chewed twice, and then swallowed. “It’s been empty since old man Cutter died, and it was pretty run-down before that.”

“Besides, it’s haunted.” Chelsea shivered at the prospect. “Who’d want to live there?”

“Actually,” Alyson defended her new home, “I think it’s quite charming. In an old, run-down sort of way.” She took a final bite of her apple, then wrapped the core in her napkin. Sitting on her hands, she crossed the first two fingers of
both
hands. “It may be a little rough, but I’ve lived there three weeks and I haven’t seen any signs of other-worldly residents, so I don’t think it’s haunted.” The last thing she wanted to do at this point was announce to her new friends that she’d been seeing ghosts. “It just needs a little work. A little elbow grease and it’ll be good as new.”

“I hear the place used to be quite spectacular in its heyday,” Mac joined in. Taking a huge bite of her own greasy, ketchup-dripping hamburger, she chewed loudly, swallowed, and then continued her story. “It was originally built in 1845 by the town’s founder, Jedediah Cutter. It used to be filled to the brim with antique furniture and elaborate artwork. Quite the showplace. Do you think any of that stuff could be up in the attic?”

“I have no idea,” Alyson responded. “I guess we’ll find out this weekend.”

“I’m game for helping out with the cleaning.” Mac’s face lit up. “I’d love to get a peek at the inside of the place. I’ve always been sort of curious. Besides, who knows what goodies you might uncover? It’ll be like a treasure hunt.”

“Sure, the more the merrier.”

“I’m in too,” Trevor added. “I have football practice in the morning, but I could be there about noon. I was planning on going surfing with some of the guys from the team, but getting a look inside that old house is an opportunity I can’t pass up.”

“Well, I for one do not plan to spend my weekend wallowing around in a dusty attic.” Chelsea stood up from the table and gathered her books. “Anyway, I’m going to Portland to shop for a new dress for the dance. But I’m totally up for the Cannery on Friday night. I hear Obsession is playing.”

“Wow, they’re really good,” Mac agreed. “I heard their lead guitar player is in rehab, so they recruited some new guy from LA. He’s supposed to be quite the babe.”

“I wouldn’t get too excited. From what
I
hear, this guy’s just slightly more than totally out of your league.” Chelsea put her foot on the chair she’d just vacated and smoothed the roll of her already perfectly rolled socks. She repeated the action with her other foot, then reached into her backpack for a mirror and lipstick.

“I didn’t say I wanted to wrap him up and take him home,” Mac shot back, “I just wanted to check him out. Besides, I’m not the one who’s famous for shopping out of her league.” Mac glanced toward Trevor.

“Well, I’ll have you know—” Chelsea began

“So,” Alyson interrupted, “how’d the house get so run-down anyway?” 

“Barkley Cutter was a real recluse,” Trevor answered, grateful for the timely interruption. “Story is, he never left the house for any reason. Someone in town delivered groceries and necessities to him once a week, and he never ventured out on his own.”

“There are rumors of people in boats seeing someone walking along the cliffs near the house at night. Most people think it was him.” Mac wadded up her greasy hamburger wrapper and tossed it toward the trash can, making a perfect basket.

“Pretty much would have to be because the old guy was a total kook who’d shoot at anyone who dared venture onto his property.” Chelsea closed her compact and smoothed her hair.

“What happened to him?” Alyson asked. “He must have experienced some type of tragedy to turn him into such a loner.”

“Story is,” Trevor began, “his father, Jacob Cutter, was married to some rich society woman from San Francisco. She was never able to have children, but old Jacob had an illegitimate son by a bar maid in town. I guess he figured this child was the only one he was likely to have because his wife couldn’t conceive, so he paid the woman a bunch of money and brought the son home to raise himself.”

“I’m sure his wife was thrilled with that arrangement,” Chelsea muttered under her breath as she picked up her books and walked away.

“I’ve heard she was abusive to the boy,” Trevor continued. “To make matters worse, Jacob died when Barkley was only ten. He left his entire estate to him. The one stipulation was that his wife was to act as the boy’s legal guardian until he reached the age of eighteen, and she was allowed to live in the house as long as she wanted.

“After that,” Trevor elaborated, “the abuse got worse and worse. Most people think the lady lost her mind completely at some point. Anyway, on the night of Barkley’s eighteenth birthday she fell to her death from the third-floor balcony.”

“How awful.” Alyson gasped. “Do you think Barkley killed her?”

“People around here think he pushed her, but it was never proven,” Trevor answered. “Whatever happened that night must have been intense, though, because it was the last time anyone ever saw Barkley Cutter. He holed himself up in that great big house of his and never came out again.”

“How odd,” Alyson marveled.

“Some people think whatever happened that night left Barkley badly scarred or deformed,” Mac explained, “but no one really knows for sure.”

“The delivery people from town must have seen him,” Alyson retorted.

“No, they didn’t.” Mac leaned forward. “Every week someone would take supplies out to him and leave them on the porch. There would be an envelope with payment for the previous week’s supplies and a list of what was to be delivered the next week.”

“That’s how they realized he was dead,” Trevor explained. “When the delivery people went out to his place the previous week’s supplies hadn’t been picked up, so they went to get the sheriff.”

“He was found dead in his bed.” Mac shuddered. “He’d been dead for over a week.”

“That’s so sad,” Alyson sympathized. “To live your whole life without any human contact whatsoever.”

“There was a rumor,” Mac whispered, as if sharing some deep, dark secret, “that Barkley did form a relationship with one of the delivery women, and the relationship resulted in the birth of a child. But it might just be a story.”

“If there was a child there might be an heir,” Alyson realized. “Has anyone tried to confirm the story? There should be hospital records, and probably a birth certificate. At the very least someone in town must have known the woman.”