Rattled

  RATTLED

  a mystery

  Lisa Harrington

  Copyright © Lisa Harrington 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

  Nimbus Publishing Limited

  PO Box 9166

  Halifax, NS B3K 5M8

  (902) 455-4286 www.nimbus.ca

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Interior design: Heather Bryan

  Front cover: Min Landry

  Author photo: Ross Harrington

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Harrington, Lisa

  Rattled : a mystery / Lisa Harrington.

  ISBN 978-1-55109-783-1

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-55109-843-2

  I. Title.

  PS8615.A7473R38 2010 jC813’.6 C2010-903059-1

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and the Canada Council, and of the Province of Nova Scotia through the Department of Tourism, Culture and Heritage for our publishing activities.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  The blood formed a pool on the floor, surrounded by a kind of circular splatter design. It was like a preschool painting, the ones with the drops of paint squished between a folded piece of paper. There always seemed to be a big glob in the middle. The blood looked just like that.

  Flickering through the kitchen, the rotating light from the ambulance made it feel more like a disco than a crime scene. Two officers leaned against the counter talking quietly, taking notes.

  The knife had spun, propeller-style, across the floor to rest in front of the fridge. It was now considered evidence.

  Outside, pyjama-clad neighbours lined the street, shaking their heads in disbelief. Things like this just didn’t happen around here, not in this neighbourhood. At least they didn’t before the Swickers moved in.

  Chapter 1

  Five weeks earlier.

  It was six days after my fifteenth birthday, and four days into summer vacation. I was bored already. Resting my elbows on the kitchen counter, I watched Mom dice rhubarb as I tried to tune out my sister, Jilly, who was yammering on and on about Robert Pattinson. She’d just come from seeing his movie for the third time. I shook my head. Not that I disagree with her—he’s totally hot—but she talked about him as though she actually had a chance or something. The fact that she’s only a year and a half older than me blew my mind on a daily basis.

  “Check the weather, would you, Lydia?” Mom asked.

  I flicked on the tiny TV that sat on the top of the fridge, turned to the Weather Network and waited for the local forecast. I used to think it was just our family who was obsessed with the weather but now I believe it’s all Maritimers. Probably because our weather changed so quickly, we felt the need to be constantly updated.

  “Here we go…Halifax 25, humidex 32,” I reported. “But they’ve got a picture of a sun, a cloud, and raindrops in the little square, so who knows?”

  “They just do that to cover their butts,” Jilly said.

  I looked out the kitchen window to check for myself. The heat was rising up from the street giving off that kind of wavy, watery look. My boredom seemed to be increasing with the temperature.

  The entire summer was stretched out before me and I had nothing to do. All my friends were away at cottages, camps, or paddling clubs. It was depressing beyond belief. Even Jilly had a babysitting job. We had no cottage, Mom wasn’t the cottagey type. Too much work, she said. Like taking care of two homes.

  Okay, so the cottage thing was out, I actually understood that one. And camp? Well, no great loss there, it really wasn’t my thing. My idea of roughing it in the wilderness was a Winnebago without a microwave.

  I thought I’d come up with the perfect compromise. I’d begged Mom to join the Waeg, a club in the south end of the city. Three pools, tennis, sailing…it was awesome. I told her there were loads of kids that I already knew who went—loads being two. And after explaining how I could spend the whole day there, be out of her hair, not hanging around the house, I thought she’d be totally sold. I thought wrong.

  Should I give it one more try? “Don’t suppose you changed your mind about the Waeg?” I asked, still staring out the window.

  “You supposed right.”

  “But Mom, don’t you know studies show that teenagers get in trouble fifty percent more often when they’re bored?”

  “Have you looked in our garage lately? Trust me, I’ll make sure you’re not bored.”

  “Mommm,” I whined.

  “Lydia. I already told you, I’m not spending the summer taxiing you back and forth from downtown.”

  I spun around and gave Jilly a look. “Well maybe if by some miracle Jilly manages to pass her driving test, she could drive. I’d even pay for gas.”

  “Hey! I’ve only failed twice, and the last time wasn’t my fault! The test lady was wearing navy blue and brown! Together! At the same time! I mean, seriously, how am I supposed to concentrate with that kind of fashion nightmare sitting beside me?!”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll take the bus,” I pleaded, turning to face Mom so she could see the desperation in my face.

  She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. She knew I was lying.

  I had this thing about the bus. There’s nothing wrong with it or anything like that, it just made me uncomfortable, especially when I was by myself. It felt like people were staring at me. Whenever I got on or off, I could feel their eyes following me. They probably weren’t. I knew people had better things to do than observe my every move, but my neck would still break out in a nervous rash every time. That sounds paranoid, and I’m so not. Well…maybe just a bit, but only on the bus.

  “There’s this new thing,” Jilly said. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called a job?”

  Easy for her to say, sitting there all smug. She’d landed the most coveted summer job in the neighbourhood—babysitting for the Darcys. They paid a bijillion dollars an hour, had the best snacks, and their kids were angels. Jilly could look forward to many hours of texting, painting her nails, and lying in the sun—three of her greatest talents.

  Mom wiped her hands on the dishtowel. “We really should look into that, Lydia. There must be something…maybe Dad could use you at the office…”

  My shoulders slumped. I wasn’t that bored. I turned back to the window, willing something to happen. When I was a kid I thought I possessed some kind of telekinetic power—that I could make something happen with my mind if I concentrated hard enough. Okay…I still sort of think it. Like the other night in the car, I was looking at a street light, and poof, it burned out. I figure that’s got to be some kind of power. I mean, what else could it be?

  My ears perked up at the sound of squeaking brakes.
<
br />   “Check it out,” I said. Maybe I do possess some powers after all.

  A beat-up Volkswagen camper van pulled up to the curb in front of the house directly across the street. It was bright orange speckled with a bunch of rust patches.

  Apparently Jilly and Mom hadn’t heard me. Jilly was trying to convince Mom that in a few years, the age difference between her and Robert wouldn’t mean a thing.

  “I think someone finally rented the Henleys’ house,” I said loudly, over my shoulder.

  Mom and Jilly rushed over to join me at the window.

  “It’s about time,” Mom said. “That sign’s been up for months.”

  “Well, I hope they have some boys.” Jilly smoothed her hair with her hands.

  “Would you give it a rest, Jilly? There’s more to life, you know.” She was too annoying for words.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, Lid, it’s not like you’ve never had a thing for a boy, so why don’t you give it a rest?”

  I sucked in my breath. I knew what she was referring to, that momentary lapse in judgment last fall. In my defense, it only lasted four days. My best friend William asked my other best friend Vicki “out.” On a real date! Talk about messing up the trio. I couldn’t believe it! If he wanted a girlfriend, why wouldn’t he have just picked me? I mean, I probably would have said no, but still, wasn’t I the obvious choice? I’d known him for like ever. It really bugged me. I sulked for days, four days. That’s how long it took me to realize they had basically turned bipolar, sickeningly lovey-dovey one minute, paranoid and depressed the next. Not to mention when they were apart, all they did was text each other. It was nauseating. Who needs that?

  Jilly whispered, “Lid and William sitting in a tree…” into my ear.

  I gave her a dirty look and elbowed her in the ribs. I hated when she called me Lid.

  “Knock it off, you two,” Mom said.

  The three of us pressed our faces closer to the window and waited for the van door to slide open.

  “Ouch!” I yelled. Jilly had my arm in a death grip and was digging her fingernails into my flesh.

  “Look!” She was practically jumping up and down.

  I rubbed my arm and followed her gaze to see what the big deal was. Then I saw it. Him. Him was beautiful. I hated to admit it, but I think my mouth actually fell open.

  “He’s stretching!” Jilly shrieked, right into my ear.

  I moved out of her reach before she did permanent damage. I continued to watch the scene outside unfold. Dragging my eyes from the boy, I noticed a girl. She was blonde and beautiful, just like the boy. She looked about my age. Hmmm…the boy was probably older? Maybe about Jilly’s age? Was there no justice?

  Then there was the mother. She wasn’t blonde or beautiful. The word sharp popped into my head, and not the good kind. Tall, thin, pale, all pointy angles and edges, like a villain straight out of a Disney movie. A black cat appeared and circled the mother’s legs. I smiled, thinking how appropriate that somehow seemed.

  “What should we do?” Jilly asked, wringing her hands.

  “Well, you could go over, say hi, introduce yourself,” Mom suggested.

  “Oh yes! That’s exactly what we should do.” Jilly turned and grabbed me by the shoulders. I cringed, bracing for the pain. “Go fix yourself up and we’ll go over together.”

  I squirmed out of her grasp. “It’s okay, I think I’m good to go.”

  She gave me a quick once over and shrugged her shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

  I watched her bend at the waist, swing her head full of blonde hair back and forth a couple times, then straighten up. It was like watching a shampoo commercial. I sighed as she pulled out a tube of lip gloss, whipping the wand around with unimaginable precision and speed. She didn’t even use a mirror. I was still shaking my head when we left the house.

  The new neighbours were milling around the van, lifting out assorted boxes and suitcases, when we arrived in their driveway. The boy put down the box he was holding and smiled when he saw us. I really wished I had fixed my hair and put on some lip gloss.

  No one seemed to want to speak first, so I took the plunge. “Hi.”

  “Welcome to the neighbourhood,” Jilly gushed.

  “I’m Lydia,” I said.

  “And I’m Jilly.”

  The girl came and stood by the boy. The mother remained on the other side of the van, talking on her cellphone.

  “I’m Sam,” the boy said. “This is my sister, Megan, and that’s,” he gestured with his head, “our mom.”

  “Hi.” The girl smiled shyly and gave a tiny wave.

  I fiddled with my watch strap, trying to come up with something intelligent to say. “So…where you guys coming from?”

  The mother snapped her cellphone shut and joined our circle.

  “Ottawa,” she answered for them. “We’ve just come from Ottawa.”

  “Mom, this is Lydia and Jilly. They live across the street,” Sam said.

  “Hmmm, yes, I can see that.”

  “My friend Daisy moved to Ottawa three years ago,” I said. “We drive up for Easter every year. Where’d you live in Ottawa?”

  Again it was the mother who answered. “A small place. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”

  “Did it have a mall?” Jilly piped up.

  The mother seemed confused by the question. “Yes…”

  “Then chances are we were probably there. See, I’m a bit of a shopaholic,” Jilly said, talking out of the corner of her mouth. “I’m sure there isn’t a mall in Ottawa I haven’t been to.”

  “That’s nice,” the mother said, then turned to the kids. “Megan. Take that cooler inside and put the things in the fridge.” Her cellphone rang and she stepped away to answer it.

  Jilly threw me a “would ya get a load of her” look.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” Megan said politely. She seemed a bit embarrassed.

  “Yeah, you too. Things can get kind of boring around here in the summer.”

  Megan smiled another shy smile and bent over to pick up the cooler.

  “Now it’s so not boring,” Jilly added, making her lips kind of pouty and giving Sam her best Next Top Model look.

  I rolled my eyes. She was at it already.

  Sam swiftly intercepted the cooler from Megan. “I’ll take that for you, Meg. It’s heavy.” He turned to us. “So…maybe we’ll see you around.”

  “Definitely,” Jilly and I answered in unison, both nodding like a couple of Bobblehead dolls, idiot Bobblehead dolls.

  The mother returned. “Yes, well, we’re going to be busy for quite a while.” She looked at me and Jilly like we were something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. “There’s a lot to be done. Megan, get Peter and take him inside.”

  Megan quickly scooped up the cat.

  Before Jilly or I could even say bye, the mother corralled Sam and Megan and herded them up the driveway.

  Jilly and I just stood there looking after them, and then at each other.

  “Well that was kind of weird,” I said.

  “No kidding. Who names a cat Peter?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’m talking about—”

  “Duh,” she interrupted, giving me a shove. “The mother…I know. She seriously needs a personality transplant or something.”

  “She never did tell us where they lived in Ottawa. Did you notice that?”

  “Yeah well, let’s forget her and focus on other things.”

  “Oh, I know what you’re focusing on.”

  “And by the way, I call first dibs, you know, on Sam,” she clarified.

  “What? What about Clark?”

  “Clark?!” she exclaimed. “He’s like so last week!”

  I stopped and stared at her. I could have sworn Clark had been standing in our kitchen…well…just the week before…so I guess she was right.

  “It’s a lot of work finding your soulmate,” she continued. “Sam might be the one, you know.”<
br />
  What could I say? “Fine,” I muttered under my breath. Curse the law of first dibs.

  We walked across the street. Jilly started humming. I knew she was lost in her own world, probably picturing how Sam would look in a tux taking her to the prom. I was thinking about the mother. Besides the obvious, there was just something I couldn’t put my finger on.

  And then I felt it, the hairs prickled on the back of my neck. I glanced sideways at Jilly—still humming. I didn’t have to turn around to know the mother was watching us. It reminded me of being on the bus. The only difference…I knew I wasn’t being paranoid this time.

  Chapter 2

  “What do you mean you don’t know their last name?” Mom asked. She had been watching us from the kitchen window and wanted a full report.

  “Mom, we don’t talk about stuff like that,” Jilly said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? When you meet new people, don’t you ask them their names?”

  “Well, we got their first names. The kids are Megan and Sam,” I said.

  “They’re from Ottawa,” Jilly added.

  “Oh, for the love of God, pass me my coffee cake pan,” Mom demanded, opening cupboards and slamming down baking ingredients.

  “Mom, settle down. You’re acting like we’ve disgraced the family name or something,” I said.

  “Plus, the mother’s a real piece of work. Craaan-key,” Jilly said. “She doesn’t strike me as the coffee cake type. Did you see how skinny she was, Lid? She kind of reminds me of Mrs. Wilson, remember? We used to say she lived on her church communion wafer.”

  I laughed. I did remember Mrs. Wilson. Grade six French. She was at least a hundred years old, and all of eighty pounds. I always felt nervous that she was going to drop dead in the middle of class. Our new neighbour could totally be her daughter. Well, maybe her granddaughter.