A Ghost of a Chance by Cherie Claire (book series to read .txt) 📖

not Annabelle. If anything, she goes by her nickname, Lori. “What else is in that letter?”

Merrill exhales deeply. “I should have brought it with me.”

“Paraphrase.”

She leans in again, this time her voice very low. “He talks about some girls disappearing at the school and how he’s responsible, but he doesn’t want that happening to her so it’s imperative that she leave for a while until things blow over. He also goes on and on about how sorry he was for the other night, something about a girl named Blair, who’s also gone missing. It’s all very creepy.”

I’ll say. I shake off a shiver that’s run up my spine. “Merrill, do you think this has anything to do with those bones found at the lake today?”

She stares deep into my eyes. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

I huff. Like I know. “How about you explaining why you and a bunch of protestors were there this afternoon. Plus, why the mayor thinks I’m in league with you all.”

Merrill runs a nervous hand through her expansive gray locks. “I don’t know if you know this but Leticia’s about to announce her candidacy for governor.”

“Okay.”

“Might not be big news for you but for those of us championing saving the environment, it’s huge.”

“I take it she’s not a tree hugger.”

Merrill smiles grimly. “Not even close. She’s brought in numerous constructions projects and subdivisions outside of town. It’s taxing on the water system we have worked so hard to clean up.”

“But we’re just travel writers,” I insist. “Why the big protest for us?”

She shrugs. “I’m desperate. In a couple of days she’s going to sign a major deal with a corporation that’s a big contributor to her campaign. I can’t let that happen. Besides, your friends from Wisconsin interviewed me for twenty minutes so something good came of it.”

I start to say that three dead bodies also came of it, which is probably airing on the news as we speak, when my fellow travel writers pass by, all laughing and recalling some funny story. Winnie spots me from the door and I smile and wave until I realize that I turned her down for a drink and here I am sitting in a bar with another friend, if you could call Merrill that. She doesn’t smile back, which makes my heart sink. Somehow, somewhere I must explain what’s going on and clear the air.

Maybe Carmine’s right. Knowledge is power and hopefully whatever TB pulls up on these dead girls I keep seeing will help my case and make it easier to explain to everyone.

When I look back at my table companion, she’s standing. “I really need to go, have three dogs at home who will have their hind legs in a knot if I don’t let them out soon.”

I grab her hand like a lifeline. Now I’m touchy feely. “Is there any way I can see that letter?”

“What’s your day like tomorrow?”

I scan my brain trying to recall our itinerary. It’s our last day in Eureka Springs. “Art galleries in the morning, I believe, lunch on the balcony at the Basin Park Hotel and then spa sessions back here in the afternoon.” Just thinking of the day makes my heart swell. Oh please, oh please universe, no dead people tomorrow — unless Lillye shows up and then I’m all ears.

“I’ll meet you back here in the afternoon,” Merrill says and I give her my spa time so she can plan.

I walk back to my room and find my husband once again sprawled on the bed watching the Patriots play somebody (forget what team that big horned sheep stands for) remote in hand and fast asleep. Like I have been doing for the past eight years, I turn off the set, cover him up fully clothed and slip inside those heavenly sheets on my side of the bed. Within minutes, I fall fast asleep.

I say sleep but in truth I have no idea where I am. Lori is standing at the foot of my bed, dressed in her usual schoolgirl attire of a long white pleated skirt and matching sailor-esque top with her muddy red hair tied back with a ribbon. She nods her head in the direction of the door. I don’t want to leave my luxurious bed but I grab my robe and follow her, wondering if the halls of the Crescent Hotel are real and someone alive will spot me soon, or if I’m lingering in an alternate reality.

We’re back in James Cabellero’s office so it’s not my century. This time, the English teacher is leading a class in the Shakespeare comedies while Lori sits in the front row. There’s an easy, peaceful feeling — as the song goes — in this scene, and again I sense something between teacher and pupil, an attraction bordering on impropriety. She loves English and excels at it, I’m thinking, which makes any English teacher’s heart go pitter-patter. But Lori’s also a bit too enamored with Teach, which undoubtedly stirs other parts of his fresh-out-of-college anatomy. Still, it’s hard for me to imagine Plain Jane doing anything too naughty with the professor.

The door suddenly opens and who should walk in but my blond girl from the cave. I’m astonished to see her standing before me not only alive and well but stunningly beautiful with her blond hair coifed up with ivory combs and her sweater a size too tight buttoned over her uniform, which emphasizes an over-matured bosom.

She’s also cocky as hell.

“This is your new student, Blair Marcus,” a woman about the same age as James informs him. As the other teacher gives James instruction, Blair takes in the room and its occupants, not liking what she sees.

“So she’s all yours,” the teacher says and leaves the room.

James rises and knocks over his chair as Blair seductively walks to his desk. Blair sends him a knowing smile and James clears his throat nervously.

“Welcome to Crescent College,” he says hoarsely, holding out his hand, which makes the girls whisper to one another. I imagine them thinking Mr. Caballero never shakes a girl’s hand and why is he acting so nervous?

Blair takes the opportunity to not only squeeze his hand, but leans in closer than what’s appropriate for a girl her age. “Nice to meet you, handsome.”

This impudence throws James off guard so instead of reprimanding Blair he quietly points to an empty chair in the front row next to Lori. The girls titter once more.

Lori, on the other hand, doesn’t miss a thing. She watches the interaction closely, appalled, her heart sinking. I know, because I can feel her emotions and compare them to my own, sense how she’s realizing that there is no way she can compete with Blair’s sophistication and beauty. Been there, done that.

I want to lean over and tell her “teen years are a bitch but it gets better down the road” but I suddenly remember there is no future for Lori. The time frame changes, anyway, and we’re now in an expansive room filled with windows, dressed in workout clothes, or whatever they called uniforms for PE back then. Blair sits off to the side, surrounded by a cackle of girls eating up her every word. Lori ignores them, reading Twelfth Night by herself in a corner. Her choice of reading material makes me laugh, but no sound emerges from my throat.

“Are you going to town with us later?” one of the girls asks Queen Bee. “We want to buy something new for the dance on Saturday night.”

“What’s the point,” Blair answers. “The clothes in this podunk town are so boring, nothing that’s fashionable right now. I’m going to wait until I get back to Dallas to buy my new wardrobe.”

The group’s enthusiasm drops a notch. “We can go to the ice cream parlor instead,” another girl pipes up.

Blair studies her nails. “I suppose. But then you have to make small talk with Mr. McLaughen. Seriously, this town bores me to tears.”

“You didn’t seem bored last night,” another one says. “Mamie said you were out past midnight with that cute townie. And you weren’t on school grounds.”

A secretive smile forms on Blair’s face. “He’s okay. He wasn’t too boring, did what he was supposed to do, if you know what I mean.”

The girls look at each other innocently. I doubt they do.

“I came home satisfied,” Blair concludes. “Although I think I lost my panties in the woods behind St. Elizabeth’s.”

Several of the girls open their mouths in shock when they finally get her meaning, and Lori stops reading to look over in astonishment.

“What are you looking out homey,” Blair shouts at Lori. “Just because you never had a man touch you doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t. Some of us have looks.”

“Blair, that’s mean,” a girl whispers.

“She has to learn somehow,” Blair retorts. “Might as well prepare for spinsterhood now.” To Lori, she adds, “Keep reading bookworm. You’re going to need that education when the men never appear on your doorstep.”

Once again, my chest hurts from the pain Lori’s feeling. To her credit, she bows her head into her book and ignores Blair. But I can see the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Are you going out with Townie again?” the girl with the pink ribbons asks Blair.

“No, I’m done with him. I’m fishing for bigger trout now.”

The girls offer a million questions but Blair doesn’t let on. When James walks into the conservatory, however, she lights up, adjusting her hair and sneaking on some hot red lipstick.

“Girls,” is all he says as he makes his way to the bookshelf on the far wall.

“Professor,” Blair says slowly and seductively as he passes by.

The last thing I witness before the vision blurs is the sly smile on James’ and Blair’s faces while Lori looks on in shock.