The Secret of Zormna Clendar by Julie Steimle (great reads .TXT) 📖

other relatives. But that was ok. Some people needed to leave behind the past.

Reaching the end of the pictures, she stepped into the front room. She turned to the right under the pretense that she would get a book from the far shelf. Since the living room was in the front of the house, all the furniture inside it was pristine and expensive, unlike the shabby faux suede couch her parents sat on in the family room. Their eyes were still glued to the TV screen, or so she hoped at least. But she didn’t go to the bookshelf. The moment she was out of her parents’ line of sight, she slipped next to the curio cabinet. Her eyes flickered up to the kid-made knickknacks on display as she waited there. Then, carefully, she crossed the immaculate carpet to the study door.

“And what do you think you are doing?”

Busted.

Sighing, Jennifer decided it was best to tell the truth.

Facing her parents, both of whom were watching her, she said, “I just need to get a map.”

“Why do you need a map?” her father asked, his suspicion increasing. Jennifer could see all the dark scenarios playing out in her father’s mind. He always thought the worst—another disagreeable trait of his. She would have to nip this in the bud before he began to believe she was plotting a route of escape in which to elope with Kevin to some hotel—which is what he always thinks will happen.

“I happen to be helping out someone I met this morning,” Jennifer said. And she added for her parents’ sake, “A girl.”

“Oh…” They both nodded. But already the other worst case scenario replaced the one about her and Kevin—that she had gone transgender and was now going to elope with a girl. Jennifer had to kill that one too.

“I’m just doing a neighbor a good turn. I’m helping her find an address of a relative in town,” she said. “This will only take a minute, and she’ll be on her way.”

Her father rose. “How about I find the map and direct her?”

Jennifer moaned, hanging her shoulders. “Dad. Really? Don’t you trust me at all?”

He chuckled and ever-so-slightly shook his head. “Maybe I don’t trust her.”

Jennifer groaned again.

“You know how dangerous the world is today,” he said. “Kidnappings. Random killings. Candy from strangers.”

Snorting, Jennifer said, “If it is any consolation, the girl is a high-schooler, about my age. Maybe a little younger. She just needs to find a house on the corner of Hayes and Darling Streets.”

Her father stiffened. He looked quickly back to her mother. “Darling Street, did you say?”

Jennifer nodded.

His eyes widened a little. He looked back to her mother again. She rose from her seat, looking to the kitchen door then back at Jennifer.

“Where is she?”

Shrugging, Jennifer said, “If she stayed put and waited like I told her, she’d be in the carport right now.”

“What do you mean if she stayed put?” her mother asked, going into the kitchen, probably heading to the side door.

Jennifer hung her shoulders. “I don’t know. She’s kind of spacey. You know, distracted. Like she’d never been anywhere else before but Ireland.”

“Ireland?” Both parents echoed in alarm.

Slapping her hands over her mouth, Jennifer cringed. Oops. She hadn’t intended to tell them anything about that. Her parents were über paranoid, actually, about all things Irish. They left behind their country and cultural identity when they came to America, embracing all things Americana when they arrived—including the stupid art style with chickens, cows, and barns. Jennifer had always thought this weirdness had something to do with the IRA. But they had never said a word about why exactly.

Both parents rushed to the kitchen door.

“Wait! Please!” Jennifer jogged after them, hoping they would not pounce on Zormna when they saw her. Freakishly beautiful or not, no one deserved to be beaten up for being who they were.

They yanked open the screen door then the solid one and staggered out into the carport. Jennifer stumbled out after them.

But, of course, the carport was empty. Zormna was nowhere to be seen.

Jennifer rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “This is so stupid.”

Her parents sighed together. So anticlimactic.

And they turned to go back inside.

Something rustled on the far side of both cars, right next to the tall hedge that formed a wall between their yard and the Deluca’s place. Then Zormna popped up her head, dusting off her hands with a private flush of embarrassment. Again, she had this almost toddler-like innocent look about her.

 Jennifer went down the carport steps, hurrying to her. “What are you doing?”

Zormna shrugged apologetically, quickly stepping between the cars to meet Jennifer. “Sorry. I got bored. Did you find the map?”

Looking to what Zormna had been doing, Jennifer noticed a trail of ants on the concrete picking apart a dropped doughnut chunk. Jennifer rolled her eyes back to her father, prepared to explain. But she did not get that far. Her father stared, wide eyes, mouth open. She imagined him drooling next. Jennifer looked to her mother, wondering if she’d get jealous over her husband ogling the perfect blonde. But her mother had on the same identical stare.

Zormna blushed, averting her eyes to the concrete.

“Uh, well…” Jennifer cringed, wondering if that was how she had stared at this girl the first time she saw her. “I sorta—”

“You need a map to the house on the corner of Hayes and Darling Streets?” Her father quickly trotted down the steps to the blonde, still staring at her like a man who had seen something so stunning it was almost terrifying. Her mother came right behind him.

Zormna nodded, her arms retracting close to her body.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Shrugging with just a peek at Jennifer, the girl said, “Zormna Clendar. You are Jennifer’s parents, I presume?”

Mr. McLenna nodded then looked uncertainly back to his wife. As her mother also nodded, Jennifer could see the cogs working in her mother’s brain. What about, Jennifer was not sure. Only, something in Zormna had set them in motion, and it was not going to end as she or Zormna had planned. Jennifer could see the control-freakiness in their looks.

“Ok…” Jennifer raised her voice. “About that map….”

“I think she needs to come inside,” her father said.

“I agree,” her mother chimed in. Then she turned to her daughter. “Jennifer, can you please get our guest something to drink?”

Rolling her eyes, Jennifer hung her shoulders. It was too late. They had taken over.

Zormna exhaled sharply. “Look. I just need directions. And I am not particularly thirsty at the moment.”

“I know,” her father said. “I know. But in order for us to help you, you need to come in. There is something you need to know about where you are going.”

The blonde blinked with that doe-eyed, lost in headlights look again. “Why?”

Jennifer’s mother asked, “When was the last time you were in contact with the resident of that…uh… particular house?”

“My great aunt?” Zormna remained puzzled.

They nodded, sharing looks again conspiratorial-like.

“I was a child,” Zormna said. “I hardly knew her at all, really.”

Jennifer looked back at her. How old was this girl anyway? She was short, but mature. Maybe sixteen?

Zormna waited almost robotically for the McLenna’s to respond. After all, they had asked about the connection. They must have had a reason for it.

Finally after some obvious mental agony, Mr. McLenna said, “So you don’t know what has happened recently with her?”

Zormna shook her head. “No. Should I?”

Nodding, Jennifer’s father and mother gestured for Zormna to go inside the house.

“You need to come in and sit down,” he said. “They news might be a little, uh, disturbing.”

So, staring shock-stiff ahead, Zormna nodded and trudged up the steps, one foot in front of the other. Jennifer opened the kitchen door for them both, going inside.

Jennifer’s parents led Zormna into the family room. The TV was still on. Some kind of PBS program about the pyramids in Egypt possibly being linked to the Nazca lines in Peru was on. The rich narratorial voice extrapolated on the theory that both were created by bulbous-headed aliens with enormous eyes, casting some doubt on the possibility. It had typically overdramatic background music.

Her mother hastily picked up the remote and turned it off, almost blushing. Yet Zormna hardly seemed to be aware of the room she was going into, still staring into space with worry that something had gone horribly wrong and she was about to get bad news.

“Please sit,” her father said.

Zormna glanced around again, almost like waking. She sat on the cushy faux suede couch. Her pale fingers stroked the surface as she sat there, taking in the sensation—like with the rose, and the grassy lawn, and the lawn mower, and those ants on the concrete. Jennifer got the distinct impression that this girl didn’t get out much.

“Ok,” Mr. McLenna said, “Your aunt—”

“Great aunt,” Zormna corrected, her fingernails gently making tracks in the nap of the fabric.

The man nodded. “Great aunt. She’s a large elderly woman by the name of Asiah, right?”

Lifting her head with hope, Zormna nodded. “Yes. That’s her name.”

Asiah? Really? Jennifer shook her head. Weird people.

Sighing, Mr. McLenna said, “Asiah Clendar lives on the corner of Hayes and Kennedy Streets. It got changed from Darling Street in the late Seventies. The address you have is outdated.”

Nodding, Zormna urged him to go on. A change in address was no big deal after all. They would just go there. She glanced to Jennifer with that inclination.

Jennifer shrugged, mentally agreeing.

“The thing is…uh,” her father said. Glancing to his wife, “Asiah Clendar is…uh…dead.”

Zormna’s eyes widened. She set a hand over her mouth, which was just so…Hollywood perfect. Only Zormna didn’t seem to be acting. She looked like she was about to be sick.

“Oh no….”

“She died about two years ago,” he continued explaining. “There was a big stink about it, actually. All over the newspapers. And worse, people suspect it was murder.”

Zormna rose sharply. “What?”

Her parents shared yet another look.

“That’s right,” Mr. McLenna said. “So you see, no one will be there even if you go—”

“Who murdered her?” Zormna asked. Her lips had gone pale. They had been a bare pink before. Now they were more like chalk.

Shaking their heads, both of Jennifer’s parents replied, “We don’t know. But the FBI was all over the case—that’s the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do you understand?”

Zormna nodded, slowly. Yet she stared at the space in front of her, white and weak.

Frowning, Jennifer tried to think of the case of murder they were describing. Two years ago? And in Pennington? Only one stuck out to her, but it couldn’t be that one…could it? She had to ask.

“You don’t mean that crazy woman, Miss Calendar, do you?”

Her parents cringed together.

Zormna whipped a glare at her. Her green eyes were like magic fire, slits in an offended scowl. “What do you mean crazy?”

Jennifer shrugged, raising her hands and stepping back. “I know of only one murder in our neighborhood in the past couple years—and that was that fat crazy woman who thought she was from the planet Mars.”

Zormna’s emerald eyes widened again. She blinked a few times to bat what Jennifer had just said out of them. “Thought she was from Mars?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about it,” Jennifer added.

Blinking more, Zormna’s anger entirely fizzled. She shook her head, clearly banishing a notion she thought was entirely ridiculous. She dropped back to the couch.

“Well, that’s her,” Jennifer’s dad said with a peek to Zormna.

Shaking her head again, Zormna heaved an exasperated sigh. She set her head in her hands. “So. She is dead.”

Both parents nodded.

“What am I going to do now?” Zormna muttered.

The parents shared a look.

Jennifer’s mother ventured, “Is there someone you can contact?”

Zormna moaned.

“Did you have a plan B?” Jennifer’s mother inched in closer, waiting.

Through a heavy sigh, Zormna shook her head. “No.”

In the silence, the grandfather clock ticked in the other room, then chimed.

Jennifer’s mother asked cautiously, “Do you need a place to stay until you can contact your, uh, sponsors?”

Gritting her teeth, Zormna winced. She lifted her head to meet