“Oh, yeah, she was Satan,” The Third said in a bored tone.

“I’m not kidding, okay! There were things about her that were just plain…” Evangeline swallowed hard and looked out the window where rain was still running down the panes.

“Plain what?” Zeke demanded.

“Scary. Dark. I don’t know. Vicious or evil or whatever you want to call it.” She glanced around at the table and shrugged. “We all know it. We’re afraid to say it because she went missing and something horrible might have happened to her, but we all know deep inside that there was something very, very wrong with Jessie Brentwood.”

Becca couldn’t stand it a second longer. Her vision hovered and she needed air. She scraped her chair back, startling Jarrett. “Excuse me.” Quickly, she shoved open the frosted doors and headed through the maze of curtained rooms. It was all too close. Too confining. Too…malicious. She walked toward the restrooms, then changed her mind and headed for the front doors, where she stepped out into the cool of the night. The rain had slowed to a thin drizzle and the wind had died, but the air was thick, mist rising off the parking lot. She glanced to a line of parked cars where fir and oak trees defined the edge of the lot. Rain beaded on the hoods, and windshields reflected light from the security lamps blazing overhead. Traffic hummed past and the sound of jazz, muted though it was, filtered into the night.

Becca walked along the front of the building, letting the cold February air clear her head, telling herself that she couldn’t admit to anyone that she’d seen Jessie in a vision; they’d all think she’d gone around the bend. But the vibes she’d picked up in that room had all but stifled her. And the body, found at St. Elizabeth’s. Had Jessie really been killed and buried, right there? Laid to rest in a shallow, horrid grave at the base of the statue? But who would kill her? And why? She rubbed her arms and glanced around the parking lot again. A woman in a long raincoat was walking quickly through the sparse cars, skirting puddles. A slim woman with light brown hair falling from her face, just the way Jessie’s had in the vision.

Becca’s breath stopped in her lungs. Her pulse quickened. It couldn’t be. And yet…

Jessie?

At that moment, the woman turned to face her, and even in the poorly lit lot, it was evident she was not the girl Becca had witnessed in her vision. There was some resemblance, yes, but this woman, now clicking the remote to unlock her car, definitely was not Jezebel Brentwood.

You’re cracking up, Becca.

Seeing ghosts.

If Jessie’s really dead, if the body in the maze is, in fact, Jessie’s…

The door behind her opened and she turned, half expecting Hudson to step outside, but she was disappointed when Mitch Bellotti, unlit cigarette crammed into the corner of his mouth, lighter in hand, walked up to her. “Freaky in there, isn’t it?” he said, flicking his lighter and bending into the flame. He drew deeply on his filter tip.

“Yep.” The door swung shut.

He shot a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket to withdraw a slightly crumpled pack of Marlboros. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” She shook her head and the pack disappeared. “I just needed a break.”

“You and me both.” He hitched his chin toward one wing of the restaurant. “I gotta say, all this talk about Jessie and if she’s alive or dead. Buried up at the school, rotting…oh, hell…It’s kinda sick.” He took another long drag and shook his head as he looked at the road where traffic, now thinning, was moving slowly. “I don’t need this.”

Becca made a sound of agreement.

The door opened again, conversation and music flowing into the night. Becca glanced over her shoulder and this time it was Hudson, his expression grim, walking outside. “You okay?” he asked her.

“Yeah. Well…sort of.” She shook her head. “This whole thing is so bizarre. It just kind of got to me.”

Mitch was nodding as he squinted through the smoke curling from his cigarette. On the arterial, an impatient driver of a sports car honked at a minivan still idling at the intersection though the light had turned green. “So, Renee’s bent on getting her story, huh.”

Hudson nodded. “I’d like to know if those bones are Jessie’s.”

“Yeah. Well. I guess.” Mitch shrugged.

Hudson’s gaze found Becca’s. “Coming?”

She nodded and walked through the door he held open.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Mitch said, but was cut off by the door closing with a soft thud.

And then Becca and Hudson were alone in the foyer. No customers were crowded, waiting in line, and even the hostess had left the podium. From behind the curtains there were a few whispers of conversation underscored by the ever-present canned music wafting through the darkened restaurant.

“Helluva way to meet again,” he offered and his smile had an edge to it, a sarcasm deeper than she remembered. “You want to leave?”

“Now?”

“Mmm.”

“With you?”

He lifted a shoulder.

It sounded interesting, but she knew better. Had been burned before. Hudson Walker was one man she couldn’t trust. And then there was the matter of Jessie. “I thought you said we should get through this.”

He grinned faintly, some of the darkness fading from his expression. “Maybe I was just trying to ditch Mitch.”

“Yeah?” Do not be charmed by him. Do NOT! Remember how he left you. Remember that he never quit loving Jessie. Remember that even now, Jessie exists. Will always be there.

“I think I should stay and hear Renee out,” she said, refusing to be tempted by Hudson. “It is weird…those bones…”

Hudson inclined his head and she started walking toward the doors to the private dining room. Time to step back into the fray. As she reached the door, she called over her shoulder, “Come on, Walker. Let’s just get this over with.”

But he was already on her heels and grabbed the door handle, his big hand covering hers, strong fingers curling around the lever. “Let’s hope Renee isn’t going to be as long-winded as I think she is,” he said, opening the door for them both.

First Becca, Renee thought.

Then Mitch.

And finally, so predictably, Hudson.

Three people had left the room. Didn’t want to hear anything about Jessie.

Renee had been watching. Making mental notes. Something was up with Becca, and in Renee’s opinion, the girl had always been odd, just a little out of step. Even twenty years ago, Rebecca Ryan had hung out with their crowd when she’d been a year younger, the only freshman allowed to run with the sophomores. There hadn’t been any rules, of course, just an unwritten code. Renee had thought it was because the goose had been hopelessly in love with Hudson and had manipulated her way into the group, a prediction that had panned out a year out of high school when Hudson had returned from college and Jessie Brentwood was long gone.

Becca and Hudson had hooked up, been joined at the hip for a while. Renee had seen them from her bedroom window, rolling around naked and groping, flashes of their lovemaking visible through the long, shifting branches of the willow tree.

It had been strange, even desperate, Renee had thought, because her brother, whether he admitted it or not, had never gotten over Jessie Brentwood.

Jessie. Renee glanced over her shoulder uncomfortably. She couldn’t help herself. The secrets she’d learned recently had made her realize she was onto a hell of a story, but she was also plagued by bad feelings that had no substance.

Now Renee wasn’t as sure as she’d once been that Jessie Brentwood had just run away. Maybe she had met with tragedy. Wasn’t that what the strange old lady at the coast had suggested? That Jessie had been marked for death, and that just following her trail marked Renee as well?