Liza's perfume. I remembered the weeks after she'd died, packing her sweaters in a Goodwill bag, smelling the jasmine. I had felt as if she would walk into our bedroom at any moment. It was a scent that haunted.
The lights suddenly came back on.
"Nobody move," Maggie commanded. "I'm doing a head count."
The vets exchanged glances-perhaps they recognized my sister's trademark scent.
"Look at Paul," someone whispered.
His eyes were shut, his lips closed and smiling. He was inhaling deeply, as if he loved breathing in Liza's scent, as if he couldn't get enough.
I felt sick to my stomach. Turning away from him, I discovered Mike watching me.
Walker paced up and down the stage, obviously irritated.
"What was the problem?" he asked when Brian emerged from behind the stage.
"I don't know. The power came back on before I reached the electrical room."
"Did you see Arthur?"
"No, but I came right back."
"All of us are accounted for," Maggie reported to Walker.
Placing his hands on his hips, Walker eyed Paul and me, then Keri in the wings with her fairies, then the kids in the rows of seats below.
"It was a nice bit of theater," he said. "We might even incorporate it in our production, releasing a certain scent through the air duct system when Puck does his magic or Titania sweeps through. That said, I don't wish to be entertained by further improvisation. Got it?"
Kids nodded and looked suspiciously at one another.
I wanted to believe it was a piece of theater, but I couldn't shake the eerie feeling I'd had the day I arrived here, the strong sense of Liza's presence. I had thought I came out of my own need for closure; now I wondered if Liza had summoned me.
What do you want, Liza?
To find things for her, it was always to find things. Had someone at the camp heard something, seen something? If I probed, would I find clues that could solve her murder?
"Miss Baird," Walker was saying, "please join us on this planet."
No way, Liza, I answered my sister silently, don't ask me to do it.
I'd hunt for barrettes, socks, homework, and phone numbers, but not for serial killers.
The best moments of Thursday and Friday were spent in the gym with Maggie and Tomas, the three of us working on how to make Puck "lighter than air." Tomas, seeing what I could do, was full of ideas on how to rework the set to accommodate vaults and tumbles. Maggie acted different than she did at the theater. She still worried, and still was unrelenting about getting things right, but sometimes, when we'd clown around, she'd laugh. We even "played hooky" for an hour, going to a nearby store to buy leotards for me. When Maggie heard that Tomas and I would be staying through the weekend, she invited us for dinner at her home Saturday night.
I learned from Shawna that Mike, Paul, and Keri were also staying over the weekend. I avoided the three of them as much as possible Friday and saw them only from a distance walking down High Street on Saturday.
I also avoided the window seat and the bridge and kept the lights on in my room. I slept badly Thursday and Friday night, wanting to close my eyes, but fighting sleep each time I'd feel myself slipping away. Still, I got a few hours each night with no haunting images. By the time Tomas and I were walking to Maggie's house Saturday night, I had convinced myself that the strange events of the first week were simply my initial reaction to facing the place where Liza had died. My second week here would certainly be easier.
Maggie lived in a pretty wooden house on Cannon Street, one block over from High. Its front porch was welcoming with wicker chairs and pots of pink and white flowers. Brian answered the door smiling. "Any trouble with my directions?"
"No," I said, "the only trouble was keeping Tomas moving. He has to stop and look at everything." I turned to my friend. "Next time we go somewhere, I'm leading you blindfolded."
"Okay," he replied, half-listening, more interested now in peering beyond Brian to see what was in the living room.
It was a homey room, though a little too flowery for me, with prints of cabbage-size roses on the slipcovers and curtains. Brian led us through a small dining room and into a square kitchen, where Maggie was stuffing potato skins.
"What can we do to help?" I asked.
"Just enjoy yourselves," she replied. "I've got everything under control here."
Brian placed a tall kitchen stool next to Maggie for Tomas to sit on.
I thought he'd get one for me, too, but when Maggie started talking with Tomas about the dinner she was preparing, I felt a tug on my arm. Brian winked, then pulled me toward the door. I followed him to the living room, though I felt a little rude leaving Tomas and Maggie in the kitchen. I glanced back over my shoulder.
"I never get a chance to hang out with you," Brian said. "Tomas always does."
"Yes, but I'm your mom's guest, too."
"She understands my situation. I think that may be why she invited you tonight. I'm only two years older than you, but you're a student and I'm staff, so I'm not supposed to ask you for a date."
"Otherwise you would?"
He laughed in response. "Sometimes I can't believe you, Jenny! You're as naive as Tomas. You make quite a pair."
"Guess we do."
His brown eyes swept over my face, the dusty lashes making his long gaze soft. His lips parted for a moment as if he was going to say something more, but he simply smiled. I glanced around the room for something to talk about.
"Is that you?" I asked, pointing to a photograph. "Or did Superman get a lot shorter?"
"That's me, Halloween, our first year in Wisteria."
I walked over and picked up the framed picture. "You were awfully cute!"
"Do you have to use the past tense?" he asked.
I laughed. "How old were you?"
"Six, I think." He crossed the room, stood beside me for a moment studying the photo, then sat on the love seat next to the table of pictures, leaving space for me.
I remained standing and picked up another photo. "Your mom. How pretty!"
"That's her college picture. You can sit down and look at them, Jenny."
I did, and he pulled his arm up, resting it along the back of the love seat, conveniently close to my shoulders. I wondered what to do when I ran out of pictures. I wasn't ready to get romantic with him, but I didn't want him to think I never would.