Page 63 of For Dear Life

Carefully placing down my pen, I turn fully in my seat and regard her, where she stands still in uniform looking every inch the innocent bystander in my car crash life. “Why? Do you need input on the color scheme? You know you’re asking the wrong girl, Holly.”

“Please. Just this once. We need your advice on something else. Not color scheme.”

Why does she look at me earnestly as if I even have advice pertinent to a school dance? “What? Ask me now?”

“I’d really appreciate if you came with me,” she presses.

Holly has never insisted I attend one of her meetings before. If I’m not going to the dance, why would I care about organization? “What’s really happening, Holly?”

“Marci can explain.” I shake my head, confused. “She leads the committee.”

Marci? Ah yes. ‘Head’ of this committee. If Marci’s involved, I’m invited for a reason. I am not stupid.

Holly’s handing me an opportunity on a plate and I’m protesting? Joining Holly in her social circle assists me in investigating other students’ connections to my two new suspects. Especially Marci.

“Where is this meeting?”

“Pendle House.”

Not a classroom in the common area of the school? Hmm. Interesting. “I’ll join you. Once.”

Pendle House? Perfect. I’ll call in on Rowan afterwards and inform him what we do next.

* * *

Something dampens Holly’s usual exuberance as we walk through Pendle House hallways—strange for a girl who’s friends with everybody. Some we pass say hello to Holly, whereas I apparently don’t exist.

Holly pauses at an arch at the end of the hallway and takes a surreptitious look around her. She opens the oak door to a set of stone steps, which spiral downwards into another part of the building. Basement? Holly’s jitteriness and the meeting’s location intrigue me further.

“Why do you meet in the basement?” I ask.

“Privacy.”

“For a dance committee? Top secret discussions on font for the posters?” I scratch a cheek. A meeting in a basement in Pendle House. Curious and increasingly suspicious. “Don’t presume this’ll persuade me into attending the dance,” I warn her.

“I still have time to persuade you.”

I swear that’s a smug smile in response to my grimace.

Holly leads me down the steps, where arched alcoves in the gray stone brick, lit by iron lanterns, run alongside. Another short hallway, this one unlit and with a slate floor, leads to another door. She pauses and knocks, rapping her knuckles in a rhythm. Secret code for a dance committee? Good grief.

The door opens and Marci faces us, a large burgundy book in her hand. Her face lights up when she sees me, the weirdest part of the whole evening.

“Nice work, Holly,” she says. “Hey, Violet.”

That almost sounded friendly.

“Black. Horror theme. Perhaps accent with blood red. Skulls,” I inform her.

“Excuse me?” Her smile drops.

“Theme. For the dance. Unless there’s another reason you want me here besides my advice.”

Marci chuckles. “Violet. Come inside before somebody sees.”

I pause. “Isn’t this a little overkill for a student committee?” Both girls look at me in an indecipherable way. Should I waste energy on mind reading?

Holly sighs. “Violet. This is more than a committee meeting.”

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