Dark Secrets 2: No Time to Die; The Deep End of Fear Read Free

camp," he explained. "Drama House, a sorority, and two frats. I'm the R.A., the resident assistant, for one frat. Two other kids who go to Chase will be the R.A.S for the other frat and the sorority house. But you and the girls at Drama House will have old Army Boots herself. I think last year's campers had more descriptive names for her."
    Liza had, but Liza was never fond of anyone who expected her to obey rules. "Is she that awful?" I asked. He shrugged. "I don't think so. But of course, she's my mother."
    I laughed, then put my hand over my mouth, afraid to have hurt his feelings.
    He reached out and pulled my hand away, grinning. "Don't hide your smile, Jenny. It's a beautiful one."
    I felt my cheeks growing warm. Again I became aware of his eyes, deep brown, with soft, dusty lashes.
    "If you wait while I check out a few more supplies, I'll walk you to Drama House."
    "Okay."
    Brian headed backstage. I walked to the edge of the apron and sat down, swinging my feet against the stage, gazing into the darkness, wondering.
    Brian had heard me say Liza's lines, but he hadn't mentioned the voices that I'd heard sitting in the audience. I thought of asking him about them but didn't want to sound crazy.
    But it's not crazy, I told myself. It shouldn't have surprised me that being in a place where I couldn't help but think of Liza, I'd remember her lines. It was only natural that, missing her so, I would imagine her voice.
    Then something caught my eye, high in the balcony, far to the right, a flicker of movement. I strained to see more, but it was too dark. I stood up quickly.
    A sliver of light appeared—a door at the side of the balcony opened and a dark figure passed through it. Someone had been sitting up there.
    For how long? I wondered. Since the rustling I had heard when I first came in?
    "Is something wrong?" Brian asked, reemerging from the wings.
    "No. No, I just remembered I left my luggage at the front door."
    "It'll be okay. I'll show you the back door—that's the one everybody uses—then you can go around and get it."
    He led me backstage, where he turned out all but the light that had been burning before, then we headed down a flight of steps. The exit was at the bottom.
    "This door is usually unlocked," Brian said. "People from the city always think it's strange the way we leave things open, but you couldn't be in a safer town."
    Aside from an occasional serial killing, I thought.
    We emerged into an outside stairwel that was about five steps below ground level. Across the road from the theater, facing the back of the college quadrangle, was a row of large Victorian houses. A line of cars had pulled up in front of them, baggage was deposited on sidewalks, and kids were gathering on the lawns and porches. Someone waved and called to Brian.
    "Catch you later, Jenny," he said, and started toward the houses.
    I headed toward the front of Stoddard to fetch my luggage. As I rounded the corner I came face to face with someone. We both pulled up short. The guy was my age, tall with black hair, wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans. He glanced at me, then looked away quickly, but I kept staring. He had the most startlingly blue eyes.
    "Sorry," he said brusquely, then walked a wide route past me.
    I turned and watched him stride toward the houses across the street.
    I knew that every theater type has a completely black outfit in his closet, maybe two, for black is dramatic and tough and cool. But it's also the color to wear if you don't want to be seen in the dark, and this guy didn't want to be seen, not by me. I had sensed it in the way he'd glanced away. He'd acted guilty, as if I had caught him at something, like slinking out of the balcony, I thought.
    Had he heard Liza's voice? Had he been responsible for it? A tape of her voice, manipulated by sound equipment and played over the theater's system could have produced what I heard.
    There was just one problem with this explanation—it begged another. Why would