Page 95 of Whispers

“I don’t know. No one, probably.” Bile climbed up her throat. She was going to be sick, right here.

“You’re sure?”

“I—I don’t know.” Her teeth were chattering, her skin alive with goose bumps.

“

We can’t worry about it now, Claire, but you have to pull yourself together. Claire—?” Again Miranda shook her, but Claire threw her off and crawled to the side of the road, where water was running in a ditch and weeds slapped her in the face. Her stomach contracted, and she retched violently, over and over again until there was nothing left.

She felt Randa’s hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“No!”

“But are you with me? Can you get back into the car? We have to leave now. Claire?”

“I—I don’t know if I can.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, but the vile taste lingered in her mouth as a sense of doom captured her soul.

“Try. Now, the three of us, we’re going to make up a story very quickly. Are you with me? We have to come up with alibis—where we were when Harley died.”

“I don’t understand—”

“We all need to be able to explain where we were.”

“Why?” she asked before staring into Miranda’s eyes and suddenly understanding that not only was Harley dead, but Miranda was in trouble. Big trouble. Somehow she was involved. A hand with fingers cold as death seemed to reach for her throat and close off her windpipe.

“So this is it. We went to the drive-in up the coast and we were watching that special run they’ve got—a trio of old Clint Eastwood flicks: Hang ’Em High, Play Misty For Me, and Dirty Harry. During the second one we decided to go home and left before we saw the last. I fell asleep at the wheel and we drove off the road and into the lake.”

“What—? That’s crazy. Why?”

Miranda didn’t answer, just stared hard into her sister’s eyes. A current of understanding passed between them. “Trust me, Claire. We don’t have any choice. If Harley was murdered, and I think he was, then you’ll be a primary suspect. I was at the marina tonight, too.”

“What?”

“And Tessa.”

Miranda’s voice sounded as if it came from the far end of a tunnel, echoing and unclear, and yet enough of what she was saying was piercing Claire’s foggy brain.

“All our names will come up, and none of us has an alibi.”

“But I didn’t kill Harley. Neither did you or Tessa. Can’t we just tell the truth?”

“Not this time,” Miranda said with a heart-rending sigh. “This time the truth will damn at least one of us and, believe me, the Taggerts won’t stop at anything to see us hang.”

Claire blinked against the rain. “I don’t see how . . .” she started to argue, but stopped herself short. Miranda was involved to her eyeteeth. Whatever had happened looked bad for her . . . She needed an alibi. Swallowing with difficulty, Claire nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” Miranda helped her to her feet, then opened the door of the car, where Tessa sat, unmoving, staring sightlessly out of the window. “Sit on the gearshift. I don’t want you to be trapped in the back.” As Claire squeezed against Tessa, Miranda started the car and drove toward the far side of the lake. “None of us is ever going to tell anyone, not each other, not Mom and Dad, not our best friends, no one, what really happened tonight. From now on our story is and always will be that we were at the drive-in. Claire—you’re going to have to help me with Tessa when we drive into the lake.”

“You’re not really going to do it!” Claire said, suddenly terrified. “You’re just going to say that—”

“I have to! This has got to look authentic, okay? The lake’s not that deep at the north end. We’ll be fine.” She turned onto the county road.

“This is crazy. People drown in bathtubs. And Tessa—she’s not really conscious.” The car picked up speed as Miranda shifted. “Randa—”

“Just promise that you’ll stick to the story.”

“You’ve lost your mind—”

The road turned and Lake Arrowhead came into view through the trees. The water was dark and turbulent, the wind creating whitecaps on the surface.