(secretly?) been buried at a cemetery. Piecing together the rest of the story, I guessed that Mrs. Perfetti was disorientated, both physically and mentally ill, and becoming lost. When she found her way home, she couldn’t remember what had happened that night. “Don’t tell anyone!” she’d begged. And that’s what happened. The secret of Sam was buried in lies. This was probably what led to Alyce’s parents’ divorce. While her father went off to start a new life, Alyce was left alone with her mother.
Her crazy mother, I thought, sad that I never guessed how bad things were at Alyce’s home. When Mrs. Perfetti was rude to me, I’d avoided being around her.
After an hour of tossing and turning in bed, I got up and settled in at Alyce’s computer, hitting the power button. I ran a search on mental illness, narrowing down the symptoms until I came up with the diagnosis of paranoia and depression. The signs had been there. If only Alyce had told me. I couldn’t have cured her mother but I could have been there for Alyce.
Well, I was here for her now. And I’d continue the search that Alyce had started.
I’d find Sam’s grave.
Energized by this idea, I dug out the papers Dustin had printed out for me with directions to the cemeteries on Alyce’s list. I thought back to my visit to the Liberty Cemetery and was sure there hadn’t been a grave marked “Samantha” or “Sam.” So I could cross that location off the list. There was only one place left: Pioneer Cemetery in Calaveras County. That was a bit of a drive, off a country road about an hour away. I’d need to pick up Junkmobile, borrow Mrs. Perfetti’s car, or get a ride from someone. Dustin would give me a ride if he was free. So I sent him a quick text and waited a few minutes, since it wasn’t unusual for him to stay up half the night. But there wasn’t a reply, so I guessed he was asleep.
Then I had an even better idea — Grammy!
I always hung out with Alyce on weekends anyway. Grammy could drop me off at Junkmobile, then we’d both search for Sam’s grave. And when the timing felt right, I’d explain about Gabe’s tragic past and convince Grammy to meet with him.
Pleased with my plan, I finally fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the delicious aroma of cinnamon and pancakes set my stomach growling loudly like an alarm clock.
Not pancakes but waffles.
Thick, flakey, cinnamon-strawberry waffles.
I couldn’t have been more surprised when I walked into the kitchen and found Mrs. Perfetti standing by the counter and squashing strawberries in a bowl. Makeup softened her face, and she looked elegant with her hair twisted on her head in a chignon. This was not the same ranting crazy women I’d escorted home last night.
“Good morning! Are you hungry?” Mrs. Perfetti asked cheerfully.
She didn’t wait for my answer, ushering me to a chair at the table and flipping two waffles on my plate, then scooping up a huge spoon of strawberries and dumping them on the waffles. She didn’t mention flipping out last night. This was a different Mrs. Perfetti, smiling as she prepared breakfast like a 1950s mom from an old TV show.
Oh. My. God! Alyce’s home life was insane — literally.
How had Alyce managed to hide her problems so long without anyone — neighbors, teachers, and especially her best friend — noticing? Hiding such a big secret must have been torture. No wonder she suffered an emotional melt-down.
I was suffering, too, with Mrs. Perfetti. The way she fussed over me was creepier than her screaming “he’s the devil!” I wished I had a
Um … no thank you.
On the plus side, Mrs. Perfetti was so eager to please me that when I asked to borrow the car she said, “Of course, honey!” with great fervor — as if I were doing her the favor. She even offered her credit card in case I needed gas.
Then I ushered her into the living room, easing her into her favorite chair and putting on the Judge Nancy Dee episodes she’d DVRd during the week. While Mrs. Perfetti disappeared into the Judge Nancy Dee zone, I stood in front of the sink, bubbles lathering and water spilling, as my mind rushed with plans:
1. Retrieve Junkmobile.
2. Talk Grammy into meeting Gabe.
3. Look for missing grave at Pioneer cemetery.
This time when I went to a cemetery I’d know what to search for, although I had no idea if there would be an engraved headstone, a plain stone marker, or nothing at all. It was all so mysterious. How did Alyce’s mother arrange a burial for a baby that died without anyone knowing? What had happened that tragic night? And what would happen to Mrs. Perfetti when her secret was revealed? I hoped it would bring closure, not more tragedy.
My plan would have worked great — except for one detail.
Grammy had plans, too.
As I was putting my list in Monkey Bag, I heard a honk from outside and peered out the window to see Grammy-As-Me at the wheel of my mother’s Toyota. I looked again, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. But that was Mom’s Toyota and Grammy was at the wheel.
Then I ran outside.
My grandmother wasn’t alone.
The passenger window rolled down and my heart nearly broke when my little sister Olive grinned at me and exclaimed, “Ally!” From the back seat came more excited squeals from my other two sisters.
“What’s going on?” I asked my grandmother, feeling kind of dizzy looking at my physical body from the outside. Would I ever get used to this whole body-switching business? Probably not.
“We’re off to an afternoon at the zoo.”
“Right now?”
“Zoo, zoo, zoo!” shouted the triplet choir.
“Hop in, honey,” Grammy said, grinning. “We want you to come with us.”
“To the zoo? But I can’t … ”
“Why not? It’s going to be a beautiful day — I checked the weather report to make sure. I’ve already folded laundry and alphabetized everything in the triplets’ room. Your mother acts like raising triplets is harder than running a large country. She’s too soft with them, not setting up strict rules. I’ll show her that it’s easy to raise triplets if you’re organized. A simple trip to the zoo should be a piece of cake.”
I wasn’t so sure. I’d babysat a lot and just getting three toddlers to the playground without losing shoes or jackets or my mind was a challenge. But my grandmother was a competent otherworldly business-woman and capable of anything.
“What are you standing there for?” Grammy tapped her polished fingernails (apparently she didn’t have a nervous biting-nails habit like me) on the steering wheel.
I shook my head. “I can’t go.”
“Sure, you can. Climb in the back — it’ll be a tight squeeze but there’s room between Melonee and Cherry. So let’s go.”
“But I need to pick up Junkmobile from where I left it downtown and then I have to go to Pioneer cemetery. It’s an obligation.” I gave her a knowing look as I leaned partly through the window. My long braid swung into the car and Olive grabbed it with the enthusiasm of a fisherman hooking a giant fish. Giggling, she petted my hair like a cat.
Grammy crinkled her brow. “What are you talking about?”
“I have to tell you alone, not in front of … ” I gestured to my sisters, and cried out when my braid jerked painfully.
“Olive,” Grammy said calmly, “let go of Am … Alyce’s braid.”
My little sister glanced over at Grammy, shook her head, then tickled her cheek with the end of the braid. It didn’t hurt, so I just shrugged. Olive was a big animal lover and liked to pet anything that looked like fur. This could be embarrassing when someone with a beard came to visit.
