Read Online Shadow Hills by Anastasia Hopcus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anastasia Hopcus
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metal, and with a sigh of relief, I pulled out my bracelet. I needed to get out of there.
“But you are the spitting image of …” Sarah trailed off. “I’m sorry. I must be getting confused in my old age.”
But her eyes were bright and sharp as they bored into me. This had been no mistake. Her age-spot-riddled hand was wrapped so tightly around her cane that it made her thick veins press up against her paper-thin skin. It looked like blue worms were trying to wriggle their way out of her body.
“I’m sorry …” I took a step away from her. “I’ve got to go.”
Sarah’s intense stare burned against my back as I hurried to the front door. My throat was closing up, making it hard for me to breathe. I felt like I was choking on the scent of death. I swayed—woozy—and held on to the doorknob to steady myself. I had just remembered why the name was so familiar.
Rebekah Sampson. It had been on the gravestone in my dream.
Chapter Five
Once I was outside, my throat released, and I took a deep breath. Why had she called me by that name?
It must be some kind of coincidence
.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sarah knew something about me … maybe something I didn’t even know about myself.
“Took you long enough.” Adriana walked over to me. “Did you find it?”
I tried to hide my spooked expression.
“The latch is broken again. Hopefully this time I can get it fixed so that it works for longer than a few months.” I held up the bracelet for her to see.
If Adriana had noticed anything weird about the way I was acting, I certainly couldn’t tell.
Hanging out with someone so self-centered had its advantages.
“Where to now?” I asked.
“That place looks promising.” She gestured at a door with the word
flirt
emblazoned on it.
A lime-green retro fan circulated air from its perch on thefront desk. The girl behind it had her feet propped up and was reading
ReadyMade
magazine.
“Hey,” she remarked, barely lifting her eyes from the page.
Her hair was the same purple as her plastic-framed glasses, and a small silver stud next to her mouth stood in for a beauty mark.
“Rude much?” Adriana mouthed. I shrugged. It didn’t seem that weird to me—who
would
be excited to be at work on a Sunday?
“Nice clothes, though.” I pointed at the racks of trendy boutique labels.
“It’s okay, I guess.” Adriana gave me a blasé look and checked her cell phone.
It was then that I saw it: an amazing raw silk pencil skirt. This was not above-average mall clothing—this was designer.
“Aha!” I held it up, triumphant. Plucking the skirt out of my hands, Adriana checked the label, then headed straight back to the dressing rooms.
I wanted to try on that skirt
. I frowned. That was why Adriana was being nonchalant about the clothes. She was using me as her truffle-hunting pig
… or some other metaphor that portrays me more kindly
.
“Well, you walked right into that one,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?” an attractive brunette woman asked me.
“Oh, no. I’m only chastising myself for giving away a gorgeous skirt.”
“You know”—the woman leaned into me conspiratorially—“I think I have just the thing to make you feel better. I’ll go get it.”
A moment later she came back holding an incredible ivory silk dress. She was visibly pleased by my awed reaction. “I know it’s lavish, but it would be perfect for the back-to-school dance.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The first formal of the year—you’re from Devenish, right?” the woman asked.
“Actually, L.A. But I’m starting school there this year.”
“Another big-city transplant. My daughter Camilla and I are from New York City.” The woman pointed to the girl behind the desk. They had the same heart-shaped face and dark eyes.
“We’re from Brooklyn,
not
New York,” the girl corrected her loudly.
“Children always know best, don’t they?” The woman laughed. “It was actually Camilla
“But you are the spitting image of …” Sarah trailed off. “I’m sorry. I must be getting confused in my old age.”
But her eyes were bright and sharp as they bored into me. This had been no mistake. Her age-spot-riddled hand was wrapped so tightly around her cane that it made her thick veins press up against her paper-thin skin. It looked like blue worms were trying to wriggle their way out of her body.
“I’m sorry …” I took a step away from her. “I’ve got to go.”
Sarah’s intense stare burned against my back as I hurried to the front door. My throat was closing up, making it hard for me to breathe. I felt like I was choking on the scent of death. I swayed—woozy—and held on to the doorknob to steady myself. I had just remembered why the name was so familiar.
Rebekah Sampson. It had been on the gravestone in my dream.
Chapter Five
Once I was outside, my throat released, and I took a deep breath. Why had she called me by that name?
It must be some kind of coincidence
.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sarah knew something about me … maybe something I didn’t even know about myself.
“Took you long enough.” Adriana walked over to me. “Did you find it?”
I tried to hide my spooked expression.
“The latch is broken again. Hopefully this time I can get it fixed so that it works for longer than a few months.” I held up the bracelet for her to see.
If Adriana had noticed anything weird about the way I was acting, I certainly couldn’t tell.
Hanging out with someone so self-centered had its advantages.
“Where to now?” I asked.
“That place looks promising.” She gestured at a door with the word
flirt
emblazoned on it.
A lime-green retro fan circulated air from its perch on thefront desk. The girl behind it had her feet propped up and was reading
ReadyMade
magazine.
“Hey,” she remarked, barely lifting her eyes from the page.
Her hair was the same purple as her plastic-framed glasses, and a small silver stud next to her mouth stood in for a beauty mark.
“Rude much?” Adriana mouthed. I shrugged. It didn’t seem that weird to me—who
would
be excited to be at work on a Sunday?
“Nice clothes, though.” I pointed at the racks of trendy boutique labels.
“It’s okay, I guess.” Adriana gave me a blasé look and checked her cell phone.
It was then that I saw it: an amazing raw silk pencil skirt. This was not above-average mall clothing—this was designer.
“Aha!” I held it up, triumphant. Plucking the skirt out of my hands, Adriana checked the label, then headed straight back to the dressing rooms.
I wanted to try on that skirt
. I frowned. That was why Adriana was being nonchalant about the clothes. She was using me as her truffle-hunting pig
… or some other metaphor that portrays me more kindly
.
“Well, you walked right into that one,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?” an attractive brunette woman asked me.
“Oh, no. I’m only chastising myself for giving away a gorgeous skirt.”
“You know”—the woman leaned into me conspiratorially—“I think I have just the thing to make you feel better. I’ll go get it.”
A moment later she came back holding an incredible ivory silk dress. She was visibly pleased by my awed reaction. “I know it’s lavish, but it would be perfect for the back-to-school dance.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The first formal of the year—you’re from Devenish, right?” the woman asked.
“Actually, L.A. But I’m starting school there this year.”
“Another big-city transplant. My daughter Camilla and I are from New York City.” The woman pointed to the girl behind the desk. They had the same heart-shaped face and dark eyes.
“We’re from Brooklyn,
not
New York,” the girl corrected her loudly.
“Children always know best, don’t they?” The woman laughed. “It was actually Camilla
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