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different here than at school. More dangerous. What if we watched a scary movie and Charlotte grabbed my hand or something? She seemed like the type that would. Of course, Adam and I hadn’t been watching a scary movie when it had happened, but still…
Footsteps pounded up the stairs overhead.
I put my English binder on the table next to hers, and then shuffled around the living room. It was sparse, but not unfriendly. A shag rug straight out of the ’70s was where we'd dropped our knapsacks and jackets, and the coffee table was just as old. A low oak piece I was sure I'd seen at thrift stores before. There was an old TV, the kind that still had rabbit-ear antennas—that made my eyebrows shoot up—and a VCR player. On the shelf next to it, a collection of movies was stacked, apparently organized by title and category.
Her dad had to be military or something—or at least compulsively tidy. Even Janet didn't keep her designer-magazine house this meticulously organized.
After scanning the stacks, which seemed to be a lot of old Disney tapes, I made my way over to the window. It was just starting to get dark, which dimmed the shine that usually reflected off the snow and made me squint all day. There were cars driving past, a few at a time, headlights flickering through the picket fence out front. The sound of tires spinning on slush was muted.
I felt bad for Dave. I'd have to ask him to come pick me up after dinner, since there was no way I was going to let Charlotte's dad drive me back home. Dave might not have been the best driver in the snow, but at least the truck never fishtailed in the middle of intersections.
There were a few vehicles parked along the opposite side of the road—a couple of trucks and a low, black car. Another town car.
Frowning, I pulled the curtain back a little. It was hard to make out, but I was fairly certain the driver’s side window was open a crack and there was smoke trailing out. In the depths of the car, an orange brand flickered, illuminating the faint outline of a face.
"What the hell?"
"What?"
I nearly yanked the curtain down as I spun around. "Oh, shit! Charlotte, you scared the crap out of me."
"Sorry." Charlotte was carrying a green file folder stuffed with papers. Some of them were falling out, and one slipped free, drifting to the floor by her feet. The notes were scribbled in black chicken scratch I could hardly make out. She was as messy as her father was neat.
"Come look at this car and tell me if I'm crazy. Isn't it the same one we saw in the parking lot?"
Charlotte tucked the folder under her arm and yanked the other curtain out of her way.               The town car's headlights flooded on, blasting light onto the white snow. Spots jumped in front of my eyes.
"He's leaving," I said.
The car turned onto the street, speeding past the fence and out of sight.
I turned to Charlotte. "Please say you saw it before it drove away."
"Well, yeah. But maybe it's just another one of those cars." She returned to the coffee table and began to sort through the papers one by one. "You're probably just spooked from all of Amy's crazy talk."
Frowning, I nodded, my thoughts too busy to argue for the moment. There was no doubt I’d seen that burning-orange light inside the car. The tip of a cigar, I was pretty sure.
"How many town cars do you think there are? It's not exactly the right car for this area, considering the weather."
Charlotte shrugged. "Neither is our van."
Right. But somehow, the broken-down minivan was a lot less intimidating than the lurking town car. Sighing, I dropped the curtain back into place. The car was gone now, and it wasn't as if I could phone the police and tell them that I'd seen a similar-looking car in two places. Maybe the guy from the school just lived on the same street as Charlotte; it wasn't like Grande Prairie was that big.
I retreated to the table, and we spent the next hour going over Charlotte’s notes for Lord of the Flies . It was some