The Girls of Oak Court: Death at Whitford Pond

By Sophia E. Fredo

Three friends unravel old secretsof a picture-perfect town in this young adult mystery. By poking around the town historical society and badgering Fallons lively grandmother, Nana, the girls realize that something sinister lurks beneath Whitfords bucolic surface. Blair and Fallons friendship feels comfortable and credible.

Kirkus Reviews

Gravestones shimmer in the moonlight, some very old, others frightfully new, forever silent on their tiny island in the middle of Whitford Pond. But why are those buried here so young, mere girls, all of whom appear to have drowned on their 16th birthday?

The girls of Oak CourtFallon, Blair, and Lilaset out to explore why these young women came to meet their untimely deaths at Whitford Pond and in doing so, discover secrets some would prefer to remain forever hidden. Guided by Fallons wise and hilarious Nana and fueled by her obsessive cookie-baking, the girls school history project unravels a story of love, betrayal, and a yearning for revenge that has haunted Whitford for centuries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475940589

Sophia E. Fredo

Sophia E. Fredo is a 15-year-old writer from Connecticut, where she lives with her parents and twin brother (she’s older). Her love of writing began in the fifth grade, thanks to her teacher. She’s a vegetarian and hopes to one day meet Betty White.

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Copyright © 2012 Sophia E. Fredo. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-4057-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4058-9 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 8/21/2012

CONTENTS

Chapter I: Welcome To Whitford

Chapter II: The Secret Behind Apple Cider Donuts

Chapter III: Old People Are Encyclopedias

Chapter IV: I Become A Minimum Wage Worker

Chapter V: Mice In My Room

Chapter VI: Blair Watches Too Many Cop Shows

Chapter VII: Playing Dress-Up Can Be Dangerous

Chapter VIII: Echo In The East Wing

Chapter IX: Where Oh Where Have My Best Friends Gone?

Chapter X: Books And Bullets

Chapter XI: Nana’s Tale

Chapter XII: The Curse Of Elizabeth Mason

Chapter XIII: The Missing Treasure Of Elizabeth Mason

Chapter XIV: A Walk In The Woods

Chapter XV: Elizabeth’s Final Stand

Epilogue

DEDICATION

To Catherine Zezima Watson, my fifth grade teacher, and Denise Ryan, the coolest librarian ever.

PROLOGUE

Past midnight, snowflakes began to drift past my window. Deer were running freely through the empty forest in the bright moonlight. With the trees bare, I could see all the way across the park to the frozen top of the pond glistening in the December moonlight. I heaved a sigh and turned onto my side, waiting for sleep to come, and never saw the great, massive light emerging from the center of the pond.

CHAPTER I: WELCOME TO WHITFORD

N ovember 21st was a day I’d probably remember for the rest of my life. Not because it was the day I had my first kiss or totally embarrassed myself in front of the whole tenth grade, but because it was a day that set me on the path of self-revelation.

That Wednesday morning, I trudged regretfully out of my house to school, wearing my tan pea coat and a red scarf. It was chillier than usual, but the fall season here in Whitford is always harsh.

In our town there aren’t any school buses and everyone walks everywhere (which is really nice), but right then a heated vehicle sounded fine to me. My thoughts of warmth were interrupted when I saw my neighbor and best friend, Blair Gates, slamming the front door to her house.

Muttering to herself about the cold (she’s always cold), Blair didn’t notice me until she slapped her gate shut. Instantly, she stopped muttering and pulled her face into a smile.

"Fallon, ma cherie, comment ça va?" she asked in her fluid French.

"Eh, je suis beaucoup fatigue, comme d’habitude," I replied in my not-nearly-as-good French.

Well, then, m’dear, I know one way to fix that, Blair responded, and linking our arms we made our way from private, secluded Oak Court onto Waterview Lane, at the end of which is Whitford Park and the infamous Whitford Pond.

Every morning since the dawn of time (actually since the start of high school), Blair and I have stopped for apple cider donuts and coffee at the Waterview Café on Main Street.

Something else you should know about Whitford is that cars are not allowed on Main Street, just pedestrians, bikes, and horse-drawn carriages. We’re sort of old fashioned but that’s why everyone loves it here. There are many large neighborhoods, but there are even more small private ones, like ours. Everyone who lives here is connected one way or another whether through blood relation or just friendships. Everyone knows everyone else.

Blair and I were turning onto the part of Waterview that the pond is closest to when we saw two fellow tenth-graders, William Tomby and his twin brother, Sam. They were waving, so we hurried to catch up with them, two houses ahead.

Morning, gals, William said, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulders.

Hello, guys, I said, That history essay assignment was dreadful, wasn’t it? I normally would be super-shy around anyone of the opposite gender, but the twins were just so nice.

Absolutely dreadful, piped up Sam in a fake-pompous tone.

I second that, agreed Blair, stealthily catching a red maple leaf between her gloved fingers.

The four of us kept walking along Waterview until we got a glimpse of Whitford Pond and then quickly turned onto Main Street, where other students and businessmen in suits were filing in and out of the Waterview Café.

It’s still weird, isn’t it? asked Blair solemnly. How Delia drowned there last spring, right on her 16th birthday. I can’t believe it’s only been seven months. Seems much longer.

The dreaded topic: Delia. I teared up a little, and my vision blurred. Delia Poséy had drowned mysteriously last April in Whitford Pond, on her birthday no less.

Do you guys know where her grave is? I asked timidly. I wanted to put some flowers on it, but I couldn’t find it in the cemetery west of town.

She’s buried with all the other victims of Whitford Pond, out on the island in the middle of the pond, William responded quietly. He and Delia had dated since seventh grade.

We had all stopped walking and just stood there staring at the innocent-looking water. After a few moments, Blair looked at her watch and said, Geez! We need to get moving; school starts in fifteen minutes!

Yeah, like that’s a problem. It takes you five seconds to scarf down an apple cider donut, I said, while sad little smiles appeared on everyone’s faces. Delia was obviously still fresh in our minds.

The Waterview Café always smells like coffee and chocolate, the best combination. The four of us took coffees and a donut each and finished them on our way to school. The trees lining the sidewalks still wore colorful coats of red and orange, although many of their leaves were already swirling through the air.

Blair and I waved goodbye to the boys when we got to school and rushed down the hall, passing Delia’s old locker, which still had her picture taped to it. We reached our separate first-period classes seconds before the bell rang. When it was silent after the morning announcements, I said a quiet prayer for Delia, hoping she was happy wherever she was.

Later, in history class, we were introduced to a project we’d be starting the following week (this is where the I would remember this day for the rest of my life part begins.)

Learning more about one’s own town can really open some doors. The past holds many secrets that we have yet to discover, our history teacher, Mr. Barnes, said.

Blair and I exchanged glances. We had this in the bag. We both have grandmas who are about a million years old, not to mention the fact that Blair’s older sister works at the local historical society. Plus I’d bet anything my two older brothers had already done this project. Charlie is twenty-two and getting his Master’s degree. Jack is almost eighteen and a senior here at Whitford High.

You will all be assigned partners next Monday, so don’t worry about it until then, Mr. Barnes said, just as the bell rang.

We walked to Blair’s locker, which is right outside Mr. Barnes’ room. Like I even have to ask, but, do you wanna be partners? ’Cause Sam Tomby has his eye on you, Blair teased.

Oh, shut up, I said, almost blushing as we walked to lunch, when BOOM! The book I was holding dropped and the contents of my half-opened backpack scattered across the floor. As I looked for whatever I’d bumped into, a hand extended from above.

Thanks, I said. It was a girl, a really tall girl, with jet-black hair and odd, shining lilac eyes. There was no denying she was new because I had never seen her before. She was – there was no other word for it – exotic. Stunningly beautiful would also have covered it.

Sorry about that. I’m such a klutz. I do not advise reading your schedule and a map at the same time during the stampede to lunch, the girl said, with an accent I couldn’t place.

It’s fine, I’m just stupid for leaving my bag open. I laughed. Who are you?

Oh, I’m Lila Feoras. I’m new, as you can probably tell, she told us, smiling. Whoa. It was too much beauty to behold.

I’m Blair Gates, and the gravity-intolerant girl is Fallon Harper, Blair explained, and smirked.

Yeah, really funny, Blair-BEAR, I retorted, using a childhood name that made her rave and want to strangle the nearest person.

The three of us walked to lunch and found a table near the window. Where ya from? Blair asked, as if she was a game show host, holding out a pretend microphone.

Oh, that’s irrelevant, don’t you think? said Lila airily, taking a bite out of an apple.

Blair smiled. I could tell she already liked this exotic new girl. I did, too. So, what classes do you have in the afternoon?

Calculus, then French, Lila told us.

Looks like you have the same afternoon classes as Gravity Intolerant Girl. What’re your morning classes? Blair asked, with genuine curiosity.

Ceramics, chemistry, band, history, and now lunch, Lila said as she consulted her schedule.

Wait, you have the EXACT same schedule as me. Why weren’t you in any of my classes this morning? I asked.

I didn’t get to school until the end of fourth period. I had to help my parents because the moving truck got a little stuck in the driveway, Lila explained.

That was the end of our lunch talk for the day. After lunch, I took Lila to calculus and Blair headed over to chemistry.

Our calculus teacher, Ms. Carter, made Lila introduce herself to the class. There was no doubt that the guys thought they’d struck gold, or that the girls had a major competitor for their boyfriends.

After school, Blair and I had just started walking to my house to do homework and hang out when we saw Lila leave the building. It would be rude to ignore her, so we walked over and asked where she was going.

Oh, I’m going home. I live on Oak Court, she told us.

Both Blair’s and my jaws dropped. Are you serious? That’s where both of us live. We can show you our houses. Ooh, maybe you can come over to my house to study and hang and whatnot, I invited. A smile spread across her gorgeous face.

Yeah, that’d be fun. I’m number 23. What about you guys?

12, Blair said.

17, I said. I know your house. The crème white Victorian, with the big blue porch?

That’s the one, Lila said. We were just passing by the Whitford Book Nook, owned by the Farmer family. When we got to my house, I yelled, I’m home. No one answered, so the three of us made our way to the family room, stopping in the kitchen for some trail mix to munch on.

Hey, smart people, can you help me with my geometry? Blair asked, cocking her head in despair at her worksheet.

Yeah, I will, Lila volunteered. I’m not so good at teaching, or describing things. Lila was showing Blair what to do when two women walked in: my mother and someone who could only be Lila’s mother.

She was tall and willowy with jet-black hair and the same lilac eyes as her daughter. Her cheeks were indented and a line or two bracketed her mouth, but they were the only things that gave away her age as being older than thirty.

Well, look who it is, Miss Blair-Bear, Mom teased, tousling Blair’s auburn hair. Blair ducked and smiled.

Lila ran to her mom and hugged her. What are you doing here? she asked.

Just meeting our wonderful neighbors, Mrs. Feoras said, looking at my mom and smiling. I was so glad when I heard there were girls your age on this street. New friends, she added.

Yes, and finally a third girl to add to the Musketeers, my mom said, laughing. As she and Mrs. Feoras left the room, they were discussing the history of our house. We remodeled extensively, but kept the original walls. We even found some old books inside … I heard my mother say.

Blair, Lila, and I continued with our homework, snickering once in a while at how lame mothers were. All was quiet, except for the scribbling of our pens and pencils, until Blair asked, Where’s Charlie?

This confused me for a minute. My older brother Charlie was away at college. Then I laughed.

Oh, Mom probably put her in the kitchen, I answered. Let me get her.

I walked to the kitchen and there was my huge, black Newfoundland, Charlie (a girl). She smiled (I can never really tell for sure because she has so much fur) and bounded over to me.

Hey girl! How’s it going? Want to say hi to Blair and my new friend? I asked, scratching her soft ears. She followed me and leapt into the back room.

CHARLIE! How’s my buddy? Blair said. She fell backward onto the rug as Charlie tried her best to lick her face off. She and Lila both started laughing.

After Charlie padded back to her favorite spot in the kitchen we kept going with what felt like a year’s worth of homework. At four-thirty, Blair and Lila finally got up to leave. Lila thanked me for inviting her over and