Considering Margaret: A Kellam High Novel, #3

By Tamara Hart Heiner

Kylee's dead.

 

Price is still getting over the trauma of her death. Still accepting life without her.

 

That's when another ghost appears on campus. Except this time, she's haunting Margaret. The girl Price always feels sorry for because she's a target. He wants to be annoyed. He's done seeing dead people--except now Margaret is acting strange.

 

She's acting like Kylee. Acting like she knows Price when . . . she doesn't. She can't.

 

Now Price can't leave it alone. Is Kylee still there? Is Margaret channeling her somehow?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tamark Books
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215218174

Tamara Hart Heiner

I live in beautiful northwest Arkansas in a big blue castle with two princesses and a two princes, a devoted knight, and several loyal cats (and one dog). I fill my days with slaying dragons at traffic lights, earning stars at Starbucks, and sparring with the dishes. I also enter the amazing magical kingdom of my mind to pull out stories of wizards, goddesses, high school, angels, and first kisses. Sigh. I'm the author of several young adult stories, kids books, romance novels, and even one nonfiction. You can find me outside enjoying a cup of iced tea or in my closet snuggling with my cat. But if you can't make the trip to Arkansas, I'm also hanging out on Facebook, TikTok, and Instagram. I looked forward to connecting with you!

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Y ou don’t have to do this.

Price’s dad spoke up from the chair outside the district attorney’s office as he watched Price pace back and forth in front of the door.

Price bobbed his head without glancing at his dad. He wore a suit and tie, more formal for this deposition than when he went to church. He hadn’t dressed this way since the last funeral he went to . . . and then the one before that.

Too many funerals in a short period. It had only been a week since Kylee’s, and a few months since his mother’s.

He hoped he could finish his sophomore year of high school without going to another.

They have enough evidence without your testimony, Mr. Hudson went on.

I know. Price continued pacing and glanced down at the paper in his hands. Not that he needed to read it.

This was the last thing he could do for Kylee. Testify against her mom and stepdad.

His chest tightened. Kylee had loved her mom. But Price couldn’t forgive Theresa for killing Kylee.

The door opened, and the DA stepped out. A tall black man with short, curly hair and a somber expression on his face peered down at Price.

Price Hudson? he said in a deep, gruff voice.

An authority figure. Sweat beaded along Price’s hairline, and he had to take a moment to remind himself he hadn’t done anything wrong this time. Trouble always seemed to find him, no matter what he did.

Yes, sir, he said.

I’m Mr. Lincoln. Come on in. The man’s dark eyes flicked over to Mr. Hudson. Are you his guardian?

Yes.

You may come in as well.

The police had briefed Price and his dad on the procedures, so this didn’t surprise Price. Still, it surprised him how relieved he was to have his dad in the room with him.

Price settled down beside his dad in a large leather chair that swallowed him up as if he were a small child. Which was about how he felt. He pulled forward, but his feet barely touched the ground.

Price, the man said in his deep voice, I understand you have something important to share with me about the defendant.

Yes, Price said. He cleared his throat and shuffled the paper in his hands. I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it.

Just summarize for me.

Will he be asked to testify? Mr. Hudson interrupted. I want to avoid putting him on the stand.

Mr. Lincoln leaned back. The defendant has already pled guilty. There will be no trial, and we won’t need witnesses at the hearing. The information I get from Price will help with the prosecuting.

So he’s done after this. Mr. Hudson let out an exhale.

Unless he’s subpoenaed to testify against her husband.

Bill. Price’s stomach tightened at the thought of Kylee’s stepfather. If there was ever someone he hated . . . It would be Bill.

What are the chances of that happening? his dad asked.

We’re still searching for him right now. Once we find him, if we work out a plea bargain, there’s no trial, and Price’s testimony that I receive today should be sufficient. If he pleas not guilty, however, we’ll likely end up at a trial, and Price could be used as a witness.

But he doesn’t have to, Mr. Hudson said. Right? He can refuse.

I wouldn’t refuse, Price interrupted.

His dad held up a hand to silence him. Can he refuse?

Mr. Lincoln gave a slow shake of his head. No. He could be held in contempt of court if he does. However, he can plead the fifth once he takes the stand.

That’s not acceptable, Mr. Hudson said. He’s only fifteen. He shouldn’t be forced to face the man who assaulted him again!

Dad, Price said, raising his voice. I want to. He curled his fingers around the papers in his hands, a flush of anger warming his belly. He wanted to look that man in the eye and watch as he was condemned.

They might not need him, Mr. Lincoln said. We’ll face that bridge when we get to it. He directed his attention to Price again. Can you tell me in your own words what happened? Keep in mind I will be recording this.

Price’s heart hammered in his ears, and he watched as the DA pressed a button on his desk. He imagined a tape recorder turning on and spinning its wheels like in an old seventies movie, though the reality was probably a digital gadget. What if he mixed up the facts? Would they throw out his testimony? He sat up straighter. Where do I start?

Tell me how you ended up by the pond with Mr. McCormick.

Chier. The French swear word popped into his head before he could banish it. How would he explain his presence there? Kylee—

And he halted again.

Mr. Lincoln pleated his hands together and kept his gaze steady on Price, waiting for him to continue. Price sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

He couldn’t exactly tell the DA he’d been investigating Kylee’s death with her ghost.

Kylee’s disappearance bothered me, he said, choking on what he wanted to say. I started investigating her case. I was the one who found her body at the pond. I got kind of, I don’t know, obsessed. I waited until I thought her house was empty and went over to search for clues. But her mom was there, so I left. I went back to the pond, thinking it might tell me something else. The memories of that evening, just a few nights ago, sucker-punched him to the gut. As awful as it was, it was one of the last moments he’d have with Kylee.

He’d go back there in a heartbeat, just to be with her again.

Yes? Mr. Lincoln prodded.

Price blinked against the hot tears pooling in his eyes. His throat ached. Theresa—her mom—must’ve followed me. She attacked me with a baseball bat. His voice cracked on the words. That’s all I remember.

But he knew what happened after. Kylee overheard Theresa confessing to her murder, and Bill tried to finish Price off by drowning him. Mr. Hudson found him, and Price knew he owed his life to his dad.

And Kylee. And his mom.

How do you know it was Theresa who hit you?

Kylee told me. Price stopped the words before they escaped. He had to tread carefully here. I didn’t know. The police told me. I actually thought it was Bill. I never saw the person.

Thank you, Price. Mr. Lincoln slid the papers across the desk and opened a drawer. We’ll be in touch.

Price stood when the DA did. Will you tell us when she’s sentenced? And when Bill’s found?

Yes, we will. We’re required to by law. In the meantime, if you have any questions or concerns, please reach out. Mr. Lincoln’s large fingers engulfed Price’s as he shook his hand. He handed a business card to Mr. Hudson. Thank you for your cooperation.

Mr. Hudson didn’t say a word as he led the way out of the county courthouse. Price trailed behind, feeling a little . . . let down.

What had he expected to feel? More triumphant. Victorious.

A little closer to Kylee.

The pain knifed through his chest so suddenly that he drew up short and sucked in a breath. He put a hand on the wall for support, barely noticing his dad turn back to him, asking him if he was alright, if his head hurt again.

She was gone. She was really gone. He would never see her again.

She might be at peace, but he wasn’t there yet.

CHAPTER TWO

The vinyl seat on the bus sank inward, and Price looked up from his phone as his neighbor Amy plopped down beside him.

You missed school yesterday, she said, managing to sound cheerful and nonchalant even while her eyes expressed concern.

I had official business to take care of. Price glanced at the row to his right, where Amy’s boyfriend Michael sat. But Michael didn’t look over at them. He seemed to know Amy had become Price’s confidant, the one person in the real world who knew about Kylee. And he was okay with that.

I thought the official stuff was over. The funeral was a week ago.

This was legal stuff. It won’t end until Bill’s in jail.

Was that hard for you? Amy’s face showed sympathy now.

Every damn thing was hard for him. How did one get over falling in love with a ghost and then watching her move on? But he just shrugged.

Oh! I almost forgot. Amy lifted her hip and fished a small square of notebook paper from her back pocket. That girl you told us about, she asked me to give this to you.

Price accepted the note, turning it over for clues. What girl?

The one you said Tish is always picking on?

Margaret. Price nodded, remembering the dark-eyed, vulnerable waif of a girl who haunted his health class.

Haunted. What an ironic choice of words. Margaret was very much alive, though her anxious, nervous temperament indicated she didn’t get much enjoyment of that status.

Yes, Margaret. She wrote you a note.

Thanks. Price slipped it into his backpack.

Amy settled back in the seat, her eyes jumping from the bag to his hands. So? Aren’t you going to open it? What does it say?

He looked at her and smirked, knowing that depriving her of this knowledge tormented her more than stubbing a toe on the pool deck. I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet.

Price Hudson! She smacked his shoulder. So read it!

I will. It’s private.

Now curiosity burned in her gaze. What private communications do you have with Margaret?

An excellent question. Price and Margaret had barely exchanged words since meeting a few weeks ago when Price moved in. What prompted her to reach out to him now? And how had she known to send the note through Amy? He shrugged off Amy’s questions. It’s none of your concern.

Amy huffed a bit and returned to her seat with Michael. Still, Price left the note in his bag. He’d check it out later.

Other than Amy, no one knew about Price’s connection to Kylee. Kids at school heard how he’d been assaulted and spent time in the hospital, but the interest died there.

Better than the stares he’d gotten when his mom died. The glossy-eyed girls who bit their lips and boy who lowered their voices and addressed him in softer tones.

It was too much. His dad had felt it too. It was the main reason they moved.

None of that happened now. He expected stares when he entered the school building, but there were none. His shoulders relaxed in relief, and he pulled open his locker. Safely shielded behind the locker door, he pulled out the rectangular note and opened it.

Neat, precise handwriting peered out at him from the page.

Hey Price,

I hope it’s okay that I’m writing you. I heard about Kylee, and I’m sorry how this is affecting you.

Thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me.

She said a few more things, but Price’s brow furrowed as he read over the opening lines again.

Margaret heard about Kylee? What did she mean by that? Nobody knew about his relationship with Kylee. How could Margaret hear anything? Or had the media leaked that Price was the one who found the body?

Why did Margaret feel the need to reach out?

He folded the note back up and put it away. It was probably nothing.

Except where Kylee was involved, Price had come to expect the unexpected.

He’d have to track Margaret down later and ask her.

But Margaret wasn’t in health class that day, or the next.

Let it go, Price, he told himself. But he was dying to know. How did Margaret know about Kylee?

Price beckoned Natalie over when class finished.

It’s good to have you back, Natalie said, walking beside him out of the room. How’s the recovery?

It’s going fine. Listen, do you know where Margaret is?

No, I haven’t seen her. But I sat by her last week.

You did? He glanced back at the classroom. Come to think of it, Natalie hadn’t been sitting in Tish’s shadow. Why?

Natalie gave an eye roll. Because you told me to be nice to her.

Hey, that’s great. He touched the note in his pocket and pictured the nervous girl who always seemed to want to disappear. She could use more friends. How long has she been gone?

Just this week, I think. I’m not sure.

A flicker of worry mounted in Price’s chest. A week was a long time to be gone. Was she sick?

Or had the bullying finally been too much for her?

Do you know where her locker is?

No. Tish probably does.

Tish probably did. For some reason, she’d painted a target on Margaret’s back and led the charges against her, even behind the scenes. Price definitely wasn’t going to ask her. Thanks, Natalie.

Did anyone else know Margaret? Did she have any friends?

Maybe Amy.

He had avoided any conversations with Amy in first hour, knowing she’d want to ask about the note. Ironic that now he needed to find her and . . . ask her about the note.

KEITH LEANED CLOSE to Price before art appreciation started. Want to come over after school and play video games?

Mrs. Caraway cleared her throat, cutting off Price’s reply to Keith. I’ve graded your nine week’s art projects, she said. You might think I graded harshly, but I followed along with the rubric I gave you. Not only did you have to create a piece of art, but you needed to write an essay explaining what it expressed for you. An essay, people. Three paragraphs. Not a sentence or two.

She placed a paper facedown on Keith’s desk, and he flipped over the corner before grimacing and slamming it down again.

She didn’t like it? Price glanced back at Keith’s magnetic jigsaw puzzle on the display table.

She says I didn’t explain why it was special well enough. Lacking an ‘introductory sentence.’

A paper landed on Price’s desk before he could respond. He grabbed it up as if he cared.

What did you get? Keith asked, edging closer to peer over Price’s shoulder.

Price showed him the grade without a word. 

Ninety-six percent? Keith whispered. How did you do that?

Both boys looked toward the table displaying the pieces of art. Price’s chess set, locked in a play of checkmate, sat against the wall, untouched and poised for victory.

The checkmate was inevitable, unavoidable, even though it hadn’t happened yet. Which was what Price had said in his paper.

I guess Mrs. Caraway liked it, Price said.

Must have been some introductory sentence, Keith grumbled, settling back in his chair.

Price tucked the paper into his backpack. This must be why artists created. Every person who understood what he was trying to say was one more person who connected with Price on a deeper level. Someone who understood him.

Too bad it was just a one-off. The only other people who understood him were dead.

ALL RIGHT, AMY. PRICE let out an exhale as he plopped into the seat beside Amy on the bus. You want to know what the note said?

Yes. Her eyes lit up and sparked with excitement.

You’re in my seat. Michael approached them but didn’t wait for Price to move. Instead, he sat in the seat across from them.

Sorry. I’ll just be a sec.

Michael lifted a shoulder in response and turned to his phone.

Amy elbowed Price. Well? What did the note say?

Margaret said she was sorry about Kylee. He said the words slowly, letting her name roll from his mouth without intent, trying not to get caught on the curves of her consonants.

Oh. That was nice of her.

Yeah, but . . . how did she know?

Amy’s brow furrowed. You mean you didn’t tell her?

Price shook his head. I told no one, Amy.

I didn’t tell her, if that’s what you’re asking.

He’d suspected as much. Did the news say something?

No. I don’t think they’re allowed to mention you, since you’re a minor and all that.

Then how did she know I had something to do with Kylee?

Amy peered at him. What are you thinking?

He didn’t want to say it out loud for fear of jinxing it.

But was it possible Kylee was still here? I’m just wondering.

Her eyes followed him as he switched seats with Michael. As if she knew what he thought but also didn’t want to say.

As if she felt sorry for him.

CHAPTER THREE

I have an appointment with the school counselor tomorrow, Price said at dinner. He watched his little sister slather mustard all over her bun, followed by a mountain of pickles before she placed on the pre-shaped hamburger patty.

What for? Are your grades low? Do you need me to talk to the school for you? Mr. Hudson stopped screwing on the mayonnaise lid and stared at Price.

No. Price didn’t attempt to make his own burger. Watching Lisa unhinge her jaw to fit that sandwich in her mouth was more satisfying. I made the appointment. I want to see if I can still join the baseball team.

A broad smile spread across his dad’s face before he wiped it off, clearing his throat and returning to a practiced level of indifference. I’m sure they’d love to have you. They’ll make a spot for you.

Maybe.

Of course they will. Lisa put her burger down and smeared the mustard around her mouth with the back of her hand. You’re the best.

He put a hand on top of her blond head and gave it a light squeeze. I hope they like me as much a you do.

She shook her head, shaking his hand with her movements. No one does.

Mr. Hudson cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Great. This is great. Let me know how I can help.

I got this. Price grabbed the hamburger buns and tried to ignore the sudden anxiety in his stomach. He hadn’t cared about baseball for so long. What would happen if they didn’t let him on the team?

YOU ASKED TO BE REMOVED from the team just a few weeks ago, Ms. Hernandez, the school counselor, said. She studied Price’s transcript from behind a desk, her glasses slipping down her nose. She lifted her eyes to his. We already had you on the team due to your experience at your previous school.

Price juggled his pen between his fingers. I know, but I had just moved here and felt overwhelmed. Hadn’t she read his file? Didn’t she know his mom had just died? I didn’t think I could play anymore.

And now you think you can?

Now it’s important to me.

She settled back in her chair, crossing her fingers together. What changed?

He stared back at her. Why did she think it was her business? I want to play again.

Irony. He quit playing ball because he didn’t want to think of his dead mother. And now he wanted to play again so he could honor his dead girlfriend.

Something yanked hard on the end of his heart, a painful pull that ripped through his chest. Stop thinking of Kylee.

How could he when he thought he saw her everywhere he went? Hoped he saw her? Maybe gone didn’t really mean gone. Who knew?

Ms. Hernandez looked back at his paperwork and thumbed through it. I think the coach would love to have you on the team. But are you committed? Or will you change your mind in a few months and decide you don’t want to play anymore?

Well, I don’t really know the answer to that, Price said, irritation replacing his earlier heartache. But if the coach will take a chance on me, I’ll take a chance on the team.

She wrote on the bottom of the page and then smiled up at him. I’ll pass that on to him. Thank you, Price. It looks like you’re adjusting well to Pungo. Anytime you need to discuss something, feel free to drop in.

Thanks. Not likely. She’d been less than helpful with this small request. What if he needed something important?

He shouldered his backpack and walked out just as the bell rang to dismiss kids to lunch.

The office door opened again before it had closed all the way, and he glanced over his shoulder in time to see Jessica White stepping out.

Kylee’s best friend.

His heart did a little tumble. Jessica, he said, slowing his steps. He hadn’t seen her in a few days. Not since she’d come to his lunch table to tell him the dream she’d had.

Where Kylee appeared with a message for him.

Price, she greeted.

How are you? he asked.

Well, you know. She jerked her head at the office behind her. Her hair looked blacker than the last time he’d seen her, and she’d added a nose ring, a tiny hoop that curved into her nostril. Visiting my usual places.

Yeah. Price gave a derisive laugh. Have you—? He stopped before he finished the question. It felt too weird, asking if she’d had more dreams.

I’m glad I saw you, she said, leading the way into the cafeteria. I wanted to ask you something.

He got in the food line behind her. Was it something to do with Kylee? Yeah, go on.

I’m starting a club. Will you join it?

He hadn’t expected that. The idea of more activities made him want to hide in the bathroom. The person who cared about being social and popular died when his mom did, and he didn’t want to go back to that. I’m already in the chess club and I’m supposed to watch my little sister after school and I might have baseball practice soon. So I don’t think it would work out.

She picked up a wrapped sandwich and turned to face him. You haven’t even asked what kind of club.

He shrugged and studied the sandwich selection. It didn’t make a difference.

It’s in Kylee’s honor. I thought you’d want to be a part of it.

His gaze shot to her face. How had she known that would get his attention? Did you dream about her again?

Jessica shook her head. No.

What kind of club is it?

An anti-bullying club. Her stormy brown eyes met his own. I couldn’t help her when she was alive. But maybe I can help others.

Price’s resistance melted. He couldn’t say no to that. I’m in.

JESSICA APPEARED AT his locker after school, failing into step with him as he walked toward the bus.

What’s up? he asked.

Here’s the info on our club meetings. She handed him a sticky note with days scrawled across the top in her slanted script.

Thanks, I’ll try to be there. He took the note and stuck in inside the mesh pocket of his backpack. Are you recruiting members?

I’m working on it. I think I know who to ask around.

Who do you have so far?

I asked Margaret Stead to be vice-president. You probably—

Price stopped walking and faced her. You’re friends with Margaret?

Jessica’s face went blank, her expression guarded. Do you know her?

Yeah, she’s in my health class. I’ve been trying to find her. I haven’t seen her a in a few days.

Why?

She wrote me a note.

She wrote you a note? She’s a pretty private person.

So I’ve gathered. Where’s her locker? Is she here today?

Jessica pointed behind them down the hall. Her locker’s over there, but she’s not here.

Has she been here all week?

No. Jessica shook her head. There’s been a—death.

She said the word with hesitation, and Price’s skin prickled, goosebumps popping out over his arms.

Not another death.

Who died? he asked.

Her best friend, Jessica said quietly.

Price exhaled. I’m sorry to hear it.

I visited her yesterday, Jessica said. It might take her a bit to come back. She’s taking the death really hard.

Price looked away, his gaze falling on the linoleum floor. Is there any other way to take it?

Silence fell between them, and when he lifted his eyes, he saw the way Jessica studied him. He saw the questions swirling in her eyes.

He had no answers for her.

He tapped his backpack pocket. I’ll be at the meeting. Gotta catch my bus now.

She nodded. See you then.

He broached the subject of the schedule change at dinner. I got invited to join another club, he told his dad.

Mr. Hudson furrowed his brow. I’m not sure you’ll have time, between baseball and chess.

I’m not on the team yet. If I have to make changes, I will, but for now I don’t, and my friend’s starting a new club. She asked me to be in it. I want to help her out.

She? Is it Amy?

His dad still thought there was something romantic between him and Amy. No, another girl. Amy was a good idea for the club, though. She’d known Kylee, felt bad that she’d been unable to help.

How many girlfriends do you have? Lisa asked.

Price grinned at her, amused. None.

You have at least eight.

Where did Lisa come up with these things? Yep. Eight. Exactly.

So one to kiss each day?

Now, Lisa, don’t go kissing boys, Mr. Hudson said.

Price’s smile dropped off, and suddenly his chest hurt.

There used to be a girl he kissed every day, or at least as often as he could.

But she was gone, and he’d never kiss her again.

He wasn’t sure how to cope with that knowledge.

YOU SHOULD INVITE AMY, Price told Jessica the next morning. She was friends with Kylee. She’d want to improve things around here.

I know her, Jessica said. She has to be vetted first.

How do we do that?

Leave it to me.

That sounded ominous. He wanted to warn Amy in their French class, but he wasn’t sure what to warn her of. So he kept quiet, vacating the classroom quickly to head to health class.

Price!

Tish’s voice rang out as she called after him in the hallways. He stifled a sigh. He’d tired of humoring her, being nice to her. He just wanted her to leave him alone. But he stopped and waited for her to catch up to him.

You were gone for a week, Tish said, her voice less confident than normal. She slowed to walk beside him, one backpack strap across her shoulder. I heard you got hurt and were in the hospital.

I was, but I’m fine now. See? He pointed at the healing scar across his temple. Didn’t die.

That’s lucky.

Right. In some ways.

Tish talked the whole way into the room. Price pulled out his phone at his desk and nodded along, pretending to be reading emails, wondering how long she’d talk if he didn’t respond.

Kids filed into the classroom, filling the desks around him, and then something else stepped in.

He felt it, like a slightly cooler whisper of air floating over his arms. A familiar sensation that made the hairs on his arms raise and immediately had his attention. He lifted his eyes, his heart hammering in unvoiced expectation.

A girl he didn’t know walked into the room. Her bare feet padded across the floor. She wore a long, conservative brown skirt and a yellow blouse, her blond hair short, bangs feathering over bright green eyes.

Eyes that stared at him, unblinking.

Margaret stepped in right behind her, wearing black pants and a black vest over a white peasant shirt.

The girl glanced back at Margaret and then at Price again. Confusion tickled the back of his neck. Why was she causing this physical reaction in him? And why was she barefoot? He furrowed his brow as the two of them walked to Margaret’s desk.

Margaret sat down, and the girl sat at the empty desk to her left, the whole time staring Price down.

He tore his gaze away with some difficulty. Then he looked at her again, just to make sure.

She was still there. Still staring.

Hey, Tish, he said, finally interrupting her diatribe, who’s sitting next to Margaret?

Tish didn’t even glance over. Natalie. She changed desks and started sitting by her while you were gone.

Not in front of her. Beside her.

I don’t know. I think his name’s Steve?

On the other side.

Tish heaved a sigh and swiveled in her chair to look, as if the movement pained her. Then she gave Price a dull look. What’s your point? You think I’m going to go sit by her? Price, you don’t know anything. Things happened before you moved here, and Margaret’s getting what she deserves.

Price wanted to dig into that statement. But he needed verify what he thought Tish was saying. There’s no one on her left side.

Tish glowered. Go ahead. Go sit by her.

No, thanks, he muttered.

He lifted his eyes again. The girl was still staring at him, but her lip had turned upward, and she was definitely smirking.

Tish couldn’t see her.

Mr.