Deadly Little Sins (14 page)

“What do you mean?”

Remy’s porcelain skin is radiant in the bit of moonlight sneaking through the blinds. “I … I’ve slept over his
house
before. Mr. Westbrook’s. I never thought he—I just don’t like to think about it.”

Her voice has changed. And I know then that I’ll never be able to confide in Remy. How would our friendship change if she knew I was there? If she knew I was still in contact with Alexis?

“Me neither,” I lie.

I feign a yawn and roll onto my side. As I’m pretending to doze off, Remy climbs out of my bed and returns to hers.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

I’m not thrilled about being forced to ask for Dennis’s help again—especially not after last time, where I got the vibe that he wasn’t taking me seriously.

But I’d say that what happened with Room 105, and the text message, has escalated this situation to very serious.

Remy and Brent have a Student Government Association meeting after breakfast, so I’m able to sneak away and head downtown.

Dennis is smoking a cigarette outside the police station. He stubs it out when he sees me, swatting the air in front of him to clear the smoke.

“Anne. Hey.”

“Hey. Do you have a few minutes?”

Dennis scratches behind his ear. He seems uncomfortable—maybe embarrassed I caught him smoking again. “I’m actually headed out for a bit. Coffee break.”

“Mind if I tag along?” I hesitate. “Something came up, and I don’t really know who else to go to.”

He doesn’t question why I can’t tell Tierney, or an adult I trust at the school. I don’t have an adult I trust at that place.

“Sure,” he says. “Let’s talk while we walk.”

The Dunkin’ Donuts is two blocks from the precinct. I tell Dennis what happened yesterday afternoon, and how a Google search of the phone number didn’t turn up anything.

“Texts are near impossible to trace. If the number isn’t attached to a valid account or business, you won’t find anything with reverse lookup,” Dennis says. My face must fall, because he softens a bit. “Here, let me see the message.”

I open the text and hand him my phone. Dennis mouths the number to himself as he enters it into his own phone and dials. He frowns, getting the same invalid number message I did.

“I don’t even think that’s a valid area code.” He hits end call. “Seems like the person is hiding behind a burner.”

“A burner?”

“There are apps to disguise your phone number,” Dennis says. “Generates a fake number that expires within hours or minutes of using it.”

My stomach sinks. “So there’s no way of tracking the person down.”

“It’s not impossible.”

But it may as well be
. Or at least that’s what I’m gathering from his tone.

“Anne, if someone’s harassing you, you’ve got to file a police report,” Dennis says. “There’s only so much I can do to help you. Off the books, at least.”

My head feels heavy. You’d need an ancient scroll to list the people who would want to lock me in a room and never see me come out.

It’s possible that the Room 105 trap has nothing to do with me digging into what happened to Dr. Muller and Natalie Barnes.

Dennis pauses outside the Dunkin’ Donuts, clearly signaling that he wants to go in alone. And I see why when I look through the door.

Anthony, waiting on the other side.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Dennis casts an apologetic glance my way as Anthony looks up. Confusion registers on his face when he sees me. Then something else: annoyance.

“I didn’t know you were meeting someone,” I tell Dennis. “I’ll—I guess I’ll talk to you some other time.”

“Hey—Anne—wait. I called Ant to check up on him. I didn’t know—”

My eyes feel prickly as I turn to get the hell out of there.

“Wait.”

But it’s not Dennis who called after me. Anthony jogs to catch up with me, bringing the faint scent of motor oil and Big Red gum with him.

“I had no idea you were meeting up with Dennis today,” I say. I can’t bring myself to look at his face. “I wasn’t, like, purposely trying to make things awkward.”

“You think I care about awkward? Anne, hold up. You told him you were
worried
about me?”

I stop. I face him, even though I’m terrified I’ll cry if I look him in the eye. “Yes, and now I look like a freaking idiot because obviously you’re fine, and it’s really only me you don’t want to see.”

He opens his mouth, as if he’s going to disagree, then closes it. “I told you to stay away from Dennis.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware I had to obey your commands.”

Anthony tilts his head back, makes a frustrated noise. “You know I don’t mean it like that. You
have
to stay away from Dennis, or we’ll both wind up in deep shit.”

“Is that why you’re staying away from me? You’re afraid of getting in trouble?” I don’t know where this is coming from. Probably from the part of me that isn’t content with how our last conversation ended. Even though slapping him in the face felt good at the time. “Five months ago, you told me you’re falling for me, then last week, you said all that horrible shit.”

Anthony takes a step toward me so no one can hear him. “I almost took a bullet for you. What more do you want?”

I don’t know. That’s the honest answer. This summer, I would have said that I wanted to be with him. To pick up where we left off. To see if that spark between us—the crazy hot kisses, that inexplicable pull—could possibly translate into something real.

But I don’t know what’s real anymore. And that whatever it was—the thing that drew me to Anthony like a moth to the light—is gone.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

The first thing of mine that Ms. C ever graded was a response paper to Cicero’s argument before Caesar. I completely BS’ed my way through it, because I figured I was already screwed with a bunch of subpar grades from when Professor Upton taught the class.

Ms. C handed it back to me with a note on the back:
Anne, this is thoughtful, thorough, and smart. Well done!

At first I thought she was screwing with me. But she wore me down with her exhaustingly nice personality and refusal to accept anything from me that wasn’t my best. She was funny, too, in that self-deprecating way nice people use to let you know that their niceness isn’t just an act.

Too bad it was after all.

And even though I have no one to blame but myself for it, I feel similarly duped by Anthony. I should have recognized his passion for aggression, his bravery as the inability to walk away from a fight.

I should have realized that I was ignoring Anthony’s worst qualities because they mirrored my own.

But Ms. C is different. I want to believe that the woman I knew was the real Natalie Barnes—not the mysterious train wreck that her brother described.

She believed in me. She was the only teacher at this school who didn’t view me as some sort of screw-up. I don’t know if it was real or not, but it doesn’t matter.

Someone out there knows what happened to her and Dr. Muller, and I’m going to find them.

After going for a jog with Remy on Sunday morning, I shower and leave to meet Alexis at the Brookline Country Club.

If I keep running around the greater Boston area like this, I’m going to spend all of my allowance for the semester on Charlie cards and train tickets. Maybe I should get a job. That would really make my dad crap himself.

I get lost looking for the country club, so it’s about twenty after twelve by the time I get there. There’s a black Escalade parked by the curb. I tap on the driver’s window.

Alexis scowls when she rolls the window down. “You’re late.”

“That’s quite an astute observation.” I’m feeling pissy. “Just a tip—if you’re trying to avoid being recognized, you might want to get rid of the W
ESTBROOK FOR
S
ENATE
bumper sticker.”

“Get in,” Alexis snaps.

I swallow as I round the other side and open the door. I can’t believe I’m getting into a car with Alexis Westbrook. I’m still not convinced this scenario won’t end with my body being dumped in a wetland somewhere.

My gaze wanders to Alexis’s cup holder. Her phone, in a pink and green Kate Spade case, rests inside it. My fingers itch to scroll through it, see if Alexis is the one who sent me to room 105.

But why would she help me if she was just going to turn around and try to get rid of me? As much as I’d rather believe she’s lying to me, I can tell that Alexis’s hatred for Caroline is real.

And I know Alexis well enough by now to be sure of one thing: She only fakes niceness. Her hatred is always real.

“Are you sure Spencer’s going to be here?” I ask as she flashes an ID card to get us through the security gate.

“Yes. And he’ll be here every day until his trust fund runs dry and he has to find a real job.”

I trail after her once we’re in the lot. “Real job? He works here?”

“Not exactly.” Alexis eyes me, like I’m a child who needs everything explained to her. “Spencer Vandenberg is the biggest dealer for Massachusetts one-percenters. He ran Wheatley’s most infamous prescription drug ring.”

“Drug ring?” I’m not naïve—I went to a prep school in New York City. Kids stole Xanax and Oxycontin from their parents and sold them all the time. But since I’ve been at Wheatley, I haven’t heard a peep about drugs other than weed.

In any case, an actual drug ring is serious shit. If Natalie had gotten mixed up with a dealer—a dealer with a ton of money, nonetheless—we could have a real lead.

I follow Alexis up the steps to the clubhouse. A sprawling golf course, tennis courts, and an Olympic-sized pool loom in the background.

“Hello, Miss Westbrook.” An attendant flashes Alexis a wary smile as he eyes her member card. “I see you have a guest. We’ll need to photocopy her ID so we have it on file.”

I pass him my Wheatley ID and he disappears into the back. Alexis gives me the side eye.

“You knew you were coming to a country club. Did you have to dress like a Kardashian?”

I keep my mouth shut, but if she says something like that again, I swear I’ll punch her in the boobs. I’m wearing camel-colored jeans and a slouchy cream cardigan over a black tank top. I was
going
for Kate Moss. Alexis can suck it.

The attendant gives me back my ID and tells us to enjoy our day. Alexis doesn’t thank him as she yanks me toward the restaurant area, which has a one-eighty view of the golf course with floor-to-ceiling windows.

She drags me to the bar, where a girl in a white blouse pounces on us. “What can I get for you, ladies?”

I eye the drink special for the day: a vodka Collins. I wonder if she’ll card me. Alexis gives me the stink eye as if to say
Don’t even think about it.

“Two lemonades,” Alexis says. She leans in to whisper in my ear. “To our right.”

I glance over my shoulder, at an elderly couple trying to crack open a lobster.

“Not them.” Alexis nods a few degrees left. A good-looking guy is sitting by himself, nose in his iPhone. He has ear-length honey-colored hair and a killer tan. He looks like one of those guys who makes a living out of accusing people they went to college with of stealing their ideas.

The guy lifts his gaze. When he sees Alexis, a sly grin spreads across his face. Alexis grabs her drink and nudges me to follow her.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s here.” Spencer leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Who’s your friend?”

“Anne, this is Spencer,” Alexis sniffs. “Spencer interned in my father’s office. Until he got fired.”

Spencer’s jaw sets. “Still in hiding?”

“Still unemployed?” Alex smiles at him, but her eyes shoot daggers.

Spencer laughs. “I just got back from a board tour of the Alps. Would you ladies like to join me?” He’s already pulled out two chairs for us. Alexis sits, and I follow her lead. Almost instantly, a waitress appears.

“A bottle of that sparkling rosé for the table.” Spencer grins at her.

The waitress nods, without a second glance at Alexis or me to ask for our IDs.

“And a Waldorf salad,” Alexis adds.

“So,” Spencer says when the waitress is gone, “how did I get so lucky? I hope you’re not trying to get me arrested or anything.”

“Don’t be disgusting. This isn’t a social call.” Alexis picks up her fork and examines it. She waves the waitress back over. “Excuse me? This is dirty.”

“People like you are the reason the terrorists hate us,” I hiss at Alexis.

Spencer laughs. Alexis glares at him. “Tell us about Natalie Barnes.”

“Whoa.” Spencer sits forward. “What are you guys asking about Natalie for?”

“You tell us. Why’d she get expelled for being off campus with you, while you only got a slap on the wrist?”

“Oh, Lex.” Spencer takes a sip from his water. “I think you know the answer to that. I was a champion.”

“Some champion. Remind me again, what’d the Olympic drug committee find in your system?” Alexis demands. “Adderall?”

Spencer’s smile fades. I want to shake Alexis; first rule of interrogating someone is to make sure they don’t get hostile.

“We just want to know what happened between you and Natalie,” I cut in. “That’s all.”

“Look, I barely remember her,” Spencer says. “We hooked up a couple times. I didn’t talk to her at all after she got kicked out.”

I lower my voice. “I know you were with her. The night she was caught off campus.”

Spencer covers his mouth with the back of his hand. A classic move when someone is trying to maintain a poker face. “You have to understand, I was kind of a dick back then.”

“Oh, we understand completely,” Alexis says.

“Whatever. Do you want to hear what happened or not?” Spencer looks at his Rolex. “I’ve got a meeting in a few.”

“Please continue,” I say, shooting Alexis a look. She stabs her salad that’s materialized before her, keeping one eye on Spencer.

“Okay, so before construction started at the annex, it was kind of a thing to sneak on the land to hang out.” Spencer mimes smoking a joint. “That night, I was meeting … a friend. Natalie wanted to tag along. I made her go ahead while I waited by the car.”