Deadly Little Sins (16 page)

I have no clue what’s going on. And I don’t think I can stand to find out.

Brent isn’t happy I blew him off, and Kelsey isn’t happy she has to go pick up the cake. I text her as I’m running back to Amherst. Remy is still in the lounge with April, so I duck into our empty room.

I call the number that texted me. Get the same invalid number message.

I fire off a text message, even though I know it won’t go through.

who are you and what the hell did you do with her

I sit on my bed, curling onto my side. I can’t freak out. I can’t lose it. Not when there’s a chance Ms. C is still alive.

I can’t turn my back when I might be the only one who knows she’s in danger.

If they haven’t killer her yet, too.

I put the thought out of my head. My phone begins to buzz, and bile shoots up into my throat. I swallow it away; it’s only Brent calling. I hit ignore.

I want to pull the covers over my head and hide—pretend I’m not in so deep that hiding is still a possibility. But it’s not; Caroline knows who I am now. So does Spencer.

And the man in the administration building.

Someone knows I’m trying to figure out what happened to Dr. Muller and Natalie. And I have to hold fast to the hope that they’re threatening me because they think I’m getting close to the truth.

No cops? Fine. I never really needed them anyway.

The next morning I call Fiona Riley—Ms. C’s reference at the Cambridge Public Library—and ask if she remembers an employee named Jessica Cross from two years ago.

“Of course!” Fiona Riley sounds way happier than anyone in a library on a Tuesday morning has the right to be. “Is Jess being considered for a new job?”

“Not exactly.” I twist a fold of my skirt between my fingers. “Could I ask you a couple questions about her, though?”

“Sure, sure,” Fiona says. “Why don’t you stop by the library? I’m here until six.”

I cringe. I was hoping to ask her now, over the phone. People like to criticize my generation for not doing things face-to-face, but maybe there’s a reason we don’t like to. It’s a pain in the ass.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll see you then.”

It’s not hard to find Fiona Riley. Everyone at the circulation desk knows who she is. They point me to the children’s section. No surprise there.

I step around a toddler smacking a naked Barbie against the floor while her mother sits aside, texting. When I get to the desk, a youngish woman with her hair tied back in a scarf looks up at me.

“Hi,” I say. “Are you Ms. Riley?”

The woman shakes her head and points at a tiny woman pushing a cart along the stacks. Fiona Riley blinks at me from behind red cat-eye glasses as I introduce myself.

“I called earlier—about Jessica Cross.”

“Oh!” She beams at me. “Sure, sure. Jess is such a sweet girl.”

I follow her down the aisle as she replaces picture books. I point to the one in her hand. “
Owl Moon
. That was one of my favorites.”

“Still is one of mine.” Fiona winks at me.

“Did Jessica work in the children’s section, too?” I ask.

“Oh, no. When she was here, we were both on the main level,” Fiona says. “I was her supervisor.”

Fiona’s hand lingers on the spine of
Owl Moon.
“Do you know her?” There’s the slightest trace of suspicion in her voice. Or maybe it’s just curiosity, and my mind has been trained to always expect suspicion.

“She was my Latin teacher,” I say.

“Oh wow, good for her. Teaching was her dream.”

“She quit, really suddenly. We were close. I never got to say good-bye. And I don’t know how to find her.”

Fiona’s lower lip juts out slightly. “That’s too bad. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in a few months either.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Must’ve been March. She stopped in to say hi while she was doing research.”

“Do you mind me asking what she was doing research on?”

“That old school.” Fiona waves her hand dismissively. “Jess loved old things. Old languages, old buildings. Always looking them up, studying them when she wasn’t working. Poor thing didn’t have any friends or family.”

But she did have family. Her own brother is a fifteen-minute train ride away.

“Did she say what happened to her family?” I ask. “I think she mentioned a brother to me.”

Fiona’s tongue pokes out and searches her upper lip. She frowns. “Told me her parents died when she was really young. Said she was an only child.”

“And no friends,” I repeat. “She never mentioned spending time with anyone outside of work?”

“Jess spent all her time studying and saving money to get a master’s degree. Was so disappointed when she didn’t get that English teacher job at Wheatley.” Fiona looks around, and lowers her voice to a near whisper. “Everyone knows those charter and prep schools hire teachers with no experience and pay them dirt.”

“You said the
old school
,” I say. “She was doing research on Wheatley?”

“Oh, no, not Wheatley,” Fiona says. “Plymouth. The reform school they tore down years ago.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

As if this situation wasn’t bizarre enough, I now have another strange piece of the puzzle: Natalie’s odd obsession with an old reform school.

What I know about Plymouth: It was a boarding school for boys that were in some sort of trouble with the law. Kind of like an old-fashioned juvie. And, according to Artie, the school used to stand where the Wheatley annex is now.

I have to put my research on hold, because Sunday is the football game. Remy picked Murali, Brent, and me to go with her, and I haven’t had time to analyze the politics of her decision. All I know is that it probably means something that Kelsey and Cole aren’t here, and that Brent and Murali treat their tickets like something golden they unwrapped from a Willy Wonka bar.

When we get to the BC stadium, I see why. We may as well have tickets to see the Beatles.

“Fifty bucks,” a guy says to us as we push our way to the concourse.

“One hundred,” I tell him.

“Anne! What the hell.” Remy drags me away. “It’s BC versus
Notre Dame
.”

“Okay.” I shrug.

Murali stares at me. “Have you ever been to a college football game?”

“I’ve never been to
a
football game,” I say.

My Uncle Jason has Giants season tickets. My dad goes with him all of the time, and they’ve asked me, but I never had an interest. I say as much.

“Don’t talk to me.” Murali covers his face. “Just don’t talk to me.”

I bump my shoulder into his as security scans our tickets.

“Ugh, I’m so thirsty,” Remy says when we get to our seats. It’s uncharacteristically hot for October. She and the guys have already taken off their hoodies.

“I saw a concession stand on the way in,” I say.

“We’ll miss part of the quarter,” she says. I don’t know if she really cares about the game that much, or if she’s just being Remy. She hates missing out on things.

“I’ll go,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine. I want to stretch my legs.” And really, there’s no polite way to say I couldn’t give less of a shit about the game. I feel bad Remy wasted the ticket on me. But it is nice to get away from Wheatley. Even if it’s not for long enough.

I don’t know if it will ever be for long enough.

I walk in what feels like a circle until I see a sign for a food court. It’s on Level 4. I double back to the stairs and climb up a level, pushing through a sea of gold and maroon, punctuated by the random person in Fightin’ Irish gear. As far as I can tell, the Notre Dame fans aren’t holding to their name. Or maybe they know they’re outnumbered and don’t want to get their asses kicked.

A man in a green hoodie leaning against the railing on the third level catches my eye. There’s something sketchy about the way he seems to be looking for someone—if there’s anything that sticks out to me these days, it’s a sketchy person.

He turns, scanning the level, his eyes passing over me. My breath catches in my throat. I
know
him.

It’s Spencer Vandenberg.

I duck behind the nearest corner, by the bathrooms. I can see him, but he can’t see me. He checks his phone. Slips a hand in his pocket, as if he’s checking to make sure something is there.

He picks his head up; I can tell the person he’s waiting for is here.

“No way,” I mutter under my breath.

Caroline Cormier-Frey stands next to Spencer at the railing, keeping about a foot of space between them.

Alexis was right: Spencer was lying when he said he didn’t know Caroline.

A group of guys ambles by, blocking my view of Spencer and Caroline. “Move,” I mutter. They stop, standing in the middle of the concourse, laughing and fist-bumping each other.

I hiss under my breath and move around them, careful to hang at least twenty feet back from Caroline and Spencer. Even if I can get closer, there’s no way I’ll be able to hear them over the sounds of the game.

And just like that, the meeting is over. Caroline turns and heads for the lower level, walking straight past me without noticing me. She’s fuming.

I take off after Spencer before I lose him in the crowd. I don’t know why I’m tailing him—whatever conversation he had with Caroline is clearly over.

I stop in my tracks when Spencer does. My feet are frozen to the ground as he turns, scans the crowd. His eyes lock on mine.

He gives me a wolfish smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts two fingers and makes a gesture right at me.

Bang.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

No cops or I kill her.

It dawns on me that Spencer could have been signaling that he would kill Natalie, not me. Or maybe both of us.

My knees feel weak as I make my way back upstairs. I could have just locked eyes with the person who sent me the text message.

I don’t realize until I get back to the stands that I forgot our drinks. When I return with them, no one notices: BC is approaching the end zone.

No one except Brent.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

Apparently he’s not that interested in the answer, because then BC scores a touchdown and our section goes wild.

“So the guys want to go to the pool tonight,” Remy says to me when the noise dies down. “Diego’s tennis coach gave him a key to the athletic complex so he can practice whenever he wants. The guys hid some beers in his locker.”

My mind is still on Spencer, so only half of what Remy says registers for me. “Swimming. I don’t think I have a bathing suit here.”

“You don’t need one.” Remy wiggles her eyebrows in a way that’s probably supposed to be suggestive, but it just looks like a bug is flying at her face. I laugh in spite of myself—and notice that Brent is laughing next to me.

“Eavesdrop much?” I nudge my shoulder against his.

His ears get really red, and I open my mouth to ask what his problem is, then I remember what Remy said before we cracked up. No bathing suit. Skinny-dipping.

Oh.

Brent is uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the game, even though BC wins. I don’t want to believe he’s
that
disturbed by the prospect of seeing me naked later, so I think back to my absence during the game. Brent definitely noticed.

And Spencer
definitely
noticed me.

I have to tell Alexis that I saw Caroline with him.

When we get back to our room, Remy wants to go to the library to study for tomorrow’s quiz on
Heart of Darkness
.

“I’ll meet you there,” I say. “I have to call my mom quick.”

She shrugs. “I can just wait for you.”

“Nah, it’s okay. It might not be so quick.”

“Okay.” Remy looks at me funny and slips out the door. I exhale and find Alexis’s number in my recent calls. She picks up on the first ring.

“What?”

“Hello to you, too. Did you know Caroline was meeting Spencer at the BC game today?”

“No. You’re sure it was them?”

“Of course I am.”

There’s a pause, with nothing but the sound of Alexis breathing heavily. “I knew it. She’s on something, and she’s buying from Spencer. Probably Zannies. Probably exhausting being such an uptight bitch all the time.”

“Wait,” I say. “You don’t think they met to talk about Natalie?”

“At a
football
game?” Alexis is using her
are-you-too-stupid-to-live
voice. “They’d only meet in person if there was an exchange going down. College sporting events are like a prescription drug trade mecca.”

“But it didn’t look like a drug deal,” I say. “Caroline looked
furious.
And when Spencer saw me—”

It’s as if a bomb goes off on the other end of the phone. “They
saw you
?”

“Only Spencer,” I say.

“And how long do you think it’ll be before he and Caroline put the pieces together? We were
just
interrogating him at the country club.”

“Trust me, if they had something to do with Natalie’s disappearance, being caught spying on them is the least of our problems. Natalie’s boyfriend is dead. Murdered.”

“You don’t understand. Caroline will
destroy
me if she gets wind that I’m involved,” Alexis hisses.

Anger spasms in me. “This isn’t about you, Alexis. I’m not in this to help you take down your cousin.”

“You think Caroline is really what this is about?” she says. “I gave you Spencer. I helped you. Now
you
have to help
me
. Tell me what you know about my dad and Travis Shepherd.”

I can’t. I won’t.
Your dad showed up at Shepherd’s house with a gun and didn’t plan on coming out alive. He dropped the gun when I told him to think about
you.

For once, it’s not Anthony or me I’m trying to protect by holding onto the truth of what really went down that night.