Dial Em for Murder (23 page)

“She's probably asleep.”

“Then I'll leave a message.”

I could hear Ben release a short breath of frustration. “You can do that later. It's not like a few more minutes will change anything.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Emmy, is there a reason you've been avoiding me?”

Well, crap. I hadn't expected that question from Ben, especially not over the phone. He preferred to hash things out in person so that he could get a full read on the situation. Apparently, he'd decided to bend that rule with me.

Which was too bad for him because I had no intention of spilling my guts.

“I've been a little preoccupied. You know, what with the dead guy and the new school and that other thing, what was it again? Oh right. Trying to avoid a
killer
who seems to want me dead.”

Ben knew me too well to fall for my sarcastic deflection. “Things have been off with you for a while. I want to know why.”

And I wanted to spend a lazy afternoon chatting with Susan Elizabeth Phillips; both of us would just have to live with the disappointment.

The door swung open, startling me into nearly dropping the phone. Sebastian strolled inside as if he owned the place, which, okay, he kind of did. But he didn't have to smirk quite so arrogantly as he eyed the way I crouched on the floor with my cell phone jammed against my right ear. My left hand balled into a fist before returning limply to my side.

“Say
something
, Emmy!”

I tried to access my most reasonable voice, the one I reserved for talking my mom out of showcasing her cleavage on sketchy first dates.

“It's complicated.” I cringed at the cliché, but I couldn't risk arming Sebastian with any more insight into my personal life. It was only a matter of time before he accepted that his grandfather was gone in the most permanent way possible, and when that happened—when he finally believed what I'd been telling him all along—there was no telling how he might react.

“Now really isn't the best time to talk, Ben. I'll call you later, okay?”

Sebastian's smile widened. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping on my conversation. “Wait, is this the boyfriend?”

“Mind your own business, Sebastian,” I snapped automatically, before I realized with an awful sense of foreboding that I should have kept my own mouth shut. I should have ignored him and focused on ending my conversation with Ben.

There was a long damning pause on the other end of the phone. “I thought you said you were sleeping, Emmy.”

“I was!”

“I guess I should've asked if you were sleeping alone.” Ben spoke slowly, as if he couldn't believe his own words. As if it had never occurred to him that I might spend the night with someone—anyone—out of an impulse other than friendship. My shoulders squared at the insult. Just because
he
wasn't interested didn't mean the rest of the world had to follow suit.

“Not that it's any of
your
business, Ben, but nothing happened.”

“Nothing? Well, that's not entirely true,” Sebastian's voice rang out loudly enough for Ben to catch every word. Apparently causing chaos was a St. James family trait. “That kiss seemed pretty important to you.”

“You kissed
him
?”

Beating my head with the phone until the screen cracked in my hand suddenly sounded far less painful than attempting to rescue this conversation.

“It's not as bad as you're thinking, Ben.”

“It wasn't bad at all,” Sebastian's smile widened at my obvious discomfort. “I quite enjoyed that thing you did with your tongue right before we were interrupted.”

“I'm . . . this . . . it's
not
what you think,” I stuttered, unable to think of anything else I could say to reassure him. Unsure why I was trying so hard in the first place. I didn't need Ben's permission to kiss someone, and I definitely didn't owe him any explanations. “Trust me.”

Ben laughed hollowly in my ear. “Trust you?
Trust you?
Emmy, I don't even know who you are anymore.”

Direct hit. I sucked in my breath as the pain of those words sent shockwaves through my system. I felt raw, exposed, as if my chest had been cracked open and Ben was peering inside with a scalpel saying,
“Yes, it looks like the tumor has infected everything in here. Let's close her up, everyone. There's nothing worth salvaging.”

“Come on, Ben. It's still me,” I turned my back on Sebastian, needing at least the illusion of privacy.

“No, it isn't. The real Emmy would have cooperated with the police. She wouldn't be kissing some rich douchebag while her friends and family worry about her.”

The unfairness of the accusation burned deep. “
You
would run to the police, Ben. Not me. Just because you don't like my choices doesn't make them any less
mine
. I've always wanted to find my dad.” I raked a hand through a tangled clump of hair, yanking my scalp in the process. “And you've never even met Sebastian, so why are you acting like he broke your favorite toy?”

My anger kept me from mentioning that I happened to agree with him about Sebastian. That wasn't the point. For all he knew, Sebastian was a perfectly nice guy who had fallen head-over-heels in love with me.

“It's called
common sense
, Emmy. Most people try to avoid jackasses like him.”

One glance in Sebastian's direction confirmed that he was enjoying the hell out of my conversation. He looked like he listened to people analyzing his personality on a regular basis. Maybe he had planted half a dozen listening devices in his therapist's office. It seemed like something Sebastian would do for entertainment.

“He's not always a jackass.”

He winked. “Thanks for coming to my defense, sweetheart.”

I glared at Sebastian in annoyance as he strengthened Ben's original point. “Although that does appear to be his default setting.”

“This is what you do, Emmy,” Ben lowered his voice to a quiet warning. “You build up people in your head, fall in love with the fictional version of who you want them to be, and then they crush you.”

“I've never been
crushed
,” I objected, even as my cheeks heated in embarrassment.

“Pierre. Henri. That German guy, Hans. Want me to keep going?”

I stiffened, but forced myself to act calm. “What about them?”

“You were suckered in just like your mom.”

Usually, I could convince myself that I liked Ben's upfront approach to honesty—that I'd rather know his opinion than waste my time second guessing everything he said—but right now? Yeah, I really wished he'd kept that last bit of analysis to himself.

“I've got to go. I'll call you later.”

For the second time that day, I hung up on him. Then I tried to mimic Sebastian's own casually dismissive expression to hide my hurt.

“As entertaining as your attempts at puppy love are to watch, you have more important things to focus on, like how to be of assistance to me.”

“You've got that last part backwards.” It wasn't exactly my wittiest comeback, but given the current state of my life, I was willing to count the absence of humiliation as a win. “You've gone through my stuff, right?”

“You think I'd lower myself to searching your belongings?” He did that annoying answering a question with a question thing.

I didn't even have to think it over. “Absolutely.”

Sebastian's eyes flashed with amusement. “I'm touched, especially since you called me—what was it again?—oh right, ‘not
always
a jackass.' I'm starting to think you like me.”

I choked at the thought. “Not even a little. Did you make any progress with the Slate you
stole
while I was sleeping?” I put some extra bite into my tone so he'd know I wasn't joking around.

“If I had, I wouldn't be having this lovely chat with you.”

No matter what I did or said some boy always seemed to be standing nearby, ready to tell me that I was wrong or naive or making an enormous mistake. I clenched my teeth.

“So you tried and failed to crack the code. That must sting, given that he was
your
grandfather. Shouldn't you have some firsthand knowledge into the inner workings of his mind?”

That wiped the smile off Sebastian's face. “My grandpa was too smart to pick something obvious. He wouldn't use his birthday, or mine, for that matter.”

“That's why you were supposed to use your insight to figure it out. Wait a second,” I gasped in mock surprise. “Are you telling me that you
don't
know everything? Wow. Who would've guessed? Oh, that's right.
Me.
”

“I told you, if he wanted me to have the Slate he would've handed it to me.”

I dimly remembered him saying something along those lines right before the world had gone black. That was no reason for me to give an inch, though. Not when he'd made it clear that he considered me an incompetent failure ever since our interaction at the police precinct.

“Then maybe you should leave the real investigative work to me instead of worrying your pretty little head,” I said.

I would have seen red if
he'd
said those words, which was probably why it felt so damn good to watch his eyes harden. Then he stretched out, lounging on his bed, his anger betrayed only by the telltale tightening of his jaw.

“Does this mean you've finally come up with a plan?” Sebastian looked skeptical, probably because for the past two days my answer had been a resounding, “I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing, but thanks for asking.”

“Actually, yes.” I pulled up the most recent call log on my phone. “I'm calling in backup.”

“Your backup called me a jackass right before you hung up on him. Or did I misinterpret that fascinating teen soap opera?”

I smiled tightly. “That's why it's good to have more than one best friend. Sorry, I guess I should explain. Friendship must be an unfamiliar concept to you since it doesn't involve buying or bribing loyalty.”

Sebastian remained unimpressed. “This coming from the girl who made a dozen enemies on her first day.”

“That's only because the people here suck.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

I raised my hand over my lips in the universal shushing gesture before calling Audrey. Sebastian continued right on talking. “So you're trying to rope somebody else into solving your problems. Such a shame your boyfriend couldn't take care of it for you.”

“Shut up!” I hissed.

Unfortunately my timing left something to be desired.

“Is that a new form of greeting you're trying out, Em?” Audrey asked. “I've got to say, I'm not a fan. Call me a traditionalist, but I prefer a simple hello.”

I closed my eyes and instantly regretted the gesture since my nap hadn't eliminated my exhaustion. It had only sandpapered the roughest of the sleep-deprived edges.

“How's it going, Audrey?” I said obediently, as Sebastian scoffed in disgust.

“I've been better. My best friend thinks someone wants her dead, so I've started researching nearby insane asylums.”

“I think they prefer the term ‘mental health facilities' now.”

“Yeah? Well, I'd prefer for you
not
to become an inmate—”

“Resident,” I corrected.

“Whatever! You're driving me crazy, Em!”

My lecture on political correctness could wait. “I kind of need a favor.”

“Did you not hear
anything
I just said?”

Mostly what I'd heard was that she needed me to grovel. “I should have called earlier. I'm sorry. Ben has already yelled at me for forgetting to charge my phone. Now is there any chance you gave that project I mentioned earlier any more thought?”

Audrey snorted. “The one where I hack a dead man's tablet? I hoped you were kidding.”

“I wasn't.”

“It's not too late to change your mind, like, oh say,
now
for example. Before I spend any more time on this project.”

I couldn't help grinning. Audrey loved to stress the time-consuming nature of all her undertakings. I suspected it came from having a mother who could barely work a TV remote, but dismissed Audrey's passion for programming as a “little hobby.” Audrey's mom had never been subtle about her desire for her oldest daughter to go into engineering or medicine. Her dad mostly stayed out of those conversations, although he quietly appreciated her ability to hack their neighbor's Netflix account so that he could watch
House of Cards
.

“Can you do it?” I asked simply. “You're kind of my last resort. So if this is beyond you, I need to figure out something else. Fast.”

“You definitely need another plan.”

My stomach dropped, panic seizing control of my vocal cords, right before I heard one of my favorite sounds. Audrey sighing. I
knew
I had her.

“I can give it a shot, but I'm not making any promises.”

“Really?” I twirled in place on the Moroccan rug, loving the soft texture beneath my toes. “You're okay with that?”

I could practically hear Audrey's shrug in her voice. “It won't kill me to try. Probably.”

I grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, nothing bad has happened since I parodied ‘Call Me Maybe' for the psychopath. So either he wants nothing to do with me or he's plotting how to make it really hurt.”

“Next time throw some One Direction lyrics his way,” Audrey suggested sarcastically. “He doesn't know he's a psychopath and that's what makes him a psychopath. I'm sure he'll appreciate the gesture.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” My shoulders relaxed slightly as the easy comfort of her voice slid over me. “Can you come over here now?”