Keaton School 01: Escape Theory (30 page)

“I met with Mr. Robins.”

“How’d it go?”
Obviously not so great if Isla was leaving school
.

“It was good. We talked about stuff.”

“Oh.” Devon couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—regret or jealousy or both. Isla had actually talked to Mr. Robins during his first session, something she’d never been able truly to accomplish.

“Matt said I should talk to him. It was his idea. I used my Get Out Of Jail Free card
^*
and told Robins everything. He and I figured I should take some time away from school. Get some things worked out, ya know?”

“What kind of things? Grief things, or …?”

“Or pills. Matt said it was getting out of hand. I don’t know how it happened, but I guess after Hutch it kind of spiraled out of control. I see that now. I’m going to go to rehab for a bit, detox from all this, figure my shit out.”

Devon nodded. The bitter feeling melted away. She was genuinely relieved. “Wow, that’s a big step. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, well, Matt said I should thank you. You were the only one that really noticed how bad it got. It made him realize how off the deep end it had all gone.”

“I was just doing my job.” Devon shuffled her feet and looked down.

“I know you were. And you weren’t bad at it either. You were right about me and Matt. I didn’t want anyone to know, tried to convince myself it didn’t happen, but on the night Hutch died Matt
snuck into my room. We shared one of those Oxy hits and hooked up. Probably at the same time Hutch was dying from the stuff. It’s totally fucked. I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to deal with that, but that’s something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life.”

“Regret can be a real asshole, huh?” Devon said. Isla smiled and broke out into a laugh. “I just meant that if we could rewind time, there’s probably a few things we’d all like to do differently.…”

“Even you? I thought you did everything just right?” Isla raised an eyebrow.

Now it was Devon’s turn to laugh. “Even me.”

“Anyway, thanks.” Isla reached out and pulled Devon into a hug. Devon could feel Isla’s clavicle poking into her shoulder. “I’ll see you when I see you.” She opened the passenger door and got in. The car started up and Devon backed up to give it space. The passenger window rolled down. “I left you something in my room. On the door handle.”

“What is it?”

“You know Hutch and I weren’t instantly a couple. He said he was getting over someone. Honestly, I’m not sure he ever did.” Isla smiled at Devon as her eyes filled with tears. She leaned back in her seat. The window rolled up, and the car disappeared down the Keaton hill.

Back inside Bay House Devon opened Isla’s door and stepped into the empty room. This time she saw the necklace hanging there, on the inside door handle: Hemp string threaded through two small shells, the necklace Hutch had given Isla. “Love, H,” she said aloud. Devon ran her fingers over the rough thread and wrapped it around her wrist into a bracelet.

I
T SEEMED LIKE EVERYONE
was taking off for the weekend. Devon bumped into Cleo rolling an oversized silver suitcase out of her room into the hallway.

“Wow, where are you off to?” Devon asked.

“My car is coming in a minute. Going to San Fran for the weekend. Why are you here, anyway? I thought you were with the amazing Elliot siblings in town?” Cleo hoisted an overstuffed messenger bag over her shoulder. “Walk with me,” she said without waiting for an answer. Devon followed as Cleo dragged her suitcase outside onto the bumpy pavement path to the upper parking lot at the top of the Keaton hill.

“Yeah, I was with Raven yesterday but.…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
I pretended to be sick and bolted, basically
. She walked besides Cleo past the ring of classrooms. Freshly mowed shavings of green grass clung to her shoes.

“But, what?
Dites moi
.”

“I don’t know. There was something weird that I couldn’t figure out. Thought it might be better to just come back here.”

“Damn, girl. We have got to get that boring gene out of you. Why would you choose to come back when you were already signed off campus?”

“I don’t know. Lack of imagination?” They arrived at the top of the hill and scanned the parking lot. A black Town Car idled in a corner.

“Well, you want to imagine a weekend in San Fran? You hop in the car before anyone sees you, we can get out of here, no questions asked.” Cleo waved at the car.

A uniformed driver stepped out and approached.

A flash of silver caught Devon’s eye. At the bottom of the parking lot Devon spotted Grant tossing a duffle bag into the trunk of a silver BMW. He slammed the trunk closed and got in the passenger seat. Eric Hutchins, his long hair tucked behind his ears, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Cleo followed Devon’s stare.

“A hundred bucks says Eric’s letting Grant hang at the Four Seasons with him in Santa Cruz this weekend. Those two are thick as thieves aren’t they?”

Devon’s chest contracted. If she was ditching Raven and Bodhi for suspecting them, the least she could do would be to
look into Eric Hutchins. Raven did say those beers belonged to him after all.

“How do you feel about spending the weekend in Santa Cruz instead?” Devon asked before the thought had fully formed in her brain. “I mean, you did bet a hundred bucks. Might as well see if your prediction is true,” she added.

Cleo’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re getting imaginative! Good thing I never leave home without this.” She flashed a Black American Express card at Devon.

“Mademoiselle Lambert?”
The driver extended a thick hand toward Cleo’s suitcase. To Devon he looked like a giant sausage stuffed into the casing of his black suit.

“Bonjour, Nikolai. Slight change of plans. We’re going to be headed to Santa Cruz instead. The Four Seasons.”

A
S SOON AS THEY
saw the silver BMW in the parking lot at the Four Seasons, Devon knew they had made the right choice. Cleo had Nikolai unloading her luggage into their suite within minutes of their arrival.

“Don’t worry, you can borrow a change of clothes,” Cleo said with a sidelong glance at Devon’s saggy jeans and faded sneakers.

“What should we do? Call their room? Wait until they leave?” Devon kicked her shoes off. Across the room Cleo was draping her clothes over the king-size bed. A red-striped couch with matching pillows made up a mini living room set up, complete with a glass coffee table. Devon was pretty sure that the couch cost more than all of the furniture combined in her mom’s house. The metal studs along the corners and the stiff fabric reeked of money. Cleo tossed a notebook from the bedside table to Devon. A basic three-ring binder with pages and pages of menu, room service and spa options.

“Let’s order some food. Pick a few things.”

“Room service? Now?”

“What? Isn’t that what you do on stakeouts? Here, try this on.” Cleo threw a dress across the room to Devon.

By the time the room service arrived, Devon found herself looking like Cleo’s twin. “Beachy slutty,” is how Cleo described the flowing dresses with tight straps that emphasized their cleavage.

“Next to the couch will be fine, thanks.” Cleo led the waiter and his packed rolling table of food across the room.

Devon didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or enthralled. She’d had only wanted to order the cheeseburger, but Cleo had insisted they get at least four entrees and four appetizers to best experience the hotel’s menu. “You have to know how good they are as a whole to properly review something. One dish doesn’t really tell you enough about the place. That’s how they do it in Paris.” She winked. “Or so I hear, apparently.”

The waiter stole glances at Devon as he waited for Cleo to sign the bill. Devon smiled back prim and polite, at odds with
beachy slutty
. Oh, well. She wasn’t sure why Cleo had gone for this look, anyway.

The waiter peeked at the receipt and thanked her.

“I have another order for you,” Cleo said before he reached the door.

“Did we forget something?” His smile widened, eager to please.

“No, everything is great.” Cleo noticed the waiter’s name tag. “It’s all fine, Dave. But, I’d like to send a bottle of wine to a friend of mine staying here. Eric Hutchins. Your most expensive bottle of Merlot, preferably. And I’d like you to deliver it. You can see I’m a good tipper, so you can make that happen for me, can’t you, Dave?” Cleo pressed her shoulders back and pushed out her chest and ran a hand down the side of her flowing dress, just enough to highlight her curves.

“Yeah, we can do that. Bill it to your room?”

“Of course,” Cleo said. “Merlot to Eric Hutchins. Oh, and if you would keep it a secret who sent it, I’d really appreciate it. Thanks so much, Dave.”

“My pleasure.” The door swung shut behind him.

“Holy cow. That was awesome,” Devon said, breathing normally again.

“Guys can be so easy sometimes. Just say their name, show a little skin, you’ll pretty much always get what you want. It’s a power French women have been working for centuries.” Cleo started to take the metal lids off the food plates. “Oh, is that lamb? And gnocchi?
Delicieux
.” She picked a jumbo shrimp out of a crystal glass brimming with cocktail sauce and ate it. “These are awesome. Try one.”

“Why are you sending wine to Eric’s room? Am I missing something?” Devon found her cheeseburger plate and sat cross-legged on her bed across from it.

“In about five minutes, I’ll show you. Eat up.”

T
RUE TO HER WORD
, five minutes (and a Kobe beef and aged English cheddar cheeseburger) later, Cleo opened their door. Across the courtyard, their waiter Dave was knocking on a hotel room door holding a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses. “There’s our Dave,” Cleo said quietly. “Let’s get closer. Grab the key.”

Devon grabbed the key card and they carefully and silently closed their room door. Staying close to the walls, Cleo made it half way around the courtyard and ducked behind an ice machine. From here they could watch as Eric opened his hotel room. Except, it was Grant instead that opened the door up for Dave. Devon noticed his white LAX hat immediately.

“I didn’t order this,” Grant said.

They couldn’t hear Dave’s explanation, but it seemed to suffice. Grant took the bottle and glasses and let the door close on Dave.

“It’s room 1705,” Devon said. “Should we go knock and confront them?”

“Jeez, you have as much subtlety as hoop earrings. Now that we’ve got their room number, we get into position.”

“Position?”

“Spying position. You really think I find out this much dirt about people by sitting out in the open?” Cleo rolled her eyes and led Devon to the other side of the building.

With the ocean at their backs, Devon and Cleo had a full view inside each hotel room. Some had curtains drawn, others empty, but Grant’s white hat made him easy to spot. Luckily he had left the curtains open. Devon ducked below a patio table, and Cleo lay next to her in the manicured grass. The wind whipped at their hair as the waves crashed behind them. Goosebumps rose on Devon’s arms.

“I’m going to watch the front. Stay here,” Cleo yelled into the wind.

Devon lay flat in an attempt to streamline her body against the wind. There was Grant, lit up by the yellow glow of the floor lamp. Grant handed the bottle to someone sitting on a red couch. Someone who wasn’t Eric Hutchins. Devon squinted and pulled herself forward a few feet to be sure. It was Raj. What was he doing here?

Both of them suddenly looked toward the door in their room. Was someone knocking? Devon darted from below the picnic table behind a tree to better see the entrance to their room. Eric Hutchins, holding a six-pack of Gersbach beer. He extended his arm to Grant, who took the beers. Grant opened up toward the room, like he was inviting Eric inside farther, but Eric declined. He and Grant did a brief handshake/high five combo move. Grant closed the door.

Devon had to see where Eric was going; she could always come back to spying on Grant’s room. She raced across the lawn toward the courtyard and ducked behind the ice machine again. Eric walked to his car and opened the passenger door. He extended a hand, and Maya stepped out in a short dress and five-inch heels. Definitely a far cry from her usual business wardrobe. She kissed Eric on the lips. Not a quick kiss, not a peck, but a hands-around-the-neck, lips-smashed-together act of pure passion. Devon’s jaw hung open. She watched as they slipped into room 1707, next door to where Grant and Raj were drinking their beers and expensive Merlot.

Devon dashed back to the suite. Cleo was changing clothes and holding an oversized towel for Devon.

“I was just going to bring this to you,” she said.

“Maya is here. With Eric.” Devon said. She sat on the bed and picked at a nearby plate of truffle oil coated French fries.

“You mean with Eric, or
with
Eric?” Cleo asked. She sat on the couch and waited for Devon’s answer.

“I think
with
with Eric. They’re together now.” She shook her head. “Amazing. After Hutch, she moved onto his brother.”

O
NCE
D
EVON BROUGHT
C
LEO
up to speed on Maya’s pregnancy, and after Cleo had banged her hands on the couch yelling
“Merde!”
at least a dozen times, they came up with an idea. It was imperative they get Maya alone. Calling or texting was too risky; her cell phone could easily fall into Eric’s hands.

Cleo made the call. “Excuse me for bothering you, Mr. Hutchins,” she said, lowering her voice, sounding as professional and grown-up as possible. “We need to request that your car be moved to another parking spot. Why? A Premier Guest spot just opened up for you near the front entrance. Thank you so much.” She hung up.

“Premier Guest spot?” Devon’s mouth was stuck in a perma-grin.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s rich people.” Out their door they saw Eric step out of his room, car keys in hand. “You’re up,” Cleo said with a pat of Devon’s back.

Devon ducked out the sliding door and ran around the back of the building. She could hear Grant and Raj yelling at the TV as she knocked on the window next door. The curtains parted. There was Maya, inches away from the glass. She jumped. Devon smiled, tried to look natural.
Don’t stress, I’m normally outside your window
. Maya opened her door. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.