by Jillian Dodd
“Even if I don’t end up with you when I get it back?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens his green eyes, they are sparkling with moisture. “I’m trying not to consider that possibility.”
When I get back to my room, Katie gives me a hug and goes to sleep.
My friends have been treating me with kid gloves since I got back.
I’m sure they’ve all been filled in on what’s going on.
And I appreciate it.
A text pops up from Garrett right before I fall asleep.
Garrett: Remember the girl from the club? She was a message to you. I don’t think he’s going to hurt Brooklyn until he starts “filming his movie,” which we both know he can’t do without you. Not finding a body after almost twenty-four hours means we were right. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just a fact. And that fact makes me feel better. It should you too.
Me: Thanks.
Vincent is a patient man, but his patience is wearing thin. Matt is not cooperating, and he’s considering recasting him. Or just plain writing his character out of the script.
No matter what he says or does to Brooklyn, he swears he doesn’t know where Keatyn is. And after the beating he just gave him, he should have told.
Vincent has to consider the fact that he truly doesn’t know.
Vincent has also been searching for the elusive Abby Johnston and has finally come up with a hit. She and her daughters are currently staying in their home in France. The international location will make things a little trickier, but still doable, thanks to Hondo. He has also learned the exact location of Tommy’s set trailer in New York.
He briefly considers having his new best friend mob boss send the kind of man whose specific skill set involves being able to torture the truth out of anyone.
But he’s afraid that if Brooklyn were permanently disabled or dead when his star arrived, it would upset her. And that’s the last thing he wants—for Lacy. Keatyn, he’s still pissed at. Abby, he loathes.
But the dog is another story. He likes the dog. A lot. Something that really surprises him.
And assures him that his life is finally following his script.
Keatyn makes a decision. If Brooklyn hasn’t been found by Saturday, she’s going to Malibu.
I lean over and whisper to Riley, “Hey, where's that map of Stockton’s exits? Have you ever noticed if one goes off property?”
“The map is in Stockton’s. But, yes, there is one. I’m sure that’s how they get everything in and out of there.”
“Where does it go?”
“I’ve never been. Do you want to go see?”
“Yes. Cooper and I—or maybe just I—may need to leave here without anyone knowing.”
“I thought you agreed to wait seven days.”
“I may have lied. This is all my fault, Riley. I can't just sit here.”
“If Cooper doesn’t go with you, I will.”
“I love you. You’re the best friend.”
“You just love me because you want me to help you run your new production company.”
“I’m serious about that. We’d have a blast working together. And I trust you—maybe more than anyone.”
“More than anyone?”
I sigh. “I trust Aiden, and he wants to help. But I just can’t let him.”
“So you’ll sneak out of Stockton’s?”
“Yes.”
“I’m serious. I’m going. I'll do whatever you say. Even if it's just to ride on the plane with you.”
“I’m afraid if I let you on the plane, you'd renege on your promise.”
“I won’t,” he says solemnly.
“Riley, if something happens to me, the whole production company is going to you. Do great things with it, okay?”
His shakes his head at me, but agrees.
“I think it's this one,” Riley says, taking me through an exit from Stockton’s.
“We should really check this place out sometime when we’re not drinking,” I say with a laugh. “We’d probably find all sorts of interesting stuff.”
We walk along the dimly-lit tunnel.
For a surprisingly short while.
When we get to the end of the tunnel, we find a ladder, climb up, and open a trap door in the floor of what appears to be a small cement block building.
“You stay down there,” Riley instructs. “I’m going to close the door and see if I can get back in with the key.”
“Come on out. That,” he says, showing me a keypad, “must be how they do the deliveries. They can control access through keypad codes. I bet only members get keys.”
“It’s pretty crazy if you think about it. Someone spent a lot of time and energy on this place.”
“I think it’s sort of evolved over time to be what it is now. Some of the tunnels look older than the others. Speaking of that, have you ever read any of the names on the walls?”
“I looked at some that first night, but I didn’t really pay attention.”
“I started looking at them before break. There are some important names on those walls. History-making names. Leaders of industry and state names. People you could maybe call, Keatyn. One is a California judge. I looked him up. He’s a big deal. Well-connected. What if you went to him?”
“For what?”
“You said they couldn’t get a search warrant. I’m just saying that sometimes it helps to know the right people.”
“Garrett knows a lot of people. If he couldn’t pull strings . . .”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“Yeah, you're right. Let me think about it. Let’s go look outside.”
We walk out of the little building and find ourselves just on the other side of the Eastbrooke fence.
I point to a plaque above the door. “This was a gift from the class of 1978.”
Riley smiles. “We have a year and a half to figure out our gift. We need to make it epic.”
I look up at him, tears filling my eyes.
“Don't give me those eyes. You will be back here for our senior year. Promise me.”
“I can't promise that.”
“No. Don't say you can't or you won't. Say I will be back for my senior year, Riley. I want to come back for my senior year.”
“I want to come back for my senior year, Riley,” I say.
And I mean it.
“Now, I think you should call that judge.”
“I don’t know his number.”
“Lucky for you, I already looked it up.” He takes my phone and enters a number.
“What am I going to say?”
Riley chuckles. “Tell him you took the oath of silence swore.”
“This is crazy.”
“Crazy is usually what works.”
“You’re right. Here goes nothing,” I say as I hit send.
A receptionist answers and asks if she can help me.
“I’d like to speak to Judge Waters.”
“I’m sorry, he’s not available. May I take a message?”
“Um, can you just tell him my name is Keatyn and that I took the oath of silence swore. Would you write that part down, please? It’s important.”
“Uh, sure, Keatyn,” she says, humoring me. “I’ll tell him that you took the oath of silence swore.”
I hear a deep voice say, “Silence swore?”
And the assistant goes, “Yes, sir.”
Then the deep voice goes, “Transfer the call to my office. I’ll take it in there.”
The assistant comes back on the line and says, “Judge Waters just arrived and will speak to you now.”
I’m put on hold, classical music playing in the background for a few moments until the deep voice says, “This is Judge Waters. Tell me the rest of it.”
“The rest of the oath?”
“Yes.”
“All who pass through Stockton’s door, take an oath of silence swore. In this place of legend and lore, party on, friends, evermore.”
“I need a search warrant.”
“Are you an attorney?”
“No, sir. I'll try to keep this brief. I'm a current Eastbrooke student. My mom is Abby Johnston, and I was sent to Eastbrooke this fall because a man tried to kidnap me. That man was questioned by the police on August twentieth and released for lack of evidence. Later, I remembered that during the kidnaping, he said he was taking me to a van out back. They found the van—a rental with millions of fingerprints—with duct tape and drugs in it, but nothing leading back to the man. The man is rich and good-looking.”
“Who is it?”
“His name is Vincent Sharpe. He's been obsessed with my mom for years and owns a production company.”
“Is he the guy doing the nationwide search for the next Abby Johnston?”
“Yes. He was trying to find me.”
“I see. What's the search warrant for?”
“He kidnapped my boyfriend, Brooklyn Wright—well, ex-boyfriend, but Vincent doesn’t know that. I pissed him off.”
“How?”
“On Monday, at his board meeting, I announced that I was the new majority owner of his company and fired him. He threatened me. Told me that no one I loved was safe. Our family dog was taken yesterday morning and Brooklyn has been missing since around eight last night. Vincent video chatted with me on Brooklyn’s computer. I made him prove that he’d taken Brooklyn; he turned the laptop around and showed me Brooklyn, tied up and lying motionless on a mattress. I have a screenshot of that, but nothing else. No proof that I spoke to him. We need to search his properties, but the judge turned us down for the warrant because we don’t have any proof and, according to him, I’m not credible.”
“Was the board meeting recorded?”
“Yes.”
“I’d say you go at the warrant from that angle. Submit a copy of the recording of the board minutes along with written statements from at least two of the board members stating they heard him threaten you. State that Brooklyn has been missing and is presumed to have been kidnapped. Include the screenshot. Then, have the warrant request sent to me. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the fax number. We’ll be waiting for it.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, taking down the number. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Um, actually, there is. If they don’t find Brooklyn soon, I’m going against the wishes of my security counselor.”
“Who’s that?”
“Smith Security.”
“Garrett Smith is the best in the business.”
“I know. But he wants me to hide, and I'm afraid one of my little sisters will be next. Vincent told me to come home. If they haven’t found him by Saturday, I’m going home. If things don’t go well—like, if I don’t survive and he does . . . Please contact my family and help them put Vincent away for a very long time.”
“You have my word.” He gives me his private cell phone number. “If you come back to California, call me before you do anything.”
“Okay.”
I give Riley a high five. “You are brilliant!”
He grins. “That was too easy. I'm totally looking up everyone on the walls now. You never know when something like that could come in handy.”
“Obviously.”
I call Cooper.
“Where are you?” he asks. “Aiden was looking for you.”
“I'm at the, uh, chapel with Riley.”
“I’m on my way,” he says.
“Wait a couple minutes. I need to call Garrett. I know how he can get the search warrant.”
I call Garrett and give him all the info from the judge.
Then Riley and I rush back through the tunnel, into Stockton’s, and upstairs.
Aiden and Cooper are waiting for us in the back of the chapel.
Cooper hands me a printout of a story about Vincent. Apparently, he’s spoken to the press about the takeover. The article goes on to mention that he’s seriously concerned about the company he founded in the hands of a seventeen-year-old. About how it’s a disgrace to the industry.
I shake my head. “We need something that will bury this story. I don’t want it to get legs.”
“What kind of story would do that?”
Aiden smiles at me and points to my finger. I look at the four-leaf clover on it. “Ohmigawd, Aiden. You are brilliant!”
I call Mom, get her permission, and have her email me what I need.
A short time later, the news is out.
HOLY SHIT!! STOP THE PRESSES!!!!!
THIS JUST IN!
HELL HAS OFFICIALLY FROZEN OVER.
Keatyn Douglas, our new obsession, just emailed us.
One.
Single.
Beautiful.
Precious.
Photo.
(Okay, so her publicist probably sent it to every media outlet at the same time, but whatever.)
And what a photo it is.
Keatyn, dressed in an adorable strapless pink Sherri Hill high-low dress and cowboy boots, standing up for her mother, Abby Johnston, wearing Versace at her wedding to one of the sexiest men alive, Tommy Stevens.
We’ll give the ladies of the world a moment to mourn their loss.
Okay, we’re back.
Here is the official press release:
Abby Johnston and Tommy Stevens were married over the holiday in a small, surprise ceremony attended by the couple’s family and closest friends.
And the real story:
Long-time friend and multi-mega-hit director, Matthew Moran, loaded up a plane full of guests and took them to his mansion in the Italian countryside. Tommy proposed on Christmas Eve with a stunning sparkler hidden amongst his gifts to Abby, and the couple was married the following day in a lavish outdoor wedding. Guests later noshed on a Christmas Day feast where they toasted the happy couple.
P.S. Guess that sort of kills off the rumors of their imminent split.
P.P.S. Rumor has it Keatyn danced the night away with none other than Damian Moran, who has been writing love songs about her for years.
I’m lying in bed, trying to go to sleep. But I can’t.
So, I do what I’ve been considering doing all day. I grab my computer and take it into the stairwell.
I hit the video conference icon and call Brooklyn, hoping that Vincent will answer.
I need to know that Brooklyn’s still okay.
And to let Vincent know that I’m coming home.
He doesn’t answer.
Vincent ignores Keatyn’s call. He needs to make her come to him. And she will only do it if she feels there is no other way. He knows based off her begging him to come and get her, that she’s probably being kept from him against her will. He also knows that eventually, she will come herself to find Brooklyn.
And since he has no idea where she is, that’s exactly what he needs.
Friday is the longest day of my life.
I go through the motions, slogging from one class to the next.
I skip lunch, going to Cooper’s office, instead.
“You look as tired as I feel,” I tell him, noting his bleary eyes and the scruff he always shaves.
“So do you. I just got off the phone with Garrett. Still nothing.”
“He’s been planning this for a while. Are they checking basements and closets? For secret rooms, trap doors? On my birthday, he had to have somewhere he was taking me. He planned everything else out. Think about it. He wants to make a movie. There has to be a set somewhere.”
“Garrett has brought in some of his top men to help with the search, Keatyn. These guys are all ex-special forces. They know how to find people who don’t want to be found, if you know what I mean. And they’re utilizing technology to scan the buildings for heat sources and using search and rescue dogs.”
“Heat sources? Is that like in the movies? Where they can find people who are hiding by tracking their body temperature?�
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“Exactly.”
“And what do the dogs do?”
Cooper just looks at me.
And it hits me.
The dogs find people who don’t have any body heat.
Vincent stays at the house on the beach, but he learns from a friend that the police are going through all his properties. His friend assumed the search had something to do with sale of his company—like the police were there to take inventory or something.
“They kept asking about equipment we’d use on set. Wanted to know if I knew of any other locations where they could find any. If I knew where you could be.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“I didn’t tell them shit. Besides, I have no idea where you are.”
“I’m in Utah, officially retired.”
“The board was stupid to get rid of you. You’re the only one around here with a lick of sense.”
“Thanks, that means a lot. So when I cash out and buy a yacht, you’ll be the first one I invite on it,” Victor lies.
Vincent worries that they might find him here before Keatyn comes back. What if the old man told someone? Vincent can’t take the chance.
While Victor is sending the old man to his maker, Keatyn is sitting in her bed, unable to sleep.
I’m going through all the millions of emails I’ve gotten announcing January sales at all my favorite retail stores.
I delete them and go through my spam folder.
I’m bulk deleting crap emails when one catches my eye. I quickly click it.
RE: Warren Taylor Agency script request.
Keatyn—
Sorry it took so long, but here’s the script you requested for A Day at the Beach, the working title for the remake of A Day at the Lake. Please see attachment.