What Goes Around

by Denene Millner

  “I know that’s right,” Carmen co-signed with a smile. “Although, I must say, it is a beautiful piece of jewelry.”

  “Amen to that, my sister,” Rhea chirped as she settled back into her seat.

  “You guys are soooo retarded,” Sydney said with a laugh.

  “Uh-uh, not half as retarded as Essence Dervay is gonna look if she wears the dress that she was spotted trying on at Dillard’s,” Rhea objected. “I saw the photos on YRT and trust, it’s a situation!”

  “Oh, I missed those,” Carmen whispered gleefully. “Was it really bad?”

  Rhea gave her a look. “Let’s just say, if it was me, I would schedule an intervention session my damn self.”

  Sydney fought to control her giggles. “You guys! Stop! That is so not nice,” she chided, looking around nervously. After spending the last couple of months as a regular on YRT, she was extra sympathetic to the latest gossip-blog victims.

  “My bad,” Rhea said as Carmen let one last giggle slip.

  Sydney shook her head and reopened the magazine. “So back to the Ritz,” she said, steering the conversation toward the evening’s activities. “Are we all invited, or is this, like, some baseball-team-only thing?”

  “Of course you guys are totally invited,” Rhea insisted. “His brother only booked it last night so he hasn’t had a chance to tell that many people, but I think it’ll be fun.”

  “Works for me,” Carmen said with a smile. “At least I’ll get some wear and tear out of the six-hundred-dollar dress my parents bought me,” she said, referring to her sapphire-blue Nicole Miller strapless full length.

  “True,” Sydney said as her green Hermès Kelly bag started buzzing. “Oh, God, I hope this isn’t my mom,” Sydney complained. “When I left the house this morning to get my hair done, I threatened to chop it all off just to scare her. I’ll bet she’s on the verge of a freaking breakdown,” Sydney laughed as she dug through her handbag for the iPhone. When she finally pulled it out, the caller ID read: PRIVATE NUMBER. “Hmm, I wonder who this could be,” she mused as she answered the phone.

  “Sydney speaking,” she greeted the unknown caller formally.

  “Ms. Duke?” a familiar voice questioned on the other end of the line.

  “Principal Trumbull?” Sydney questioned, clearly taken aback.

  “What’s wrong?” Rhea whispered with a concerned look on her face.

  Sydney looked at her girls and mouthed the words, “I have no idea.”

  “Yes, how are you,” Brookhaven’s longtime principal continued in his characteristically formal manner.

  “I’m okay,” Sydney responded hesitantly. “Is everything all right?” She looked at her favorite red-banded Michelle watch. With only five hours until the big event, she couldn’t imagine what might’ve prompted this call.

  “Actually, Ms. Duke, there seems to be a bit of a problem at the bank,” the principal continued. “You see, when I went to verify the amount of money raised, the balance was fifteen thousand dollars below the balance that you submitted two days ago in our final meeting.”

  “Fifteen thousand dollars!” Sydney struggled to keep from jumping out of the massage chair. Her heartbeat started racing uncontrollably and she struggled to catch her breath.

  “Yes,” Principal Trumbull continued gravely.

  “But how can that be? Who would take it out? I’m the only one with access to the account. I don’t understand,” Sydney said as she gave her girls a weak smile. She waved her hand dismissively and mouthed, “It’s fine, a little mixup. No big deal.” Thankfully, they both nodded and went back to their respective reading material without a second thought. Sydney cleared her throat.

  “I’m aware that you are the only one besides me with access, which is why I immediately asked for a copy of the last withdrawal receipt,” he continued.

  “And,” Sydney demanded.

  “And the slip had your signature on it, Ms. Duke,” Principal Trumbull said quietly.

  Sydney covered her mouth to contain the gasp. Luckily her technician had just finished the final coat of clear on her Ballet Slippers pink toes. Sydney stood up abruptly and faced her friends. “I’ll be right back, you guys,” she said, and without waiting for a response, headed to the reception area in search of privacy. Finding a secluded corner, she took a deep breath and started again. “Principal Trumbull, I assure you I did not withdraw fifteen thousand dollars from the Sadie Hawkins savings account,” she insisted.

  “Ms. Duke, this is a very uncomfortable situation for us all. Obviously, I believed you to be a truthful young lady. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have appointed you as co-chair. But in light of recent circumstances…”

  “Did you ask Marcus? He’ll tell you,” Sydney asserted, as notes of desperation crept into her voice.

  “Yes, I did call Mr. Green. And, needless to say, he, too, assured me that he had no knowledge of the situation. And although he was certain there had to be a mistake, he reiterated that, as we all agreed in the initial planning meeting, you were the only one with signing power.”

  Sydney started to tell Principal Trumbull that Marcus had just made a deposit the other day, but she stopped herself just in time. There was no point in getting both of them in more trouble for disobeying the principal’s rules. She ground her teeth and mentally chastised herself for being such a control freak. Why hadn’t she allowed Marcus to be the one with signing power? At the time of the initial organizing meeting, she was still so mad at Marcus for the whole Dara debacle, she didn’t want him to have the lead on anything she was associated with. And now look…

  “Obviously, this type of incident normally requires immediate disciplinary action,” the principal continued. “But because of the wonderful fund-raising work you’ve accomplished in the past and your parents’ generous donation history, I’m willing to give you some time. I will use the money in Brookhaven’s emergency discretionary fund to cover this evening’s events and presentation to the board. However, come Monday morning, I expect all fifteen thousand returned to the account. Otherwise, I will be notifying your parents and the authorities.”

  Sydney’s chest tightened as if she were stuck in a vise. “What am I supposed to do?” Sydney questioned desperately. “I didn’t take the money; I don’t know how this even happened.”

  “Well, I’m not one for idle gossip, but the bank manager said that the last time something like this happened, it was a family member who was to blame,” the principal hedged.

  “Excuse me,” Sydney said in total disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but Lauren is not a thief!”

  “No? Well, then, how about your stepfather? I understand that he’s been under a bit of a financial strain lately. Perhaps…”

  Sydney could feel the vein in her temple throb. “Principal Trumbull, I don’t know who stole this money, but I assure you, it was no one that I love or care about,” Sydney snapped as she cut him off. “I appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt for the length of the weekend; you will have the fifteen thousand on Monday.” And with that, Sydney disconnected the call.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Syd?” Carmen asked gently as the trio finally left the spa an hour later. “I don’t know what Principal Trumbull said or where you disappeared to, but ever since you came back you’ve been really quiet.”

  Mentally a million miles away, Sydney just nodded her head. “Uh-huh, I’m fine,” she said as she repeated her conversation with Principal Trumbull over and over in her head. A family member was to blame…how about your stepfather? I understand that he’s been under a bit of a financial strain lately. His thinly veiled indictment skipped through her thoughts like a DJ scratching a beat. Thankfully, she was certain Lauren would never steal money from her—clothes, maybe—but fifteen thousand dollars was absolutely ludicrous. However, if Altimus was capable of murder, stealing fifteen thousand to get the IRS off his back suddenly seemed like small potatoes.

  “So are we still meeting up at Carmen�
�s house at seven to get dressed?” Rhea questioned as the girls waited for the valet to bring around their respective cars.

  “That’s the plan,” Carmen said as her Land Rover came careening around the corner. She walked over and gave the driver a five-dollar tip. “I’m out of liquid eyeliner; do you guys want to roll with me to the M.A.C. store in Phipps right quick?”

  Rhea shrugged her shoulders. “Sure, why not? We still have at least two hours to kill, right?” She turned and looked at Sydney as the drop-top Saab came up next. “Syd?”

  “You know what?” Sydney said. “I actually need to run by my stepdad’s dealership for a quick minute. I heard a weird noise by my front right tire the other day. And I want to bring it in for a quick check before the weekend,” she said, lying.

  Carmen and Rhea looked at her hesitantly but said nothing. They seemed to understand that whatever was on her mind, she wasn’t ready to discuss it and there was no point in pushing the issue. “Okay, then,” Carmen said finally. “We’ll see you at my house at seven o’clock.”

  “Seven o’clock, I promise,” Sydney said as she handed her valet a tip, pulled around Carmen’s SUV, and took off.

  A really cute African-American couple holding hands was walking around the showroom when Sydney finally walked through the door. They turned briefly at the sound of her entrance, and Sydney could see the beginnings of a baby bump on the woman. Sydney smiled momentarily before turning to scan the expansive room for her stepfather.

  “My prayers have been answered! My long-lost love is here,” a friendly voice called out from behind her left shoulder. Sydney spun around to face one of the dealership’s salesmen, Donovan Sinclair. He immediately walked over and greeted Sydney with a hug and kiss on the cheek. “How are you, princess? I haven’t seen you in a long time,” the friendly giant of a man greeted Sydney. He stepped back to admire her striking updo and fresh manicure/pedicure. “Wow, don’t you look pretty! Did I forget our wedding anniversary or something?” he teased good-naturedly.

  “Hey, Mr. Sinclair,” Sydney giggled in response. Donovan’s flirty ways helped him remain one of the showroom’s most popular salesmen over the course of his career. “How are you, sir?”

  “Better, now that you’re here. But enough about me, what brings you by today? For some reason, I’m guessing it’s not my charming wit,” he inquired kindly.

  “Actually, I need to speak to my stepfather, sir,” Sydney said, immediately sobering up.

  The jovial look immediately disappeared from Donovan’s eyes. “You just missed him, sweetie. He headed over to his lawyer’s office to discuss more of this audit business,” he explained in a lowered tone.

  “Oh,” Sydney said simply. “Well, in that case,” she said as she turned toward the door.

  “You know, it’s really none of my business, but I have to say, I have a lot of respect for that man. And I think what this government is doing is just awful,” Donovan confided as he put his arm around Sydney’s shoulders and walked her toward the door. “He gave a chance to a lot of people others might have given up on. Thank God, he’s got a good lawyer and a trusty accountant. The three of them have been holed up in his office till almost midnight every single night for the past three months preparing for this one,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “And he’s serious about beating all the charges. It takes a confident person to take it to court.”

  “Is that so?” Sydney said carefully. “I didn’t realize that the audit started three months ago.”

  “Not officially, but you know Altimus always has his ear to the ground,” Donovan explained. “So when he heard a lot of the independently owned businesses in the area were getting audited, he started preparing. I’m surprised you didn’t notice that he was out of the house a lot.”

  “Um, there’s been a lot going on at school,” Sydney mumbled. Donovan nodded understandingly as she paused by the front door. “It’s okay, you don’t have to walk me out,” Sydney said as she turned to look at the couple who were now circling a hybrid Lexus SUV. “I think you’ve got some money to make over there.”

  Donovan smiled and kissed the top of Sydney’s head. “Okay, princess. Let me go work my magic. I’ll tell your dad, I mean stepdad, you came by. Take care,” he said with a smile as he headed off to make another sale.

  Sydney walked out to her car more confused than ever. From the sound of it, between working at the dealership and meeting with his defense team, Altimus barely had time to sleep over the last three months, let alone plot how to steal from Brookhaven’s Sadie Hawkins account.

  And if he was trying to fly completely under the radar to avoid getting caught for Rodney’s brutal murder, why would he want to take the case with the IRS to trial? Add to that his recent decision to help bail Dice out of jail, and something in the milk just wasn’t clean. There was no way her stepfather stole the fifteen thousand dollars. As she opened the driver’s-side door of her Saab, an even graver realization hit her like a ton of bricks—maybe, just maybe, Altimus wasn’t the one who killed Rodney.

  14

  LAUREN

  Lauren pushed the tiny post onto the back of her diamond-studded hoop and then leaned into her bathroom mirror for a final check. She forced a smile, but it was a weak one—far from the usual dimple-inducing grin she gave herself when she knew she looked hot. Right about now, the only thing that was making her happy was the flutter her silky, one-shoulder, drape-sleeved top produced when she twirled from the sink to her bathroom door; it was like someone had cued a wind machine—movement that could only be produced by her absolute fave designer, Sonia Rykiel. Indeed, Lauren was absolutely convinced that Sonia was her secret fairy fashion godmother, holed away in a tiny room somewhere, thinking up ways to make Lauren Duke look like an absolute party stunner. For this outfit, Lauren was grateful; she absolutely had to look like she owned Brookhaven Prep—not just because of the mess with the dance squad, but because of her questionable arm candy: Jermaine. She’d made the mistake of not only turning down his offer of a Friday night dinner and a movie, but of also telling him that she was hitting Sydney’s latest Christmas event stag. She could have told him she was going out with her parents, could have told him she was on punishment, could have told him she was planning on sitting in her room and picking her toenails. But no. She just had to go blabbing about how hot the party and the DJ and the spread were going to be, and how all the girls had to invite their dates, and everybody was going to be there. And, of course, he had to go ahead and ask when he should expect his invitation. And she just had to say a really weak, tentative “Uh, okay, um, Jermaine, will you go with me to the dance?”

  Needless to say, he didn’t really appreciate the tepid response, but that didn’t stop him from accepting the invitation anyway. Oh, joy.

  Lauren’s ponytail swung as she bounced over to her closet and tore through the piles of clothes and shoes looking for her silver Jimmy Choo stiletto sandals. They were nowhere to be found. Bending carefully to avoid splitting her über-tight black miniskirt, she checked under her bed, under her dresser, behind her chaise, on the chaise—everywhere. But they were nowhere to be found. She glanced at her digital alarm clock: The chauffeur was going to be there any minute, and she was still barefoot, she hadn’t packed her purse yet, and, most important, Jermaine still hadn’t called to let her know if he was home from work yet and ready to go. “Damn it all to hell,” Lauren said, struggling to her feet.

  “Um, girls as pretty as you usually don’t use those kinds of words—especially in front of their mothers,” Keisha said, appearing in Lauren’s doorway. Lauren jumped at the sound of her voice.

  “Oh, hey, Mom, I didn’t know you were up here,” Lauren said. “Sorry.”

  “Uh-huh,” Keisha smirked. “You look nice. What’s the problem?”

  “I can’t find my shoes,” Lauren said simply, putting her hands on her hips while she surveyed the room.

  “Well, it’s no wonder,” Keisha said. “Your room is a hot me
ss. It’s a wonder you can find the bed. There’s only so much Edwina can do to clean it if you don’t help her out, you know.”

  “Mom, I don’t have time to clean my room right now—I just need to find my sandals.”

  “You want to be more specific?”

  “Well, maybe I can try to pull it together sometime over the weekend, like Sunday, after church, but really, I have a lot of homework this weekend and Donald wants to go out after church and…”

  “I wasn’t talking about schedule specifics,” Keisha said. “I was talking about the sandals.”

  “Oh!” Lauren giggled. “Right, the sandals. My silver Jimmy Choos. I can’t find them anywhere.”

  Keisha raised an eyebrow as she glanced around the room again. “And I assume you checked the closet, where expensive shoes should be arranged neatly and categorized by style, color, and…aw, hell, who am I talking to?” Keisha smirked again. “Did you ask your sister?”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “No,” she said firmly.

  Keisha folded her arms and wrinkled her brow. “What now?” Keisha asked.

  “What?” Lauren asked innocently.

  “Don’t give me that—I know when my girls are at each other’s throats. What’s the problem?”

  “There’s no problem—she’s just in her own world right now, and I don’t feel like getting snapped at again,” Lauren said. She kept details of the latest skirmish with her sister—the one over Dice—to herself.

  “Well, unless you plan on going to the gala barefoot, or that boy you’re going with is going to carry you all night, it doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice—unless you thought about a backup pair.”

  Lauren looked at her mother and then walked past her into Sydney’s room, where her sister was furiously stuffing her makeup bag into her oversized Louis Vuitton duffel bag.

  “Syd, have you seen my silver Jimmy Choo sandals?” Lauren asked.