My Own Worst Frenemy

by Kimberly Reid

  “Yeah, but I think I was the target and you just happened to get caught up in it.”

  “What makes you think I wasn’t the target? Or that whoever it is wasn’t trying to get us both?”

  He has a good point. Lana is forever telling me how it isn’t always about me. Could she be right?

  “Is there anyone that angry with you that they’d set you up to go to jail?” It was hard for me to imagine, but of course, I’m biased.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I was supposed to start in the season opener. Hard to do when you’ve been suspended from school.”

  “Justin Mitchell?”

  “Who did you think it was if not him?”

  “Now that you’ve ruled out Malcolm, my next guess is his sister.”

  “What did you do to piss her off so much she’d want you in jail?”

  “Nothing, really. I mean, she’s evil, but I can’t think of anything that I did.”

  Maybe it really isn’t all about me. I did know about her best friend’s little shoplifting habit, but there’s nothing about Lissa that makes me think she’d go this far to protect a friend. Herself—no doubt. But a friend? Unlikely. That’s the kind of thing MJ Cooper would do, or maybe even Tasha. Not at all Lissa’s style. Marco might be on to something.

  “Is football really that important to a guy?”

  “Not to me, but to some guys, it’s everything. There was a college kicker who broke his replacement’s leg and tried to make it look like a random attack. Just like Tonya Harding.”

  “Who?”

  “The Olympic skater?” He must be able to read the cluelessness on my face because he moves on. “Justin’s grades suck. If his father wasn’t such a big booster to the team, and if he didn’t have an amazing arm, he wouldn’t still be at Langdon. All he had was his football rep, which used to be legit. I mean, when I was at North High, I wanted to be him. Always in the prep section of the sports page. You’d see him around town with the hottest honeys.”

  I think he just noticed another look on my face, as much as I tried to act like I didn’t care, because he starts backpedaling as fast as his mouth will take him.

  “But the girls didn’t matter to me. He had crazy skills, awesome stats. He was on his way to All-American. Then he got so deep into the weed that he couldn’t keep his plays straight toward the end of last season. Since practice started, he’s late every day, and even missed a couple of days.”

  “Well, it makes the most sense. Whoever it was knew exactly what to steal—everything I’d written up on that assessment sheet. That’s why I thought it was Malcolm. But Justin has access to his father’s office.”

  I almost say my next thought aloud, which would bust me as an eavesdropper. Whoever set us up knew we’d believe those messages telling us to meet at the park. I thought maybe my crush was so transparent that anyone who’d ever seen us together might know. And she did. Lissa questioned me about Marco at Annette’s party. She must have told Justin how I was into Marco, maybe that was the text she sent just before I stormed out. That’s probably when she told Justin Annette’s house would be empty for a couple of hours, then made Bethanie drive around on a food treasure hunt just to make sure.

  But it might not have worked if Marco wasn’t just as willing to meet me, and Justin knew from that conversation at Mitchell’s last weekend that he was. Now I don’t know which discovery makes me more excited—that I have my man, or that I have my man. But I’m a girl with focus when it comes to solving a crime, especially when my name’s on it. Like I said. Love comes later.

  Marco drops me off at home and as much as I hate to see him go, I need some alone time to go over what I’ve learned. Even with a court date looming, a guy that fine can still be a distraction. I check the messages and the first is Lana, saying she’s got a late stakeout tonight. The next message is Smythe telling my “foster parents” that I’ve been suspended until further notice. Delete. I figure this information won’t help Lana, and will only hurt me. If she knew, she might take some time off and start hanging around the house to keep an eye on me.

  What I need right now is room to figure out how I’m going to prove Lissa and Justin set us up. Not that I’ve completely ruled out Malcolm. He told Marco that story about his probation officer and AA meeting, but until I verify it myself, he’s still on the suspect list. If I’m the target, it could be Malcolm working with Lissa instead of Justin. If Tasha was right about someone’s motive being hate for me, that’s a long list. And I’m not including all the other people who don’t have a connection to Mitchell’s but wouldn’t mind seeing me fall: Donnell, MJ, that big, scary girl poor Robert Tice was going out with. After I exonerate myself, I really should work on my people skills.

  Lana would be my first choice in helping me, but seeing as how she’d lose it if she knew I was running my own investigation and not “letting the professionals do their job,” that’s not an option. So she’ll have to stay in the dark about my school suspension for as long as I can keep it hidden from her, which means I only have a long weekend at best. If I make sure I’m in bed before she gets home, that’s one less chance for her to question me and figure out something’s up.

  Hanging out at the park didn’t really give me any clues, except that I remembered Lissa saying her maid lived nearby, off Lexington. That must be how she knew that section of the park was fairly quiet and witnesses would be unlikely. That’s helpful information, but it isn’t anything I can take to Lana. There are only two places where I might find the proof I need, and one of those places has suspended me until further notice. The other is Mitchell’s, and tomorrow is payday. I’m sure I’m the last person they want to see, but they have to give me my final paycheck and fire me properly. I just have to come up with a story that’ll get me the information I need.

  Chapter 29

  The next morning, I go through the routine of getting dressed and heading for school. Lana only emerged from her bedroom long enough to tell me good-bye and that everything will work out okay, and then I was out. I headed straight for Mitchell’s, knowing Paulette would be there early to open up shop. Paulette loves to talk and hates the Mitchell kids, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get the 411 from her.

  When I walk into her office, I’m surprised to find Mr. Mitchell there, and immediately think this wasn’t the best idea. I mean, I’m not guilty of anything, but I feel like I’ve caused him a lot of trouble anyway, and he’s a nice guy despite his demon children. They both look up at me, and seem very surprised I’m there, and I just want to run. But I remind myself this is business.

  “What are you doing here?” Paulette asks.

  “I know I’m the last person you expect to see.”

  “You know how I feel about school and work,” Mr. Mitchell says. “Weekend jobs only. Justin and Lissa are out in the car—I just stopped in to talk to Paulette for a second, but I can give you a ride to school.”

  “Weekend jobs? I just came to get my last paycheck.”

  “Are you leaving us?” Mr. Mitchell asks. “It’s only professional to give two weeks’ notice.”

  “You do know about the, um, incident, right?”

  “Of course, I know about it. I also know you didn’t do it.”

  “But it was your clients’ homes and . . .”

  “I know all about it. Believe me, I’ve talked to enough cops to learn all the details. And I don’t care if all the details point to you and Marco, I know people. I know you didn’t do this.”

  I want to throw my arms around Mr. Mitchell, but I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t be professional, so I just walk over and shake his hand and hope he gets how grateful I am.

  “I wish Langdon was as open-minded as you, Mr. Mitchell. We’ve been suspended.”

  “I’m on the board and I didn’t hear anything about a suspension. You’d think given it’s my business that’s going to lose the most from this, they’d let me know.”

  “Old lady Smythe, I mean, Headmistress Smythe, m
et Marco and me at the front gate yesterday and told us we were suspended. She wouldn’t even let us into the school to get our stuff from our lockers.”

  “I’ll be having a talk with her. Expect to be back in school Monday morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell your boyfriend I expect to see you both here tomorrow.”

  “Marco isn’t . . . I mean, yes, sir.” I’m so pleased that he thinks Marco is my boyfriend that I almost forget why I’m here. His kids also thought Marco and I were hooked up, which is how I got into this mess in the first place. Focus, Chanti.

  “So about the job . . .”

  “Paulette, do you have something they can do here in the office, or out in the storage warehouse?”

  “Oh, I can definitely put them to work tomorrow.”

  “I want you and Marco here,” Mr. Mitchell explains, “but unfortunately my clients might feel differently. Until the police get this thing cleared up, you won’t be working on home assignments.”

  “I completely understand, Mr. Mitchell. Thanks for letting us keep our jobs. I know this is going to affect your business.”

  “When I was a kid, I was in a similar jam. My life would have taken a whole different turn if someone didn’t believe in me. Someone did, and it all worked out. Just like I know it will for you.”

  “I can’t believe this. You’re letting them work here, even after the police arrested them for ruining your business?”

  Justin must have grown tired of waiting in the car. The minute I hear his voice I want to kill him, or at least kick him in the spot Lana taught me would take down a male assailant long enough for me to get away. But I can’t get away from this. I have to run right up on it if I don’t want to spend the next two years in juvie. So I keep my cool, and only imagine I’ve just kicked him into submission.

  “No one’s ruined my business. Keep that in mind, would you? It’s my business and I’ll run it the way I see fit.”

  “Yeah, but one day it’ll be mine, and I’d like to make sure there will be something left of it for me to run.”

  “Keep going the way you are, messing around with drugs, and you won’t be here to run your life, much less my business.”

  “You don’t ever give me a break,” Justin says, and I’m not sure whether he’s about to go postal or break down in tears, but either way, he’s in some kind of hurt and I didn’t even have to inflict it. I’m enjoying it, too, even though I think this should be a private moment and it’s making me a little uncomfortable.

  “All I ever give you is a break, and that’s the problem. Both you and your sister don’t appreciate anything. I cut off the money and the credit cards and you still don’t get it. Maybe taking your car will teach you to value something. To accept responsibility for yourself.”

  “But you’d let these thieves walk right up in here,” Justin says, talking more slowly than an angry person should, almost slurring his words. “You treat them better than you treat us. You like them better than you like your own kids.”

  “I love my kids, but I don’t like who you’re turning into. It’s my job to set you straight. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “But Dad . . .”

  “Come on. Let’s get to school,” Mr. Mitchell says, and I’m sure he’s forgotten all about me standing there, because why else would he put all his family business out there for me to see? If Justin wasn’t evil and trying to set me up for a crime he committed against his own father’s business, and if he wasn’t obviously geeked at eight in the morning, I’d almost feel sorry for him. But he’s all those things, so the minute he and his father are gone, I try to get some information out of Paulette.

  “That was a little intense.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing. Those two have had some blowups that would shock Jerry Springer. Only thing different is they seem to be more frequent and Stephen—Mr. Mitchell—is getting less inclined to put up with it. It’s about time, if you ask me.”

  “What do you think increased the arguments? Was it recent ?”

  “You know, I think it’s been since he met you and Marco. When he told me you were going to start working here, I was expecting you to come in here and walk on water. You both made some impression on him.”

  “Really? I mean, we hardly know the guy.”

  “I guess after years of dealing with his kids, you and Marco don’t have to do much to look like model citizens. You’re just the kind of kids he’d want,” she says, and her face changes from angry to wistful. “He’s a good man and deserves better than what they give him, which is nothing but a hard time.”

  Well, Paulette is full of useful information. We thought Justin had a motive—hating Marco for taking his starting quarterback job. Or maybe Lissa hated me out of loyalty to her brother since Marco and I are a thing. Sort of. It turns out they hate us both because their dad likes us. It probably didn’t hurt that he cut off the money and took the credit cards. Now he’s taking the car? I’m pretty sure Lissa will be more than embarrassed to be driven to school by her father, especially since he drives a no-frills five-year-old sedan and not the brand-new Escalade she and Justin share.

  “I can’t believe he’s letting Marco and me keep our jobs.”

  “That’s the kind of person he is. He was so happy when he came in here this morning, thinking things were finally turning around.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Justin and Lissa never want anything to do with him unless they want something from him. He tried to take them camping a couple of years ago and you’d have thought he asked them to go serve in the Siberian army. Took them to New York last summer and they only saw him long enough to ask him for money. Then he tried a cruise, because he figured they’d have to hang out with him—where else are they gonna go? But no, they still managed to spend a total of ten hours with him on a seven-day cruise. I tell you . . .”

  “But why was he happy this morning?” I say, trying to get Paulette back on track or I’d never get this out of her.

  “Oh right, well, like I was saying, they never spend any more time with him than necessary. But Tuesday evening, they both come in here and tell their father how he works too hard and how they want to take him to dinner at his favorite restaurant. You know, that place up in the mountains that serves weird food like ostrich and boar. I don’t see who’d want to eat that when you’ve got a perfectly good steak on the menu or maybe a pork chop. . . .”

  “Wait, did you say Tuesday evening?”

  “Yeah, Tuesday. I remember because I was preparing payroll and thought, what are these no-good children up to, because I didn’t believe for a minute . . .”

  “But that’s impossible. That was the night of the burglaries,” I say, my whole theory falling apart with just a few words.

  “You’re right, it was. What’s that got to do with anything ?”

  “Nothing, Paulette. I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Hey, Chanti,” she says when I’m halfway out the door.

  “Yes?”

  “For the record, I know y’all didn’t have a thing to do with those thefts.”

  I’m excited she might have some hard evidence that will clear me until she says, “I just have a good feeling about you kids, and my feelings are never wrong.”

  Yeah, I got feelings too, but they don’t hold up in court.

  Chapter 30

  When I get back home, I’m hoping Lana is there. I’m ready to tell her about my suspension, tell her everything I know because I’m in too deep and I need help. But she’s already left for work, probably on some stakeout, and she isn’t answering her phone. Now what? My prime suspects were forty miles from the scene of the crime and have a restaurant full of witnesses. There’s something missing to all this. I just need to sort through everything I learned this morning and I’ll find it. I do my best thinking outside on the front porch, so I go out there, grateful it’s a school day and quiet. No interruptions.

  That’s when I see the
only other person in the world I know might help me figure this out, and not just because she has—had—the mind of a criminal, but because she knows what it’s like to be falsely accused. MJ drives by in her grandmother’s car and looks at my house. I know she sees me, but she acts like she didn’t and turns away. I start heading for her house, and reach it just as she’s getting out of the car.

  “I ain’t got nothing to say to you, Chanti.”

  “MJ, I need some help. There’s no one I can go to.”

  “How about your mother? Isn’t that what the cops do, serve and protect? You got your own personal Five-O right there in your house. Oh wait, should I be whispering? It’s a secret, right?”

  I consider MJ a friend and all, but I won’t have her putting my mother’s job and life in jeopardy.

  “Never mind,” I say and turn to go back home.

  “Wait a minute. I heard about what went down.”

  “And?”

  “And I know you didn’t do it.”

  “Why? Don’t tell me you got a good feeling. I need some hard evidence.”

  A look crosses MJ’s face that tells me she does have more than a good feeling.

  “You know something, don’t you?”

  “How would I know anything about some job that went down in a neighborhood I never been to, couldn’t even tell you where it is on a map? What do I know about some rich people?”

  I just stare at her, knowing she’s full of it, trying to will her to break.

  “Besides, like I told you the last time we talked—I ain’t no snitch.”

  “Yeah, but you know what it’s like to go to jail for something you didn’t do. I’d help you.”

  “Help me go to jail.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t me who helped us get out that night? How do you know I didn’t use my connections?” It’s a leap, but I figure I’ll take it because I’ve got nothing to lose.

  “I didn’t get arrested that night ’cause they didn’t have anything on me. Stop trying to perpetrate like you’re my friend. You narced on me and got my cousin sent to jail.”