Get Even

  But there was one person Margot knew she could trust.

  She found Ed the Head at lunch outside the boys’ locker room by the health-food vending machine, selling candy bars to freshmen.

  “I know they’re only a buck at the grocery store,” he said. “But you see, I’m a businessman. And as such, I have meticulously studied the supply and demand of my various products here at Bishop DuMaine, and right here, right now, this Snickers bar is worth exactly three dollars to you. But, if your mommy didn’t give you that kind of cash in your lunch box today . . .” He slipped the candy bar back into his bag. “You can wait until after school to taste the magical sugar and energy rush that is—”

  “Fine!” the freshman said. He fished three wadded-up dollar bills out of the pocket of his gym shorts and handed them over. “Anything to shut you up.”

  Ed the Head smiled broadly as he exchanged the contraband for the money. “It was lovely doing business with you.”

  He turned to leave and spotted Margot lurking near the water fountain. “Margot, my own true love. Did you get hauled in for questioning today?”

  “Of course not,” Margot snapped, eyes darting around the courtyard to make sure they were alone. “I told you, I have no connection to DGM.”

  “If you say so.” He winked. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “I need you,” Margot began.

  Ed the Head leaned into her. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words?”

  Margot wasn’t about to be sidetracked. She whipped the manila envelope out of her backpack and held it between them. She pulled out a single photo, handed it to Ed the Head, and pointed to the silhouette of the photographer reflected in the darkened window. “I need to know who this is.”

  “Hmm.” Ed the Head scanned the photo from top to bottom. His eyes settled on Amber first, then he squinted at the figure in question. “Well, we know it’s not Amber Stevens.”

  “Cute.”

  “When was this taken?”

  “Four years ago.”

  “Interesting.” Ed the Head flipped the photo over. “No developer’s watermark. Looks like DIY photo paper, generic, the kind my mom uses to print digital photos for her scrapbooks.”

  That made sense. Whoever was behind the manila envelopes had been taking great pains not to leave a paper trail, which included the use of the most generic, nondescript materials available.

  “Do you have the digital version?” Ed the Head asked.

  “Just this.”

  “Can I keep it?”

  Margot nodded. She’d already scanned a high-res copy at home.

  Ed the Head contemplated the photo. “Okay,” he said at last. “I can probably figure out what kind of phone it was taken from, maybe run the hard copy through some filters and see if I can sharpen the image. Can’t promise anything, and . . .” He glanced up at her. “This won’t be cheap.”

  “How much?”

  Ed the Head slipped the photo into his backpack. “Let’s say, a concert? Next Sunday night?”

  Margot arched an eyebrow. “You want me to buy you a concert ticket?”

  “No, babe. I want you to go to a concert with me.”

  Margot swallowed, completely taken aback. “Like a date?”

  “You can call it that if you’d like as long as you’re there.”

  Ed the Head was asking her on a date? Did he really think of her that way, or was this part of some elaborate scheme? It was confusing and, odd to admit, kind of flattering.

  Ed the Head took her silence as an answer and hastily unzipped his backpack. “If you can’t afford the price tag, I’ll just give this back to you.”

  Margot sighed. “Fine.”

  Ed smiled broadly. “And don’t think you can weasel out of this one, Margot.”

  “Then your information had better be worth it.”

  As much as Bree hated the idea of following an anonymous lead left in her bag, the temptation to find out what was in the library was too much. Besides, she couldn’t shake the niggling idea that the envelopes were somehow connected to Ronny’s murder. She needed to follow the trail and see where it led, and with any luck, she could uncover a murderer.

  The first chance John would have to get into the Bishop DuMaine library would be lunch, and Bree made sure she was there, staking out the reference stacks, before he arrived.

  They hadn’t spoken all weekend, and John had pointedly ignored her through first-period religion, even after they returned from the police questioning. She’d half-hoped the friction between them would have eased over the weekend, but no such luck. If anything, the gap had widened.

  And now here she was stalking him. What was wrong with her?

  It’s for his own good. That’s what she kept telling herself. Someone was leading John down the primrose path, and though the who and why escaped her, Bree felt the overwhelming urge to protect John, especially with a murder rap hanging in the balance.

  John had already figured out the meaning behind the DGM acronym. How long before he discovered their identities as well? If the police tried to pin Ronny’s murder on John, would he give up what he knew about DGM? Would he, unwittingly, put Bree in danger?

  And would she let him take the fall if he didn’t?

  A desk bell rang, a silvery ding that pierced the silence, and the librarian shuffled out of her office. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for yearbooks,” John said.

  “Any volumes in particular?”

  “The last two.”

  There’s a photo of DGM if you know where to look. Check the school library.

  Two years. DGM had started two years ago.

  A loud thud signaled that the librarian had deposited the requested materials on the circulation desk.

  Bree keenly remembered the day freshman year when she, Olivia, Margot, and Kitty had all been assigned to a group project in religion class where Don’t Get Mad had been born. She was pretty sure no one else at Bishop DuMaine even remembered that weeklong project, let alone connected the dots between the four of them, but was it possible that a photo of them together existed? Could the anonymous tipster be right?

  “Find what you’re looking for?” the librarian asked impatiently, clearly ready to get back to her work.

  “Not really,” he said, absently. “You don’t happen to have copies of the DuMaine Dispatch in the library, do you?”

  The librarian sighed. “Of course. We keep hard copies going back several years; the rest are scanned and archived in the database.” She pointed to a filing cabinet near the magazine rack. “Knock yourself out.”

  The library fell silent once more except for the sound of Bree’s heart thundering in her ears. She’d never been particularly religious, but at that moment she prayed that John wouldn’t find what he was looking for, and that he’d give up the wild DGM goose chase for good.

  As if in answer to her futile prayers, John suddenly gasped. Bree peeked around the bookshelf and watched as he fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his black jeans and took a photo of an issue of the DuMaine Dispatch spread out across the top of the cabinet. He quickly stuffed the issue back into the file, closed the drawer, and started to walk away.

  He seemed energized, excited about something; then he suddenly paused midstep. He hung there a moment and appeared to be having some sort of conversation with himself, then swung around and returned to the file cabinet. He pulled out an issue of the Dispatch and cast a furtive look at the librarian, who had retreated to a back office; then, without a second thought, John ripped a section of the page clean away and shoved it into his notebook.

  It took every ounce of self-control for Bree to keep still behind the stacks until the library door clicked shut behind John before she sprinted to the file cabinet.

  Back issues of the DuMaine Dispatch hung in file folders, labeled by date. Bree’s eyes were immediately drawn to one issue, which sat askew, sticking up from the overstuffed drawer. S
he flipped through, and it fell open to a page where the lower half had been hastily torn away.

  Bree scanned the vandalized page, looking for some hint as to what John had removed. The top half was still intact, and it appeared to be an article on community outreach programs at Bishop DuMaine. Bree’s breath came in quick gasps. The project in religion class that had brought DGM together? Community outreach. Shit, shit, shit. Could there possibly be some mention of their names in that article? Some hint of the carefully protected secret of their connection to each other?

  She turned to the front and checked the date—spring semester of her freshman year at Bishop DuMaine.

  Bree was at the circulation desk in an instant. “Excuse me?” she said impatiently, tapping the bell several times in an erratic tattoo. “I need some help.”

  The librarian slowly appeared at the office door. “Yes?” she said, making no attempt to mask her annoyance.

  “I was wondering, do you have any additional copies of the DuMaine Dispatch? Other than what’s in the file cabinet?”

  “Why is everyone so interested in the school paper today?” the librarian muttered. She shook her head. “We archive issues after ten years. Only hard copies of the newer issues are in the file cabinet.”

  “Oh.” Crap. She needed to know what was in the photo John had ripped out of the paper. “What about online?”

  “Well, of course,” she said, as if stating the obvious. “All the recent issues are online. This isn’t the nineties.” Without waiting for another question, she disappeared back into her office.

  Bree sheepishly retreated to a table and pulled up the school website on her tablet. It took several minutes before she could find the correct issue, then agonizing moments as each page loaded with such painful slowness Bree felt like she was being punished. She bounced her foot manically under the table, silently cursing her cell network. Hurry up and load!

  Finally, she was able to scroll through to the article. The photo was tiny—all she could make out were students grouped around tables. But when she zoomed in, her stomach dropped. There, sitting at a table together, were the soon-to-be members of Don’t Get Mad: Kitty, Margot, Olivia, and Bree.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  THIRTY

  COACH MILES BLEW HER WHISTLE WITH A FEROCITY THAT froze the entire Bishop DuMaine varsity girls’ volleyball squad in their tracks. Kitty snatched the scrimmage ball in midair and spun to face her as she blazed across the court.

  “Annabelle!” Coach Miles said. “If I ever see you half-ass a kill like that, I’ll bench you for an entire match, you hear me?”

  Annabelle’s beet-red face flushed even deeper. “Yes, Coach.”

  Coach Miles swung around to the scrimmage team on Kitty’s side of the net. “And Zoe, I have no idea what you thought you were doing with that last dig. The goal is to keep the ball in play, not launch it into orbit. Come on, guys. It’s only Tuesday. I’m not used to seeing this much lazy ball handling so early in the week.”

  Kitty knew Coach was right, but her approach to motivating her players wasn’t exactly what Kitty would have done in her place.

  Two short blasts on the whistle signaled a change of drill. “Accelerations,” Coach Miles said. “Eight balls.”

  The entire team groaned in unison and skulked to one side of the court for the hated drill. Coach was about to throw the first balls, when Mika walked into the girls’ gym with Theo Baranski close behind.

  Coach Miles tooted on her whistle again. “Water break. Ten minutes.” She pointed at Kitty. “Wei, come with me.”

  “Coach, this is Theo,” Mika said, her hand on Theo’s shoulder. “He’s interested in the team manager gig.”

  Coach Miles examined Theo up and down. “You’re the first in and the last out,” she said curtly. “You’re on the bus for every away game and I expect stats on my desk first thing the next morning. Can you handle that?”

  “Yes, sir!” Theo barked.

  Kitty bit her lip to keep from smiling as Theo’s eyes grew wide, instantly realizing his mistake.

  “I mean, ma’am,” he squeaked.

  “Sir is fine,” Coach Miles said. She pointed at Kitty and Mika. “Get him up to speed.”

  Theo hustled after Kitty and Mika as they strode to the athletic lockers across from the main gym. He had to take three steps for every two of theirs.

  “All the team sports keep their equipment in these lockers,” Mika explained. “Volleyball, basketball, soccer, water polo, whatever.”

  “Coach Miles is kind of a hard-ass about keeping the equipment organized,” Kitty added. “If you can manage that, you’ll be golden.”

  They gave Theo a tour of the locker, explained the setup for practice versus home and away games, then stopped by Coach Miles’s office to retrieve copies of the team rosters and schedules.

  Theo took prodigious notes throughout, scribbling away in a pocket-sized spiral notebook. He seemed eager to do a good job, motivated by the luxury of avoiding Coach Creed in sixth-period PE, and soaked up everything Kitty and Mika spilled out. By the time they ducked into the main gym where the team played their home matches, Theo had picked up enough of the lingo to anticipate what they were going to say. It was kind of adorable.

  As they started to leave, the far door of the gym opened and the varsity boys’ basketball team meandered in, sweating like they’d just spent an hour in the weight room.

  “Kitty!” She jumped at the sound of Donté’s voice. “Hey, Mika,” he said, jogging up to them. He took Kitty’s hand. “What are you doing here?”

  Kitty gestured to her new recruit. “Theo Baranski, this is Donté Greene. Theo is going to be the volleyball team manager this semester.”

  “Right on, man.” Donté held out his fist to Theo, who, with a look of delighted surprise, readily returned the bump. “Don’t let these ladies run you ragged. They’re a tough bunch.”

  “Please,” Kitty said. “We’re way less demanding than those divas on the boys’ basketball team.”

  “Kids,” Mika said, cutting off their banter. “You guys have plans tomorrow night?”

  Donté glanced at Kitty. “Not that I know of. What’s up?”

  Mika dropped her voice. “There’s a meeting at the Coffee Clash. Kind of an organizational thing.”

  What was Mika up to? “Organizing for what?”

  Mika glanced from side to side, then leaned closer to Kitty and Donté. “For an on-campus rally. We’re going to protest the way old F.U. and his ’Maine Men have been treating the students around here.”

  Theo was at Mika’s side in the blink of an eye. “Can I come?” he asked eagerly.

  Mika’s face lit up. “Of course. Everyone’s welcome.”

  “Thank you,” Theo said. “I’ll do whatever you need. Paint signs, recruit people. You name it.”

  Mika turned to Donté and Kitty. “What about you guys?”

  “Count me in,” Donté said.

  Kitty swallowed. She had a DGM meeting scheduled for tomorrow night, and that wasn’t something she could change even if she wanted to. “I can’t,” she said. “I have a family thing.”

  “Can’t you get out of it?” Mika pleaded.

  Kitty shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “How about Friday night?” Mika pressed. “We’re doing some prep work after Ronny’s vigil.”

  Mika wasn’t going to let her out of it. Dammit. She’d be on Uberti’s blacklist if she took a leadership role with this rally, but Mika would be suspicious if she avoided it.

  “That’ll work,” Kitty said, forcing a smile. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

  Mika grinned. “I knew I could count on you guys. I organized one of these in junior high to try and get the school to change their mascot so we didn’t have to wear a stupid fighting Jesuit on our jerseys.”

  Fighting Jesuits? The photo
of Bree with the cropped-out image of Christopher Beeman.

  “Where did you go to junior high?” Kitty asked.

  “St. Alban’s,” Mika said.

  With the exception of the article about Christopher Beeman going AWOL from Archway, there were no other hits on him when she’d Googled his name. Was it possible that her best friend knew him?

  “We played against you guys,” Donté said, stroking his chin. “Helluva blowout each year.”

  Mika pursed her lips. “Yeah, but the girls’ volleyball team rocked.”

  “Hey,” Kitty began, hoping she didn’t sound as anxious as she felt. “Did you know a student at St. Alban’s named Christopher Beeman?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kitty saw Theo start.

  Mika scrunched up her face, trying to remember. “Short, kinda chubby, thick glasses?”

  Kitty had no idea. “I think so.”

  “I didn’t really know him,” Mika said, shaking her head. “He left in sixth grade. Kinda suddenly, I think.”

  “Got it,” Kitty said. She stole a glance at Theo, whose ruddy face seemed to have blanched several shades paler. Mika might not have known Christopher Beeman, but apparently Theo did.

  The squeak of athletic shoes and the thundering of a half-dozen basketballs signaled that the varsity team’s practice was under way. Donté glanced over his shoulder, then squeezed Kitty’s hand. “Gotta go. We still on for Saturday?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, wresting her gaze away from Theo.

  “Sweet.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, while Mika prominently rolled her eyes.

  “Thanks for taking me in,” Theo said as they walked back to the girls’ gym.

  “No problem,” Kitty said. “We need a manager, so its win-win.”

  “Coach Creed has it in for me,” Theo said bluntly. “I think he blames me for what happened at the assembly.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Kitty said. “He can’t hold you responsible for DGM.”