The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

by Lauren Kate

  This time, I held his eyes in the mirror. "Let's just say Mom and I have very different tastes."

  His eyes snapped back to the road as he pulled into a lot in front of a bright-yellow three-story house. Every house I'd ever seen in the Cove was a strict plantation-style mansion, with high white entry columns, a sprawling wraparound porch, and painted wooden shutters. To look at them all lined up along the water, you'd think keeping with that style was some sort of zoning law. But not this house. This hacienda had yellow stucco walls and a purple-and-red Mexican-tiled roof. It was massive. It was heinous. It stuck out worse than a sore thumb. It stuck out the way that only new money can.

  But apparently Mom disagreed. When we got out of the car and looked up at the monstrosity, she threw her arms around the Dick, cackling and kicking her legs up in the air. My mother was a buxom Julia Roberts.

  "!Ay caramba!" Mom giggled. The Dick's head virtually dropped into her chest when she murmured playfully, "Mi casa es su casa, senor"?

  When they fell into a sloppy kiss, I caught Darla's eyes. For a second, my instinct was to roll mine sympathetically. After all, she might not be an A-lister at Palmetto, but the Double D was in my same boat of suffering on the shores of parental embarrassment. Why couldn't we exchange some mutual mortification?

  But then, I noticed Darla looking back and forth between my mother and me--as if she were sizing us both up. She cocked her head at me and said, "Huh."

  "What?"

  "You have the same mannerisms as your mom. That swinging hug thing--you did that at a pep rally once."

  Before I could respond to my freaky future stepsister, my matching-mannerisms mother linked her elbow through mine and started prancing with me up the path toward the house.

  "Richard said," she whispered in my ear, "if we really like this one, he'll give it to me as an engagement present."

  My mouth dropped open.

  "I know," she gushed. "Which means . . ."

  "You're actually getting married," I filled in. "Again?"

  "Well, yeah." She shrugged. "But what I'm saying is--his gift, in my name . . . a whole house, on the good side of the Cove?" Her voice climbed up a few notes. "Don't you get it, Natalie?" She faced me and put her hands on my shoulders. "Oh, someday you will. Even if things don't work out with the Duke--"

  She looked up at the Dick who was opening the upstairs balcony door.

  "Did you see the swim-up bar out back, Dotty?" he called.

  "Oh, Richard!" Mom bounded toward him, leaving me alone at the threshold of Casa de Tacky. The whole I'm-social-climbing-for-your-own-good routine was an old one with Mom. Only this time, I'd been through enough to see through it.

  It was strange; Mom seemed so happy. And God knows, there'd been days when I never thought she'd get here. When my dad left town thirty-two days into my seventh-grade year at Cawdor Middle, Mom was even more desperate and lost than me. I spent most of my middle school career helping her through the rough patches in between jobs and boyfriends and bottles of wine. It got to the point where I was holding her hair back so often, I didn't have time to have problems of my own. She threw up; I grew up. By the time I transferred to Palmetto, I'd already fielded more drama than most of the girls in the senior class.

  Now, here she was, four husbands later and going on her second multimillion-dollar property--purely based on her uncanny powers of feminine persuasion. My mother might be a tramp, but she was no idiot. She'd figured out her own golden secret: Security didn't come from having a man who "loved" her; it came from what those things bought her--in her own name.

  I could not end up like this.

  "Honey, come see the labyrinth," Mom called to me from the backyard.

  I sighed and started trooping around the side of the house so I wouldn't have to shudder at the decor inside. But before I got to the labyrinth, I spotted Darla leaning over the balustrade talking to Kate Richards. I'd been so consumed by the god-awful hacienda, I hadn't even noticed we were just two houses down from her family's lake house.

  I was just about to round the magnolia tree when I heard Darla's voice.

  "It was Nat's idea that I borrow the dress," she lied, smoothing over the fabric where it puckered at her heaving chest. "Our parents are together."

  "Nat Hargrove's mom and your dad?" Kate asked with a tiny throaty laugh. It bugged me that she suddenly sounded so interested. "And you're moving in next door? Is Nat here with you today?"

  Darla nodded. "But don't bring up Baxter or J.B. or anything. It's, like, all people are talking to her about," she said, nodding knowingly. "Since she's Princess. She's kind of over it--"

  "Oh, hi, Kate," I said, coming up on them from behind. Her Rapunzel hair was mounted in a messy bun on top of her head. Where her white wifebeater tank top cleared her jeans, I could see the pink heart tattoo on her hip. "Any word from Baxter?" I asked.

  Kate raised an eyebrow at Darla, then turned to me.

  "Actually," she breathed. "He finally got in touch."

  Fighting the urge to seize on her for details, I calmly hoisted myself on the balcony and drawled, "Oh yeah?"

  Kate leaned in. "He apologized for disappearing. He said we'll probably have dinner or something soon."

  Her voice carried the unmistakable female urgency to deliver the news--and to be consoled that it was good news. I sighed. This wasn't strong-willed, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-miniskirt Kate that I'd befriended last year. You think you know a girl--and then she goes and loses her virginity at a Mardi Gras party and goes soft.

  "That's great, sweetie," I cooed. "And did he mention anything about the night he disappeared?"

  Kate bobbed her head. "He swears he's innocent. He says he'll prove it soon, but he wouldn't tell me where he's been or when he's coming back."

  "But . . . so he is coming back?" I asked.

  I could see from the way she was looking at me, forehead creased and eager eyes, that Kate was in pretty deep. I felt for her, I did. No girl dreams of her crush disappearing immediately after her first time. But this girl really needed to snap out of it. On his best day, Baxter didn't come anywhere near deserving her. Plus, I needed a clearheaded and unemotional source of information on his whereabouts.

  If I knew Baxter, wherever he was, he was probably planning on making a grand reentrance as soon as the opportunity arose. If he was already putting out teasers of his innocence and claiming to have proof, that grand reentrance sounded less than promising for Mike and me.

  Maybe this wasn't going to be as simple as I'd thought. I could feel my heart start clamoring in my chest, but the only thing to do was channel that energy into something productive.

  "You must be so worried," I cooed, shaking my head, "to not have any idea how to help him. If only you knew where he was, maybe then there'd be something we could do."

  "I can keep trying to find out." Kate sounded hopeful at the thought of a Baxter-related project. Darla shuffled her feet.

  I brushed a loose strand of Kate's hair behind her ear. "Whatever happens, you know I'll be happy to help," I said sweetly. "Just keep me posted. Anything you find out, anything you need, come talk to me."

  "Of course," Kate nodded. "Thanks."

  "Girls," the Dick called from the upstairs balcony, "come on up and get the tour."

  Both he and my mom looked flushed. I didn't even want to think about what they'd been doing in the master bedroom. Usually, whenever I thought about other people getting it on, I'd get a flash of Mike's body over mine in bed, followed by a tingly feeling inside. Mike and I called it the flash 'n' tingle.

  But today, something was different. When my mind flashed to Mike's eyes, they didn't look turned on. They looked terrified.

  If I wanted to see the desire in Mike's eyes, not the fear, I needed to keep the two of us and our crowns in the clear. When I looked at Kate, I couldn't stop thinking about Baxter. Mike and I were helpless until we knew enough about what the old druggie had up his sleeve. Only then would we be able to thwart him.
r />   CHAPTER Twelve

  SOUND AND FURY

  By Monday morning, the rumors were spreading like wildfire. The school-wide gossip circuit was another long-standing tradition at Palmetto. At the start of the week, anyone with news (loosely defined and ranging from "X made out with Y" to "Guess who spent the night in jail again") passed it around on a slip of paper--bonus points for pithy creativity. The fun was in seeing how far word could travel by the end of the day--and how screwed up it could get. Since anyone could add to or revise the news that churned, the rumor mill was kind of like the love child of Wikipedia and a game of "telephone."

  No one knew who started the mill, or when, or why by now we hadn't updated the old-fashioned note-passing format to accommodate any range of technological advances. But every kid in this school loved it (and occasionally loved to hate it). So despite the loathing faculty's tired attempts to eradicate it, my guess was that the rumor mill would outlast us all.

  I hadn't exactly expected to spend my first official day as Palmetto Princess mitigating rumors that had to do with me, but there I was in first period European history, censoring the notes that came around.

  True or false: Princess Nat and the Double D are soon to bunk up bayside?

  Someone had drawn an arrow under Darla's name and written:

  So that's why real estate prices are sagging in the Coveted.

  My instinct was to put a big red circle around False and forge in someone else's hand: Premature rumoring. Paperwork not finalized so the deal could still fall through. Someone churned too soon.

  Instead, I kept my cool:

  Nota Bene: There will be no Double D. The Duke's "gift" is for Hargrove use only. Anyone who wants an invite to my parties will keep this truth in mind. -NH

  By next period, in French class, the second note milled through:

  Rumor has it Baxter Quinn won't take these murderous little accusations lying down. He's got an alibi and a suspect of his own.

  I laid the note down on the middle of my desk and tried to read anyone else's handwriting into it other than Kate's. But the telltale hot-pink pen and half-print/half-cursive writing style was unmistakable. I covertly popped a piece of Juicy Fruit and grit my teeth around its juice. I leaned down to stare at the odious note until the letters went out of focus and I could think again.

  Something about my close friend relaying Baxter's Bin Laden-style communication to the whole school felt so subversive. Especially after the little conversation she and I had had at the Cove yesterday. I thought I'd made myself very clear that the lines of Baxter communication between the two of us should be kept open at all times. What became of Baxter was not for the whole school to concern themselves with.

  I didn't realize I'd been bearing down so hard on my pen until a big black blob of ink started to bleed through the center of Kate's note.

  Okay, so she was trying to stand by her man--fine. The real issue was how this news might grow as more people saw the note. At least I'd gotten it early enough in its infancy that I could still shape its direction. All I needed to do was tone it down again--with slightly less authorship credit this time.

  Since when is Baxter Quinn sober enough to take anything standing up? Forecast of his alibi: passed the eff out. Suspected suspect: pills sold by B.Q. himself earlier that night.

  I folded up the note and passed it on, knowing that Kate might push back on this one. But I hoped, in the long run, she'd understand that I was really looking out for her best interests. The sooner Baxter was out of all of our lives, the better.

  Fingers crossed, the biting sarcasm of my response would nip this rumor in the bud. But before I had too much time to relax after my smooth operating, the third note of the morning hit my desk.

  True or false: Seems like everyone's in favor of a second interrogation by the hot new cop on the beat.

  What did that even mean? I looked around to see where the note had come from, but all the other kids in my immediate vicinity had their eyes glued to the chalkboard where Madame Virge was conjugating irregular verbs. When she put down the chalk, she looked up at the clock and reached for a slip of paper on her desk.

  "I have strict orders to read this prompt," she said, getting everyone's attention because of the rare break from her native tongue to say something we could actually understand. "Don't get any ideas about me speaking English after this."

  As the class groaned, Madame Virge cleared her throat and read.

  "'Attention: to anyone who hasn't yet met with our new police liaison, Officer Parker. You will be called to Principal Glass's office during your regular study-hall period for a brief questioning. Every student must attend.' "

  Hmm. I didn't have study hall until third period, but Mike would have had it first thing in the morning. Why hadn't he texted to give me a heads-up?

  "A.J.," I whispered to Amy Jane when the bell rang to dismiss us, "did you already have study hall? What's the deal with this new cop?"

  Amy Jane made a pouting face and said, "Not till last period. Sucks--the word is he's hot as hell."

  I chewed on my nails and ducked out of class in a huff. I wasn't going to wait to be called down to meet this new liaison officer, hot as hell or not. I rapped on Principal Glass's door just as the next bell rang.

  "Come in," an unfamiliar voice called.

  Through the fishbowl walls, I could see a man in uniform standing behind the principal's desk, leaning up against the bookshelf. He looked kind of like a skinnier version of Paul Rudd. When I opened the door and stepped in, the first thing I noticed was his badge, shining like it got a fresh rub of polish every day. Then my eyes traveled down to his navy slacks, which were so snug around the groin that I wondered about a dress-code violation. He had dark hair that he'd slicked up in the front, and his thick eyebrows raised when he gestured to one of the chairs in the office and said, "Have a seat. I guess you're Palmetto's Princess, Natalie Hargrove."

  "Good news travels fast," I said. "I guess you're Officer Parker."

  I took a seat, eyeing him to see whether he was sleazy enough to lean forward and watch as I sat down in my short gray-blue pleated skirt and crossed my legs. So he was that kind of guy.

  "I saw your picture in the paper," Officer Parker explained. "I've been reading up on your school, trying to get a feel for things. You might have guessed that they hired me to get to the bottom of what happened last weekend."

  I shrugged. "I hadn't given it much thought."

  O.P. scratched his prominent chin. "Was Justin Balmer a friend of yours?"

  "Not really," I said. "He played football with my boyfriend."

  "So I hear." He looked down at his legal pad, then up at me. "And how long have you been with your boyfriend?"

  "I'm not sure what that has to do with your interrogation," I said, holding his gaze. There was something both hot and cold about his hazel eyes, like driving with the windows down and the heat on in the winter.

  Officer Parker came around to the other side of the desk. I could smell the musky aftershave on his face. He gave me a thin smile.

  "I'm just going to get down to it, Princess," he said. "This one stinks of something fishier than a drunk kid missing a dose of pills. You may have heard that we've got a suspect linked to a movie filmed that night."

  I shook my head but stiffened my grip on the armrest. This was good: The police were already using Baxter's tape as evidence.

  "Of course," he continued, "that evidence alone doesn't make the case airtight. And there's one small problem with it." He licked his lips. "Any guess what that problem might be?"

  "I'm not sure what you mean," I said, uncrossing and re-crossing my legs.

  Officer Parker looked down at them. "You seem like a nice girl. And Baxter Quinn wasn't much of a cameraman, anyway." He chuckled, a wheezy, sleazy sound. "A few zesty indiscretions caught on film shouldn't be held against you."

  I bit my lip. Oh. Shit. In all the time I'd spent brooding over Baxter and the tape, I'd managed to overlook
the scintillating scene he had shot of Mike and me earlier in the night. Of course, using that tape to bring down Baxter was too good to be true. I couldn't believe that this sleazebag cop, with the all-too-knowing twinkle in his eye, had something on me now, too.

  "I just wouldn't want to see your reputation go to hell so soon after you got what you wanted," O.P. said finally.

  "What I wanted?" I asked. Well. How much did he know? I felt so powerless and so exposed, like the whole school could see my thoughts as clearly as they could see through this glass-walled room.

  "The crown," he said simply.

  I exhaled.

  "Look," Officer Parker said. He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek. "No one's using the word blackmail. Personally, I don't even see a need to use an amateur sex tape in a court of law. Unless . . ."

  His hand was on my leg. I looked around. Why wasn't anyone walking by the fishbowl right now to see what a first-class sleaze this guy was?

  "What do you want from me?" I hissed.

  "You're in touch with the kids at Palmetto," he said, removing his hand to cross his arms over his chest. "Point me toward some other evidence to close the case, and we can pretend this footage never even existed."

  "What about Baxter? What about when he comes back?"

  Officer Parker held out his hands in a grand shrug. "His word against mine? This flick's official police evidence now, Princess," he said. "Some punk kid with a drug problem won't be able to do a thing about it."

  He extended his hand, and when I put mine out to shake it, he brought it to his lips. "We'll be in touch, I'm sure."

  I left the office wanting a shower. What if there was more on that DVD that he wasn't letting onto? What if he was just trying to see how far he'd have to go to make me crack? And what had happened when he talked to Mike?

  A small snore to my left made me jump. It was Darla, the Double D, dozing on the couch outside the principal's office. She must have sensed me standing over her because she shook awake and immediately wiped some drool from the corner of her mouth. She was sporting a Palmetto sweatshirt, almost identical to the one I'd been wearing yesterday, except in baby blue.

  "Did you just get interviewed?" she stammered. "I'm supposed to go in now. I was racking my brain to jot down everything I ever knew about J.B. I want to help--I guess I dozed off."