“That’s more like it.” She kisses me again. Her tongue slides along the inside of my mouth. A flicker of raw desire heats in me, but I put it out. I don’t love Fay.
As she grabs for my belt, I take her by the arms. “I won’t do this, Fay.”
“Why not? Why have you been turning me away? Is there someone else?”
“It’s not that,” I say. It would do no good to tell her about Cassandra, even if I did leave out the little detail that she’s from a hundred years in the future.
Fay’s eyes narrow. “I know you want me, Lawrence. You’ve wanted me all summer. Stop playing noble.”
I pull my hand away. She laughs, but there’s no mirth in her voice or on her face.
“You’re pathetic. You’re not man enough to take me.”
I shake my head. “I respect you too much.”
“You’re a bad liar,” she snarls.
She tries to kiss me again, but I pull her off. Then she starts to fight, trying to kick me and punch me with all her strength.
I struggle to make her look at me. “What’s gotten into you, Fay? Why are you acting like this?”
“Let go!”
Her eyes flash toward the house. They’re focused on something. Her lips form words, but when she notices me following her gaze, she cries out.
“No!”
I see him. The muscular Italian fellow from the library. The one who was speaking so intently with Fay. He’s standing on the stone veranda. Watching us. I have the feeling he’s been watching us the entire time.
And Fay knew he was there.
The stranger darts into the bushes, but it’s too late. I stare at Fay. “Who is that?”
“You think I know?”
My grip on her upper arms tightens. “You were talking with him in the library.”
“He’s nobody. Just some rube.”
“Why was he watching us?”
She smirks. “Maybe he thought he’d get a good show.”
“You told him to watch us, didn’t you? Why? Did you think I was going to hurt you? Did you think you weren’t safe?”
“That would have been ridiculous, seeing as how you won’t lay a finger on me.”
She pulls herself free from my grip. She’s struggling to look like she doesn’t care.
“Fay. Talk to me. Tell me why you’re being this way. Is it…lady troubles?”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re a bastard, Lawrence.”
With that, she dashes back toward the house. I stand there for a moment, still trying to wrap my brain around her actions. When I get back in the house, however, no one seems ruffled. Thank goodness she didn’t make a scene. I search the room for the fellow who had been watching us. But he’s long gone.
Gritting my teeth, I move deeper into the library. In spite of the upsetting events with Fay, I can’t forget my real objective in attending this party. I need information about Cooper Enterprises for Cassandra. I won’t leave the party without it. My suspicions remain, however, as I look around the room full of strange faces. Who can be trusted? No one, it seems.
My gaze falls on a man sitting nearby. He’s dressed in a too-large business suit and is flipping aimlessly through the large atlas on the coffee table. He’s drunk. Perfect.
I bend down and give his arm a friendly pat, putting on an easy smile. “Hey there, chum. Looks like your drink’s almost gone. Want a refresher?”
He smiles. “Why sure, son. Thanks.”
I refill his brandy quickly, scanning the room as I go. Ned’s still talking with Kip Hawkins, and most of the other men seem distracted with their various conversations.
“You’re a real pal,” the drunk man says as I hand him a fresh glass.
“No trouble at all.” I motion to the chair on the other side of the coffee table. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Be my guest,” he slurs.
“Thanks.”
He holds out a hand. “Name’s Hank.”
“Lawrence,” I say. I take a casual sip of my drink. “So, you from Cooper Enterprises?”
Hank tips his glass in the air. “That’s the one.”
“High-up fellow? Or middle man?” I grin. “You’ll pardon my nosy questions. I’m going to law school, see, and I’m real curious about the way these big businesses run.”
Hank chuckles. “Sure, sure. No problemo.” He takes a drink. “I suppose I’m high up, in a manner of speaking. I, uh, help oversee the under-the-table stuff, if you know what I mean.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Bingo. I try to appear nonchalant. “Under-the-table stuff, huh? Like what?”
“Oh you know.” He swipes his hand through the air. “Stuff.”
I manage a tight smile. “Dangerous stuff?”
He laughs. “Nah. Not dangerous for me. I run a tight ship over there at Cape Row.”
“Cape Row?”
“The warehouse. Smith keeps us there in the shadows, by the docks so’s the coppers think there’s nobody there.”
I take mental note of the information. Cape Row. Warehouse.
Hank stands abruptly. “Listen, I gotta get some fresh air. Suddenly not feeling so swell, you know?”
I jump to my feet. “Can I ask you another quick question?” He blinks blearily at me, which I take as a yes. “Who’s that young guy? The one with the dark hair? Bigger fellow. Tall and thick?”
Hank shrugs. “How should I know? All them Cartelli brothers is hard to tell apart. Anyways, thanks again for the drink, kid.”
He shuffles off, and I watch him go. Cartelli. I make a mental note to ask Ned about the family later. I don’t know how the brother I saw fits into the picture, but it seems significant. And I suspect this won’t be the last time I hear that name.
Chapter 19
Cassandra
Good librarians are always there when you need them. Or at least that’s what I’m counting on as I march into the library for my first day of research. But as I burst through the front doors, my visions of an army of helpful researchers are dashed.
The library is packed to the gills with people. Some kind of party? There are vases of fresh flowers. A string quartet. And a huge banner reading “L. James Winthrop: Crest Harbor’s Greatest Treasure.”
It’s the last thing I need right now. Every librarian is surrounded by people holding little plastic plates of hors d’oeuvres and chatting in polite mumbles. Don’t they realize that I need help? Gritting my teeth, I spot a woman with an official-looking name tag and a bright-red scarf, and shoulder my way over to her. “Excuse me,” I say, trying to convey in my tone that I’m not here to chitchat.
She turns from her conversation with an older man and smiles at me. I get right to the point while I have her attention.
“I need to find all the information I can about Crest Harbor in the nineteen twenties.”
“You might want to start in the nineteen thirties,” she says. “You’re researching James Winthrop, I assume?”
I try very hard not to roll my eyes. What is it with people around here worshipping their petty local celebrities?
“Never heard of him,” I say deadpan. It’s a lie. Just to ruffle her feathers. I’m pretty sure we read one of his poems in English.
She looks satisfyingly offended. “I see.”
“I’m looking for something else. A project for…school.”
She points vaguely to her left. “Microfilm is your best place to start. On the basement level. East wing.”
I nod and march off with a grimace. Thanks for telling me what I already knew. I guess I’m on my own with this one.
I set up camp in the microfilm section. There’s no time to mess around. I have six days to find a murderer.
Six days.
Thanks to Lawrence, I have a few leads to research. Cooper Enterp
rises. Cape Row. And the names Jerome Smith and Cartelli. I can do this. I’m going to do this.
As the hours pass, however, it becomes clear that I’m trying to find a few needles in a haystack. Reel after reel of microfilm and endless articles filled with names and places that mean nothing to me. It takes me three hours to find even a mention of Cooper Enterprises, and it ends up being a fairly dull account of the company renovating an old textile mill.
My eyes start to blur. My mind wanders. More than once, I find myself staring into space, lost in visions of Lawrence. I’d give anything to hang out with him all day, talking on the beach and feeling his arms around me, his lips on mine. His lips trailing down my neck. His hands squeezing my waist. His tongue…
Focus, Cass. I have to focus. If I can find leads that will help, it’s worth being here and not with Lawrence. By four in the afternoon, I’m not so sure anymore. A whole day spent researching with nothing to show for it. My eyes are dry as paper and crossing from information overload. I know staggeringly little for how much reading I’ve done. I’m not going to make any progress with my brain this fried.
Despair grips me. A wasted day. A day I could have spent with Lawrence, gone forever. I can’t get those hours back. The thought makes me want to cry. I flop my head on the table.
“Can I help you with anything, miss?”
I sit up with a start. It’s the librarian from before, the one I was kind of rude to. She doesn’t seem to remember. Her smile is warm and genuine.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m just having trouble finding what I’m looking for.”
She nods knowingly. “It’s difficult. Like trying to find a needle in a haystack?”
“Took the words right out of my mouth.”
She glances at the stacks of microfilm boxes piled around me and then lifts one. “All nineteen twenty-five. Are you looking for something in particular that happened in that year?”
“Well, more something I think might have happened.”
“Have you considered checking a year behind or ahead?”
Maybe I’m delirious from hours of eye-crossing tedium, but I could swear I see a lightbulb snap on over her head. I must be wearing my emotions on my face because the librarian gives me a smile. “Good luck.”
I make a beeline to the drawers of microfilm. Drawing in a breath, I close my eyes, make a circle, and point to a drawer. March 1, 1927–May 1, 1927.
The first box yields nothing. Despair threatens again, but I swallow it down. The second one is also useless. But then, finally, in the third box, I have a breakthrough.
It’s a newspaper article discussing the arrest of several key executives at none other than Cooper Enterprises. My pulse quickens as I skim the text. This is significant. It has to be. Granted, it says nothing about murdering an innocent teenage boy, but they’re obviously a corrupt company, and this proves it. Who knows what they’re capable of?
I sit back in my chair, suddenly overwhelmed. The day has taken a toll on me. I feel exhausted but also deeply relieved. I need to talk to Lawrence, to tell him to look into Cooper Enterprises too. I gather up my makeshift campsite around the microfilm projector with shaking hands. My heart soars. Thank you, librarian lady.
I speed all the way home. As I pull up to the house, however, I notice a red car in the driveway.
Brandon. I push my forehead against the steering wheel. “Just perfect.”
Any hope of sneaking in unnoticed vanishes when I open the door. Mom and Brandon stand in the kitchen, directly in my line of sight. Mid-laugh, they both notice me.
“There she is,” Brandon says with what I’m sure was intended to be a suave smile. “Feeling better?”
Mom’s expression cools. “Where on earth have you been?”
“The library,” I say, dropping my bags in a pile on the floor. “Like I said this morning.”
“The library and…?”
“That’s it,” I say. “I went straight there and came straight back.”
Mom folds her arms and raises an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe you’ve been at the library for eight hours?”
I sigh. Maybe I could make a run for the beach. I’ll hide with Lawrence until my family decides I must have drowned and go back to Ohio.
“Maybe I don’t want to know,” Mom says. “I can’t imagine what could possibly compel a teenager to spend all day in a library during summer break.”
“Ask the librarian if you don’t believe me.”
Mom reprimands me by narrowing her eyes. “Well, lucky for you, Brandon here has convinced me to let you two hang out, instead of grounding you immediately.”
This night keeps getting better and better.
“I brought that movie I was telling you about,” Brandon says, holding up a DVD case.
This entire conversation is the last thing I need. My brain is fried and my nerves are frayed. There’s no way I’ll miss seeing Lawrence tonight. He’s probably waiting for me as we speak. Brandon and his stupid movie are not going to keep me from that beach.
“Great,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m looking forward to it. Should we start in about an hour? You can go and…get Slurpees or something.”
“Cass,” Mom says, disapproval thick in her voice.
“There’s some stuff I need to take care of. It’s really important.”
Brandon purses his lips. “I could go. I mean, if that’s what you really—”
“That would be great.”
“I don’t think so,” Mom says. She steps out of Brandon’s line of sight and gives me a stern, why-are-you-being-so-rude look. “Brandon’s been waiting almost an hour for you. Whatever you have to do can wait until tomorrow.”
“It actually can’t.”
“It can and it will.” Now I’m getting the behave-or-you’re-grounded look.
I weigh the risks of defying her. Being grounded at this point would be pretty bad. Maybe I can rush Brandon out the door. Feign sickness again halfway through the movie. Lawrence will probably wait a while for me. Hopefully. I swallow a heavy sigh.
“Great,” I say. “Let’s watch then.”
Mom nods. “I’ll make you two some smoothies. How about that?”
“Sounds ginger peachy,” I mutter.
Mom breezes off to the kitchen, and Brandon gives me a sheepish smile. “Hi, there.”
“Hi.”
“I was worried about you the other night.”
I avoid his gaze. “Oh yeah?”
“You got so sick so fast.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was kind of crazy.”
“I’ve been trying to call you all day.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Studying at the library?” Brandon asks, raising a sly eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“And what are you researching?”
“What, are you Barbara Walters now?”
He laughs. “How about we start the movie?”
“Good idea.”
He stands there awkwardly for a minute before I realize this is my house, and I should probably take him to the entertainment room.
I tilt my head to the side. “This way.”
As we pass a back window, I can just make out the bushes near the beach. A fierce longing to run and meet Lawrence grips me. There’s so little time. I should be spending every second trying to save him.
“Great TV,” Brandon says, breaking my train of thought as he flops on one of the leather couches.
“Yeah,” I manage, trying to sift as much of the irritation out of my voice as possible. “So…I’m pretty tired. Maybe we can just watch some of the movie?”
“Whatever you feel like,” Brandon says with a grin.
Oh boy. I hope he doesn’t think that was a veiled request to make out.
I put on the movi
e, despite my brain screaming with resistance. Stalling as long as possible, I stand by the TV, fumbling with the volume, the color, the sound quality.
“Hey, you in the front row,” Brandon says. “You’re blocking the movie.”
I offer a token laugh, and he pats a place next to him on the couch. “Come on. You don’t want to miss the beginning. There’s a killer car chase.”
“Sounds…awesome.”
I sit as far to the side of the couch as possible, but Brandon slides next to me. He smiles, as if we’re going to snuggle up. Where does he get the idea that something’s going to happen between us? I assume I can ascribe it to this new, sans–Travis Howard alternate reality we’re living in now.
As the movie plays on the screen, I fold my arms tightly across my chest to discourage any hand-holding action. Ten minutes in, Brandon’s arm goes around the back of the couch. Two minutes later, as a gas truck explodes on the screen in a burst of orange flame, he slides it around my shoulders.
I give him a pointed look, but he just smiles. “Sweet movie, huh?”
I sigh and glance at the clock. I’ll give this twenty more minutes before I claim exhaustion. Mom ought to be appeased by twenty minutes.
“You look really pretty tonight,” Brandon whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
All at once, it hits me. I’m doing it again. Relapsing into the same way of thinking that held me in a prison of angst all summer. I’ve tried to be whatever everyone else wants me to be, convincing myself that it’s what I want. But I know what I really want now. And I’m not going to pretend anymore.
I take a deep breath, sitting up. “Look, Brandon. We need to talk…”
He stiffens. “Okay.”
“I think you’re a really great guy—”
“Who wants smoothies?” Mom glides into the room, holding a tray with two big glasses filled with pink Strawberry-Banana Delight. Excellent timing, Mom. As always.
“Looks delicious,” Brandon says, flashing a grin.
“It’s my own special recipe. I won’t tell you the secret ingredient. Let’s see if you can guess.”
I get to my feet, and Mom’s smile fades.
Until We Meet Again Page 14