“This is just my face,” I said.
Digby rang the bell. It didn’t faze me anymore listening to Digby spin his little webs. We were with the school paper? Sure. Writing an article? Why not?
The housekeeper showed us into the front sitting room.
Mrs. Miller appeared after twenty minutes. She was one of those women who wore uncomfortable outside shoes at home. Her heels click-clacked across the marble. She had on a full face of makeup and a head of pageant-perfect goddess curls. She gave us ten minutes of scripted motherly concern before her high-gloss shell cracked and things finally got interesting.
“The problem with Mari was . . .” Mrs. Miller pronounced it Mah-ree. “Well, frankly . . . she’d always been deeply troubled. Truly, I tried, but you can’t fight genetics. My husband had her with his first wife, you see. We didn’t emphasize that when Mari went missing because we didn’t want people thinking we were less than desperate to get her back, but now . . .”
I don’t think she knew how to end that sentence.
“But now that everybody knows how upset you are, you can flesh out some details,” Digby said.
“Yes, exactly. Now everyone knows I’m worried sick . . . well, I suppose the facts should be told,” Mrs. Miller said. “But I’m not sure about photographing the house . . .”
“Mrs. Miller, to be honest, I overpromised these photos to my editor because I’m in trouble. Missed my deadline. She’s a hard case.” Digby nodded toward me.
Mrs. Miller looked at my face and softened. “Yes, I see.”
“And what we really need’s a picture of you . . . in her room. Maybe if someone who knows something saw how this was affecting Marina’s family . . .” Digby said.
Mrs. Miller stood and checked her hair in the mirror above the mantel.
“I’m a mess, but I suppose it’ll do. It’s not HDTV or anything. The news crews came every day for weeks . . . that was a challenge.” Mrs. Miller finished primping and snapped her fingers at us imperiously. “Come along.”
There were no pictures of Marina on the walls we passed on the way up to her room. There were plenty of weird, posed glamour shots of Mrs. Miller, though. In one of them, she was naked on a fur blanket, cradling a newborn baby who I guessed was Marina’s half sister.
“This is my Ursula.” It was a picture of her on a yacht, hugging a teenaged girl.
Ursula was surprisingly unpretty. I’m always shocked when rich girls aren’t pretty. How could you be unattractive if you had all the nicest clothes and makeup? It didn’t compute. But I guess there really were some things money can’t buy. Ursula was a hatchet-face. Even wearing a straw hat and a gingham bikini, she looked like she’d just murdered someone and was calculating how to dispose of the corpse.
“Here we are. Mari’s room,” Mrs. Miller said.
It was empty. Not like everything had been cleared out. That would’ve been less weird. This room still had a bed, a desk, a chest of drawers. There just wasn’t much stuff: Hardly any books, no stuffed animals, no photos or posters on the walls. It looked like IKEA, except IKEA has fake cardboard stuff to make the rooms look fake lived-in.
“Was Marina always this . . . organized?” Digby said.
“I’m not sure. Mari kept the door locked.” Mrs. Miller tapped on the sign on Marina’s door. “Keep. Out. So I did.” She positioned herself by the window. “How’s this?”
Digby directed and Henry snapped away. Meanwhile, I glanced around, trying to figure out where in the empty room to look. Then, when it started to feel like we were lingering, the housekeeper came in.
“Mrs. Miller, the pizzas are here,” the housekeeper said.
“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Miller said.
“You ordered ten pizzas for the party,” the housekeeper said.
“Party? Don’t you think I would’ve informed you if I were throwing a party? And pizzas?” Mrs. Miller said.
Off they went, bickering all the way.
“We have, like, three minutes to find something,” Digby said.
“How do you search an empty room?” I said.
“It’s not totally empty. This was on the closet floor.” Digby held up a single CornNut and sniffed it. “Nacho.”
“You wanna eat it, don’t you?” I said.
“I’m seriously thinking about it,” Digby said.
“That’s disgusting. Anyway, other than that CornNut, this place is totally clean. We’re not gonna find anything here,” I said.
“No, you’re not going to find anything.” Marina’s half sister, Ursula, was in the doorway.
We were so busted. Digby was in the closet, Henry had a desk drawer open, and I’d lifted Marina’s mattress in case she kept her journal where I kept mine.
“The police took stuff away and Marina didn’t have that much to begin with,” she said.
“You’re Ursula,” Digby said.
“I am. And you’re not who you told my mother you were,” she said.
“Sure we are,” Digby said.
“Brianna Wick is black, and Taylor Berry? Is a girl,” Ursula said. “I’ve been to Marina’s school.”
Now we were fully busted.
“What are you trying to do?” Ursula said.
“What do you mean?” Digby said.
“Are you trying to bring her back?” she said.
“Isn’t that what everyone’s trying to do?” he said.
Ursula had a seriously evil smirk. “Su-ure.”
“I get it. You don’t like Marina. But do you hate her enough to want to see her stay missing?” Digby said.
“Oh, no . . . I want her back now. It’s not amusing anymore,” Ursula said. “I mean, Marina’s whiney and she dropped loser dust all over the place, but it’s not as much fun as I thought it’d be without her around. It’s kinda like the Joker told Batman: She completes me.”
“It doesn’t sound like she had it too good around here,” Digby said.
“You met my mother,” Ursula said.
“What’s the age difference between you and Marina?” Digby said.
“I’m five months younger,” Ursula said.
“Ah . . . doing that math makes your mother feel sleazy,” Digby said. “So, Marina was, what? Cinderella?”
“Maybe in her mind. No, Marina was more, like, invisible. Gift cards for Christmas, that kind of thing,” Ursula said. “Nothing crappy enough to write any fairy tales about.”
“But you think it was crappy enough to make her run away,” Digby said. “Because you don’t think she was kidnapped.”
“Neither do you,” she said. “Why don’t you?”
“She filled a prescription for eight months of birth control right before she disappeared and brought it with her,” he said.
“Of course she did. She’s so dumb,” she said.
“Do the police know you don’t believe she was abducted?” he said.
“You of all people should know what happens when people suspect you know something about a family member disappearing,” Ursula said.
“You know who he is?” I said.
“He and his family were the most notorious people in River Heights for a year,” Ursula said. “Of course I know who he is.”
“But your mother didn’t,” I said.
“She only watches the news when she’s on it or when someone she knows is getting indicted,” Ursula said.
“Why do you think Marina took off?” Digby said.
“Dunno. Maybe she finally found her Prince Charming.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at Henry. “Now I remember who you are. She was bummed out after you dumped her. Anyway, you probably wouldn’t have been able to give her what she needed.”
“Oh?” Digby said. “Marina told you Henry couldn’t give her what she needed?”
“You’re an idiot,” I sa
id. “Not everything’s a sex thing.” To Ursula, I said, “It wasn’t a sex thing, was it?”
“More like a meal ticket thing,” Ursula said. “Marina lived off my crumbs, but crumbs around here . . . still pretty sweet. She needed someone to keep her in the lifestyle to which she’d grown accustomed.”
“She said she was going out with a rich guy,” Digby said. “You couldn’t save us a whole bunch of work and just tell us who he was, could you?”
“I don’t know who he is. But I do know he gave her nasty habits.” Ursula passed Digby a debit card. “She stole this from me and when I stole it back, I noticed a bunch of blue powder on it. Gross. She used it to snort her junk.”
Digby ran his tongue along the line of blue powder.
“You don’t even know what that is,” I said.
“It’s Adderall. Generic Adderall tastes like sherbet,” Digby said.
“He also gave her a new phone,” Ursula said.
“Don’t tell me she took it with her,” Digby said. “Because that would be really lame.”
“No, the police have it,” Ursula said. “But there’s nothing in it. They told my mother the memory on the new phone was completely wiped. But . . .”
“The new phone was wiped . . . but her old phone,” Digby said.
We followed Ursula down the hall to the upstairs sitting room.
“So . . . ?” Digby said.
Looking at Ursula’s hatchet-face smile was like staring at the business end of a sharp blade. Chop, chop, chop.
Digby pointed at a phone sitting in a dock in the entertainment unit. “Is that her old phone?”
Ursula gave us a slow, elaborate shrug. “It’s not mine.”
“We’re taking it,” Digby said.
“Like I said, it’s not mine,” she said.
Digby pocketed it just as Mrs. Miller got back.
“Ursula, do you know anything about pizzas getting delivered? He threatened to call the police if I didn’t pay. He was extremely rude,” Mrs. Miller said.
“I don’t know, Mother. Did you drunk-dial again?” Ursula said.
“Oh, Ursula. Don’t tell those jokes in front of people we hardly know. They might think you’re being serious,” Mrs. Miller said. “Anyway, did you get what you need for the article?”
“They sure did.” Ursula handed Digby her card. “And I’m giving Brandon my contact information so he can call me if he has more questions.”
“I thought your name was Taylor,” Mrs. Miller said.
“That’s what I said, Mother,” Ursula said.
“I can smell the anchovies from up here.” Mrs. Miller sighed dramatically. “Every single one has double anchovies on it. Based on that alone, they should have known it was a practical joke. What are we going to do with all those pizzas?”
“Does she look like an iguana? Yes, she does. Do I find her attractive anyway? Kinda.” Digby flicked the card Ursula had given him. “I think I’m gonna call her.”
“Ursula? You’re kidding,” I said.
“No, I see it,” Henry said. “For him, I mean. Not me.”
“But she’s so . . . she’s . . .” I said.
“But that’s exactly why, I bet,” Henry said.
“Some people say the heart sees what’s invisible to the eye. Other people say love means never having to say you’re sorry,” Digby said. “All I’m saying is, I see potential. I’m not apologizing for that.”
“Love? Just like that? You’re in love with her now? That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“You sound pissed, Princeton. What’s it to you?” Digby said.
“Yeah, that was an eight on the tension scale,” Henry said.
“It’s disgusting,” I said. “They treated Marina like she was some kind of second-class citizen in her own house. And their awful photos . . . rich people are just the worst . . .”
“Is it all rich people or just these rich people?” Digby said.
“Did you see the way she talked to her housekeeper?” I said. “She snapped her fingers at us!”
“Guess we’ve found another one of your hot-button issues.” Digby dove back into the pizza box. “Last piece . . . you guys sure you don’t want it?”
“I can’t believe you ate that entire pizza,” Henry said.
“The smell’s making my stomach turn,” I said.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure which one I’d end up with, so I got double anchovies on all ten,” Digby said.
“I should’ve guessed that was you,” I said.
“You thought ten pizzas just randomly came right when we needed to be alone in her room? See, what you do is order enough so the pizza place will refuse to take the pizzas back but not so many that the person with the credit card will put up a real fight with the delivery guy. When it works, you get privacy and a nice snack,” Digby said. “Interesting fact: The perfect number of pizzas is double the number of cars in the driveway.”
Digby scrolled through Marina’s phone while he preached about his pizza con.
“Whoa . . . check this out.” Digby passed the phone to Henry. “Things just got interesting.”
TWENTY-ONE
“Sloane’s number is in Marina’s call log?” I said.
“Henry, call her and ask why,” Digby said.
“She won’t answer. She’s doing a campaign thing at the mall for her dad,” Henry said. “We could go see her, but, uh . . . Zoe, you don’t have to come with us because . . . because . . .”
“Of course, it would be fun if you did,” Digby said.
Digby got that look on his face and I just knew what was coming next. “Don’t do it,” I said. “It’s so tacky . . .”
“Meeeee-yow . . . catfight,” Digby said.
“So degrading. For all of us,” I said. “When guys fight, it’s some macho tribal thing, but when girls fight, it’s a big perverted joke. Makes no sense.”
“Sure it does . . .” Digby said. “Girls don’t fight. They kinda pull each other’s hair, push each other around a little, then their clothes come off.”
“Girls don’t know how to fight,” Henry said. “So it’s funny when they try to.”
“You realize girls have actually killed each other, right?” I said. “Girls in the Bronx smuggle razor blades into school in their cheeks.”
“Are you smuggling a razor blade in your cheek, Princeton?” Digby said.
“What? No.”
“Then . . . Meeeee-yow,” Digby said.
“Seriously, you don’t have to come,” Henry said.
“I’m coming.” The only fate worse than dealing with Sloane in person was to lose a game of chicken to her when she wasn’t even physically around to play against me.
Walking through the mall, I put all my hopes into “maybe she’s gone home already.” But, no. There she was, just like Henry said she’d be.
Sloane stood out from the dull-suited politico types in a pastel sweater-and-dress outfit that disguised her unfairly perfect boob-y ass-y figure. Her hair was in a little flip behind a pink headband and she was patiently pinning light-up badges on some kids’ lapels.
Digby picked up a flyer. “The Bloom family’s auctioning selected watercolors from their collection to replace the children’s hospital ambulance,” he said. “I guess it was stolen . . . which is weird.”
“She looks . . . different.” I felt crummy hating on her when she was clearly do-gooding.
Digby did not. “Puke.” He balled up the flyer. “Sorry, Henry, no offense, but her dad’s gonna run for Congress, so this whole thing’s probably some campaign thing.”
When Sloane spotted us, her serene smile dropped and her face tensed into her usual sneer.
“Ah . . . there’s the Sloane we know and love,” Digby said.
Sloane pushed past the kids and stalked over to us. �
�Henry? Why did you bring them here? Didn’t you say you were working this afternoon?”
“So, Sloane, how do you know Marina Miller?” Digby said.
Sloane pointedly ignored him and kept talking to Henry. “Mother needs help at the booth.” Mrs. Bloom waved at us.
“Look at her . . . she seriously thinks she’s a Kennedy. It’s so sad,” Sloane said.
Henry hesitated, but Digby nodded. “Later.”
“Later, dude.” Henry jogged away.
Digby passed Marina’s phone to Sloane.
“This call log shows you and Marina were talking around the same time she started dating Henry. The calls stopped when they broke up. Looks like Henry’s not the only one who dumped her last summer. I guess you didn’t need her if she didn’t have Henry anymore,” Digby said. “Pretty cold, Sloane.”
“God. Boo-hoo-hoo,” she said.
“But we’re not here to judge. It’s just interesting that you and Marina were so friendly,” Digby said. “Tell me about it.”
“What about you, Zoe? Do you find it interesting I knew Marina?” Sloane said.
“What?” I said.
“She’s not interested,” Sloane said. “If she were interested, she’d ask me herself, wouldn’t she? After she apologized for throwing my phone in the toilet, of course.”
Digby was annoyed. “Sloane. These mind-games are—”
“Mind-games improve your memory. Without mind-games, I might not remember why Marina was calling me,” Sloane said.
“Fine. Sloane, tell us about Marina,” I said.
“Do it nicely. Please? With a cherry on top?” Sloane said. “The works.”
Digby stepped between Sloane and me.
“I’d totally get it if you don’t wanna do this,” he said. “No one should talk to you like that.”
“Is this important?” I said.
Digby hesitated.
“Screw it.” In my most disrespectful voice, I said, “Sloane, I apologize for ruining your phone. Please, pretty please, tell us how you knew Marina. Cherry on top.”
“Of course, Zoe. I would be happy to after that very nice apology,” she said. “We were both on the equestrian team at the country club. Ursula too. Did you meet her? Ugh . . . Ursula. Such a pill. We get it. You’re smart. Now go tweeze your eyebrows.”
Trouble is a Friend of Mine Page 15