“He’s a dragon with a cave of riches he doesn’t wanna share. He’s a hoarder, but because he hoards money, it’s classy and no one thinks it’s weird,” Digby said. “You’re the princess he wants to drag into his lair. Stealing you back from your mom would really round out his collection.”
“Great,” I say. “How’d you know about Shereene’s diamond?”
“Well, I actually saw that her bag and watch were fakes first, then I worked backward from there,” Digby says. “So, what? No Prentiss? When’d you decide that?”
“I didn’t say no Prentiss ever. I just don’t want to go there on his terms.”
“So until then, you’ll stay here?”
“I guess. At least I won’t be bored with you around,” I say. “But then, how are you gonna top blowing up a house and busting up a meth ring?”
“I don’t know . . . I’ll think about it when I get back.”
“Get back? From where?”
“I have an appointment in Texas.”
“Appointment?”
Suddenly, a burly dude in a suit and a buzz cut pokes his head in the door.
All I’m wearing is a paper-thin hospital gown. “Hey!” I yell. I pull the sheet around my chest even though he isn’t looking in my direction at all.
The guy spots Digby, ducks back out, and says, “He’s here, Miss Miller.”
In comes not Marina (who I expect to see bearing flowers and a THANK YOU balloon), but her hatchet-faced sister, Ursula. Chop-chop-chop in my direction. Her face softens when she turns to Digby. Him, she’s happy to see.
“So this is where you’re hiding,” Ursula says. “I thought maybe you’d left town already, but then . . . you wouldn’t get far without this, I suppose.”
She’s wearing a trench coat and carrying a small metal suitcase. She looks like she’s playing I Spy dress-up. I yelp when Ursula plops the suitcase on my legs. She snaps it open to reveal stacks of bills bound and labeled $5000.
Ursula watches me watch her unpack the money into a pyramid. She does the rich person thing of gloating at the astonishment their money elicits. “One hundred thousand.”
“It should only be ninety-five,” Digby said.
“Mother said to consider your advance a bonus,” Ursula said. She picks up one bound stack, runs her fingertip across it, and sucks on the paper cut it gives her. “Ouch. Brand-new, like you wanted. Why did it have to be all new?”
“Because it would be gross to roll around in a bed of dirty bills,” Digby says.
“One hundred thousand dollars? For what?” I say.
“Your Girl Friday didn’t know about the money? So she got herself blown up for what?” Ursula openly laughs at me. “Oh, I see . . . I hope it’s requited.”
“What’s going on?” I say.
“My mother offered a hundred thousand for getting my sister out of there without anyone knowing she was ever with that scumbag,” Ursula says. “We took care of John too, by the way. He’ll never tell now.”
John. Sloane’s driver who suddenly quit his job before the dance.
“Took care of him?” With these people, I had to check.
“He’s my driver now,” Ursula said.
“And Sloane, Bill, and Felix never actually saw her,” Digby said.
“But Henry and I did. Are we supposed to lie to the police?” Under my breath, I add, “Again?”
“Not technically lie to the police. Erasing Marina doesn’t substantially change our story,” Digby says.
“Sharesies with your friends, then?” Ursula says.
“I don’t want your money,” I say. What the hell. I guess today’s the day I turn down stuff.
“As you like,” Ursula says. “It was worth every cent just to see Marina on a scooter with that ridiculous ape. Where’d you find him?”
“He’s kinda like the UPS guy in my economy,” Digby says. “He’ll deliver anything for anyone anywhere.”
“That was Alistair you called when the ambulances came?”
“You know I was always going to split the money with you, right?” Digby says.
“Ohh . . . that’s why you didn’t tell anyone there was a reward,” I say.
“I told Henry,” he says.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” I realize Ursula is watching, loving it. I scrape together all the dignity I have left and ask her, “Is there anything else you need?”
Ursula snorts to convey how ridiculous it is that I think I can dismiss her, but she starts to leave anyway. To Digby, she says, “Maybe I’ll call you again sometime.”
There’s an awkward silence after she leaves.
“I didn’t tell you because you have a bad attitude about Ursula and her family. And I knew you wouldn’t stick around if you knew I was kinda working for them,” Digby says. “But now you get all this money. Well, not all. I was thinking forty, thirty, thirty between us. Okay, maybe fifty, twenty-five, twenty-five. I have expenses.”
“Expenses? What, the garage needs new carpeting?” I say.
“You have no idea how close you are,” he says.
“When did all this happen? You working for the Millers?”
“Ursula called me the day after we were at their house,” he says. “Listen, Princeton, if I’d told you about the Millers, you would’ve stopped coming along. And I was having fun . . . with you.”
“Ohhh . . . you’re saying you lied to me because . . . friendship? Here’s a clue, you ass, friends don’t lie to friends. You lied because you’re a liar. Don’t pass it off as friendship,” I say.
“Look, I don’t think it’s me you’re talking to right now. Maybe you should’ve said this to your dad when he was here,” he says.
“No. I’m talking to the right guy. You’re both liars,” I say.
Digby is quiet a bit. Then he starts making a smaller stack of bills, presumably setting aside money for me.
“I said I don’t want it. You’re right. Those people gross me out. I don’t want them thinking I took their money.” Ouch. I say it knowing it is going to cost me thirty thousand bucks. Oh, wait, twenty-five thousand.
“Well, technically, it’d be my money now that you’ll be taking,” he says.
“So keep it. And feel free to leave with it,” I say.
“Princeton . . .”
“I’m tired. Can you get out of my room now?”
Digby doesn’t move. I ignore him and pretend to fall back asleep.
“When I get back from my trip . . .”
“Don’t care. Just get out, please.”
I don’t open my eyes, but I hear him put his money away and lock the case. Then the door clicks shut and he’s gone. I have a short anxiety attack about our school project and what I’m supposed to tell the police, but it doesn’t last long. I fall asleep for real.
THIRTY
After a week in the hospital and another week on our couch, I’m sick of reality TV’s thirty-minute problems and I’m ready to go back to school. I need Mom’s help to put on my shoes, but I can’t stay home another day.
Every night on the local news for the past two weeks, there’s been a report on some other local business getting busted for having connections to Zillah’s operation. I’m seeing a lawyer who Officer Cooper convinced to represent me at a huge discount. We’re preparing the official statement I’m going to give the police next week.
In the end, both Zillah and Ezekiel were saved by the paramedics. They televised them being put onto a prison transport by the FBI. Knowing they’ll be far, far away in federal prison makes me feel better. I plan to be living in Paris, possibly under my married name, by the time those two come up for parole.
Speaking of Officer Cooper. He’s still coming around. Mom wants to give me time to get used to it, so she hasn’t made me come down and eat dinner with them yet or anyth
ing.
And I was as shocked as Mom when one day, I blurted out, “Mom, why did you let Dad get away with it? All those years cheating on you?”
Mom stared at me, blinking.
“Because you must’ve known,” I went on.
“Well, if we’re doing this . . .” she said. “I didn’t know—”
“Lie. You knew. Why else were you so miserable for all those years?”
“I thought I was regular bad-marriage miserable, Zo. I honestly thought it would just pass . . .”
“But you don’t understand. You put me through it too, when you didn’t deal with it.”
“Zoe . . . I didn’t know you were miserable too.”
“That I believe you didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry, Zoe.”
“I’m actually not looking for an apology.”
“Then, what are you looking for?”
I’d thought long and hard about this and never came up with a way to say it that wasn’t idiotic. “I want you to tell me that there was a reason we stayed. That you had a plan the whole time.”
“But I didn’t. I really didn’t know.”
“I just can’t believe you.”
What else could I say? She didn’t know. We sat there like dummies.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I made you so miserable . . . I hate myself for that,” she said. “And if moving here has made you even more miserable, then . . . I’ll waive custody and you can move back early. I mean, since you’re probably starting at Prentiss next year anyway—”
I felt my entire body rebel at the thought. “Actually, I’m not so sure Prentiss would be right for me.” I checked if I’d really meant it. Yes, I had.
“What? What’s changed?”
“I’m starting to wonder how much of Prentiss has been my idea or if it’s Dad wanting me to go or me knowing Dad wants me to go . . .”
“And?”
“And I don’t know. I do know I don’t want to live with Dad and Shereene.”
“So you want to stay?”
“I want to stay.” I told her about Dad and the thing he wanted me to sign, but I didn’t tell her about the Caymans. I kept that back for a rainier day.
“Zoe,” Mom said. “I—I think maybe deep down, I did know your father . . . that something wasn’t right. And . . . I’m sorry I forced you to help me pretend. I just wasn’t ready. I needed more time.”
To finally hear her admit it. To finally hear her say I wasn’t crazy was such a relief. The ferocity of the hug I gave her surprised us both.
“Mom. Just . . . thank you.”
First day back at school, I realize that the kids are treating me even weirder than usual. Walking down the hall, I leave a wake of interest behind me that includes both students’ and teachers’ stares. I take heart, though, when one of the seniors (Claire, I think?) jogs ahead to open the library door for me, and Gabby, my chem lab partner, gives me copies of her notes from the classes I’d missed before I even ask. If I had known this was the response I’d get from my classmates, I would have blown myself up a long time ago.
Henry is waiting for me outside homeroom and he gestures at me to follow him.
“I still don’t know how you found out where we went after we split up that night,” I say.
“After I dropped off Sloane and Bill at the hospital, I drove around the motel until I spotted a trail of feathers starting at a bush on Rush Street. I figured it was your skirt,” he says. “Looked like a bunch of parrots had a pillow fight all the way across town. It got pretty obvious after a couple of blocks he was headed back to your neighborhood.”
Some girls walk by and stare at us pointedly.
“What’s their problem?” I say.
“Uh, yeah . . . that’s kinda what I need to talk to you about. Sloane heard you and I danced together and she’s . . . not happy,” Henry says. “She thinks . . .”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” I say, even though I’m thinking, Yeah, you’d better worry about me.
“Totally ridiculous. I mean, you are totally my friend, but she might as well worry about Digby,” Henry says.
And with that, I deflate. “Speaking of. Where is he?”
“He must’ve left by now. He said you wouldn’t answer his messages.” There’s reproach in Henry’s voice.
“He told you about the money?”
“Yeah,” Henry says. “Did he tell you why he needed it?”
“No, why?”
“I should let him tell you himself. By the way, this thing with Sloane . . . don’t take what she says seriously.”
“What’s she saying?”
“Gotta go. I have two late warnings already. Come sit at our table at lunch, okay? It’s a little football intense, but . . .”
At roll call, Mrs. Scott stares at me after she calls my name. At lunch, I could swear the cafeteria lady gives me extra fries. Sitting with Henry’s teammates turns out to be fun. They all want to hear about what it felt like being in an explosion and I think those boys could listen to me talk about my injuries for hours. The description I give of my concussion starts a particularly horrifying round of one-upmanship. For the rest of the day, no one bumps into me, either accidentally or accidentally on purpose.
I’m curious to see what my new celebrity status will let me get away with, so I return to the main bathroom. Here, the girls have decided to act like I’m nothing special, which is fine by me. They’re working so hard to not pay attention to me that one girl backs into me, knocking loose the tampon I’d tucked up my sleeve. It rolls across the floor and another girl walking to the sink tramples it flat. There’s a round of giggling that immediately dies when Sloane intervenes.
“Seriously, Heather, you’re such a pillowcase,” Sloane says. “Gimme one of yours. And don’t try to pretend you don’t have one. You can’t wear fat pants three days in a row and not expect people to notice.”
Sloane gives me the tampon, but when I reach for it, she grabs my hand and pulls me close. “Take care of business and meet me outside.”
Sloane’s waiting for me when I get out of the bathroom. She leads me to the stairwell and after shooing away a couple approaching second base, digs right into me.
“If you think you have a chance with Henry . . .” she says. “Stay away from my boyfriend.”
“He asked me to dance, Sloane.”
She’s clearly not expecting anything but a denial or apology, so my response enrages her. Which amuses me.
“I will cut you.”
“Can’t stand in the way of love, Sloane.”
Sloane’s face reddens and she grabs me by the shirtfront.
“Calm down, okay? He’s all yours. Nothing’s going on between me and Henry,” I say. “We’re bros. Seriously.”
Sloane lets that hang a couple of seconds before she decides she believes me.
“So Digby left town?” Sloane says, like we’re suddenly cool.
I shrug.
“And we’re supposed to keep our mouths shut about Marina. Yeah, right,” Sloane says. “I’m saving that for right after the first debate between our fathers.”
Ah, yes. The political rivalry between Marina’s and Sloane’s dads. “But you didn’t even see her, did you? I mean, you never actually saw her, right?”
“Well, but . . . she was there . . . right?”
I shrug again and enjoy the perplexed look on her face. On that high note, I leave her in the stairwell.
After the final bell, I’m at my locker, packing my books for the weekend. Mom’s promised to help with “Convicted in Absence” now that Digby’s flaked on me, so I’m feeling better about my chances of actually getting it written.
“Hey, Zoe.” Felix comes up holding a blue duffel bag. “Digby said to give this to you,” he says. “It’s for your project.”
The first thing I find when I open the bag is a brand-new laptop still in its box.
“Is this for me?”
“Yeah, he said yours broke?”
Then I find typed notes and printouts of tables and graphs. I skim it and realize what it is.
“It’s the research for our project,” I say. “Wait. Did Digby make you do all this work?”
“Me? No . . . I mean, that’s the exact problem he’s helping me with. He’s getting Dominic off my back so I don’t have to do other people’s homework anymore.” Felix points at Dominic, scowling at us from across the hall.
“Felix, Digby left town.”
“But he’s coming back.”
The optimism on Felix’s face saddens me, and I don’t have the heart to tell him Digby probably isn’t coming back. So I just smile.
“Okay, then . . . I’ll see you later, Felix?”
Now, ordinarily people would take this as a clue that the conversation’s over, but Felix just stands there.
“So,” Felix says.
“So . . . is there anything else?”
“Isn’t there?” Felix says. “Digby told me to wait here. Do you have something for me?”
“No . . .”
We peer into my locker just in case, but, no. Nothing.
Then Felix starts sneezing like crazy. Before I can ask what the matter is, a big dog’s wet snout pushes me away and pokes into my locker. It’s cute and I want to pet it, but it’s wearing an orange vest that says WORKING ANIMAL. DO NOT PET.
“Everybody stand back from your lockers. This is a spot check,” the canine handler says.
“Spot check? For what?” I say.
The dog’s vest has the River Heights Police Department logo on it and the word NARCOTICS.
I feel a stab of cold fear when I wonder just how sensitive these dogs’ noses are, because if they can smell even just a trace . . . well, I don’t think it’s hard to imagine how many illegal things have left trace material on me.
“Do you think it can smell the explosives?” Felix says.
“Say what, son?” The canine handler yanks the dog’s leash.
Trouble is a Friend of Mine Page 25