Miss Blankenship makes a bored cluck and switches from one foot to the other. Her impatience is not lost on Victor.
He sweeps the slips of paper to the side and positions the scanner. “Everybody got the drill? Let’s do this. I’m the administrator, so I’m already in the system.” He spins out a piece of paper with a colored chart. “You can see here how the doors are arranged, numbered and color coded. Green is for campers, no door access. Yellow is limited access. This will be for the classroom and storage room. Various teachers and administrative personnel will have access. For the summer, this will include our camp counselors. Finally, red equals restricted access. For the moment, the only restricted access on campus will be the two entrance doors to the lab as well as the door to the evidence locker. And the only ones who have access are me and Journey.”
Victor looks up at me. “Erin. You ready?”
I step up and press my thumb onto the screen of Victor’s device. After a few seconds, there’s a flash of light and a beep. “Okay. You’re all set. Who’s next?”
Spam goes next, then Lysa, Journey, Miss Blankenship, and even Clay.
“We’re giving Clay yellow access for now, which is the same as the camp counselors, but we can delete him when his work is finished here,” Victor says. “That’s what’s so great about this system. You don’t have to worry about collecting keys or rekeying locks.”
“What about me?” Lyman asks.
“Lyman is signed up for the camp,” I say.
“Oh. Good idea,” Victor says. “This will be a great way to test every level of the system. Campers should not be able to open any doors at all, but will be counted on the attendance scan each morning. Step up here. Let’s try this.”
Lyman steps up to the table and plants his thumb on the scanner.
“Okay. Now we can test the doors and make sure they work … or don’t work, as the case may be.”
Victor closes the door between the class and lab. There is an electronic buzz as it locks. Then he applies his thumb to the keypad and a second light buzz signals it’s unlocked.
Victor closes the door and Journey steps up and tries. He’s able to unlock the door too.
Victor waves me over. “Okay, Erin. Let’s see how you do.” He closes the door to the lab with a satisfying clang.
I step up and press my thumb to the screen. The system responds with a negative, electronic bleat. My friends laugh. I shrug.
Who cares, anyway?
Okay. Maybe I do care a little. But for the most part I’ve let it go. I flash them all nasty smiles but stay quiet.
“I have a question,” Miss Blankenship speaks up. “Does the system keep a record of who goes in and out of each door?”
“It does,” Victor says. “Which is one of the great things about utilizing a system like this over traditional keys. Once it’s dispersed throughout the campus, we will have a record of everyone who comes and goes, in every room.”
I glance over at Spam and watch as the space between her eyebrows narrows.
I know what she’s thinking. Biometric scanners are cool and everything, but we’re not exactly in favor of the adults always knowing where we are all the time. Like Lysa and the teen tracker her parents installed on her car. It sends a text to her parents if she goes outside of her boundaries. And they can always look back and see every place she’s been.
“But will it keep a record of denied attempts to enter a door?” Blankenship asks. “Or access with the key?”
Victor looks intrigued. “Hmm. Good question. I don’t know the answer to that. I can check into that further, if you like?”
“Would you, please?” she asks.
Her questions are kind of sketchy, but the truly suspicious behavior is how nice she’s being to Victor.
Victor turns to Clay. “We’ve tested all the doors, so I think you’re done for the day. Journey and I need to get on the road. You’re all dismissed,” Victor says.
Miss Blankenship whirls and heads for the door.
Spam races up to her before she can completely escape. “Oh, Miss Blankenship. I have something for you.” She pauses, a slight scowl on her face.
Spam hands her one of the Bella pins. It’s a volcano wearing a graduation cap. Blankface examines it closely.
“It’s a special school pride pin that I made for graduation.” Spam shrugs. “It’s for the booster club.”
Blankface examines it stoically. Then she shrugs and clips it to her sweater.
Bam!
33
When something stands out as different, it can be tracked.
—PRINCIPAL BLANKENSHIP
I wait while Victor and Journey close and lock up first the lab and then the classroom. The three of us walk to the parking lot together. I give Journey a tight hug before sending him off with Victor again. They’re driving to Salem to pick up some supplies that are out-of-date for a commercial lab, but perfect for either the camp or the classroom. Victor estimates it’s about $5,000 worth of stuff. So it’s worth the drive. But they won’t be back until late. And Lyman has plans with his mother tonight.
So that means it’s a girl’s night.
Lysa’s driving. We’re planning to grab dinner, then deliver some Bella orders, and after that we’re going to a movie.
I text Rachel to let her know and she texts back telling me to have a good time.
After dinner and ten successful Bella deliveries, we return to the car, but Lysa immediately starts looking around for something. She looks in the console, the backseat, in between the seats. She’s becoming frantic as she even checks the trunk.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“What did I do with the leather pouch that I brought Miss P’s shrine stuff in?”
I shake my head. “No clue. I remember seeing it, though.”
“I have to find it,” she says. “It’s my mom’s.”
“We must have left it at school. We’ll look for it tomorrow,” I say.
“You don’t understand,” Lysa gasps. “It’s Givenchy.”
“I promise a night in the storage room won’t turn it into Tar-jay,” Spam says.
I giggle. Whenever Lysa goes on about some designer, Spam brings up her favorite store, Target. Only she pronounces it as if it were a French word.
“It’s just that I borrowed it without asking, which is okay as long as I don’t leave it somewhere. I have to go back and get it,” Lysa says, sounding a little frantic.
“Now?” both Spam and I ask at the same time.
“Yes. Now,” Lysa says. “You guys know my mom. ‘I forgot’ is not an excuse.”
“But how—”
“With these,” Lysa interrupts, holding up her thumb.
“I don’t know.” It seems weird and maybe even a little wrong for us to go into the school buildings at night. “I’m afraid Victor will think we’re taking advantage. Don’t forget, we’re still on probation.”
“We’re not students now or even family members,” she says. “Effective today, we’re employees. Victor said so himself.”
Good point. And I do know how her mom loves to dole out situations to help Lysa remember the rules. She actually calls them “situations” instead of “punishments,” which is what they really are.
“Okay. But we’re just going to go in, get the pouch, and leave,” I say. “No messing around. I can’t do anything to disappoint Victor.”
“Of course,” Lysa says. “What else would we do?”
Spam nudges me. “This is where you say, while we’re there we should sneak into his lab and touch all of his stuff.” She cackles.
“You guys. I’m seriously over it with the lab. I don’t even care about it anymore.”
“Uh huh.” Spam wiggles her eyebrows.
Her teasing is getting on my nerves.
* * *
When we arrive at the school, the parking lot is completely empty. Any car would stand out, but Lysa’s bright red Mustang is practically a beacon.
/> The campus is dark and deserted too, but we know there’s a security guard who stops by every so often on rounds. It’s a little creepy to be here when it’s so quiet, so we hurry around to the back of A-building and down the cement steps.
Even though it’s going on eight o’clock and still somewhat light outside, the hallway is dark. Pitch-black. Typical basement.
The three of us simultaneously pull out our cell phones and turn on the flashlights, sending out three beams to slice through the darkness. From there, we find our way to the classroom door. My thumb unlocks it.
Spam shines the light up under her chin. “Can I just say how much I love this biometric stuff?” She moves into the classroom ahead of me, feeling along for the wall switch.
“Don’t,” I say. “The light will show through the windows.” I point to the high windows. The dim light that filters in isn’t strong, but with our phone lights it’s enough for us to maneuver around the furniture.
“I thought we agreed that it was technically okay for us to be here,” Lysa says.
“Technically, it probably is. I just don’t want to have to explain to the security guard that we’re here for your mom’s stupid document pouch,” I say.
“Givenchy isn’t stupid,” Lysa says.
I tiptoe toward the storage room. “It’s probably in here.” I stop to shift things out of my right hand and turn off the flashlight and Spam and Lysa run into me.
“Shhh. Ow, that was my toe,” Spam whispers.
“Quiet,” Lysa orders.
“Stop it, you guys. I’m trying to do this. And why are we whispering?” I unlock the storage room door and just as I’m about to walk through, Lysa tugs hard on my sleeve.
“Erin,” she hisses.
“What?” I keep moving forward into the storage room, but she pulls me back.
“Seriously, look,” she says.
Now I’m annoyed. “What?” I say a little louder.
“Shhh.” She shines her phone light across the classroom. First, on Miss P’s shrine. The top is hinged open and some of the contents are scattered across the counter. And then, more importantly, on the door to the crime lab, which is standing open a few inches.
“Is somebody here?” My stomach roils.
“The parking lot was deserted,” Lysa says.
“Call Journey,” Spam says. “Maybe they left it like this … or came back.”
“I walked out with them. They locked everything up. And he just texted me ten minutes ago saying they’re almost to Salem.”
Spam is putting things back into Miss P’s shrine. “The flash drive’s gone,” she announces.
“Maybe it’s on the floor,” Lysa says.
Spam prowls around, shining her phone light into the corners. “Nope. Gone.”
“Who would do something like this?” Lysa says.
“Clay told me that Coach Wilkins has been hanging around down here every day.”
“Why?” Lysa asks.
“Exactly,” I say.
“Did they mess up anything in here?” Spam walks into the lab.
I don’t even follow her, that’s how paranoid I am about getting caught in Victor’s lab. Instead, I stand at the door and hiss at her. “Come out of there.”
“Wait.” Spam glides by the AFIS computer and swipes her finger on the keyboard.
“Don’t touch anything,” I say.
The screen lights up. She jumps a little and then she peers at the screen. “Uh oh.”
Lysa slips into the lab, next to Spam. “What’s uh oh?”
“You guys. Get out of there.” I refuse to set even one foot into the lab. Victor and I have a deal and I can’t … I just can’t.
“Oh wow.” Spam’s moan tells me this is serious.
“Come out, now.”
“She’s coming.” Spam flies out of the lab with Lysa in tow. She grabs my arm as they run past. “Hide.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Blankface.” Spam moves quickly to the storage room. I close the lab door and follow them. We barely get the storage room door closed before I realize my Bella bracelet is lighting up red and vibrating.
34
Information is power.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
We hide in the storage room and dim our phones just as the tap, tap, tap of high heels enters the room. Blankface flips the switch, bathing the classroom in light. Some of the light seeps in through the vent along the floor. If I press my cheek to the cement I can just barely see the globe on the top of the display case. Spam put it back together and left it closed.
Blankface walks straight up to the globe and opens it. I select the camera app and angle my phone into the vent, then hit record video. Now all three of us can watch her movements on the screen.
Blankface spends a few minutes rifling through the stuff in the globe, then takes something from it and slides it into her jacket pocket. She carefully closes the globe and adjusts its appearance so it looks normal, as if it hasn’t been tampered with.
She proceeds straight to the door of Victor’s lab, pulls out a key, and lets herself in.
Even in the dark, the three of us exchange silent gasps.
We can’t monitor Blankface’s activities in the lab from the vent. She doesn’t stay in there long. It only seems like forever, as we’re lying crouched on the cold cement floor.
When she finally exits, her phone is in her hand. She carefully shuts the lab door and even polishes the metal with the hem of her jacket. Then she pauses to complete something on her phone before slipping it into her pocket and click, click, clicking across the classroom as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. She leaves, turning off the light on her way out.
I pick up my phone and stop the video recording. “Holy crap, what just happened?”
“Blankface owned Victor’s lab,” Spam says as she sits up.
“But why?” I ask.
“Maybe she was looking for us,” Lysa says. “My car is in the parking lot.”
“No. She was totally mindful and directed. Look at this.” I replay the video. “She walks in, goes straight for the globe. Then right into Victor’s lab. When she comes out she’s doing something on her phone.”
“Sending a photo?” Spam says.
“Of what, though?” I spot Lysa’s document pouch on the bottom shelf. “Hey, here’s your Chanel pouch-thingy. Crisis over.”
“It’s Givenchy,” she says. “But the crisis isn’t nearly over.”
Lysa turns her phone to show me. It’s a photo of the AFIS computer screen in the lab.
Someone recently ran a fingerprint and this was the result.
There’s a giant banner across the top—MISSING PERSON—and a name I’ve never heard before. “Todd Kenneth Jenkins. Who’s that?” There’s also a date that goes back years and two photos. One of a baby and one of a teenager.
Lysa shakes the phone in my face. “Look at the picture.”
I look—and then do a double take because this can’t be right.
It’s Lyman.
Spam grabs the phone and stretches the image to make it bigger. “It says it’s an age-progressed photo, but dang, it’s him. Unless … do you think he has a twin brother?”
Her lip trembles as she hands the phone to me so I can study it too. I read the smaller print. “It says he disappeared from his home when he was nineteen months old.” The information sinks in. “Lyman was kidnapped?”
Spam points at me. “His fingerprint? What did you do with it?”
“I gave it back to him … today.”
“Maybe he dropped it or left it lying around and Victor or Journey decided to run it to see what came up,” Lysa says.
I shake my head. “No. I watched him. He carefully tucked it away in his wallet.”
Spam sits back hard against the wall. “This is really scary.”
“We have no choice,” Lysa says. “We have to tell Victor.”
“We can’t.” Both Spam and I say it at the same ti
me.
“Victor and I are doing great right now. We’ve … we’ve…” I suddenly realize that I haven’t even told my best friends how Victor could be my real father, and this isn’t the time to launch into that. “Anyway, we’re on probation. He’ll never believe we just found his lab like this. He’ll think we broke in. Everything will be ruined. He trusts us. And … probation.”
“What about poor Lyman?” Lysa says.
“Exactly. We’ll be putting him right back into a sketchy situation with the police,” Spam says solemnly.
Lysa gives Spam a freaked-out look. “Are you insane? He’s been kidnapped. He’s already living a nightmare.” She looks frantically between the two of us. “He deserves to know.”
“Wait. We don’t have to be the ones who tell, because somebody else will do it,” I say. “The person who ran that fingerprint is probably telling him right now. We can just act shocked right along with everyone else.”
“Or not,” Spam says softly, with a certainty that I wasn’t expecting. “I’m pretty sure Lyman ran his own print.”
“What? He’s the last person I would suspect,” I say.
“I have no clue what was up with Blankface.” Spam exhales. “But I think Lyman figured out how to get into Victor’s lab.”
“Impossible. Victor tested each one of us on every door. Lyman’s fingerprint failed to open a single door. There’s no way he could have gotten in.”
Spam drags her fingers down her face, distorting her features as she goes. “Except he might have made a Play-Doh finger.”
There’s a long pause.
“What are you saying? Where would he get an idea like that? And how could that possibly work?”
Spam points at me. “You started it by bragging about using wax to steal someone’s fingerprints. But it’s possible I might have told him how to do it.”
“Wait. What?”
Spam issues a heavy sigh. “MythBusters did an episode a few years ago on biometric fingerprint locks, and they were able to open one by making a Play-Doh finger and putting a photocopy of the correct fingerprint on the end of it.”
I glance at Lysa. Her eyes are huge. She puts her fists to the sides of her head and mimes a brain-explosion.
To Right the Wrongs Page 18