“Hey!” everyone greeted, almost as one.
Rome had the air conditioning running full tilt. Sweat froze on Matisse’s back, and he shivered uncomfortably. He raised a hand in greeting, sprawled on the sofa, and accepted the soda Rome offered. His friend sat across from him and propped his elbows on his knees.
“What’d the old man say?”
Swallowing, Matisse shook his head. “No big deal. Paying for new programs. That’s it. You’ve got an A- in Calc.” He saluted Rome with his can. “You’re welcome.”
“In-fucking-spired.” Victor, another friend whose grades had improved with Matisse’s help, dropped his controller on his lap. “Thanks again.”
“No problem,” he answered. It had been too easy. He’d gotten through the school’s firewall with a modicum of trouble. In fact, he’d been shoring up the school’s security when his father had interrupted him. It was one thing for him to change grades but another for someone else. They may not be guided by the ethics he held himself to.
“I see those wheels turning,” Victor said and sipped from an ice-filled glass. “You know, you could have boosted my Bio grade. I do want to be a doctor.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t,” Matisse retorted.
Victor rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair. “Mr. Morals.”
Ignoring Victor, he turned back to the screen. Tomorrow would be the night all of them would be social—meeting girlfriends, being seen. But tonight was just them, doing what they wanted to do without worrying about family commitments and expectations.
“You going to the library tomorrow night?” Victor asked.
Matisse’s father had been responsible for much of the fiber optic rehabs needing to be done after Katrina. They’d reburied thousands of lines, miles along the coast and inland. Dad had seen a need and filled it. Like his social awkwardness, Matisse had also inherited a love of technology from his father. Dad had parlayed the telecommunication business of his father and grandfather into a fiber optic company. Now, not only did they lay lines, but they created new software and technology.
Despite being wooed by other companies out in Silicon Valley, his father had chosen to stay in Mississippi. He worked from his grandfather’s desk as he made deals around the world. When the public library in Bijoux Shore had been decimated in the hurricane, Dad had donated his company’s time and money to rebuild it.
Tomorrow was the library’s annual memorial fundraiser. Many of Matisse’s friends would be there, white-toothed smiles fixed in place while their families toasted their own benevolence.
“Are you bringing anyone, Matisse? Or has Nicole set you up with a cousin again?”
The guys laughed, and despite the event they referenced being years in the past, it still had the ability to make him squirm. As a freshman, upon learning he had no plans to attend a formal, Matisse’s mother had arranged for a distant cousin to accompany him to the event. Why his mother, who was usually savvy, thought a surprise cousin was a better idea than going stag remained a mystery.
“No. I’m dateless again. To Nicole’s dismay.”
“What about—” Victor began.
“I know who you’re going to suggest,” he said. “And no.”
“Been there, done that?”
Matisse narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”
“What?” Victor asked, causing Matisse to study him. Victor’s voice lifted at the end, and with his eyes wide open, head cocked to the side, he struck Matisse as genuinely confused.
“Sorry.”
Face immediately changing, Victor’s eyes crinkled. In a much more familiar tone, he went on, “I’m just ragging on you. You’re so fucking dense.”
Annoyed, he turned his back and focused on the game played on the screen. Hours passed that way, and the rest of the evening droned on uneventfully. He made it home before dawn, Bijoux Shores quiet in the early morning hours.
Slowing as he drove along the road, he took in the red sky hinting at a threatening storm later in the day. A little time on his bike was better than nothing. Parking behind the garage was a brief consideration, but ruining the bike in the rain motivated him more than irritating his parents.
As he turned off the bike, footsteps came into the garage behind him.
“Just getting in?”
By the time he’d swung his leg off the bike, his father was already halfway in his car.
“Yeah.”
“Help your mother and sister today. I need to go into the office. I’ll see you at the library tonight.”
That was unexpected. Nicole always wanted them to depart and arrive together. Observing his father closely, he remained silent.
“I don’t have time for this. I’ll see you tonight.” Dad’s face flushed, a sheen of sweat appearing over his lip. He glanced to the rearview mirror as he backed out of the garage and drove away as fast as Matisse had the night before.
If someone asked him to repeat, word-for-word, a conversation he had yesterday with his father, he could. He had a memory for things. In fact, he could recall conversations he’d had five years ago as clearly as the one he had last night.
And never, in all his years of fundraisers and benefits, had his father met them at an event. Never.
Mind on Dad, he went inside and straight to his room, immediately noticing things had been moved around. Not just moved. Moved and then replaced in almost exactly the right spot. It would have been above anyone else’s notice, but not his.
He was quick to slide into his desk chair, touch a key on the keyboard and buzz through the computer’s history. Someone had logged into the employee portal for his father’s company. Obviously the person in his room had been his father, but it didn’t answer the question why he was using Matisse’s computer. He had a perfectly expensive computer of his own to use.
Drumming his fingers on his desk, he considered what had motivated his dad. He stared at the screen, bit his lip, and made his decision.
Using a backdoor, he entered the company portal, following the cybertrail his father had left. He’d gone through the portal and into a file of code. Eyes scanning the code, Matisse began to recognize what it was his father had been playing around with.
It was the newest software his company had designed. His father, usually tight-lipped, had let slip how excited he was about the potential this development represented. Technology changed at the speed of light, and each advance was hoarded and secreted by its creator.
So why in the world would his father risk accessing this information from his computer? To the layperson, all this trouble taken to protect what was essentially only an idea was paranoid. But in the tech world, where a misstep meant being left in the dust and a company folding, it was merely smart business.
The trail made nothing clearer than when he hacked into the portal. Not a clue was left about his father’s intentions. Bleary-eyed, Matisse shut down the program, wiping any trace of his presence from both his computer and the servers at the company. He stumbled toward the bed and landed on the covers face first. Eyes closed, he kicked his boots off and slithered beneath the blankets. It was a trick of his to shut off parts of his mind, locking away those thoughts he couldn’t process. He did that now. He imagined a box, and he stuffed his confusion about his dad’s behavior in the box and closed the lid. It would keep until this afternoon and the library benefit.
Seven hours later, wearing a suit custom made for uncomfortable events such as these, Matisse sipped a coke and accepted the gratitude of his town on behalf of his father. Awkwardly, his mother had delivered the news of his father’s absence on their way to the library. Now, however, there was no sign of the anxious, irritated woman who’d shared the car with him. Elegant in her designer gown, and looking years younger than her age, his mother air-kissed and charmed everyone she came across.
Grace personified. As a child he’d heard one of the guests at a cocktail party describe his mother that way, and it had always fit. She seemed above it all, like th
e stress of daily life didn’t touch her. It never ceased to amaze him. His mother, who always told him exactly what she thought and how his actions impacted her, could float on a cloud, unperturbed, when the situation required it.
“Where’s Guy?”
Matisse glanced at the man sidling up to him. Rene Haviland was his father’s closest friend and business partner. Like Dad, Rene came from money, and also like Dad, he was off-the -charts smart. Many of the programs and advancements the company sold started with an idea from Rene made practical by his father. Tonight, Rene didn’t look well. His face was peaked, and the drink he held shook in his hand.
“You okay?” he asked, unable to look away from a drop of amber liquid that dripped down Rene’s chin.
The man nodded, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Of course. Did he say anything to you?”
Matisse shook his head. It was rare his father noticed his presence, let alone thought to fill his son in on his plans. “No, Rene. Haven’t talked to him since this morning.”
Another sip from the quickly emptying glass, and the man raised his eyebrows. “Of course,” he repeated, and Matisse wondered if his answer had been heard. “I’m going to give my regards to your mother. Have a good evening, Matisse.” Without another glance, the man left, striding purposefully toward Nicole, whose placid expression appeared to be challenged by Rene’s approach.
Only someone who knew her as well as he did would notice the tightening around her eyes or how she lifted her glass to her lips to shield whatever it was she wanted to say. Rene stepped closer to her, and she lifted an eyebrow, meeting Matisse’s gaze over the man’s shoulder. Walking toward them, he stopped next to Nicole. “Mom,” he lied smoothly. “Mrs. Winters was looking for you.”
“Oh dear.” Nicole’s voice was warm honey. “She’s probably forgotten her glasses and walked by me three times already. I’ll find her or else she’ll be sending me apology notes for a month. Excuse me.” Touching Matisse’s arm and squeezing gently, she edged past the two men and into the crowd of adoring socialites and philanthropists.
“Your mother is an enigma,” Rene mused.
Hardly. Nicole was simply good at matching her surroundings. She was like one of those animals who could camouflage themselves based on whatever color or pattern was near them. When called upon to be a gracious hostess, Nicole could do it. If she needed to be a stern matriarch, directing her husband and children, she did it just as well.
Nicole existed on the opposite end of the spectrum from Matisse and his father. No one was better at reading a room than her. It was what made her so endearing to everyone.
“Excuse me, will you?” Rene said, dropping his glass onto a nearby book and walking away.
Matisse picked up the glass, wiped away the condensation it’d left on the plastic book jacket and placed it onto the tray of a nearby waiter. He tracked Rene, who went in the direction his mother had gone. At the last minute, his head snapped toward the computer lab and he veered inside.
The evening passed as all events like this did, except for two glaring and awkward differences: his father never appeared and Rene disappeared without saying goodbye. One moment he was typing away, and then next he was gone.
Tradition dictated Matisse stand in front of the room, and listen to the accolades heaped upon his absent father and his business partner. While his mother laughed and smiled in all the right places, the absence of the guests of honor made the evening fall flat. The same speeches were made—stories about the hurricane and the librarians’ desperate attempts to save their books. Eventually, the original Bijoux Shores collection had to be abandoned in order for the librarians to save their own lives as the water surged higher.
Reliving the impact of the hurricane had Matisse reminiscing. While he and his family had left Mississippi well before the hurricane touched ground, it had still impacted his life. It was what sent him to boarding school for six months in Montreal while Davis Prep was rehabbed—six months of the coldest weather he’d ever lived through.
After the speeches and toasts, the crowd thinned. There was no reason to stay when the people who were always honored didn’t bother to show up to accept those honors. Besides, it was late by then, and since age and money went hand in hand, the patrons slipped away into waiting Town Cars and Cadillacs.
With his mother distracted, Matisse crept into the computer lab. Rene’s and his father’s behavior stayed at the front of his mind, and he sat at the computer where he’d seen Rene earlier. He shook the mouse to wake it up. As he’d done earlier with his father, he followed the trail the man left, and like it had with Dad, it had the same destination—the software. Matisse scanned the code, looking for a hint of whatever it was that distracted the men, but there was nothing nefarious as far as he could tell. He backtracked, found another thread and followed it to the U.S. Patent Office.
His stomach clenched nervously as Rene’s last stop appeared on the screen. He scanned the document, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Not knowing much about patents, especially as it related to computers, he took in the patent number and exited. This had something to do with Dad and Rene’s behavior tonight, but he couldn’t investigate it here at a public library.
“Matisse.” Nicole’s voice held a hint of tension. “It’s time to go.”
Shutting down the computer, he followed his mother out of the library and into the waiting car. As soon as they were seated and the car pulled away from the building, his mother began making phone calls.
“Call me,” she said into the phone, and hung up.
For most of the ride, she ignored Matisse and his sister. Fingers flying over the keypad, she sent off a flurry of texts before she laid the phone in her lap. “You both did well. You were polite and attentive. I’m proud of you.”
His younger sister, Genevieve, smiled, resembling his mother so much it took Matisse aback. “Thanks,” she whispered, and his mother reached over to squeeze her hand.
“Thanks,” he replied as well, and she smiled at him.
“You’re so much better at this,” Nicole went on. “Remember your first benefit? Hiding in the coat closet? I didn’t realize you were even missing until we got in the car.”
He hadn’t noticed they were missing either, happily playing away on his handheld game system.
“Where was Dad?” Genevieve asked, and the smile slipped from Nicole’s lips.
“At the office, I’m sure. He left early this morning. Time must have slipped away from him.”
Genevieve caught the same ice in his mother’s tone that he did, and frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.”
“Rene was weird,” Matisse said, wincing internally at his non sequitur.
“I thought so, too,” Genevieve agreed, and he sighed with gratitude. Hopefully his mother would reply to Genevieve and not to his bluntness, but she didn’t say a word as her phone glowed with a received text message. Her shoulders slumped as she typed in a response.
“He’ll meet us at home,” she said. “He apologizes for missing the benefit. Poor man. He’ll be exhausted.”
Apparently his father was getting a pass tonight as well. Matisse stared out the window, thinking about what had happened. Despite his mother’s relief, he remained on edge. Nothing about the night had been typical, and he couldn’t help but feel it was a sign of something to come.
14
Matisse
Dad was awake and waiting for them in the foyer when they arrived. Going right to Nicole, he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear. She nodded and glanced back at Matisse and Genevieve before returning the kiss.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced.
“Me, too.” Genevieve yawned. “I have homework that will take me all day tomorrow.”
As one, they headed upstairs. Two late nights left Matisse spent, but still his body fought to stay awake, keeping him jittery. It would take him twice as long to fall asleep.
<
br /> His mother stopped him as he was about to head into his room. “You didn’t say goodnight.”
“Sorry.” He’d been in his head, focused on himself. “Goodnight, Mom.”
The light scent of her perfume washed over him when she stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Instead of dysregulating him further, the scent soothed him. “Get some sleep. Put on your noise machine and the fan. It always helps.”
Inside his room, he left the lights off and went right to the window, lifting it. The cool air was scented with the freesia blooming in the gardens. Matisse turned on the ceiling fan and white noise machine and stretched out on his bed. From head to toe, he concentrated on relaxing each part of his body. At times, he would twitch and jerk, as if his muscles were fighting him.
He persevered though, knowing he needed the rest. When his mind tried to recall the stresses of the night, he called up the periodic table of elements, listing each one. When that didn’t work, he started listing the digits of pi. The next thing he knew, the sun had risen, and he was sweating uncomfortably through the suit he’d worn the night before.
His mother’s voice filtered in from outside, and he peered out the window. Dressed in her gardening clothes, she gestured to the hedges and blooms. The normality of the scene had the evening rushing back to Matisse. Whatever had happened last night didn’t seem to be bothering Nicole anymore.
After closing the window, Matisse hurried through showering and dressing. He’d only poured his coffee when his father came into the kitchen.
“Good sleep?” he asked.
The strong coffee burned his throat as he swallowed. “Yes. You?”
His father shook his head. “I need to speak with you. Come into the office?” Dad stared at the floor and glanced up at Matisse when he didn’t answer right away.
“What’s going on?”
“Not here.” Turning on his heel, his father strode to his office and waited for Matisse to pass him before shutting and locking the door.
Finding Truth (The Searchers Book 3) Page 8