That might have been the very first time Natalie lied to her grandmother.
That might have been the very last time she, Mom, Dad, and Grandma were all together.
But now here the four of them were again—or at least versions of the four of them.
Natalie felt her throat tighten. She was glad nobody was asking her anything right now. She couldn’t have answered.
The Mayor sat down on the couch, but the Judge and Almost-Grandma kept standing, towering over him. Natalie hung back by the desk. Maybe the adults would forget she was there. Also, she thought she might have to lean on the desk to stay upright, if things got worse.
After a moment, the Mayor stood up again, drawing himself to his full height.
“I have every right to address security concerns in my own house,” he said. “It’s not fair for you to make it seem like it’s all your decision, like you’re the ultimate control.”
“You’re going to be governor,” the Judge said. “With my help.”
That sounded like a threat—not like she was promising help, but as if she was warning him she’d withdraw it unless the Mayor did what she wanted.
But what did the Judge want?
“You . . . you . . .” The Mayor swung his hands out wide, almost helplessly. “You make me look like a fool.”
“Look?” the Judge said acidly. “You know what they say: If the shoe fits . . .”
The Mayor balled up his hands into fists. He took a step toward the Judge. She kept staring him down.
“You—you’re up to something,” the Mayor accused. He turned his head frantically side to side, his gaze taking in Almost-Grandma, too. “Both of you—there’s something you’re hiding from me, something you’re lying about. . . .”
“You’re going to accuse us of lying?” Almost-Grandma asked, stepping up beside the Judge, her orange dress rustling. “You?”
“When has anything in our marriage been based on truth?” the Judge asked. “When has the actual truth ever meant anything to either one of us? Or—to anyone in our country?”
“This is different,” the Mayor insisted.
Natalie’s head spun. The Mayor’s words did something strange to her eyes, to her ears, to her brain. It no longer felt like she was watching three strangers who only resembled her parents and grandmother. It no longer felt like she could hold on to the idea of alternate worlds and alternate versions of her own family. The Mayor’s words zoomed her back to a specific moment with her own parents more than a year earlier.
A moment that she would never in a million years have wanted to relive.
Natalie couldn’t help herself. She gasped.
“You’re getting a divorce,” she cried, the words coming out ragged and fearful. “That’s what this is about. The two of you don’t trust each other anymore and you, you’ve lied to each other, and you don’t love each other anymore and . . .”
If this were a strict reenactment, one of the worst moments of Natalie’s life replayed in this alternate universe—as if the worlds really did mirror each other, just on a strange time delay—Almost-Grandma would be at her side in an instant, holding her up, murmuring, “But you’re okay. You’ve got me. I promise. Always.”
So Natalie wasn’t surprised to find strong arms engulfing her instantly, wasn’t surprised to hear a soothing, “Shh, shh,” whispered in her ear.
But it was the Judge, not Almost-Grandma, holding her. And the Judge’s shushing blended into a murmured, “Thank you. You gave us a way out of this . . .” before the Judge whipped her head back to accuse the Mayor, “See what you’ve done? You’ve convinced our daughter we’re getting divorced! You’ve traumatized her!”
Almost-Grandma had her hands on her hips as she glared at the Mayor.
“You know your political campaign can’t afford even rumors of discord between you and Susanna,” she told him. “Whatever problems you have in private, you can’t let anything show in public.”
“I know, I know,” the Mayor said, wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. “I just don’t—I can’t—”
“You can’t afford to mess up anything else,” the Judge said. “Mother will handle the security for tonight’s fund-raiser, and you’ll do nothing but shake hands and smile. And you and I will gaze adoringly at one another anytime there’s a camera around.”
“There’s always a camera around,” the Mayor murmured.
“Exactly,” the Judge said, gifting the Mayor with the full wattage of her most dazzling smile. Anyone who didn’t know the Judge—or Ms. Morales—probably would have believed it was real. But Natalie could see through that smile.
She despises him, Natalie thought. More than Mom ever hated Dad.
This was so much worse than her own parents. The way the Judge was smiling at the Mayor now made Natalie think of knives encrusted in jewels; murder weapons masquerading as art.
“Of course I’ll do what you want, dear,” the Mayor said, smiling back. “Anything for you.”
Those words, dripping with falseness, felt like a sword plunged into Natalie’s heart. This was unbearable. She’d lived through her parents’ squabbling and splitting up; she could see through trembling smiles and transparent lies.
And . . . Natalie wasn’t a fifth grader anymore. She wasn’t the innocent, unsuspecting kid who’d had no idea her parents were so miserable together. She’d gone through watching her parents get divorced and her grandmother die—and her mother go missing—and she’d survived all that. She wasn’t going to suffer through this a second time in silence.
“You two are both horrible people,” she said aloud. She didn’t quite turn to face Almost-Grandma as well; she couldn’t decide if she wanted to include her in her sweeping statement or not. She settled for narrowing her eyes at the Mayor, whose familiar tanned face looked particularly repulsive now. He was so pathetic: pathetic and weak and sniveling and . . . fake. All his teeth were capped. He’d had plastic surgery to erase his frown and smile lines.
“Are you spying on Mom, too?” she asked cuttingly. “The same way she’s—”
Before Natalie could get to the rest of her accusation, the Mayor jerked his head toward Natalie and asked in a suspicious voice, “Who’s your mother spying on, Natalie? What do you know about all of this?”
“She means Susanna’s spying on the cleaners, of course.” Almost-Grandma stepped between the Mayor and Natalie. “Susanna’s monitoring all your family’s employees, just as you would want her to, Roger. She’s protecting you and Natalie. Everything you and Susanna have built together, all the power you’ve consolidated—Susanna’s making sure you keep it.”
Natalie hadn’t meant that. She’d meant that the Judge was spying on the Mayor. But before she could protest, she felt the Judge’s hand encircling her arm.
“Get Natalie out of here, Mother,” the Judge demanded, practically shoving Natalie toward Almost-Grandma. “She doesn’t need to witness this. She needs to be able to act for all the world as though she knows her parents are deeply in love, a unified team. As we are.”
Now Natalie was the target of the Judge’s dazzling smile. Up close, the smile was blinding—so alike and so different from Mom’s, all at once. The mouth was the same shape; the smile lines were just as deep; the eyes gleamed just as brightly. The surface details were the same. But Mom’s smile would have felt like the warmth of the sun just then; the Judge’s smile was like a lightbulb in a freezer.
Mom’s smiles were real; the Judge’s was just another lie.
This woman doesn’t even remember how to tell the truth, Natalie thought.
Natalie was so disoriented by the Judge’s smile and her own thoughts—and the near-reenactment of one of the top three worst moments of her life—that she barely noticed Almost-Grandma tugging her toward the door.
Should I resist? Natalie wondered. Or is it better for me to go? Should I be trying to find out as much as I can from the adults, or trying to get away so I can find the Greystones?
It would probably be a good idea to track down Other-Natalie, too.
And we’re no closer to finding Mom, Mrs. Greystone, and Joe than we were an hour ago. . . .
Almost-Grandma had the door open and was shoving Natalie through before Natalie gathered her wits enough to ask, “Where are you taking me?”
“We need to have a talk,” Almost-Grandma said. “Downstairs.”
Downstairs—where the Greystones might be out in plain sight now. Where Almost-Grandma might easily see them.
Almost-Grandma’s fingers dug into Natalie’s arm, making dents in Natalie’s skin.
And if this is how she treats someone who could be her own granddaughter, Natalie wondered, what will she do to the Greystones?
Forty-Four
Finn
“Emma!” Finn cried, tugging on his sister’s arm. “Did you hear that? Chess is out there talking to Natalie! Natalie’s back!”
Emma raised her head from staring at Mom’s code, but her eyes remained unfocused, as if her brain was still deciphering. Finn didn’t wait for her answer. He slid aside the wood panel of the closet’s false back and darted out the door after Chess. Emma could catch up if she wanted.
Finn dropped the flashlight because there was enough light coming from the other end of the basement. The clatter of the flashlight hitting the floor made Chess and Natalie turn their heads toward Finn; Chess began shaking his head warningly.
It’s just Natalie, not bad guys, Finn wanted to holler at Chess, because sometimes Chess really did worry too much. But Finn poured all his energy into running toward Natalie, far across the basement. Finn couldn’t understand why Chess wasn’t running alongside him, dashing over to welcome her back. Finn darted right past Chess, who seemed frozen in place.
And then a second later, Finn was sprawled out on the floor. He glanced back, and Chess was drawing his foot back. Finn put it all together: Chess’s green running shoe, still touching Finn’s ankle; Finn’s unexpected tumble . . .
Chess tripped me, Finn thought. And then, because it was so startling, Chess tripped me?
Chess wouldn’t do that. Finn’s friends might, as a joke; Emma might—but not Chess.
Chess bent over Finn, reaching down to help Finn up.
“Are you all right?” Chess asked, loudly, as if he wanted Natalie to hear. Then, as he tugged Finn upright again, Chess added in a whisper, “That’s not her. Maybe we’ll have to pretend that we think it is. But don’t tell her any—”
Chess broke off, probably because Natalie—or Not-Natalie?—rushed toward them, calling, “Finn? Are you hurt?”
“He’s fine,” Chess said, brushing off Finn’s backside, as though Finn had fallen onto a pile of dirt instead of a stretch of navy blue carpet that had just been vacuumed. Oh—Chess was stalling, his eyes begging Finn to understand.
Then Natalie/Not-Natalie was right beside them, reaching awkwardly to join Chess in helping Finn up.
But Finn didn’t feel like hugging her anymore. Because one glance, close up, made him totally understand.
This girl had Natalie’s pretty hair, her heart-shaped face, her friendly smile. Her clothes. But her eyes were all wrong. They were too cautious, too guarded, too much like Natalie’s had been the day Finn first met her.
This wasn’t Natalie. It was Other-Natalie.
“Tell me everything I missed,” Other-Natalie said, still smiling. “Why’d you leave Mom’s—I mean, the Judge’s—office? What happened?”
“You go first,” Chess said. “Tell us everything you saw.”
Oh, Finn thought. Oh oh oh.
He crossed his arms over his chest and turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with Chess. (Though, with the height difference, it was more like shoulder to elbow.) He tried so hard to look strong. But his arms trembled, and then his bottom lip started trembling, too. This wasn’t right. The Greystones and Natalie were friends. And even though this wasn’t Natalie, she looked so much like her that it felt wrong to glare at her, to keep secrets from her.
Then Finn heard the basement door opening at the top of the stairs.
“Quick! Hide!” Chess whispered, shoving Finn down again, as he crouched low himself.
Other-Natalie froze in place.
Finn reached up for her hand.
“You, too!” he insisted. “Be safe!”
And Finn couldn’t have said if he was doing that because she looked so much like Natalie, or because he knew he needed to pretend she was Natalie—or just because she was a person, and he didn’t want to see anyone in danger.
But he noticed that Chess tugged on her other arm, trying just as hard as Finn to save her.
Other-Natalie barely hesitated before she dropped to the floor alongside the two boys.
“If it’s someone I can send away, I’ll do that,” she whispered. “If I can, I’ll keep you safe.”
How was Finn supposed to know if she was still pretending, or if that was for real?
Forty-Five
Emma
When Finn started shouting about Natalie, Emma had just translated a phrase that began, “But don’t go to the Morales-Mayhew house unless . . .”
“Just let me finish this sentence,” Emma muttered. But Finn had already bolted from the closet before she got the words out.
Chess and Natalie are out there, she told herself. He’ll be fine. And I can go see Natalie, too, in just a minute. . . .
She went back to substituting letters and scrawling them above her mother’s writing.
The one sentence turned into a full paragraph that Emma had to figure out. When she finally dropped her pen, she’d written: “But don’t go to the Morales-Mayhew house unless you absolutely have to. It is a place of subterfuge, intrigue, and constantly shifting alliances, and there is only one person there I trust completely. But again, I can’t tell you a name because it’s too much of a risk if this letter falls into the wrong hands.”
So frustrating. And Mom must have thought the kids would be a lot older before they figured out this code. Emma had only the vaguest idea what “subterfuge” and “intrigue” meant.
They’re bad things, right, Mom? Emma thought, as if her mother were right there, available for questions.
The secret hiding space behind the closet felt particularly silent after that. Emma listened hard, hoping to hear happy chatter—maybe even laughter—from outside, where Finn and Chess had just reunited with Natalie.
Nothing.
Oh, well, Emma thought. I’ll just go out with the others. Maybe Chess and Natalie will know what “subterfuge” and “intrigue” mean.
She stood and tucked her mother’s letter and the pen into her blue jeans pocket. She’d just put her hand on the paneling to slide it aside when she heard footsteps overhead. And then . . . voices.
“What do you need to tell me?”
It was Natalie. What was she doing at the top of the stairs? And why did it sound like the footsteps overhead were going down instead of up? Hadn’t Natalie already been in the basement? Wasn’t she with Finn and Chess?
Emma heard a long, drawn-out “Shhh . . .” and then a whispered “Wait.”
The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner toward the closet where Emma was hiding. Then they stopped. Someone cleared a throat.
“You have to go home. It isn’t safe for you here. You don’t know anything, and that puts you in constant danger.”
Now Emma recognized the voice. It was the same one that had said, “Shh,” and “Wait.” And it belonged to the female cleaner, the same woman who’d kept Finn safe during a dangerous moment at Mom’s trial. Emma’s heart jumped. So Natalie had found Disguise Lady, and it sounded like she wanted to help.
But . . . by sending Natalie home?
“Then tell me what I need to know to be safe,” Natalie said. Emma wanted to cheer her on—that was the perfect answer.
“No,” Disguise Lady said. “There isn’t enough time to tell you everything. And . . . I don’t want your
blood on my hands.”
Blood? Emma thought.
Surely the woman was exaggerating. Surely she was only trying to scare Natalie into leaving.
Emma listened even more intently. It sounded like the closet door was opening. Instinctively, Emma backed away from the wood panel separating her hiding space from the main part of the closet. She shut off her flashlight.
A split second later, the panel slid back, and light flowed in. Emma tried to squeeze herself back, out of sight, but it was too late—the woman was already peering at Emma in surprise. Emma was glad she’d already recognized Disguise Lady’s voice, because this woman looked different once again: Now she wore a dramatic orange dress, heavy makeup, and tiers of diamond necklaces. The weird red wig was gone, too; now her hair was sleek and gray, elegantly arranged.
And . . . the woman looked as surprised to see Emma as Emma was to see her.
Does she recognize me from Mom’s trial? Emma wondered. Does she know who I am?
Without knowing the answer to that question, Emma was paralyzed, unable to speak.
“Friend of yours?” Disguise Lady asked, glancing back over her shoulder at Natalie.
“What will you do if I say yes? Or no?” Natalie asked.
Would it help for Emma to reply instead? But what could Emma say?
Disguise Lady snorted.
“There’s my answer,” she muttered. “And here’s yours—I’m sending both of you back where you belong.”
The Deceivers Page 17