Spies and Prejudice (18 page)

“We’re not at liberty to disclose those files.”

Okay, so he’s one of those guys who thinks I’ll believe whatever he says because he wears a uniform. Tell it to someone who respects authority. “There’s this thing called the Freedom of Information Act. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. The case is closed so we won’t be compromising any investigation. And it’s been more than five years. I don’t see the problem.”

His lip twitches. “How old are you?”

“I’m a citizen. I’m entitled to request the reports.”

He shakes his head. “You can request ’em. The files are in storage though. It will take a few weeks to get them back. I’ll have Barb bring you the paperwork.” He looks at me again. “You’re the Fields girl, right?”

“I am.”

“You might not like what you find.”

“You know what’s in the files?” Did he work on my mom’s case? He does look dumb enough to conclude her death was a suicide on the vague words of an at-home beautician. “Then you should know my mother was murdered.”

He looks resigned, and I can almost believe that he understands exactly what I’m getting at. “Never proven.”

“You think she was killed too?”

He doesn’t deny it. “Investigation’s closed.”

I keep pressing. “Why was it ruled a suicide?”

“Look. There was a witness. And there was nothing wrong with the car. In the end, the death threat was just a coincidence.”

There are no coincidences
. “What if I could prove the witness was lying?”

Hickle stands up, letting his arms fall to his side. Exposing the shiny silver badge. “If I was you I’d wait until you see the files before you get all up in arms about reopening the investigation.”

“Why?”

He looks down at his feet and shakes his head. The seconds drag out before he finally raises his eyes again. “ ’Cause I’m pretty sure you don’t want to send your daddy to jail.”

I
stand up to face Hickle, sending the plastic chair skittering across the gray linoleum. The sound barely registers as my head fills with white noise. “What are you talking about?”

Hickle waves me off. “I’m trying to tell you that you won’t like what you find when you go digging through those files. I’ve already said too much.”

Before I can say anything else, Hickle turns and walks out of the room.

Jason stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “We should go.”

“He’s lying. He’s trying to bully me into backing down. He doesn’t want me exposing his shoddy investigation.”

Jason nods, but he’s not a good enough actor to cover up the fact that he’s not sure I’m right.

“You weren’t there. Dad was devastated when she died.” My knees tremble, and I have to grab the table to keep myself upright.

Jason puts his arms around me. “The police always think it’s the
husband, right? It’s Death Investigation 101. They always look at the people closest first.”

Whether he got this from some cheesy crime drama or not, I want to believe him. I need to. “Maybe.”

“And they closed the file. That means they ruled him out as a suspect.”

Except I know the suicide theory is wrong. And Dad was furious when he found out I knew about the death threat. Inside, everything is twisting.

I get that a murder investigation could be dangerous. I’m sure Dad doesn’t want to think about Mom now that he has Shauna making goo-goo eyes at him. But what if the reason he wants me to back off is because he’s hiding something?

I want to punch myself for even thinking it. I might not trust that Mom didn’t leave us on purpose, but I’ve never doubted Dad’s love for her. I saw how much he missed her. Still, there’s no question that Dad has left out some very important details.

Jason rubs his hand on my back. “The guy Heather described was not your father.”

He’s right. The man that Heather described was not Dad. He wasn’t Mary Chris’s father either. He was someone else. “You know you’re kind of brilliant for a bodyguard.”

“Yeah, most people think we’re all brawn.”

“We need to get into Moss Enterprises. Find out who else was working on the Juiced launch.”

Jason stands up straight. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Drew will help us.”

“Drew? What happened to telling him off?”

“He’s helping me because he wants the formula, right? He’ll keep helping me as long as he thinks it will get him closer to what he wants. And in the process he’ll get me closer to what I want.”

“What about Mary Chris?”

“I’ll talk to her. This could clear both our fathers.”

Jason shakes his head. “You’re kind of smart for a girl who’s about to do something really stupid.”

I punch him lightly in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

Oops. Not so lightly. “Sorry. Are you in?”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“The free makeup wasn’t enough for you?”

He shrugs. “Throw in the jacket and you’ve got a deal.”

“Done.”

By the time we get to Mary Chris’s house I have a plan all worked out. Thankfully, Mare’s mom doesn’t know any better than to let us in.

Mare sits on the couch in her family room, guitar controller in hand as she expertly works her way through a Green Day song. She grins at Jason, but her smile falls when she sees me behind him. I wave sheepishly.

She misses the next few bars of the song, and the life bar on the game starts flashing yellow and then red before timing out. She turns to Jason. “I don’t want to talk to her.”

“Just let me explain,” I start.

Jason holds up his hand. “Here’s the deal. You two are my best
friends and I can’t handle much more of this fighting. It’s damaging to my psyche. Mary Chris, I know you’re upset. I also know that Strawberry is really, really sorry. The sooner we put this behind us, the sooner I can get back on track to graduating high school without permanent psychological harm.”

Mare sets down the guitar controller and sighs. “I’m listening.”

I tell her everything. I start with the letterhead I saw her father take from the woman in the Sconehenge parking lot, take her through the death threat I found in my dad’s storage unit, and explain about the participant study my mom was doing for Moss Enterprises on Juiced. By the time I tell her about Drew and the payoff to Heather Marrone, her shoulders slump forward in what I hope is surrender.

But when she looks at me her eyes are hard. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I would’ve helped you. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t know how your father was involved.” I stare at the carpet. “But it turns out it’s my father who might be.”

“What are you talking about?”

I tell Mare about our visit to the police station. “We need to find the man who paid off Heather.”

“We?” Mare shakes her head. “I can’t believe you. You’re supposed to be my friend. But you take advantage of my friendship to spy on my family behind my back. You used the scanner I made to do it. Then you come here to try to make up with me so that I’ll help you with some crazy scheme to catch a guy who probably doesn’t even exist.”

“He exists.” It’s the only part of her statement I can contradict.

“According to the woman who claims to have been paid to talk to you in the first place.”

Mare’s right, of course. I can’t be sure that Heather is telling the truth about the man who paid her off. Nothing is true just because I want it to be. I gave up on wishes years ago. But now I don’t have to sit around and wish. I can find out the truth. “I need to know.” I’m not sure how to describe the hole inside me, so I don’t. I shouldn’t have to explain. Mary Chris knows exactly how different I am from the girl I used to be.

Mary Chris closes her eyes and opens them again. This time the hurt I see in her face isn’t her own. Somehow Mare’s pity stings a thousand times more than her anger. “Maybe you should let it go. Nothing will change what happened. Don’t let your obsession with something that happened eight years ago drive a wedge between the people you have left.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. I rub my cheek even though Mare is still seated on the couch several feet away. “Please, Mare. I need you to understand. This is important to me.”

“I know how important it is to you, Berry. Important enough that you were willing to walk out of my life, if it meant you got to keep whatever you stole from my dad’s office.”

I have no answer. She’s right.

“I can’t help you. No one can. It won’t bring her back. There’s no fix for this.”

Am I so broken that even my best friend is done trying to fix me? How many bridges can I burn before I end up all alone on my little island?

I run from the room, past Mare’s mom, and out to my car. When Jason doesn’t immediately follow, I drive away.

Tanner’s words from last night are there again, seeping into my skin and taking up permanent residence.

Damaged. Damaged. Damaged
.

I
drive in endless circles, past Sconehenge, past the park, past school, past Sconehenge again. I stop when I see Tanner and Ryan standing outside a beige sedan in the parking lot. They’re arguing about something, and I want to get closer, but I don’t want to be seen. It only seems fair, to spy on the spies.

After about ten minutes they finally get in the car. I know a thing or two about tailing a car. There’s an art to it. Staying two to three cars back isn’t always possible, and if you get too far behind you can get left at a light, but Tanner gets on the freeway and gives me plenty of cover as he heads north.

I can’t let the car out of my sight, but even I have trouble concentrating on it. He may be a horrible spy, but the car is perfect. Nondescript and unremarkable. Not too new, and not too old, just another car on the road. It doesn’t help that I’m still trying to process everything that’s happened. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Tanner and I were playing miniature golf in our formal wear, pretending to be normal. What a crock.

Now at least I know that there’s nothing left for me but uncovering the truth.

Tanner and Ryan veer off the freeway near a business park in Irvine. They pull into the parking lot of a five-story office building with no sign out front. There are ten or twelve cars in the parking lot even though it’s a Saturday.

I park on the main road, watching as Ryan and Tanner unload suitcases from the trunk of the car and wheel them into the first-floor entrance. A uniformed guard holds the door open for them and then closes the door firmly behind them.

I get out of my car and walk around the building, a blue glass structure with sleek lines and an imposing steel frame. It’s beautiful and sharp at the same time, standing apart from the smaller corporate buildings that surround it.

There’s a lobby with a large front desk manned by two well-muscled men in black pants and matching yellow polo shirts. They have matching haircuts, cropped military close. Any doubt that these guys are meant to keep people like me out is resolved by the large guns hanging from their belts.

So walking in the front door is probably not an option.

I circle the building once, seeing nothing but my reflection off the blue glass. On the surface I still look reasonably put together, even with the thick layer of makeup, but if I look a little closer I can almost see the wheels coming off. It’s a relief when I get to a stucco wall with no windows in the back.

I should go home. It’s not like I really want to talk to Tanner. The sooner I forget last night the better. The sooner I forget him the better.

I’m nearly halfway across the parking lot when I see him.

Tanner stands by my car, leaning against the driver door. He waits for me to get across the street before he speaks. “Who’s the stalker now?”

“Ha.” One-syllable sarcasm is all I can muster at the moment. My heart is pounding in my ears. Tanner’s hair sticks out in several directions at once, like he’s been running his fingers through it all morning. I stuff my hands in my pockets so I’m not tempted to reach up and smooth it out. Or bury my hands in it and pull him closer.

“You should avoid changing lanes when you’re following someone. It calls attention to your car.”

“Double Ha.” Three syllables. Better. I step closer before I can stop myself. It’s like there’s an invisible string that pulls me to him. I step to the side and lean my back against the car so I don’t have to face him. “You work here?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“So that’s a yes.”

Tanner laughs. I still love the sound of his laugh. I focus on what matters. He thinks I’m halfway decent and damaged.

“Why are you here?” Tanner asks.

I’m afraid of the answer. Technically, I’m here to find out if Tanner knows who might threaten my mom over an energy drink. I am not here so I can see him one last time. I am in no way here to hear him laugh. “The million-dollar question.”

“Can I phone a friend?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.

“That would require having one.”

He looks sideways at me. He looks hopeful. “I’d like to think I do.”

“That’s only because you’ve apparently got a thing for crazy girls. You’ll come to your senses eventually.”

“And you know this how?”

“Two years of trailing guys with poor judgment.”

“Not all guys are like that.”

“I know.” I do. Near as I can tell, my dad was a good husband to my mom. He loved and cared about her. It only made things worse when she left us. I try to change the subject. “Mary Chris hates me now.”

“I’m pretty sure she hates me too. She won’t even talk to Ryan.”

“How’s Ryan?”

“He’ll be fine. It’s a job hazard.”

So all that stuff about falling in love with me was just a hazard of the job? “You guys just disappear and leave the wreckage behind, while you move on to the next job?”

“I don’t know how it works. I’m just trying to figure it out as I go.”

“But the plan is to move on, right?”

He turns sideways, so his chest is nearly touching my shoulder. He’s too close, but I don’t move away. I’m frozen. Like those people who stall their car on the train tracks but make no move to get out of the car while the train bears down on them. I understand them completely. It’s not that they want to get hit by the train. The hesitation comes from trying to get your brain to engage when every nerve in your body is flooded with adrenaline at once. It’s pure panic.