Chapter 11
I
manage to get home and put my pajamas back on just minutes before Lana walks in the door. For extra measure, I smash my hair in a little on the side, but in case she thinks I look a bit too wide-eyed for nine on a Sunday morning, I make sure I have a pot of
real
coffee brewing and my homework spread out on the kitchen table.
“You're up early,” she says when she walks into the kitchen, just like I expected her to.
“I was kind of slack about homework this weekend and couldn't sleep worrying about it, so I figured I might as well get up and do it. Want some coffee?”
“It smells good, but I need to sleep for about two days first.”
Excellentâsuspicion avoided.
When the phone rings, Lana says, “Who could be calling this early?”
I jump to answer it because I suspect it could only be Bethanie to curse me out for my traitorous ways. I'm relieved when I see the caller ID.
“Someone from Atlanta.”
“Don't answer it,” Lana saysâtoo late because I pick up on the third ring. The way she's looking at me you'd think I might contract the plague from whoever is on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“I'm sorry to call so early on Sunday, but I'd like to speak to Lana Evans please,” says the Southern-accented woman.
“Mrs. Larsen? Why do you want to speak to my mother?”
“This is Detective Sanders of the Atlanta Police Department,” the woman says, sounding so much like Bethanie's mother I think she might be lying, but I hand the phone to Lana anyway.
“Someone claiming to be from the Atlanta PD.”
Lana looks about ten shades of relieved. After I hand her the phone, the doorbell rings and I open the door to find Bethanie standing there. She must have been in a hurry to see me because she's dressed the same way she was when I left her houseâflannel sleep pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt and Mukluks. Very un-Bethanie.
“I figured you'd never want to talk to me again,” I say.
“I didn't, but I thought of a way for you to redeem yourself. You gonna let me in? It's cold out here.”
I can hear Lana on the phone, but I can't risk her call ending and finding Bethanie here. She'd start interrogating me right away: Why is that girl here on a Sunday morning? Why did you think her mother would be calling looking for me?
“No, let's go sit in your car. My mom's in a mood,” I say, grabbing a coat to put on over my pj's.
“What's with the pajamas and the bed head?” Bethanie asks. “You were wearing lip gloss and earrings an hour ago.”
“Long story, not at all interesting. Besides, I think you're the one with some explaining to do,” I say, pointing out her outfit in case she's delirious and doesn't realize she left the house in her pajamas. As fashion-challenged as I am, I'd never do that.
Once we're in her car, she says, “I need a favor. It's your chance to prove you're a real friend and not a snitch. I want you to cover for me this weekend, tell my parents I'm staying with you.”
“So you can hang out with Cole?”
She doesn't respond, which is really an answer. Just then, Tasha comes out of her house to get the paper. I'm hoping she'll go right back inside, but no, Tasha is just that nosy.
“Who is that?” Bethanie asks.
“A friend. She'll just say hi and go back inside,” I say, rolling down the window. “Hey, girl, what's up?”
“What's up with you? You're the one sitting out here in this nice car,” Tasha says, leaning in to get a look at the driver.
“This isâ”
“I'm her friend from school,” Bethanie says, interrupting me. “We have something kind of major going on. You mind?”
Bethanie rolls my window back up before Tasha can even back away. I give Tasha a look that I hope says
I'm sorry
, but she looks too through with me. I'll have to do some damage control later. I can see why Bethanie has no friends but me.
“Rude much?”
“The fewer people in my business, the better. So ... will you do it?”
“But won't you be with him anyway without me lying for you?”
“Not overnight.”
“What happened in the hour since I last saw you? I thought he was such a gentleman.”
“Cole called me right after you left. I told him how impossible my parents are being about him. About everything.”
“What else are they upset about?” I know something else is going on in the Larsen household. When her parents talked to me about helping them do an intervention, they almost seemed happy Cole was after their money, a response I still haven't figured out.
“They want to put me on lockdown even more than ever.”
“Because of Cole?”
“Cole ... everything.”
“Can't say I'd blame them. I mean, they
are
parents. It's kind of their job to keep you from getting in so deep with a guy you just met.”
“It's just like
Romeo and Juliet
, the way they want to keep us apart.”
A squad car goes running hot down Center Street, so I wait for it to pass before I tell Bethanie what I think, as nicely as possible, of course, because she needs to hear it clearly.
“This is nothing like
Romeo and Juliet
. In order for them to have a feud, their families had to know one another. You don't know Cole's parents; you don't even know his last name. And now you're having a sleepover with the guy?”
“You don't have a romantic bone in your body, Chanti. That's why you can't win Marco back.”
“I can't win Marco back because he respects his parents and they think I might get him killed. I don't blame them, either, since history proves they have a point,” I say, without adding that I'm actually relieved they're giving me an excuse not to advance past a first kiss with Marco. “This is not about romance.”
“Maybe not completely. Cole suggested I stay with him over the weekend when we talked this morning. He was so sweet. He said he just feels this need to protect me.”
“From whatâyour parents? Because I'm pretty sure it should be the other way around,” I say, forgetting I'm supposed to be trying to win back her trust.
“Maybe
protect
was the wrong word, but I know what he meant. You don't know everything about me, Chanti.”
That's an understatement. I'm beginning to think I don't know anything about Bethanie. “And Cole knows more than I do?”
“Look, I really like him no matter what the rest of you think, and I know he cares about me. He always seems so sad when we have to separate and I have to go home. I figure if we can have a couple of days together, uninterrupted by parental drama, then maybe he'll come around and start acting like my boyfriend and not my brother.”
I'm trying to approach my next question in a way that doesn't sound like some public service announcement, but there's really no way around it, so I just say it.
“Bethanie, do your parents hit you or something?”
“What?” she says, then breaks out laughing. Not the response I was expecting. “Is that what you think is going on? And you look so serious, too. You better not quit your day job if that's what your detective skills are telling you.”
“Well, you're always so cryptic, and now Cole is talking about protecting you from something you can tell him about but not me.”
“I told you he just used the wrong word. Believe me, my secrets are nowhere near as dark as you think.”
“You're going to find a way to do this with or without my help, aren't you?”
“Yes. But this way is easiest. My parents trust you.”
Great. Way to make me feel better about going along with this plan. But Bethanie seems to be going off the rails over this guy, and if I can't stop her and her parents can't, either, I figure it's smart to keep her trust and make sure I at least know what she's up to.
“Speaking of parents,” I say, remembering the cop who just called Lana, “is your mother from GeorgiaâAtlanta maybe?”
When I say this, you'd have thought I just asked Bethanie for her left kidney. She looks terrified and doesn't say anything, just stares straight ahead and grips the steering wheel like she expects to be sucked right out of the car and has to hold on for dear life.
Finally she says, “Why do you ask that?”
“You never talk about where you're from or anything about your family, so I was just wondering... .”
“Are you doing that whole girl-detective thing on me again?”
“No,” I say, hoping my lie isn't obvious. “But you want to be friends, want me to lie to your parents, and you can't even tell me something like where you're from?”
“I barely know anything about your mother, and you never talk about your father.”
“My father left the scene about the time I became a zygote; for all I know, he's not even walking the planet anymore. And you can come inside right now if you want to meet my mom,” I say, hoping she won't call my bluff. I don't need any questions from Lana about Bethanie.
“What made you think my mother is from Atlanta?”
“A friend of my mom from Atlanta just calledâand she sounds a lot like your mother.”
This seems to be a good answer because she relaxes, letting go of the steering wheel and looking at me again.
“Look, will you just do this for me or not?”
“I'll do it, but only if you give me Cole's address.”
“Why? I thought you said he was a gold digger, not a kidnapper.”
“I don't think he's a kidnapper, but I at least need to know where you'll be if I'm going to lie for you.”
“I don't know his address.”
“Where do y'all go if you've never been to his place?”
“I told youârestaurants, museums, movies. I'll find out and give it to you.”
“Will you be in school this week?”
“Of course. I have to sell the whole story to my parents, right? Chanti is showing me the error of my ways, no more skipping school, no more Cole, yada yada.”
After I get out of her car and she drives away, I turn to the house and see Lana watching me through the blinds. I'm on a roll with the lies today; let's see what I can come up with for Lana.
“There's that big BMW again,” she says.
“That was the friend I was telling you about. She came to talk to me about the boy.”
“So she's come around to what you've been telling her?”
“Something like that.”
“Why couldn't you invite her in instead of sitting in her car like you were making a drug deal?”
Only a mother who's a vice cop would ever think up that analogy. Which actually gives me my cover story, which is not really a story at all.
“You were on the phone talking police stuff. And you left your gun and badge right there on the table when you came in this morning. I didn't want to have to explain that to her.”
“Wow, I really must be tired to have done that. Good save.”
Most times the truth works a whole lot better than a lie. I just have to hope the one Bethanie and I are planning to tell this weekend doesn't backfire on me.
Chapter 12
O
ver breakfast the next morning, I ask Lana if her detective skills are so amazing that people in Atlanta are calling for advice.
“About that,” she says, “how much of a problem would it be for you to miss a couple days of school this week?”
“Missing school is never a problem,” I say, especially when you think your quasi-boyfriend may have dumped you and you have to steer clear of him in the halls and cafeteria so you can avoid having that confirmed.
“How about exams, papers?”
“Noâwhy?”
“I need to go to Atlanta for a long weekend. There's a big case they're working that has connections to Denver and my CO offered my help to the police department down there.”
“Cool. Friday's a teacher work day, anyway.”
“We'll take a late flight Wednesday and fly back Sunday.”
Then I remember the Cole case and how my very few leads will go completely cold by Sunday. “Waitâyou want me to go with you? I've got stuff to do here.”
“You just said it wasn't a problem, and I quote: âCool. Friday's a teacher work day, anyway.' ”
“I forgot about some commitments I have.”
Lana laughs at this. “What commitments could you have other than school? You can't stay here by yourself.”
“Why not? You're always saying I'm mature for my age.”
“You are, but that doesn't change the fact you're fifteen and I could be arrested for leaving you alone for four days.”
“I'll be sixteen soon and I stay overnight by myself all the time when you're on stakeout. What's the difference?”
“The difference is eight hours versus four days. The difference is I'll be fourteen hundred miles away, not ten. Plus it will be a good chance to see your grandparents.”
I quietly sulk, trying to think up a way out of this trip.
“Look, Chanti, Atlanta is the last place I want to be right now, believe me.”
I actually do believe her since she keeps avoiding all phone calls with a 404 area code lately. But clearly she's going there anyway, since her
take no crap
face has replaced her
let's negotiate
face. That doesn't keep me from trying.
“I just remembered I
do
have something going on at school. I definitely need to be there Thursday.”
“I'll write a note for your teachers.”
“So when you asked if school would be a problem, that was just a hypothetical.”
She raises her eyebrow at me, and I know I'm testing her limits now, but I'm not there yet.
“What if I promise not to go anywhere but school and back, and stay in the house all weekend?”
“No.”
“Why can't I just stay at Tasha's house? I've done that before when you had to travel.”
“Because this is different. I want you with me.”
“Is it about that perp who's been calling the house?”
“A perp's been calling? How ... you should have told me. What did he say?”
“I don't know, I haven't talked to him. The one you warned not to ever call here again. You said it was a telemarketer, but I know it's someone more serious than that.”
“That's not your business. And I don't need a reason why you're coming with me other than I'm your mother and I said so.”
Now she's wearing her
I brought you into this world and I can take you out
face, and I know better than to mess with her when she shows that one. I can't do anything but leave for school.
Â
I was wrong when I thought my agreement to Bethanie's plan was a détente in our mini-war. This is what I'm thinking while I try to stay awake in Western Civ, which explains the war reference. It's sixth period and Bethanie has managed to avoid me all day, just like I've been doing with Marco, though I'm pretty sure he hasn't been looking for me, either. This whole avoidance thing is feeling just like a rerun of last week, and that episode was lame enough without having to repeat it. I'm determined to set them both straight before last bell. We're all adults here, mostly, and I'd think we could discuss our problems rather than running the silent treatment. First stopâMarco.
I corner him outside the door of his seventh period class.
“Can we talk for a second?”
“I'm running late,” he says.
“We still have four minutes to bell. It just felt weird the way we left it last week, Marco. I'd rather know what's going on instead of wondering.”
He's looking over my head at something extremely interesting down the hall, but when I look behind me, there's just the usual sea of kids trying to get to class, steal a few bites from their locker food stash, or rehash the party they went to over the weekend. Clearly he has something to say that he
really
doesn't want to. I decide to make it easy for him.
“I'm a big girl. Whatever you need to say, say it.”
“It's just I don't get what's going on with you. I mean, I thought you liked me... .”
I start to say that he's right, I way more than like him, but he puts up his hand so I won't stop him.
“But you keep doing stuff that makes it so my parents will stop me from seeing you. I won't lie to them. Most kids might, but I won't. Even when I'm willing to break the rules a little, you don't seem interested. And a hallway romance is just not enough for me, not when I'm crazy about you.”
Okay, that last part is excellent news. I wish I could kiss him right here in the hall, but Smythe is on monitor duty.
“If you're crazy about me, that means you have to be crazy about who I am and what I do.”
“Chanti, do you not realize that just a couple of weeks ago, because you were playing mini-cop, I was wrestling away a gun from a guy who was about to kill us? If it had gone the other way, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”
“But here we are.”
“This is not a joke. I would think you'd stay as far away from trouble as you could seeing how we already stared Death down once. But now you're talking about Bethanie's guy being some kind of stalker and how you have to investigate him.”
“Wouldn't you want to save a friend from a potential stalker?”
“How can the guy be a stalker if they've been out on a date? I was there, remember? Oh, wait. Maybe you don't because you were as into that Cole guy as Bethanie was.”
“I explained that, Marco. It was strictly a business interest.”
“See, that's the problem. Bethanie and her date are
not
your business. Detective work is not your business, either, even if you've watched a few too many episodes of
CSI
and think it is.”
“But she's my friend.”
“She's my friend, too, and it seems to me the guy makes her happy. That's all I wantedâa chance to make you happy,” Marco says, moving in close to whisper his last words in my ear.
“I ... Oh, wow, believe me, you make me happy,” I say, his proximity making it very hard for me to sound coherent. But he fixes that by stepping back suddenly and looking me in the eyes and not in a dreamy sort of way.
“And even if I thought she was in some kind of real danger, I'd realize I don't have the skills to help and I'd call the police, or tell her parents, or go to Smythe over there for help. I'd do what I needed to do to keep us from being over.”
The bell rings, and I don't feel at all saved by it.
“I need to get to class,” he says, turning to leave.
“Wait, Marco. I have to go out of town in a couple of days and I don't want to be wondering about us.”
“A break would be good. You can figure out if you'd rather play detective or be with me.”
After that emotional smack-down, I don't even bother looking for Bethanie, and spend all of seventh period trying not to cry onto my calculus textbook.
Â
I wake up Tuesday and feign illness because I can't find the energy to go to school and pretend Marco didn't just break my heart. That would involve doing the opposite of avoidance. I'd have to run into him practically everywhere, smiling like yesterday was nothing but a thing. Lana buys into it and calls the school to tell them I'm sick because her main concern is me being well enough to travel. I took the opportunity to state my case about staying home while she's in Atlanta since I'm sick, but she wasn't hearing it.
Bored out of my mind, I've spent the day online trying to find what I can about the Larsens, and there is absolutely no information. There is pretty much nothing I can't find on the WebâI've even helped Lana on some searches for cases that I probably shouldn't have known a thing aboutâbut it's like the Larsens don't even exist, whether I search in Denver or Atlanta.
That's when it occurs to me that I should look at this trip a whole different way. For one thing, it'll take my mind off Marco. Okay, it won't, but at least it'll give me something else to think about. After my last conversation with Bethanie, I don't doubt that whatever her family is running from, it's in Atlanta. Maybe while I'm there, I can check out some sources you can't find online. Not that I have any, but Lana does. Somehow I'll have to get her help without her knowing it. I start by undoing all the snark I've given her the past couple of days.
“I made dinner,” I say as soon as she gets home.
“Really? Are you feeling better?”
“Lots. Sorry I've been such a pain. Maybe it was because I was sick.”
“You started being a pain before you got sick, but I forgive you.”
“Marco and I broke up,” I say, making sure I'm taking bowls out of the cabinet as I do so she can't see my face. She'll start reading my expression and ask what else is going on besides my breakup.
“Oh, Chanti, I'm sorry. Is that why you've been out of sorts?”
“Maybe. I'm still trying to get used to the idea.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No, it's okay. We hadn't really been together very long, so I'm good,” I say, because saying it might convince me it's true. “Let's talk about something else.”
I ladle chili into the bowls and take the corn bread out of the oven, a little proud of what I can do with some Jiffy mix, a pound of ground beef, and a can of chili starter. When I put the food on the table, along with a big salad, I can tell Lana is impressed. Operation Unsnark is moving right along.
“So what's up with this new case? You haven't told me much.”
I think she's been waiting since that phone call from the Atlanta PD to tell me, because she just lights up about it.
“It's huge. The US Marshals Service is involved. It could be so great for my career.”
That means it might help her get into Homicide Division. Lana loves Vice, but Homicide is like the Holy Grail for cops.
“US Marshalsâthat
is
big-time. I guess that makes sense if he's a fugitive. That means he was in the Witness Security Program, right?”
“That's my girl!”
My mother loves it when I know stuff like that. I'm totally getting on her good side now.
“So how much can you tell me?”
“You know this is for your ears onlyâ”
“When do I ever tell anything?” I'm almost insulted. Even Lana doesn't guard her cases or the fact that she's an undercover cop better than I do.
“A suspect who turned state's witness in a trial of a crime family's boss has disappeared. They think he might be here. And I'm going to find him.”