“This is Eric Marchant at the CPD crime lab. Someone named—” papers shuffled in the background, “—Jason Taylor left me a message. I’m not sure how he got my office number, but it doesn’t matter. He sent something for analysis.”
“Mr. Marchant!” I stood and began to pace. “Thanks so much for calling.”
“Not a problem, though I must admit the request was a bit odd. I received a cotton swab coated with an unknown substance. It was nothing more than diesel fuel.”
Diesel fuel? Shoot, dead end. You could buy that anywhere.
Marchant’s voice sounded tinny, probably coming from a speakerphone. He had a clipped, precise way of speaking. I imagined a short, bookish man in a tweed jacket with a pocket protector.
“There was something about a cash register?” Marchant prompted.
Sudden thought.
This man was a ballistics expert. Last night, a contraption had fired at us. Someone could’ve been killed. Access to Marchant’s expertise was incredibly fortunate.
A plan formed in my head.
“Jason must’ve been confused, sir. I have a serious issue.” Adding a quaver to my voice. “Someone tried to kill my dog.”
“My goodness.” There was a soft click as Marchant lifted the receiver. “Have you filed an incident report?”
“I haven’t told anyone.” I opted for damsel in distress. “My neighborhood is very isolated, and the local cops hate coming out here. They don’t care at all.”
“Shameful.” Irritation tinged Marchant’s voice. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Some of our more remote sheriffs wouldn’t investigate a fire in their own station house. But why do you think someone wants to harm your pet?”
“My dog’s half wolf, and a few weeks ago these rednecks threatened to shoot him.” I invented details on the fly. “Last night, my friends and I found something buried in the dunes. A metal contraption, with two short barrels. We accidentally set it off, and I was nearly hit.”
“The device fired at you?” Incredulous. “A projectile weapon?”
“Yes, sir. I think it’s a gun, but I’m not sure.”
“Of all the irresponsible—” I could almost see Marchant straighten in his chair. “Could you locate a bullet fired by the weapon?”
“Oh yessir! I have the weapon and two slugs.”
“Excellent. Did you retrieve any shell casings?”
Why hadn’t I thought of that? “No sir, but I could possibly look again.”
“No need.” Pages flapped. “I’m tied up today, but if you bring those items to me tomorrow, I’d be willing to take a look.”
Jackpot. “Of course. Could you give me the crime lab’s street address?”
“Certainly. Email
[email protected] and I’ll send directions. That way I’ll have your contact info.”
“Absolutely.” I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d just commandeered a ballistics expert to help fight the Gamemaster. Not too shabby. “Thank you so much!”
“Happy to help. I’d like to find whoever set this weapon. It’s an incredibly stupid and dangerous thing to do.”
I thanked him again, hung up, and sent the email.
Marchant replied a few minutes later: Mind is slipping. Lab closed on Saturdays. Could we meet at Twin Ponds Rifle Range? It’s just north of Mount Pleasant on Highway 17. Close to where I live. 10:00 a.m.?
Hmmm. Trickier. We’d need a car. But I wasn’t about to blow this opportunity.
Can do, I replied. See you there.
Then I shot a text message to the Virals.
We’d caught a break.
Now to take advantage.
My grand strategy lasted less than ten minutes.
I was hustling for the door when Kit stopped me cold. “We’re having dinner with Whitney tonight. No exceptions.”
Ugh. At least he’d warned me this time. “When?”
“Six o’clock.” Kit’s hazel eyes grew plaintive. He scratched the curly brown hair above his ear. “She’s, uh, bringing a picnic and we’re eating on the beach.”
“The beach,” I repeated. “With the sand. And the wind. And the bugs.”
Kit adopted his long-suffering expression. “Come on Tor, be a sport. It’ll be fun.”
“Right. Fun!”
I headed back upstairs and sent another text. I’d be late to my own meeting.
The boys cracked a few jokes, but agreed to wait in the bunker. I’d get there as soon as I could.
At six sharp, Kit’s voice boomed up the stairwell. “Let’s go!”
Imploring various deities for strength, I trudged down and followed Kit out the door. Coop moved to join us, but I gently shoved him inside. Sadly, no dogs allowed.
A white canopy pavilion fluttered on the beach. Beneath it, fluffy cushions surrounded a sky blue tablecloth. Places were set for three.
The weather was smiling on Whitney—light breeze, sunset sky, temperature hovering at seventy. Some women had all the luck.
Our hostess was removing covered dishes from a cooler. She wore a snug tangerine sundress that accentuated her curves. Her hair was up, one of the few times I could recall it that way. She smiled at our approach.
“Best behavior.” Kit spoke from the side of his mouth.
“This looks like an Usher video,” I whispered back.
“Hello, hell-o!” Whitney waved a hand at the setup. “Do you like?”
“Wonderful!” Kit smiled ear to ear. Looked at me expectantly.
“How great.” I feigned enthusiasm. “What a cute idea.”
Whitney dropped a curtsy, seemingly destined to be a Real Housewife someday. I sat cross-legged on the cushion she indicated. The sun was low, and directly in my face. Naturally.
“Isn’t this just a hoot?” Whitney began dishing out sides from various containers. Corn pudding. Okra. Green beans. Caprese salad. Her usual Lowcountry fare. That, at least, was fine by me.
We got all the way to the boiled shrimp before she pissed me off.
“Tory, sweetheart. Are you sure the boys you selected are right for the ball?”
The food had put me in an indulgent mood. “Yes, Whitney. They’ll be fine.”
“It’s just—” dabbing her mouth with a blue gingham napkin, “—Jason’s a fine choice, of course. But the other three.” She spread her hands. “They aren’t even part of cotillion.”
I set down my fork. “They don’t have to be. I can invite whoever I want.”
“But don’t you think you’d be better off with escorts who are familiar with the event? Boys who know the protocol. Or you could just take Jason, and that way—”
“Enough.” I held Whitney’s eyes. “Ben, Hi, and Shelton are my best friends. If I’m having a party, they’re invited. Always. That’s my choice. Understand?”
“Of course.” Kit arm-wrapped the airhead, who seemed about to say more. “It’s completely your decision, kiddo.”
“Certainly.” Whitney did her best to sound cheery. “I’m sure all will work out for the best.”
Issue settled, we resumed our meal. The sun melted into the western horizon, throwing an artist’s palette of reds and oranges across the harbor. I was forced to admit the picnic wasn’t a horrible idea.
I was patting my own back for handling the matter so maturely when disaster struck.
“Tory.”
Kit and Whitney had put down their utensils. He was holding her hand.
“Mmm-hmm?” Mouth stuffed with shrimp.
“We’d like to talk to you about something.”
I nearly choked. We? Not good.
“Whitney and I have been discussing our future.” Kit gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Last summer, when we considered leaving Charleston, Whitney made the difficult decision to go with us. Thankfully, we were all able to stay.”
Deer in headlights.
Cornered suspect.
Mouse in the open, owls circling.
“That experience brought us all closer together.”
Kit seemed unable
to get to the point. I was very, very close to vomiting.
“We think it’s time our relationship progressed to the next level. So, with your permission, I’d like to ask Whitney to—”
“Oh God.”
“—move in with us,” he finished in a rush.
First reaction—he didn’t say get married! My chest unfroze a tick.
Second reaction—oh no. Oh please, no.
“Won’t it be so much fun?!” Whitney clapped her hands like a preschooler. “We can finally spend real time together. Become closer. I know your mother isn’t with us anymore, but I’d like to—”
Something snapped inside me.
“How dare you mention my mother?” Quiet. Cold. “What, do you think you can replace her? That it’s an open position, like a McDonald’s fry cook?”
Whitney’s eyes widened. “Sweetheart, no! I only meant—”
“Meant what?” Anger made my voice shrill. “That you’d jump right in and fix me? Be my new best friend? Take care of me when I’m sick, or scared?”
Whitney stared, speechless. Part of me knew I was being unfair, even cruel, but I’d never been more furious. I couldn’t stop the words.
“You’re not my mother, and you never will be.” I shot to my feet. “Next time try thinking before you speak.”
“Tory!” Kit barked. “Watch your tone! Whitney wasn’t implying she’d take anyone’s place. You know that.”
“Oh, spare me.” My eyes burned. “At least you finally had the balls to say something. I figured I’d just keep finding Whitney’s things in our house until one day, poof, she’d never leave!”
Kit flushed scarlet. Whitney burst into tears.
Escape. Now.
“I have to go.” I stormed back down the beach.
“Tory, wait!” Whitney struggled to rise and follow me.
“Let her go.” Kit looped a restraining arm around her waist. “It’ll be okay.”
I broke into a trot. Over the dunes, across the common, and up my front steps. My hands shook as I twisted the doorknob.
Coop trailed me up to my bedroom.
The door shut, then waterworks.
Head buried in my pillows, I let myself sob.
I’d never felt more alone.
CHAPTER 25
I’M NOT SURE how long I lay there before my phone buzzed.
At first I ignored it. Then, remembering the meeting I’d scheduled but failed to attend, I snagged the thing, expecting an irritated Viral on the line.
Wrong. Jason Taylor. My finger pressed answer before I could stop it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Jason. How are you?”
“Good.” Wiping snot streaks from my face. “You?”
“Great. Listen, my parents drove to Hilton Head for the weekend, so I’m having a party. You have to come.”
“Party?” Not what I’d expected. “When?”
“Tonight, princess.” Jason’s voice turned plaintive. “Don’t say no. You always say no. It’ll be fun, I promise. No drama.”
My reflex was to decline. I hated cotillion enough. A Bolton Prep party? No thanks.
Then I thought of Kit and Whitney. The conversations I’d endure later that night.
Fine. Anywhere but home.
“One condition,” I said.
“Name it.” Eager.
“My friends are invited too. Hi, Shelton. And Ben.”
Silence hummed across the line. Then, “Tory, be reasonable. The doofus twins can come, but Blue—”
“Those are my demands, sir. We’ve already made plans, so I won’t just ditch them. Plus, Ben’s boat is my only ride. It’s all or nothing.”
“Fine. Whatever. Just keep a lid on that guy, or I swear I’ll toss him in the harbor. See you around eight?”
“See you then.”
“It’s that one, there.” I pointed to a sturdy wooden walkway jutting into the Harbor. “Taylor is painted on the side.”
“How very nice for his majesty.”
“Ben, I swear to God, if you’re going—”
“Relax.” Ben eased Sewee toward the dock. He wore his usual black tee and jeans. “I’ll be a good little boy. I promised, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.” But I was not reassured.
As we tied off and walked to the Taylors’ backyard, I tried to still the butterflies. I wore a white tank and jeans, shooting for “sexy-casual.” Hoping it wasn’t “left farmhouse, got lost.”
What are we even doing here?
We should be at the bunker, trying to ID the statue. Kiawah had proven the Gamemaster wasn’t bluffing. And our time was almost gone. We should be using every second to crack his puzzle.
Except, I didn’t want to. Not after the horror show on the beach. Right then, I needed an escape. From Kit. From the terrifying prospect of Whitney installing herself in my home.
Frankly, this party was a godsend. The perfect distraction.
Jason lived in the ritzy Mount Pleasant neighborhood of Old Village. His house was three stories of molded stucco accented by gleaming white trim. The yard had a pool, hot tub, cabana, and a massive brick patio complete with a fireplace. Not too shabby.
A dozen classmates were scattered around the pool, drinking from red Solo cups. Others had clustered by the cabana, where Jason was flipping burgers and gripping a Bud Light.
Alcohol. Yikes.
I’m such a loser. It hadn’t occurred to me that, this being an unchaperoned affair, people would be boozing.
Don’t be a wuss. You’re a sophomore now, you can handle it.
“Those dudes are drinking,” Shelton whispered. “Beer.”
“No big deal,” Ben said. “I got drunk a few times with my cousins this summer.”
“What?” My eyes shot to Ben. That was news to me.
Ben shrugged. “It’s not like it was regular thing.”
Shelton tugged his earlobe. “Well, my parents would skin me if they knew I was at a keg party right now. Hi, your mom might have a heart attack. We can’t even drive yet!”
“Just be cool.” Hi was sporting an Iron Man hoodie and blue-and-yellow plaid shorts. “Remember: It’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday. Right?”
“What are you talking about?” Shelton nervously tugged at his khakis and white polo shirt. “Tory, you still think this is a good idea?”
“Chill out.” Sounding more confident than I felt. “Let’s say hello to Jason.”
“I’ll pass.” Ben strode toward an ice-filled trash can beside the hot tub.
I almost called him back, but Hi stopped me. “You really want those two face-to-face?”
Good point. Perhaps keeping Ben and Jason apart was the wisest course.
“Tory!” Jason was circling the pool to greet us. “Hey, Shelton. Hi.”
I waved. “Hi, Jase.”
“Hey.” Shelton eyed Jason’s beer can.
“Wassup, dog.” Hi held out a fist. Buffoon.
“‘Sup dog’ back at ya.” With a friendly smile, Jason bumped knuckles. “Glad you guys could make it. Ben didn’t come?”
“He’s over there.” I pointed to where Ben stood, pumping a keg, listening to some lacrosse guys I didn’t know. As I watched, he took a long pull from a Solo cup.
“Should I get him?”
“He’s doing fine on his own.” Jason circled an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s grab a drink first.”
“Okay. Sure.” Not a problem.
“Come along, you two.” Jason waved for Hi and Shelton to follow. “Ever try Southern Comfort before?”
“No.” Shelton reached for his earlobe.
“Maybe.” Hi faked a yawn. “Not sure.”
Liar. He’d never gotten drunk. None of us had.
Except Ben. Didn’t know that.
“Well, you’re in for a treat.” Jason steered us toward the cabana, calling to his friends. “Jeff! Steve! Four So-Co and limes. The Morris Island crew needs a drink.”
Things happened
fast after that.
Shot glasses were lined up on the bar, filled with brown liquor, and topped with lime wedges. Jason lifted one and smiled encouragingly.
Other partygoers watched. Skeptical? Amused? No idea.
I’d never taken a shot. Had no interest in doing so then.
C’mon. What’s the big deal?
The “big deal” was, I didn’t want to drink. Then, or ever. Not after what happened to Mom.
I was about to decline when Hi stepped to the counter. “Thanks, man. Bottoms up.” But I could see his anxiety.
Hi clinked glasses with Jason and downed it in one go. Then started coughing. “Wrong pipe,” he wheezed.
Jason slapped his back. “Has a nice kick, huh?”
Some girl I didn’t know shoved glasses at Shelton and me. I thanked her, playing it cool, but felt boxed in. Everyone was watching.
Shelton tensed, psyching himself up.
We lifted, clinked, and …
CHAPTER 26
IMAGES FLICKERED IN my brain.
Twisted metal. Flashing lights. Broken glass.
A police officer standing in the doorway, unable to meet my eyes.
Mom.
As casually as possible, I placed my glass back on the counter, just as Shelton finished choking down his shot.
“Sorry, Jason.” I hoped my voice didn’t falter. “I don’t drink. I hope that’s okay.”
Jason blinked. Then he sprang forward and swept the glass out of sight.
“Of course, no problem!” He laughed awkwardly. “More for the rest of us, right?”
I smiled, hoping my façade didn’t crack. I desperately wanted to fit in, but wasn’t going to bend on this point. I’d made a promise to myself. I intended to keep it.
Jason snagged my elbow and steered me away from the crowd. The rest of the partygoers had already forgotten me, getting back to their previous conversations. No one seemed to mind that I’d backed out.
“You play cards?” Jason asked. I could tell he wanted to change the subject.
“Hardly ever,” I admitted.
His cocky grin appeared. “Well, I’m unbeatable. Stick with me.”
“And I’m out!” I threw down three queens. “President again! Third term.”
Good-natured groans erupted around the table.