We reached the police car, and the smaller officer—I saw now that his name tag said Gutierrez—held out his hand. “Let me take a look at your IDs.”
We handed them over. Olivia and I had driver’s licenses, Selena had a learner’s permit, and Harper had only her school ID.
The cop named Gutierrez glanced at them. “Stay here.”
He headed for the police car, slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door while we stood awkwardly next to the bigger cop. I couldn’t quite make out his badge, but he seemed bored, which was a good sign.
A few minutes later Gutierrez reappeared. He handed us back our IDs, then looked at his watch. “I’ll give your friend ten minutes. After that, we have to take you in and call your parents. I’m trying to give you a break, but you’re minors. We can’t just leave you standing out here by the road.”
I glanced at Selena, feeling responsible for the terror in her eyes. The rest of us would get off easy if our parents found out we’d been at a random beach party in Malibu. Selena would be grounded for life.
Time seemed to stretch long and dark; the lights from the police car cast a kaleidoscope of blue and red across the pavement. It seemed like ten minutes had passed ten times over by the time I heard the sound of a car approaching on PCH. We all turned toward it, relief flooding my body as it slowed to a stop at the side of the road.
Rachel got out of the driver’s seat. There was no sign of Waldo.
“Hey!” She flashed a smile that would have been more at home at a fund-raiser, like nothing at all was wrong. Like we weren’t standing by the side of the road, minutes from being taken to the police station because she’d insisted on taking my car. “Sorry about that!”
Gutierrez held out his hand. “License and registration.”
Rachel dug around in her bag. “I can help you with the license part, but it’s my friend’s car.”
“I’ll get the registration,” I said, heading for the Saab.
I held my breath as Gutierrez looked over everything. “You girls go on home now,” he said. “It’s not as safe as you might think to be out on an empty beach at all hours.”
Rachel smiled. “Yes, sir.”
I snatched the keys from her hand and headed for the car. No one said anything as they piled in, the police car still parked in front of us. I had just started the car when Rachel opened the back door.
“Hold on,” she said. “I forgot my sweater on the beach.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Selena muttered.
The door slammed shut, and we watched as Rachel headed for the stairs to the beach, waving breezily at Gutierrez, who had once again stepped out of the police car.
“Is she serious?” Harper said.
“She’s Rachel,” Olivia said. “You know how she is.”
“I’m tired of making excuses for her,” Harper said. “Let’s just be honest—sometimes she’s a fucking bitch.”
The atmosphere was thick with shocked silence in the moment before we all started laughing.
Thirty-Eight
I was waiting for Logan in the school parking lot the following week when I finally googled the name I’d used in Arizona. I’d been putting it off, afraid of what I would find. Afraid of what Rachel might have found when she’d done her snooping. But I was suddenly feeing brave. Or resigned, at least. Whatever Rachel might know, it was better to find out so I could deal with it.
I sat on the curb in the parking lot and pulled up the browser on my phone. I typed in the name Grace Rollins, trying to remember if I’d done anything of note at Chandler High School. Anything that might put me in the local paper or on the school website.
I scrolled through three pages of results before I modified my search to Grace Rollins Chandler High School.
And there it was. One hit on the district website’s online newspaper. I clicked through and started reading.
Several Chandler High School students spent Saturday afternoon packing food boxes for needy area families. The food was gathered by Linda Tucci, Chandler High School’s food bank coordinator, and donated by Sav-Mor and Peterson’s Food Mart. “It feels good to help people who need it,” said Grace Rollins, Chandler High School student and food bank volunteer.
I scrolled down, looking for a picture. There wasn’t one, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Letting someone quote me was sloppy, even if it was unintentional, but without a picture, there was no way to prove I was the same Grace Rollins quoted in the article.
Still, Rachel hadn’t said anything, which meant she either hadn’t found it when she’d done her own snooping or she knew she didn’t have enough to force a confrontation. I just needed to play it cool. Not let my paranoia throw me further off my game.
“Hey, beautiful. Come here often?”
I followed the sound of the voice and realized Logan had pulled up in front of me, the BMW sporting its glossy new paint job.
I laughed. “Not really. Today’s just your lucky day.”
I slid into the passenger seat and shut the door. My heart stuttered a little when he leaned over to kiss me. His lips lingered on mine as his hand slid gently down my neck.
The spell was broken when someone honked behind us. We smiled, our lips still touching.
“You’re quite the distraction, Grace Fontaine,” Logan murmured.
I was momentarily disoriented by the sound of my last name. Fontaine, not Rollins. Grace Fontaine.
We talked about school as we headed to Logan’s house to set up for the PHCT fund-raiser that weekend. My mom hadn’t been kidding; it was a big deal. There would be a silent auction, a live band, catered dinner service, and an open bar.
Leslie and Warren were in meetings, finishing up a few last-minute details, and I had offered to help Logan prepare the house for the onslaught of wealthy locals, all of whom were spending a pretty penny for the opportunity to bid on vacations to Fiji, rare bottles of wine, and private plane charters.
But it wasn’t the party that made me nervous. It was what I had to do.
The Fairchild con was a big one. It was expected that it might take a little longer to get everything we needed to make our move. But I had feelings for Logan. Real ones. I was past the point of deluding myself that I could escape with my heart intact. I didn’t know when it had happened: maybe on the Ferris wheel, at the top of the world. Maybe in the parking lot when he’d let Parker go. Maybe even that first night on the beach, when it had seemed like we were the only two people in the world.
But I had fallen for him. Hard. It was too late to keep my distance. I could only hope to get out with enough of my soul intact to scrape myself back together again when it was over. And that meant getting the job done fast.
We pulled up to the gates in front of Logan’s house, and he entered the pass code before continuing up the drive. I tried to slow my breathing, focus on what needed to be done.
Get the pass code to the alarm.
Find the gold.
Logan took my hand as we headed up the walkway to the front door. His touch was like a brand, marking me for what I was.
A traitor. A liar.
Slipping one hand in my pocket, I reached for my cell phone, waiting for Logan to deactivate the alarm. I’d given up trying to see the code over his shoulder. He was too tall. I might never get a clear view of the keypad.
Instead, I’d decided to record it. The keypad in the Fairchild house was exactly like the one Allied had installed in our rental on Camino Jardin. If I couldn’t see the pass code, I might be able to re-create it by matching the beeps each button made when they were pressed.
Logan shut the front door and reached for the keypad, his shoulders blocking it from my view like always. I opened my phone and pressed the button for Record, hoping I’d gotten it right, that all the times I’d practiced working my phone blind would pay off.
A second later Logan turned toward me with a smile. “You sure you don’t mind helping today?”
I mustered a smile as I pres
sed Stop on the phone in my pocket. “Not at all.”
The caterer was in the kitchen with a couple of people, scoping out the fridge and planning countertop prep space in advance of Saturday’s party. Logan and I went to work, setting up tables and chairs on the massive lawn at the back of the house and hanging the garlands, glossy lemon leaves woven with white peonies, for decoration. We would wait to put the tablecloths on until the day of the event, but I could already see that the total effect would be simple and elegant.
Logan was in the carriage house, pulling out some ironstone buckets his mother wanted to use for flower arrangements, when I finally got a few minutes to myself in the house. I’d offered to help him, but he’d given me a giant stack of linen napkins to fold instead, and I’d planted myself at the coffee table in the living room and waited for him to leave.
As soon as he was out of sight, I hurried upstairs. I needed to find the gold, and I hadn’t had a single opportunity to be alone in the house since Logan’s party a few weeks before.
I checked my phone so I could mark the time and started with the rooms I’d missed on the second floor. My face burned with shame, my heart thudding wildly in my chest as I searched the master bedroom. I hated going through Leslie and Warren’s things. Hated opening their dresser drawers, moving their clothes, searching their closet.
And in the end, it was all for nothing. The gold wasn’t there.
I hurried to the other rooms, making sure to rule them out before moving on to the ground floor. It didn’t take me long to search it. There was the living room, three powder rooms, a laundry and mud room, and the kitchen. Most of the rooms didn’t have a likely hiding place for a panic room or safe big enough to hide Warren Fairchild’s gold. I concentrated on the enormous living room, glancing over my shoulder as I moved books and knickknacks, focusing on the walls, looking for a hidden panel or doorway.
Logan had been gone for nearly fifteen minutes when I finally gave up. He would be back any second. As far as I could tell, the gold wasn’t hidden inside the house. The three-car garage was the only place I hadn’t looked, but it would have to wait for another time.
At least I had a recording of the pass code for the alarm.
I sat down on the couch and hurriedly folded napkins. I’d only gotten through six of them when Logan reappeared, arms full of stacked metal pails.
“How’s it going?” He glanced at the pile of napkins on the coffee table and laughed. “Wow . . . You might be even slower at that than me.”
I forced a smile, my pulse still racing from my speed search of the house. “Right? I think I tried folding them five different ways before I finally picked one.”
He set down the buckets and kissed the top of my head. “The caterers will refold them anyway. My mom just wanted to keep them from wrinkling in the meantime.”
“Now you tell me,” I laughed.
He pulled me to my feet. “What do you say we take a break, and then I’ll help you with the rest of those.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and looked up at him. “I could go for a break.”
“Want to order pizza?” he asked.
“Pizza sounds great.”
He called in the order and came around to the couch, where I was still trying to make progress with the napkins. “Forty minutes.”
I nodded. “What do you want to do while we wait?”
He sat down and pulled me closer, looping a piece of my hair around one of his fingers. His arms slid around my waist. Our faces were only inches apart, and all of a sudden we were back on the beach, the only two people in the universe.
I pushed away thoughts of the grift. Of all the work I had to do. All the lies I still had to tell. It was the way it had to be. The only way I could manage the dual roles of Logan’s girlfriend and betrayer.
He smiled. “I’m pretty sure we can think of something.”
I let go of everything as his mouth claimed mine.
Thirty-Nine
“I don’t know if this will help, but it’s all I could think of,” I said, pushing my phone across the table toward my dad.
We were in the War Room the night before the PHCT fund-raiser. It was the first chance I’d had to tell them about recording the Fairchilds’ pass code. I still felt a twinge of shame thinking about it.
“What is this?” my dad asked.
“It’s the pass code on Logan’s alarm system,” I explained. “I can’t see over his shoulder, but I thought we might be able to match up the sound of the buttons with the keypad here at home.”
My mom looked impressed. “Great idea, honey.”
My dad took the phone. “I’ll send the file to my computer. I can probably enhance the sound before I get to work on it.”
He tapped my screen a few times and handed the phone back to me. “Nice work, Gracie. Any luck with the gold?”
I shook my head.
“No sign of a safe or panic room anywhere in the house?” Parker asked.
“No, and the garage is all I have left.” I looked at my parents. “What about you guys? You’ve been playing golf and lunching with Warren and Leslie for weeks. Haven’t you been able to get anything out of them?”
“Other than some dates when they might be out of town long enough for us to move the gold, I’ve got nothing,” my mom admitted.
“Warren’s about as close-lipped as they come,” my dad added. “Which shouldn’t come as a surprise. The only reason he has the gold in the first place is because he’s so paranoid.”
“I’ll check the garage during the fund-raiser tomorrow,” I said. “Maybe there’s a panic room between it and the house or something.”
My dad nodded, turning his attention to Parker. “How are things at Allied?”
“Proceeding as planned,” Parker said.
For weeks Parker had been disappearing with the black backpack at all hours of the night. My curiosity finally got the better of me. “What exactly are you doing there?” I asked.
Parker looked at my dad. He nodded his approval.
“Turns out there’s only one night guard monitoring the Playa Hermosa accounts from Allied’s facility,” Parker said. “He can’t leave his post, so he calls local police if there’s any suspicious activity. I’m working to make sure we can get him away from the monitors when it comes time to take the gold.”
“How are you doing that?” I asked.
Parker smiled. “By having a little fun with him.”
“What kind of fun?”
Parker drummed his fingers on the table, like he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell me. Finally, he answered.
“I’ve been vandalizing the area outside Allied.”
I shook my head. “Why would you do that?”
He leaned forward. “I make sure the guy can see me, and then I spray-paint something where he can see it. But he can’t do anything about it, because he can’t leave his post.”
“Yeah, but can’t he call the police?”
Parker leaned back with a shrug. “Sure. Probably has. But I’m long gone by then. And it’s a relatively harmless act, so I doubt they spend much energy trying to find me.”
“But how will this get him away from the monitors when it’s time to take the gold?” I asked.
“That’s the night I’m going to give him a chance to catch me.”
Suddenly I understood. Parker was playing cat and mouse with the guard. Baiting him in clear view and then disappearing before he could do anything about it. The night we took the gold, Parker would linger, give the guy a chance to catch him.
“What if he doesn’t come?”
“He will,” Parker said. “But if he doesn’t, I’ll pull out all the stops until he can’t help himself.”
I nodded. It wasn’t foolproof, but it wasn’t bad.
“We’re getting closer,” my dad said. “Your mom might have a private buyer lined up for the gold. Now all we have to do is find it.”
Forty
The gates were open
, the driveway and lawn packed with cars when we got to Logan’s house Saturday afternoon. I was a little surprised by the open access to the grounds, but then I saw the black-suited men strolling the perimeter of the property and I understood: the Fairchilds had hired private security to keep an eye on things during the fund-raiser.
The professional side of me was a little thrilled by the discovery even as regular me shrank from the knowledge. We were swiftly reaching the point of no return. The only reason the famously self-sufficient Fairchilds would hire a contingent of security guards was if they had something to secure. And if there was gold on the property, we were going to steal it.
We parked the car and followed the signs that read Playa Hermosa Community Theater Annual Silent Auction to the backyard. My mom greeted people along the way like an old friend, playing the part of rich, charitable housewife to the hilt. Her efforts at fitting in, gaining the trust of her elite so-called peers, had clearly paid off. Dressed in a subtly slinky emerald-green dress that draped perfectly around her slender knees, she was the picture of classy affluence.
I’d chosen a white shift that offset my now-dark hair and brought out the deeper tones in my blue eyes. But where my mom had opted for strappy heels, I’d gone with gold sandals. I never understood how she managed to walk across the grass in heels without sinking into the dirt, but she made it look easy.
My dad looked handsome in a dark blue suit, and Parker was every bit the rich surfer boy in perfectly tailored chinos and a snug white button-down with the sleeves rolled, bracelets encircling his tanned wrist, a hemp cord visible at his neck.
“Cormac! Renee!” Leslie greeted us as we rounded the corner to the backyard. “Welcome!” She turned to Parker and me. “Parker, don’t you look dashing. And Grace, lovely as always.” She laughed. “My son has good taste, if I may say so.”
There were smiles and laughter as everyone made small talk. A moment later, my mom followed Leslie over to another group of newcomers. My mom had a way of making herself at home with housewives all over the country. She knew how to look good enough to fit in without causing feelings of jealousy or rivalry. She knew how to show enough knowledge to be an asset while still asking questions, still making the mark feel needed and admired.
Lies I Told Page 16
