by Rachel Jonas
“I did,” he says. “It’s been an uphill battle, but we’re making some headway now. I suppose I still don’t understand what this is about. Were you friends with one of the girls who’s disappeared? Do you have some information you think might help?”
I’m losing my nerve, but it’s either Detective Roby or Grandma Riley.
“I think I might know who’s involved,” I confess.
Dead silence again. This time I’m pretty sure it’s because of the bold claim I’ve just made.
“I’m listening.”
“Something happened to me last week. I was confronted by someone and he alluded to having the means to make me and my sister disappear.”
“Those are some pretty serious allegations,” he says, concern heavy in his tone. “Have you spoken to your parents about this incident? Made a police report?”
If only it were that easy.
“My parents aren’t exactly available at the moment, and I didn’t go to the police because, honestly, I’m not sure who I can trust. Which is why I called you after seeing you on TV. I know it’s been a while and all, but—”
“Hang on just a sec,” he cuts in before the line goes quiet. Then, maybe half a minute later, he’s back. “I needed to get someplace with a bit more privacy,” he explains. “Now, mind telling me who it was that threatened you? I can swing by his place, maybe bring him down to the station for questioning, but you’d need to file a report before I can take action.”
“I can’t do that.”
The words leave my mouth with force, but I have good reason. Like, keeping a low profile so Vin doesn’t see cause to retaliate.
“For now, I’d just like to tell you what I know, so you can see if any of it fits with what you know, and maybe it’ll help you, and… maybe you can help me.”
“Do you feel safe?” he asks.
I’m grateful for not being face-to-face with him, because he’d know what I’m about to say is a complete lie.
“Yes.”
“Then why’d you mention needing help?” he wants to know.
“I guess that came out wrong. Mostly, I’m only calling because it felt wrong not sharing what I know if it could make a difference in your case.”
He breathes into the phone, probably not buying any of that. “Ok, tell me. Who threatened you?”
“My boyfriend’s father,” I confess, building up the nerve to add, “Vin Golden.”
A cynical laugh leaves Roby. “Of course it is.”
My brow tenses, hearing his reaction. “Is something wrong?”
He sighs into the phone. “Vin Golden’s what we refer to as an ‘untouchable’. One of those who has his hands in so many facets of the city, owns so much of the city, the guy’s basically insulated by his power.”
He stops there and I’m not sure if this changes things. Maybe it means he doesn’t believe me, or that he’s no longer interested in pursuing this thing if Vin’s who he’ll be up against.
“Tell me exactly what he said to you,” Roby suggests.
I breathe deep, hoping to God I didn’t make a mistake here. “Well, he came to my house, asked me to get into his SUV to talk—which I’m sure you saw when Pandora shared. But before the conversation ended, he said that if I didn’t distance myself from his son within the next two months, he’d get Scar taken away from me. Then, he’d make me disappear, too.”
“He specifically said two months?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“And Pandora posted about this incident?”
“She did,” I confirm, nodding as though we’re sitting in the same room together.
“I’ve got a member of our task force assigned to monitoring Pandora, but only for specific activity. He never mentioned this, which means he likely assumed your situation was more of the usual, useless drivel she posts. I suppose we should be looking a bit more closely,” he concludes, which I don’t disagree with. Especially seeing as how Pandora seems to be engaged in an intense war with whoever’s trying to out her.
“Probably a good idea. I resisted downloading the app for years, but at the very least, it helps to give a heads up when everything’s going to shit,” I say with a humorless laugh.
“I bet. But getting back to your encounter with Vin, is this all that was said?”
I retreat a bit when it sounds like he’s making light of this.
“I mean, he mentioned having people interested in me already. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”
I hear a pen scratching across a notepad in the background. “Anything else?”
There are a million things, but I’m admittedly not sure which details to share because I still have no clue if Roby’s completely on the level. So, just shy of telling him about the phones, the pic, Vin’s connection to Paul, and West overhearing the conversation about the ledger, I hold back.
“That’s all.”
More of that pen scratching across the notepad.
“While I think we’ll both agree it was highly inappropriate for a man his age to approach a girl your age in this manner, there’s nothing criminal here, Blue. I’m sorry. If I’m being honest with you, I see this sort of thing all the time. Parents from the north side get all up in arms when their kids intermingle with kids from the southside. This is probably that same thing. Especially seeing as how Vin’s notoriously obsessed with his and his family’s image.”
Those words leave his mouth and, instantly, I’m certain this was a mistake.
“But I don’t want you to think I’m being dismissive,” he adds, right when I was thinking it. “You were heard today, okay? And if there’s anything else you need to tell me, or if things get weird, don’t hesitate to call. Understood?”
Deep breath. You tried.
“Understood.”
“All right. Try to enjoy your weekend. I’ll let Dez know you asked about her.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
The call ends and that got me absolutely nowhere. Roby probably thinks I’m a paranoid nutcase now, but I couldn’t show all my cards. Not when I’m still so uncertain who can be trusted. If he’s not as clean as I think he is, anything I say could get back to Vin and we’d be screwed. For now, I have to be content knowing that at the very least, someone else in this town is at least questioning Vin’s involvement where the missing girls are concerned.
It isn’t much, but it’s all I’ve got for now.
Chapter 18
BLUE
“I’m so sorry,” I say to the patron whose lap I just dropped a full basket of bread into. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been soup or coffee.
The guy isn’t pissed, but I’m embarrassed, nonetheless. All morning, and now the better part of the afternoon, I’ve been distracted by the instant replay of my earlier conversation with Roby. I can’t believe I actually thought that would work. Maybe if I’d been at liberty to share all the details I have, things might’ve been different, but as it stands, that call was completely pointless.
Uncle Dusty gives me ‘the look’ when I toss what otherwise appears to be perfectly good bread into the trash.
“You all right?”
I nod. “All good. Just feeling a little off.”
“Ready to tell me what happened to that hand yet?” he asks, reminding me of the cuts and gashes.
“Nope.” I force a smile as I take the burger and fries combo he just plated for one of my tables. Then, I rush off before he can question me further.
“Here you go. Enjoy your meal.”
The sweet old lady smiles up at me after delivering her food, then I’m off to grab a fresh pot of coffee to refill empty cups. If I keep busy, maybe I won’t think so much.
The chime over the door sounds and I do a double-take when Roger—one of our Sunday regulars—comes wobbling in on his cane. He’s carrying a large, thin envelope in his hand and his gaze is set on me.
“I believe this is for you, sweetheart,” he pipes up.
Wiping both hands on my apron, I appro
ach him, confused as hell as to what’s going on.
“This is for me?”
He shrugs. “That’s what the young man told me. Or, hell, maybe it was a girl. Whoever it was, they scared the shit out of me, walking up on me wearing all that nonsense—clown mask, hoodie, gloves. There wasn’t an inch of skin showing, come to think of it. Young people are so strange these days.”
As much as I’m trying not to let paranoia continue consuming my day, I’d be lying if I said this doesn’t have it spiking all over again.
“…Thanks,” I say, hesitantly taking the envelope from Roger’s hand. He slowly makes his way over to the coatrack and I’m left staring at… whatever this is.
My name isn’t on it. In fact, the only marking on the whole thing is a thick, dark hashtag right in the center.
On cue, my stomach flips and I’m equal parts curious and terrified to know what’s inside. It feels light, and it’s so thin there can’t be more than one sheet of paper inside, but I won’t figure it out unless I open it.
Stepping behind the counter for at least some privacy, I break the seal and slip my hand inside. What I pull out has me wanting to vomit, but my first instinct is to question… is this even real?
If it is, Cypress Pointe is in for a treat.
Or, more like a nightmare.
“Roger, did you see which way whoever gave this to you went?”
“Back down the alley, I think.”
I rush out the door as soon as he’s finished speaking, hoping by some small miracle they’re still there. Maybe waiting for me to get this and, I don’t know, answer some of my questions.
Because, shit… I’ve got a million now.
Frigid air slaps me right in the face, but who cares? I need to know who handed this off to Roger and why they thought I was the right person to give it to.
I’m only somewhat shocked to find the alley empty. But desperate as I am, I even trek through the deep snow to check on the other side of the dumpster.
Nothing.
No one.
Before I can even process it all, my phone goes off—a notification from Pandora. Instead of heading back inside where it’s warm, I quickly open the app and devour the update, scouring it for clues as to what the hell is going on right now.
@QweenPandora: First things first, I’m baaaaaack, lovelies! Sorry about that brief interruption from the soon to be forgotten X, but I assure you order has been restored and things are back on track.
Now, if you’re out for your Sunday drive, might I suggest that you pull over and read carefully.
Turns out my stalker’s endeavors have turned rather dark lately, resorting to threats of exposure and even bodily harm if it’s ever discovered who it is that fills your lives with all the latest local gossip.
Thing is, this coward didn’t take into account that I don’t scare too easily. In fact, when backed into a corner, I don’t break out in a temper tantrum. No, no no… I break out the big guns.
I’ve just placed some vital information in the hands of someone who might have needed a bit of divine intervention, if you will. Little birdie—yes, you—don’t say I never gave you anything. Do with this gift what you will, but I think you know we can’t let this happen. For at least a million reasons.
According to my sources, this info will go public in a little less than two months. So, tell the world or hold this one close to the cuff, it’s up to you. But if you’ve got a plan, now would be a great time to see it put into action.
Everyone knows I don’t respond to DMs, but for you and the crew, I’m willing to make an exception for a limited time only. Looks like we’re in this one together, Little Birdie.
Later, Peeps.
—P
My breath puffs in the wind and I’m at a loss for words. What did I just read? What did I just see in that envelope? I can’t even think right now.
“What are you doing out here?” Dusty asks, snapping me out of the state of utter shock I’ve drifted into. “You’ve got a phone call.”
I don’t even bother answering his question. Instead, I’m rushing back inside where I take the call off hold and answer.
“This is Blue.”
“I took your advice and downloaded that app,” Detective Roby says on the other end. “Any chance this Little Birdie Pandora speaks of is you?”
I nod, still winded and confused. “Yes, sir.”
“So, she delivered something to you today, right? What was it?”
I glance down at the envelope I’m still clutching, and for half a second, I consider not telling him. But it’s actually the contents that has me realizing I need his help. We all do.
“It’s a proof,” I confess.
“A proof? Like an image of some sort?”
“More like for a poster.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
I so wish I didn’t understand, but I do. And Pandora was completely right—there are at least a million reasons why this absolutely cannot happen.
“It’s a campaign poster,” I finally share with the detective. “For Vin. He’s… running for mayor.”
Roby is silent on the other end at first. “Shit. Guess we now know why good ol’ Vin asked you to make a clean break by the two-month mark.”
“Actually, I don’t understand,” I cut in.
Roby sighs and when he speaks again, his tone is gentler, almost compassionate. “I assumed it was a north side versus southside thing, classism, but it’s bigger than that. With Hunter’s conviction, Golden can’t risk his family name being associated with yours. He doesn’t have a background in politics, so he’s gotta work extra hard to prove himself. Yeah, the city knows him as a staunch businessman, but not as much else. He has to appear to be above reproach when this shit goes public. That means cleaning up anything he thinks might cost him his shot.”
“He wants to control everything and everyone,” I say mostly to myself.
“Which would make it a whole hell of a lot easier to hide possible criminal activity,” Roby reasons. “Guess I know why I got so much pushback when I tried to fire up the task force. Who knows how deep this shit runs? Half this department could be on Golden’s payroll.”
“So, you believe me?” My voice is quivering when I ask, because I know I still haven’t proven my case much more than I had this morning, but it sounds like he believes me.
“We’ve got our work cut out for us, and I’m not making any promises, but… yeah, I think there could be a connection,” he finally says. “If you think of anything else that might help, don’t hesitate to call. Morning, noon, or night.”
I’m on the verge of tears. “Okay.”
And I plan to do just that. As soon as I talk to West and we agree on what’s safe to share and what isn’t, I’ll fill Roby in on the details.
“I’ll be in touch, but you stay safe in the meantime. If you see anything that seems off, call my cell. The number hasn’t changed.”
I nod and feel so much relief.
Maybe, just maybe, we have a fighting chance.
Finally.
Chapter 19
WEST
Tightening the knot of a red tie around my neck, I consider this to be one of the few useful skills my father taught me. So, if he’s ever fishing for accolades, this is all I have for him.
A new black suit, a fresh haircut, and in less than an hour, I’ll have the hottest girl in this hemisphere on my arm. Usually, I avoid this particular dance like the plague, but for some reason the idea of it doesn’t repulse me this year. Without thinking about it too hard, I know why.
It’s her. Any excuse I can come up with to be around Southside, I’ll take it.
Come tomorrow morning, I’m getting her away from all the Cypress Pointe bullshit. Dupont Bayou is like a whole other world, the most laid-back place on the planet. There, we won’t have to deal with school. No Vin. No Pandora.
Her post last weekend had everyone losing their minds, wondering who this “little birdie�
� is that she mentioned. I was one of them until I got the frantic call from Southside, describing the contents of the mysterious envelope she received.
And imagine my surprise when I heard the news, that my crooked-ass father has plans to run the city. As if he doesn’t already have enough power and influence. I can only imagine the shit he’d pull if he had the police department—and damn-near everyone else—in his back pocket. There wouldn’t be a thing he couldn’t get away with and I’m guessing that’s the whole point of this stunt.
Now, things are starting to make sense—the two-month timeline he gave Southside to end things with me, the NDAs. He was always looking out for number one.
Himself.
Southside filled me in on bringing in her dad’s ex-partner. She didn’t tell him everything, but still, my first thought was that she’d fucked up by telling any of this to an outsider. But that was before she told me a bit more about him, how he stepped in and did what he could to lighten Hunter’s sentence, how he’d been like family before her dad got let go and their friendship fell apart. If any of this is going to work, we have to trust each other. So, if she thinks this guy’s on the level, if she’s willing to include him knowing Scar’s safety is on the line, I have to trust that she knows what she’s doing.
Hopefully.
The storm of speculation died down around midweek. By then, people were pretty sure that whoever Pandora had given that open invitation to would never be revealed, so they got tired of investigating. Only we know who the behind-the-scenes players are, including Vin being the one harassing the town’s digital snitch, posing as X. Or at least he’s the one who put someone up to the idea. Now, with what Pandora delivered to Southside, we can assume she knows it’s him, too.
I check the time and I’ve got twenty minutes to get to the other side of town. If I speed, I can make it in fifteen.
