“That is a little how it feels,” I say, looking at the driver, who is definitely adding to that feeling. Working a toothpick between his teeth, he crosses his tree-trunk arms and stares at me like he wants to do me bodily harm. Definitely not a Jeeves.
“We’re just concerned whenever E ...”
“Who?”
“Bethanie, I mean. That’s what we call her for short.”
“Just E?” I ask, because I don’t know how they get E out of Bethanie. Seems like it would be B if anything, like Bey-oncé’s nickname. But Mr. Larsen keeps talking as though he didn’t hear me ask for clarification.
“We’re just concerned whenever she has a new friend.”
“People make new friends all the time,” I say.
“Yes, well, Bethanie is special, you see.”
I do see. So is this entire family, and not in a good way.
“If she’s in school and is now going to do this charity work, when does she have time to even be with him?” I ask.
“It isn’t that she spends so much time with him,” says Mrs. Larsen. “It’s the hold he seems to have over her in such a short time. She never mentions his name, but he’s all she talks about. Like she wants to keep his name a secret.”
“You mean when she’s even talking to us,” says Mr. Larsen. “Soon as she comes home, she goes straight to her room, won’t talk to us at all. She didn’t used to be like that. We figured the change was due to this boy.”
“Mr. Larsen, you keep a pretty tight leash on Bethanie, right?”
“Is that what she told you?”
“Something like that.”
“It’s for her own good. When she asked for that car, instead of having Tiny drive her to school, I let her, didn’t I, Mama?”
Molly and Tiny. Seriously, these names have to be just as made up as Bethanie.
“I think that may be the problem,” Mr. Larsen continues. “We give her too much. She thinks having money makes her grown. I should cut back her allowance. What do regular kids make for allowance these days, Chanti?”
“I don’t really get allowance. I had a job until recently, and I’ll probably start looking for another one soon.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re poor,” Mrs. Larsen says, shaking her head like she just learned I’ve come down with an incurable disease. I want to remind them that until recently, they were broke, too. But I stay quiet because Bethanie doesn’t want them to know I know about the lottery ticket.
“Well, I think maybe we overindulged her,” Mr. Larsen says. “Whatever the going rate is, I’m pretty sure it isn’t a thousand a week.”
I try not to spray a mouthful of Coke all over them.
“Yeah, it’s safe to assume that is nowhere near the going rate for ‘regular’ kids,” I say after I recover from that information. “Maybe she’s just breaking out a little. It’s like when I go on the cabbage soup diet. Once I get my first taste of chocolate after a week of cabbage soup, I can’t just stop at one piece.”
The Larsens stare at me like I’m speaking Farsi. Since my analogy is clearly lost on them, I try a different approach. The truth.
“Let’s just be frank,” I say, because I have always wanted to say that and this seems as good a time as any. “You’re worried this guy is after your money, right?”
“My money? My money,” Mr. Larsen says twice, like this thought never occurred to him. Then he smiles at his wife and slaps his leg. “Yes, the money.”
I take a big swig of Coke and actually hope Bethanie walks in right this moment so she can translate her family’s madness for me. And to reassure me Tiny is not an escaped serial killer.
“Did you have other concerns about Cole besides him being a potential gold digger? You know, since you’re in oil and everything.”
“No, young lady, we shared the same exact concern as you. A father can’t be too careful about his pride and joy.”
I wouldn’t know, but nod in agreement.
“Still, we would be very appreciative if you could talk to her, maybe warn her against getting too caught up with this boy. She might listen to you.”
Mr. Larsen seems so relieved that all Cole is after is his money, I don’t have the heart to tell him his daughter probably wants nothing to do with me, or that it’s too late—she’s already too caught up with Cole. When he asks Tiny to drive me home, I decline because I’m not sure I want to be in a car alone with Tiny. But no use hurting anybody’s feelings, so I tell them a Bentley rolling through Denver Heights would surely get us jacked, which amuses Tiny enough that he actually cracks a smile. After many protests between Mrs. Larsen and me about how I’m getting home, I agree to let Mr. Larsen drop me at the nearest bus stop. Once I’m finally on the crosstown bus, I make mental notes of all the things about this visit that will become part of my file on this case, because it has definitely become a case.
Chapter 10
Lana is on the sofa watching a Perry Mason marathon one of the cable channels runs every Saturday. She loves watching crime shows even though she gets to live it in real life every day, but without the slam-dunk ease the cops solve cases with on TV. I take a seat beside her, trying to figure out how to ask her questions I have about my case without letting her know I’m working one. Lana’s proud of me for keeping myself out of jail by solving the case I was arrested for, but she’s in agreement with Marco’s parents that I tend to attract trouble.
She’d prefer I’d not go looking for any. That drama almost made her pull me out of Langdon, which would have made me happy before I met Marco. If she even suspected I might be getting in deep with the mystery that is Bethanie and her family, not to mention Cole, she’d probably begin to think Langdon was no better at keeping me out of trouble than my neighborhood school. She’d pull me out for real, before I had a chance to figure out why I’m pretty smart about a lot of things but such a screw-up at being a girlfriend.
The phone rings and Lana picks up. She listens to whoever is on the other end for about ten seconds, then says, “Not interested.” She puts her hand over the mouthpiece and whispers to me, “Damn telemarketers.”
I keep watching Perry Mason, expecting Lana to hang up on whoever is trying to sell her something like she usually does, but she keeps listening without saying a word for a minute. Then I guess her patience wears out.
“Do. Not. Ever. Call this house again or I will make you regret the day you found me or my phone number,” she says before slamming down the phone.
Whoa. That’s a little harsh for telemarketers. I bet they’re bill collectors. Sometimes Lana can live a little beyond her means. Still, her threat sounded a bit too sinister even for the most annoying of bill collectors. The phone rings again, and this time Lana doesn’t even find out who it is, just slams it right down the minute she picks it up.
“Pretty insistent telemarketers,” I say. “I guess they really want to sell you something.”
“Well, I’m not buying,” she says, muting the commercials. “Did you ever talk to your friend about her boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Did she take it well?”
“No.”
“I feel like I’m questioning a perp. What’s with the one-word answers?”
“Sorry. I’ve just been a little distracted.”
Lana doesn’t say anything, which is a cool thing about her. Maybe she learned it from interrogating bad guys, but she knows when to pull the words out of you and when to just let them come on their own. At the next commercial break, I mute Perry Mason again.
“What if she doesn’t believe me, but I’m right?”
“Does it really matter if you’re right? If that’s the only reason you’re telling her, let it go. If you’re right and her not believing you has consequences beyond a broken heart, then you have to keep at it.”
“Hard to do if she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“You tend to be persistent. I’m sure you’ll find a way.” She picks up the remote, but doesn’t turn up the volume. “Chanti,
these consequences wouldn’t be anything that will cause problems for you beyond a lost friendship, are they?”
Ah, she knows me too well.
“Nope, I just don’t like the guy.”
“If that’s the only problem, it’s best to stay out of it. She’ll figure it out on her own.”
I leave her to watch Perry get a confession out of the helpless loser on the witness stand so I can think through everything I know about my own case. Before I shift gears to Bethanie and Cole, I check the caller ID on the phone in my room without even really thinking about it. I guess I’m turning into Lana if my natural instincts tell me: (1) whoever just called is probably not a telemarketer or a bill collector, and (2) check the story. But I only confirm my first theory because the number is gone. In the time it took me to walk to my room, Lana has deleted it from the caller ID memory. So it was definitely not someone trying to sell her something or collect her money because she wouldn’t have bothered to erase the number. Probably some crazy perp she put in jail is calling and making threats, which is too scary to think about, especially since they were able to find our unlisted phone number because that means they also know where we live.
So I think about my case instead, writing down clues on my mental whiteboard. I can’t keep real notes lying around just like I can’t keep a diary lying around—my mom snoops for a living. I’d like to think she doesn’t snoop on me, but I’d rather not tempt her. Besides, I’m pretty sure I have a photographic memory, though I’ve never been tested for that. If I see it or hear it, I’m gonna remember it. Unless it’s Lana telling me to do the laundry or Headmistress Smythe telling me to stay away from Marco. I choose to forget those things.
Notes on the Larsen Family
1. They keep lying about how they made their money in oil instead of the lottery.
2. The whole bunch, including the maid and driver, seems to be using an alias and pretending they’re high society when they’re so clearly not. Maybe they don’t want long-lost family hitting them up for loans. But why let the world know they’re rich at all? If you’re hiding something, why not keep that on the down low, as well?
3. Bethanie’s father seemed relieved Cole may have been only after money. What else do fathers worry about boys taking from their daughters? Okay, there’s that. But if I were a dad, I wouldn’t want some boy taking either That or money from my daughter.
4. What is up with that driver, anyway? Probably a family member who needed a job, and he helps them act out their high society charade, except he’s really scary and would make any socialite run for a can of mace.
Notes on Cole
1. I’m convinced that robbery wasn’t legit. He had to have been tailing Bethanie to know she’d be there on Freebie Friday, which means he’d been tailing her for a while. A guy in love enough to do that is crazy. I know crazy and he isn’t it.
2. He dresses all GQ, picks fancy restaurants, but doesn’t have a job or come from money. That spells gold digger to me.
3. He shows up just in time to rescue Bethanie from some thug waiting in her parking space, and with just a look, can scare this guy off. Cole is charming and cute, but not the least bit intimidating. So how does he stare down a thug and run off hungry people waiting for BOGO tamales?
4. And can I get a last name, please?
I figure that last one shouldn’t be so hard to get if I can convince Bethanie to talk to me.
The next morning, I’m up early even though I got close to zero sleep thinking about my list of clues. The plan is to at least get a full name for Cole before the weekend is over. What kind of guy won’t give his girl a last name? I’m also dying to know what they do all day when Bethanie is supposed to be in school and working for some charity afterward. I imagine it’s a whole lot of shopping with her money, but even for Bethanie that has to get old after a while. Since Bethanie won’t talk to me at school, I figure I’ll go to her house. She could blow me off there, too, but I’d have her parents’ backup because they want me to talk to her.
I do a repeat of last Sunday and get there when I know the Larsens are still in bed. Luckily Lana hadn’t come in from last night’s stakeout when I left, though I’ll have to make up some story about where I’ve been so early on a Sunday morning if I don’t make it back before she gets in. I can only hope her stakeout yielded a bunch of arrests that will keep her busy filing reports all morning.
After the two buses it takes me to get to Cherry Creek, I’m awake enough to realize I’m so early that it’s almost rude. The frost has not even begun to melt off the grass and most driveways still have a newspaper lying at the end of them. I try to slow my gait, but it’s so cold I really just want to be in someone’s house with a cup of coffee warming my hands. Just as I round the curve to Bethanie’s street, I see a car turning off, it heading toward me. A few seconds later, another car turns off and heads the same way the first car does. That guy is going to get so busted for having an obstructed view if a cop sees him—he didn’t scrape the frost off the windows and I’m pretty sure he can’t see much. He must be in one hell of a hurry to get to work if he couldn’t bother to scrape off more than a peephole, though I doubt anyone in this neighborhood works weekends.
The fact that at least two people on Bethanie’s street are awake makes me think I’m not being so rude after all, and when I get to her house, I see Mr. Larsen pulling out of the driveway. He waves to me and keeps on driving. Maybe I have the rich and idle all wrong and they aren’t as idle as I think. That must mean Bethanie and her mother are awake, too. When I have to ring the bell about ten times, I realize that isn’t the case.
“Are you insane?” Bethanie says when the door finally opens.
“No, but since I need to talk to you and you’re barely in school these days—and you avoid me when you are—I figured I’d come here when I knew you’d be home.”
“Go home,” she says, actually closing the door in my face, but not before I put my hand up to stop it.
“You can’t give me a few minutes?”
“For what?”
“To apologize.”
Now she seems interested. Enough to invite me in and fix me a cup of instant coffee when I ask for something to help me warm up. Instant coffee is just wrong on so many levels, but I’m freezing so I relax my standards.
“So you want to apologize for thinking my boyfriend is a gold digger out to rob me blind?”
“I could have been more receptive about a relationship that is obviously making you so happy,” I say, really trying not to lie while still regaining her confidence. It works, because she seems to interpret it as an apology.
“Good, because I want your opinion about something,” she says, joining me at the breakfast bar with her own cup of bad coffee. “How do you get a guy to be interested?”
“If I knew the answer to that I’d be home a lot less often on weekends.”
“You got Marco’s interest.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to hold on to it.” Or I’m not willing to—I haven’t yet decided exactly what my problem is when it comes to Marco.
“Not me. I wouldn’t have that problem if I had the guy I wanted, and I sure wouldn’t let my parents keep us apart.”
“Wait—why are you even asking? Is there someone else besides Cole?” I say, hoping I don’t sound too excited about that.
“No, of course not. I’m talking about Cole.”
“It seems like you’ve already got him pretty interested. He wants to be with you practically 24/7 as it is.”
“That’s just it. All the time we’ve spent together, we have never even kissed.”
I must look incredulous to her, because I am.
“See, you didn’t know what you were talking about, suggesting statutory ... I can’t even say it. That’s the farthest thing from where Cole and I are.”
Wow, neither of us are in danger of getting jobs as romance advice columnists. Bethanie doesn’t know how to get the boy she wants, and I don’t know what to
do with the boy I have.
“Okay, so what do you do all that time when you’re skipping class?”
“Drive around, get something to eat, see movies, go to the museum. A couple of times we went to bet on the dogs.”
“Preppie Cole doesn’t seem the dog track type.”
“He must have realized that, too, because both times we only stayed a few minutes, just walked around and never even placed a bet. He said I was underage, and he wouldn’t place one for me. I swear, I might as well be hanging out with my parents.”
Oh, now he thinks she’s underage. And somehow I can’t imagine her parents at a museum.
“That’s kind of weird,” I say. “I mean, a guy who wants to be with you but not be with you. Isn’t that what they’re all trying to get every second of the day?”
“I thought so. But he is a gentleman. I guess I should appreciate that.”
This revelation just puts a whole new kink in the mystery. I still think Cole wants her money, but why not get the girl, too? Especially when Bethanie seems more than a little interested in moving the relationship in that direction.
“Good, I’m glad to see you two girls talking again, even if it’s at a god-awful hour,” Mrs. Larsen says, coming into the kitchen. “Where’s your father?”
“How should I know?” Bethanie says with a whole lot of attitude.
“The only reason I’m up this early is because he woke me when he got out of bed. He must be around here somewhere,” Mrs. Larsen says.
“I saw him leaving this morning; that’s why I figured y’all were up when I rang the bell,” I say.
“Where was he going?” asks Mrs. Larsen.
“I didn’t talk to him. I just saw him pulling out of your garage. Seemed like he was in a hurry, just like the other two cars I saw turning off your street just before he left.”
Mrs. Larsen goes over to a window that looks onto the backyard, not the front of the house, like she thinks I’m lying and her husband is really back there.
“Have you seen Tiny?” she asks, still scanning the backyard like Tiny might be hiding back there along with Mr. Larsen.
Creeping with the Enemy Page 8
