“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 wanted—a 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.
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 Web—I’ve even helped Lana on some searches for cases that I probably shouldn’t have known a thing about—but 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 Marshals—that 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 only—”
“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.”
Chapter 13
On the plane’s approach over Atlanta, I’m always amazed by how many trees there are. When you see trees in Denver, you know someone planted them because it’s mostly plains and desert. Flying over Atlanta, you can tell the trees were here first and someone planted the city around them, instead of the other way around. The whole flight, I try to think up a scheme to get Lana to help me with the Cole case without her realizing I was even working a case, but come up with nothing. Not that I’d have been able to implement the scheme right away—Lana is a nervous flier so she took a Xanax the second we stepped onto the plane. She’s been knocked out ever since. I just keep mentally running through everything I’ve ever learned about Bethanie’s family so I’d at least have an idea of what to look for in what I’m certain is their hometown.
After we land, I turn on my phone and see Bethanie has blown it up with texts asking where I am and why I haven’t been in school all week. She’s got a nerve, seeing how she’s been ditching half her classes for nearly two weeks now. It’s close to midnight here because we took a late flight out, but it’s not quite ten there, so I give her a call while Lana watches for our bags on the baggage carousel.
“Where’ve you been?” Bethanie demands as soon as she hears my voice. “I’ve called and texted you all day.”
“So you can go AWOL and not say a thing, but I have to report in to you?”
“I need to make sure you’re still giving me my cover story this weekend. I’m making plans.”
“To do what?”
“It’s private. But are you still going to do it?”
I gesture to Lana that I’m moving to a bank of chairs across from the carousel, and once she’s out of hearing range, I answer Bethanie. “When I get Cole’s address.”
“I’ll get it soon.”
“Text me as soon as you get it and you have a deal. I won’t be at school the rest of the week.”
“You haven’t been in school this week at all.”
“I was there Monday. Maybe you weren’t there to see me. I think Marco broke up with me. I couldn’t deal with seeing him, so I faked sick yesterday.”
“You think he broke up with you? What did he say?”
I remembered it word for word because I’ve been replaying it a hundred times a day hoping I misinterpreted it. Maybe Bethanie can give me an objective opinio
n.
“He said I should use the break to figure out if I’d rather play detective or be with him.”
“What did he mean about you playing detective?”
Oops. The suspicion enters her voice instantly.
“He still hasn’t gotten over that whole burglary thing last month.”
“And what break are you talking about?”
“Yeah, that’s the thing I was going to tell you about. Make sure you give your mom my cell if she wants to check up on you this weekend. I’m not in Denver, and won’t be back until Sunday.”
“You should have told me you wouldn’t be here. I’d have found someone else to be my cover.”
“Who else would do it?” I ask, since we both know I’m her only friend besides Marco, and he won’t lie for her.
“Well, you just should have told me, that’s all. Where are you, anyway?”
Here goes.
“Atlanta. I’m at the airport now.”
Silence on the other end for a few seconds, then, “Why would you be there, all out of the blue and everything?”
“Just something I have to take care of,” I say, nodding at Lana when she motions to me that she has our luggage. “Bethanie, I have to go now.”
“Hold up a minute. Unless you’ve suddenly become the president, how do you get to just jump on a plane to take care of something on the other side of the country?”
“You sound so suspicious. I’m just here visiting my grandparents for a few days. I’m with my mother. What’s your deal, anyway?” I ask, although I know exactly what her deal is.
“It’s just you never told me you had family there. Are they okay? I mean, for you to just take off, missing class and everything.. . .”
“Everything is great. Just something we needed to do, that’s all.”
“All right, that’s cool. Just don’t screw this weekend up for me, okay?”
“Don’t forget to let me know where you’ll be. I need that address or I won’t lie for you.”
“You’ll get it,” she says, and doesn’t bother to say good-bye.
My favorite thing about visiting my grandparents, besides seeing them, is how nothing ever changes. I know before I walk in the door that the furniture will be in the same place it was the last time I was here. There will be Brach’s caramels in the candy bowl on the coffee table, and a copy of TV Guide even though they have cable and can check the onscreen guide. I know after we do all of our hugging, we’ll go into the kitchen where my grandmother will have a fresh pot of coffee waiting because she somehow knows the exact time we’ll show up at her door. We always drive on our summer visits since Lana hates to fly, and Grandma always can time when we’re going to pull into her driveway. Taking the plane this time, then renting a car at the airport, didn’t throw off her timing a bit. With all the changes I’ve been through lately—new school, new boyfriend who became my ex overnight, getting arrested—I could really use a few days of everything being the same.
I called the whole reunion right. The house is the exact same as far as I can tell, and even though it’s close to one in the morning, I can smell fresh-brewed coffee. My grandmother is surprised when I ask for a cup.
“You let her drink coffee now, Lana? You know that’ll stunt her growth.”
“That’s just an old wives’ tale, Mama. Besides, she’s almost sixteen. She’s pretty much done growing.”
Though I’d be good if my hips stopped growing, I hope Lana is wrong because I wouldn’t mind adding another letter to my bra size. Right now, with all the stress from almost going to jail, Marco dropping me, and Bethanie dating a con artist, the size matches my grades at school—A on the cusp of becoming a B. Not the strongest prospects for getting into the best colleges or out of a padded bra. It wouldn’t rock my world if it doesn’t happen (the bra thing, not the college thing—that’s a must) but I change my mind on the coffee, just in case.
“Guess who called here the other day?” my grandfather says to Lana, who I suspect doesn’t have to guess because her face tenses up right away. “It was like talking to a ghost.”
“Did he know you were coming?” my grandmother asks. “It’s some coincidence if not.”
“Look, Mama, it’s been a long day, and we’re tired,” Lana says, getting up from the table. “I’ve got an early day at the police department tomorrow, so I’d better get some sleep. Let’s take our bags upstairs, Chanti.”
I want to tell her I’m too wired to go to sleep, but it’s clear Lana doesn’t want to talk about the ghost who seemed to know she’d be in town this weekend. Since I’m trying to stay on her good side so she can unwittingly help me get information on Bethanie’s family and on who Cole really is, I kiss my grandparents good night and grab our bags.
Lana and I always share her old bedroom when we visit. It looks the same as the day she left, and it always freaks me out when I see the posters of Will Smith when he was still the Fresh Prince and a really young Usher. Before I was even born, she was crushing on the same guys I like now. I guess that’s what happens when your mom is just sixteen years older than you and has great taste in men who still look good even though they’re old.
Her twin beds still wear the same comforters she picked out just before she got pregnant with me. They look girlier than anything I would have chosen and nothing like the Lana I know, even from my earliest memory of her. Every time I see this room, I imagine what it must have been like to lie on the frilly pink bed, stare at Usher and Will, and absorb the news delivered by the pregnancy stick. Is that the moment she stopped being girly? Did she have to grow up on the spot, or did that come after she’d been a mom a few months and realized she couldn’t be a girl and raise a girl at the same time?
I never think about that until I come here and hang out in her old bedroom, and then I think of a million things to ask Lana that I never do. Did she have to skip her prom because they didn’t make maternity prom dresses? How silly did the girls sound at school talking about makeup and hairstyles when she’d been up all night cramming for a midterm and dealing with a screaming kid? She always says I was a good baby, but I doubt it. Without even trying, I probably started causing trouble in the womb.
I’m sure I made dating difficult. I’m guessing the ghost who called earlier is Lana’s boyfriend from college, the one she was crazy about who told her things could get serious between them. Well, until he found out five-year-old me was living with my grandparents in the frilly pink room only until Lana finished college, not indefinitely.
Lana must have lied to Grandma about being tired because she’s not going to sleep. She has spread all her case files out on the bed and is just staring at everything. It looks like she’s zoned out, but that’s the way Lana tries to put the clues together. I move over to her twin bed, hoping she’s so focused on the files that she doesn’t notice I’m looking at them, too. No such luck. She starts gathering up all the papers and closes the folder I was looking at. But not before I caught a glimpse of something that gives me a serious WTF moment.
“What’s the deal with the informant? Why do they think he’s in Denver?” I ask.
“It’s pretty cool how they figured that out. The guy is a compulsive gambler and the marshals figured he couldn’t stop, even on the run. So they started checking security camera tape in casinos, racetracks, off-track betting locations, and they found him.”
“Oh snap,” I say. My WTF moment just grew exponentially more serious.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just think this sounds like something I saw in a movie last week.”
“It really does,” Lana says, buying my explanation why I probably look just a little freaked out. “He started at Alabama racetracks, Mississippi riverboat casinos, and kept moving west until he dropped off the radar in New Mexico at an Indian casino. They figured he might show up next at one of the mountain casinos back home, but he just disappeared.”
“They think the people he was supposed to testify against found him before they
did?”
“Not yet, but they’re probably close enough to scare the witness underground. If the defendant finds him first, that would blow the prosecution’s whole case, which was built on the guy’s testimony. Not to mention probably get him killed. So I’m here to learn as much as I can about the case so I can go home and help marshals in the Denver office find him.”
“But I thought he was at the mountain casinos.”
“You can’t stay hidden up in those small towns where everyone knows each other. If he’s gambling up there, he’s probably living in Denver where he can disappear a little easier. The feds might have all the high-tech surveillance in the world, but they just don’t know a city the way a city cop knows it.”
This gets Lana started on her beef with the feds. If you watch any cop show often enough, there will be a story line where local law enforcement gets into a whole jurisdiction fight with the federal agencies, usually the FBI. That’s one cliché Hollywood gets right. From my experience (by way of Lana’s experience), there isn’t much love between the locals and the feds. If you know any cops who ever had to work a case the feds were also looking at, you’ve heard the story. I’ve heard it more than once from Lana, and I must not have been as wired as I thought because I fall asleep on her explaining how the feds don’t know the streets or the informants like a vice cop does. I guess being drop-dead tired even trumps fear, because I’m pretty sure I recognized a guy in one of those pictures before Lana put away her files. My last thought before I start drooling on the pillow is that my friend might be crushing on a fugitive.
Chapter 14
In the light of morning, I’m thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me last night, or I just didn’t have enough time to really see the photo before Lana closed her folder. It sounds crazy, but add what I thought I saw to Cole’s joking about his gambling habit over dinner and Bethanie’s reporting that he keeps taking her to dog tracks, and maybe it isn’t so crazy. If it was Cole in that photo, then it’s probably no coincidence that he’s found his way to Bethanie. Well, I already knew he was stalking her; this just confirms I’m right. Now the question is why.
Creeping with the Enemy Page 10
