Betrayal (8 page)

“I hope you're not one of the layoffs I heard about,” she said.

Kim, her worried expression undiminished by the casual tone of the conversation, stood and strode decisively toward the door. Turning her hand on the knob, she said, “No. Not me. At least, not yet. But housing starts are down, and if things don't get better, they won't need an accountant.”

Annie took the hint and said a hasty good-bye. Kim managed a smile and shut the door after her.

Three rooms away, two worried twins waited for their friend. The walls were thin in Port Gamble's historic homes. As a breeze blew the Doritos bag into the neighboring yard and darkness shuttered the sky over the bay, Hayley and Taylor heard every word.

What had Beth Lee done?

Chapter 8

LIKE ALL VICTORIA'S SECRET STORES in the world, the one at the Kitsap Mall in Silverdale, a few miles south of Port Gamble, was an eruption of pink, a tidal wave of lace, and a ginormous Slip ‘N Slide of satin. Amid the thongs, French-cut panties, lacey bras, and whatever else a girl thinks she needs or a boy hopes she wears, Drew escorted Brianna toward a table next to a white-and-black mannequin with a bored-to-tears expression. That her bedroom on Desolation View Drive was drenched in Olivia Grant's blood seemed far from either teen's mind.

“You'd look so hot in that,” he said, indicating the microscopic panties and sheer bra.

“I look hot in whatever I wear—or don't wear, for that matter,” Brianna said. “I'm glad you understand that, Drew.” She kissed him, held up a light-pink thong and grinned.

“I had a slingshot like that once,” he said.

“If you did, then you're a total dork,” Brianna said, as she sorted through thongs and bras in various shades of pink.

“Do you like carnation or rose?” she asked.

Drew raised his brow. “They look the same to me,” he said.

“Don't be dumb,” Brianna said. “Carnation is lighter, a more pure shade.”

“I guess so,” he said, checking her attitude. “Whatever you say, Bree.”

Brianna nuzzled her boyfriend again as they made their way across the store toward the cashier. Neither of them knew they were being watched, but they were. Certainly store security personnel always keep extra alert around teenage shoppers. But aside from the video camera fixated in their direction and a skeezy man who was shopping for the “wife” he didn't have, there was one more set of eyes riveted on them.

Watching the young couple from across the store was classmate Starla Larsen's mom, Mindee. Like everyone, she'd heard what had happened at the Connorses' home. Instead of concern, she actually felt a little relief. Maybe now the people of Port Gamble would stop their incessant finger-pointing in her direction? It wasn't
all
her fault that Katelyn Berkley had died in her bathtub last year. Certainly, she accepted a small, itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny part in the events that led to the death of her daughter's former best friend. Yes, Mindee had faked those bullying e-mails. Yes, she had written terrible things about the fifteen-year-old. But she'd had a good reason. She was defending her daughter. All those judgmental moms who had stopped being her clients at the hair salon would have done the same thing. She was sure of it. Yes, she played a role in the whole mess, but it was tiny, and Katelyn's electrocution was proven to have been an accident. Mindee's part in it was merely a bad decision.

A bad decision just like those thongs Brianna Connors was buying with her embarrassingly horny boyfriend in tow.

Brianna's and Mindee's eyes met briefly, and Mindee waved from behind a rack of padded bras.

Brianna pretended not to see Starla's mother and hoped she wouldn't turn her in for skipping school. She considered Mrs. Larsen a total loser, one of those moms who never understood that she was older and should stop trying to dress like her daughter. Her chance had come and gone. The way Brianna looked at it, over time hotness turns to lukewarm, then to cool, then to cold. Sadly, Mrs. Larsen had her home-manicured claws dug in, clinging to the lukewarm zone.

“Buy one more and you get a free one,” said the clerk, who wore a top so sheer that some shoppers wondered why she bothered to wear it at all.

“Drew,” Brianna said, “go fetch another apricot one.”

Drew scampered off like a puppy and came running back.

“Here you go,” he said.

Brianna put a hand on her hip and shifted impatiently. “That's not apricot,” she said. “That's peach. I said
apricot
.”

“Sorry,” Drew said, “I guess I got my fruits mixed up.”

Brianna turned to the clerk. “Thank goodness he's cute, because he sure is dumb. Meet Drew-without-a-Clue.”

“Umm,” the girl said, “you want to skip the freebie? I can give you a sample of this season's signature fragrance, Hot and Juicy, instead.”

Brianna laughed and shook her glossy dark hair in a can't-be-bothered manner.

“Gross! It sounds like a hamburger,” she said.

The clerk laughed. “I don't name ‘em. But, yeah, it is gross.”

Brianna took out a credit card to pay, then turned to Drew and gave him a kiss.

“I know you're trying your best, Babe,” she said. “I guess I have to teach you everything.”

They walked to the front of the store, where Brianna stopped to check out a rack she had missed.

“Are you still staying at the Silverdale Beach Hotel?” Drew asked.

“Of course I am. My mom always stays there, and she took care of everything,” she said.

THE SILVERDALE BEACH HOTEL had undergone a recent remodel, with a cadre of designers and carpenters coming together to yank the venerable hotel out of its mauve and taupe cloud and forest of oak and ferns and into a more modern vibe—the dark wood, cool glass accents, and the tasteful carpets of a modern hotel. Even so, the Silverdale Beach Hotel wasn't the W, not by a long shot.

Brianna sent a Platinum American Express card sliding over the black granite counter like a silver streak.

The clerk, a chinless man, looked over his round-frame glasses.

“I need to extend my stay. I'm an authorized user. Call if you have to,” she said.

“Um, how long will you be staying?” the clerk asked.

Brianna slammed her purse on the counter. “How the hell should I know? Indefinitely.”

The clerk blinked. “That might be a problem. I don't know how to put that in the system,” he said, scratching his head while pecking at the keyboard in front of him.

Drew looked at the card. It had Bree's father's name on it.

“Your mom didn't set up the room for you, did she?” he asked.

Brianna shot him a sideways glance, one that he'd seen plenty of times since they'd started dating last year. It meant back off.
Now
. She punctuated the look with a few words this time—in case Drew-without-a-Clue didn't quite get it.

“I don't want to talk about it,” she said.

“Figured it out!” the chinless clerk said. “You need help with your luggage?” He looked over at her purse and the little pink bag from Victoria's Secret.

“I can manage,” Brianna said.

“Oh, okay then. Enjoy your indefinite stay.”

As they walked to the elevator, Drew nudged her, snapping her out of whatever was preoccupying her mind.

“What's the deal with your mom anyway? First she missed the ferry and then said she'd come over later.
Didn't happen.
Then she said she'd take care of your room? No mom. No room.”

“Look, Drew. I might have the perfect life. But I have the worst mom ever. I know that. She left me when I was a kid. She didn't have time for me back then. She doesn't have time now. But don't ever get me wrong. I wouldn't trade her in for step-monster Shelley any day of the week. Don't dog her. Don't put her down. That's my job. Because when I do it, I know that it doesn't really mean anything. She's my mom.”

They got off the elevator, and Brianna inserted the key card to unlock the room.

“What happened to your hand?” Drew asked, eyeing her cut palm.

Brianna slipped her key card into the front pocket of her jeans, dark-dyed from the Gap of all places, because that was all the Kitsap Mall had that was halfway decent. Being booted out of her house without a complete wardrobe and no time to order anything decent online had cramped her style.

Big-time.

“Nothing,” she said, pulling away. “I slipped when I found Olivia. I'm okay.”

Drew followed her into the room, pulled off his fleece and flopped down on the bed. He tucked his hand inside the waistband of his jeans.

“Want to fool around?” he asked, arching a brow in a way that he was sure was sexy.

Brianna barely looked at him. “Okay,” she said. “After I post on Facebook.”

She typed on her wall:

MINDEE LARSEN DID NOT HAVE a blue ribbon or a trophy for completing her community service, and frankly, it ticked her off a little that Kitsap County authorities didn't give her one. She did more than was required. She talked to two extra classes about the dangers of cyberbullying and about the warning signs that kids and parents should look for if they suspect someone is being victimized online.

While she easily could have, Mindee never told her audience the number-one tip for saving someone from being cyberbullied:
“Be mindful of all jealous, overprotective, stage-mother wannabes. If her stunning daughter—the one who will bring her riches, fame, and a place in Palm Springs—is threatened and might lose everything, there's no telling how far the mother will go to protect her future assets.”

That would have been good advice, the kind that only personal experience can bring. Compelling stuff in front of a group, indeed.

Finally at home, Mindee looked at the clock. It was 5:30 p.m. She kicked off her vintage Wild Pair heels, poured a glass of box sangria, and guzzled it like she was a camel heading into the Gobi. Doing five heads at Shear Elegance salon, talking to a group of smelly kids in Bremerton, and visiting her son, Teagan, at the detention center made for a very hard day.

She poured a second glass—the one she usually let sit half-consumed, a prop to indicate she wasn't drinking too much. Not today. Mindee played back her conversation with her son as she sipped:

As Mindee sucked down the last pinkish drops in her wine glass, her daughter flounced into the house. She barely gave Starla, in full Buccaneers' cheerleader uniform, a second to put down her book bag and drop her pom-poms before jumping in with, to her mind, earth-shattering news. Mindee was one hundred percent certain the latest turn of events at the mall would help her get back into the good graces of those who judged her.

“On my way to Port Orchard to see your brother,” she said, “I stopped at Victoria's Secret. Guess who I saw there?”

Starla brightened a little. She didn't care who her mother saw, but the fact that she went to the mall always put her in good cheer.

“Mommy, what did you get me?” Starla asked, lapsing into I-love-you-so-much-because-you-buy-me-stuff mode.

Mindee set down her glass. “God, Starla, however did you become so selfish? It isn't all about you, twenty-four-seven.”

Starla appeared a little confused. She thought it
was
. She flipped her long blond hair. “You're so harsh! But get to your point.”

“This is good. Pay attention. I saw Brianna and Drew, and believe you me they weren't acting like they were sad about their friend being butchered in Brianna's bedroom. They were practically making out by the Angel Wing thongs. It was really, really inappropriate. It was like they were celebrating or something.”

“Those thongs are pretty nice, Mom,” Starla said, her blue eyes flashing. “I wish you would have bought me some.”

Mindee reached for her glass. “Don't you ever listen?”

Starla made a face. “Don't you ever buy me anything anymore?”

“Considering that we have hardly any money because of legal fees for me and your brother, I think we're doing all right.”

“Maybe Jake should get a real job,” Starla said, referring to her mom's younger bad-boy boyfriend. “Where is he anyway?”

Mindee looked at her phone. It was after six. “He's over at Sheila's helping her repipe her laundry room,” she said.