Betrayal (9 page)

The teenager rolled her eyes with such overt exaggeration that she was lucky they stayed in their sockets. “Is that what he calls it now?” she asked.

“Starla! That's not nice,” Mindee said, shaking her head. “The Victoria's Secret thing could be big for me, for
us
.”

Starla, still annoyed, always liked to hear how something could benefit her. “How?” she asked.

Mindee took a dramatic breath. “If Brianna—who I've always thought was as cold as her mother—killed that British girl and gets caught for doing it, everyone will forget all about what your brother did.”

Starla gathered her hair and made a messy ponytail. “Or really, Mom, what you're saying is no one will think about what
you
did.”

Mindee let the gibe pass. If Starla had learned how to ignore and put herself above others, she'd learned it from her mother.

“I'm telling Chief Garnett tomorrow,” Mindee said. “I can't withhold this crucial evidence. It just wouldn't be right. I'm all about doing the right thing.” She sipped the rest of her wine and looked longingly in the direction of the sangria.
I think I'll treat myself to a third glass tonight. I deserve it.

Chapter 9

TUESDAY AT KINGSTON HIGH was far from normal. With the news of Olivia's death moved far beyond teen Twitter to the Seattle news channels, Principal Andrea Sandusky knew she had to respond in an appropriate and sensitive manner. Gone were the days when kids were told to buck up and shut up, like they had been when she was their age. Andrea took off one of her wide looped gold earrings and dialed the number of Phoebe Cooper, the district's designated grief counselor, a woman who seemed to relish the role a little too much—as if she were sucking in tragedy like a vampire.

Empathetic? Sort of. Always available? Definitely. For a price.

“Tell me, how does it make you feel?” Dr. Cooper would say over and over.

“It's all right to cry, dear,” she'd offer, her lips a straight line. “Crying is a gift, a present all wrapped up in tears. Let it go.”

And finally, the zinger she'd always end on—no matter the occasion. It could be a car crash that killed someone's parents. A kid buried in an avalanche and yet to be found. It didn't matter to Dr. Cooper.

“Life isn't fair,” she would say, “though we wish it could be.”

Students were encouraged to seek help from Dr. Cooper at any point during the day, and teachers were asked to give even the most misbehaved some latitude during a very trying time.

Beth and Brianna were both at school, although they stayed on opposite sides of the hall whenever possible. Beth, who'd barely slept—thanks to chain-guzzling Red Bull—was jittery. She was trying her best to cope with Olivia's death as well as the aftermath of Annie's visit to the house. Brianna let out some tears but mostly spun around her rapt circle of friends telling the gruesome story of discovering the body.

“You don't even want to know how gross it was, but if you really, really want me to tell you . . .”

Colton and Hayley watched her from the other side of the hallway.

“She sure doesn't seem upset,” he said. “I mean, not like you or your sister or Beth.”

“I've always kind of felt a little sorry for Bree,” Hayley said.

Colton set his backpack on a bench and searched it for his homework.

“Sorry for her? She has everything.”

“Yeah, she has a big house,” Hayley said. “The biggest house we've ever seen. She has her own car and everything, but she always seems a little lonely to me.”

Colton pulled out his English paper, relieved that he hadn't left it at home. “You mean like some attention is better than none at all?” he asked.

Hayley nodded as they started for class.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just watching Brianna makes me want to figure out what happened even more. We owe it to Olivia.”

UNFORTUNATELY FOR TAYLOR, Mr. Hayden, her hipster wannabe “Family Life” teacher who didn't realize that skinny jeans only work if you're actually skinny, was plowing ahead with their latest project, right on schedule. Olivia's death, apparently, only put a dent in
her
“Story of My Life in Words and Pictures” assignment—not anyone else's.

“People, I want high points and low points,” Mr. Hayden pontificated from the front of the classroom after saying a few words about Olivia's death and Dr. Cooper's availability for counseling. “Gather up photos and family mementos. Scan them, provide explanatory text, and above all make sure your presentation shows creative edge and breadth of discovery.”

As he walked, Mr. Hayden's loaf-sized muffin top jiggled over his low-risers and the reek of his Aqua Velva cologne made its way down the aisles, jolting awake the sophomores sleeping at the back of the room. Turning abruptly on his heel, Mr. Hayden stopped and leaned on Taylor's desk. He looked her straight in the eye, giving her a too-close-for-comfort view of the sandy-gray plume of hair emanating from his shirt collar like a Mount St. Helens eruption.

“I really need to see you in words and pictures. Your real self. Your authentic being. Each and every one of you is totally amazing. Each of you is dipped in awesome sauce,” he said.

Taylor shot an incredulous look over at Beth, who was marooned with her in the worst class ever.

“Is he asking us to be scrapbookers?” Taylor whispered as soon as he trotted away to torture a new victim.

Beth rolled her eyes. “Yeah, too bad I got rid of those scalloped scissors in third grade.”

Taylor couldn't agree more. “I'm still gagging on the idea that we're dipped in awesome sauce.”

DURING LUNCH PERIOD, Taylor approached Brianna by the studentrun latte stand in front of the cafeteria. Brianna had been holding court there off and on, retelling the horror of her discovery to all who would listen, which was just about anyone with a heartbeat. It was, after all, not only a ghastly story but also the kind of thing that usually only happened to people on TV.

“Bree, I know you've been through a lot. I'm really sorry,” Taylor said.

Brianna did a hair toss and paid for her drink, a mocha with cherry syrup and a mountain of whipped cream.

“No kidding,” she said. “I have been getting dozens of requests for interviews. Seems like finding a dead girl in your bedroom is newsworthy. Maybe your dad will want to interview me for one of his books.”

Taylor took her latte, a vanilla soy, no foam. “Maybe. My dad usually only covers stories after the perpetrator has been caught and brought to justice.”

“A semi-journalist with ethics,” Brianna said. “That's ironic.”

Taylor let it go.

“Well, I'm sorry about what you're going through,” she said.

“I guess someone had to find her, and we were practically best friends. So really, what choice do I have? I'm being victimized right along with Olivia.”

Not exactly
, Taylor thought.
Olivia is dead. You're drinking a disgusting cherry mocha.

“What do you mean,
victimized
?” Taylor asked.

Brianna ate the cherry off her whipped cream. “People talk,” she said. “They say nasty things. I get it. I've been thrust into the public eye. The TV reporters are coming around. Everyone wants a piece of me. I feel like one of the Kardashians, except, thank God, I have a smaller butt.”

“What do you think happened to Olivia?”

“Besides someone stabbing her, you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Taylor said, trying to conceal her annoyance. “Why her? Why your bedroom?”

Brianna shrugged. “You ask a lot of good questions. I guess you're the daughter of a question-asker so you just do it without thinking about how rude it might sound.”

Keep calm. She's a twit. A rich twit. A traumatized twit.

“Without thinking?” Taylor asked. “What happened to Olivia was either random or intentional. In any case, whoever did it
will
get caught and go to prison. I just want to know who did it. Beth is my friend. I care about her, and this has really hurt her too.”

“I'm the one that this mess has hurt. Olivia and I were tight. I adored her. I wanted to spend Christmas with her in London.”

“Hey, Baby.”

Taylor turned to find Drew practically leapfrogging over her to get to Brianna. He didn't acknowledge Taylor at all.

“Hi, Drew,” Taylor said.

He ignored her. “Cops keep bugging me for another interview,” he said to Brianna.

Brianna shook her head in disgust. “You, too? Mom texted me during Spanish that they want to talk to me again, too. Can't they just take decent notes?”

“I guess not,” Drew said, sticking his finger in Brianna's whipped cream and then offering his finger to her.

If she licks it, I'm going to hurl
, Taylor thought.

Which, of course, is exactly what Brianna did. As her tongue rolled over his finger, Drew shuffled his feet and squirmed in ecstasy.

“Hey guys, nice talking to you,” Taylor said, backing away, wishing there was antibacterial spray for the brain so she could forget the last couple of minutes.

WITH DREW GONE OFF TO CLASS and the bevy of curiosity seekers and fake friends dissipated, Brianna smoked an electronic cigarette in the bathroom stall. It was against school rules to smoke on campus, of course, and in doing so a kid risked the same sort of wrath the FAA might bring down on a smoker on an airplane. The beauty of the electronic cigarette was that the wispy vapor was water, not smoke. There was no worry about tripping the smoke alarms, plus the price of cigarettes was sky high—too pricey for the average teenager's allowance. Money wasn't an issue for Brianna, but she liked to steal a little. In her circle, she wasn't alone in that regard.

Brianna had managed to snag her dad's phony cigarette and assorted cartridges—including the disgusting menthol ones that he ordered through the mail by mistake. He never even knew that they were missing. And there she sat, not really smoking, but really mad.

Sure, she was enjoying all the attention of Olivia's death, but at the end of the day, all this left her with was Drew (who was fun, but not exactly a life partner), her good-for-nothing parents, and even worse, her nicey-nicey stepmother. Her dad and stepmom had cut their cruise short, which out of everything that happened, provided the biggest ray of sunshine.

Serves them right
, she thought.
They are so selfish.

When it came to her mother, Brandy, Brianna had always talked a good game. She'd defended her mom's abhorrent behavior to the wall whenever someone suggested that Brandy Connors Baker was less than Mom of the Year material. When Brianna was in elementary school, Brandy ditched her husband and only child for another man. Lawyer Robby Baker was younger, more handsome, and far richer than Brianna's dad. At first Brianna made her father the heavy, blaming him for her mom's unhappiness. In time, she turned her blame on Robby, first wondering what self-respecting man would still call himself
Robby
and not Rob or Robert, and then focusing her hatred on him as a home wrecker. Whenever Brianna tried to make plans with her mother, Robby would step into the mix and ruin everything. Brandy would be full of apologies and promises of rescheduling, but nine times out of ten, things ended the same way.

“Robby has made other plans, Honey. I just can't get over to the peninsula this weekend after all. Rain check. You understand, sweetie.”

When Brianna was twelve, her mother had said that she couldn't come and pick her up at the ferry for the weekend of shopping she'd promised. Brandy had left a message on Brianna's cell. Again, Robby was to blame.

“Honey, forgive me. Robby's sick and is being a big baby. I have to spend all weekend taking care of him. I love you. Rain check.”

Brianna's heart sank. She heard something familiar in the background. She had played the v-mail over and over until she was sure. It was there all right. There was no mistaking it.

“Flight 253 service to Miami boarding now at B-8.”

It wasn't Robby who had screwed things up and continued to keep them apart. It was her mother.

After that, Brianna took her mother on her mother's terms. Whenever she had time, whenever Robby didn't have more exciting plans, and whenever Brandy felt guilty enough, mother and daughter saw each other. Brianna told everyone she had a great mom and that her mother was always doing special things for her.

“My mom got me this cool top from Saks in Bellevue,” she'd lie to friends, when, in fact, Brianna had purchased it herself online.

“My mom is taking me to Italy in August. I'm so lucky,” she'd tell teachers when they asked about her summer plans. The following fall she'd be back in school with an expensive Italian leather purse.

“My mom and I saw it in a shop in Milan and she just had to get it for me.”

It was only a half-truth. Her mother did buy it in Milan, but she was there with Robby and had shipped the package to Brianna in Port Gamble.

Every time she carried the soft Italian leather bag, she'd say “Ciao,” explaining, “It's something my mom and I got into when we were in Florence. It felt so right there and, well, I just love the way it sounds.”

Brianna out-and-out lied about her mother. She told nearly everyone that her mom was the best mother in the world.

“She's always getting mistaken for Demi Moore, you know,” she once told a group of girls hanging around Pretzel Time at the mall. “She's the prettiest mom in the world. I'm so lucky that I favor her side

of the family. What a total relief! If I looked like my dad's side of the family, I'd kill myself right here and now.”

When she had called her mom about Olivia's murder, Brandy had said she'd be right there. A few minutes later, Brianna had gotten a text message: