Deadly Little Sins (19 page)

I feel sick at the possibility I’ve been completely wrong this whole time, thinking that Caroline and Spencer had gotten rid of Natalie together. Could it be that Natalie’s own brother had done something so terrible to her she felt she had to change her name to get away from him?

I need to get back to school. Put as much distance between Caroline and me as possible before someone sees us together. She steps in front of me, blocking my path.

“I didn’t get you out here to discuss Natalie,” she says. “But think of what I just told you as my way of showing you how serious I am.”

“Serious about what?”

Caroline gives me a thin-lipped smile. “Getting rid of Alexis. You’re going to help me.”

“No, thank you.” I try to sidestep Caroline, but she puts a surprisingly toned arm out in front of me.

“You’re going to help me, or I’m going to call Dean Tierney and let her know that one of her students has been harassing me and cavorting with a known drug dealer.”

“Cavorting? You’re the one actually buying drugs from him.”

“No.” Caroline gives me a wry smile. “
Alexis
is. Or at least that’s what it’ll look like when they find these in her locker.”

Caroline shoves an orange prescription bottle into my hand and covers it with my fingers. “You two have put me in a really tough spot. Spencer won’t do business with me anymore, and Alexis seems to think she can blackmail me.”

“So you’re trying to blackmail
me
,” I say. “Are you sure you and Alexis aren’t actually related?”

Caroline makes a disapproving noise. “I’m not going to sit back and lose my job because of some silly little childhood vendetta Alexis has. I couldn’t care less about you, but unfortunately, I need your help.”

There’s a thrumming sound in my ears. I try to make eye contact with the people zipping past us on the sidewalk. If I look terrified enough, will someone come to my rescue?

If Caroline tells on me, Tierney will expel my ass so fast I’ll get whiplash. And this time, she’ll want answers. As will my parents.

“Why do you need me?” I ask Caroline.

“You look like a Haverford Day student.” Caroline extracts a blue blazer from her Kate Spade shoulder bag and hands it to me. “Put it on. You should be able to slip through the main doors without a problem. Alexis’s locker is 1506, on the first floor. From what I hear, locks aren’t a problem for you.”

I look at the blazer in my hands. “Alexis will be expelled. Maybe even arrested.”

“She’ll never see the inside of a jail,” Caroline scoffs. “I want her out of my house and off my back.”

“Someone might believe that you set her up,” I say.

“Really? Who? Because my mother caught Alexis snooping through my phone. She’ll gladly go on the record saying that. And plenty of people saw
both
of you with Spencer at the country club.”

My face feels damp with sweat. Everything is spiraling out of control—Caroline has me exactly where she wants me.

I put the blazer on, my arms trembling so hard I miss the sleeve hole.

“Don’t be nervous,” Caroline says. “It’s the end of the day. No one will see you. Now give me your phone so I know you won’t tip her off.”

I motion to hand it over, because what choice do I have? Caroline can end me with one phone call. If I’m expelled again, my life is pretty much over. Never mind the fact that Ms. C—Natalie—is still missing, Dr. Muller’s killer still out there, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it from New York.

Besides, Alexis
hates
me. If the situation were reversed, she’d save her own ass over mine.

I don’t owe Alexis anything. She tried to get me expelled after Isabella’s murder—she even started a rumor that
I
was the one who killed her.

“Give it to me.” Caroline’s gaze is on my fingers, which are curling protectively around my phone. The thrumming in my ears has reached a crescendo. I can’t move or speak.

“Is something wrong with you?” Caroline barks.

“No.” I shove the pill bottle back at Caroline and shake the blazer off of me as if it’s diseased. “Something is wrong with
you
.”

Caroline grabs my shoulder as I try to push past her. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”

I shake her off of me and keep walking. For the first time, I realize
exactly
what I’m doing.

And it scares the hell out of me.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

My time is running out.

If Tierney is looking for a reason to kick my ass back to New York, allegations that I’ve been buying drugs is a pretty compelling one.

If she wasn’t bluffing, Caroline could be calling the school right now. I could be expelled before I even get off the train or set foot back on campus.

I don’t believe that Caroline is bluffing. She took the trouble to draw me out—was willing to get her own cousin in serious, deep shit—so why not go the extra step to try to screw me over?

But there was something in Caroline’s eyes when she said that she didn’t hurt Natalie: desperation for me to believe her. And Natalie had already kept her mouth shut to protect Spencer once—the night she was caught at the annex.

Or, if Caroline’s story is true, Natalie may have lied to protect her own brother.

I think it’s time to dig around and see if I can find any skeletons in the Barnes’s family’s past.

When I get back to my room, I park myself at my desk and google Luke Barnes again. I skip over all of the White Pages and LinkedIn info and open an interview with him on a technology blog. It’s dated ten months ago.

Luke Barnes, 29, came up with the idea for Net Space during his senior year at MIT. But don’t jump to label him the next Zuckerberg wunderkid—Barnes graduated in 2008, when the country was on the brink of financial collapse, and had to set aside his plans for Net Space in order to navigate a punishing job market. Five years later, Technology Today named Net Space one of “Ten Social Media Platforms to Keep an Eye On.” I called Luke to hear about his journey, which has been anything but an overnight success story.

I skim the interview, which has a bunch of boring details about Net Space and Luke’s “vision” for the site. I pause when I’m three-quarters of the way down the page.

TT:
Last January you relaunched Net Space to a warm reception from critics. Net Space already has two million users. How did you do it?

LH:
It was a situation where a very dark place in my life ended with me doing something positive.… My father died two years ago. It was unexpected, and I went through a really hard time. It turned out he had a life insurance policy I didn’t know about. I really wanted to use the money in a way that would honor his memory. So I hired a couple of developers, went back to the drawing board, and that’s how Net Space came back and really found its footing.

I sit back in the chair, letting everything sink in. A life insurance policy
Luke and his mom
didn’t know about. No mention of a sister. Could it be that Luke had forgotten he even had a sister, until his father died and he inherited what sounds like quite a bit of money?

Maybe Luke really did notice Natalie that day she saw him in Boston—he could have panicked, thinking she’d learn about the inheritance and come after him for her cut. But what if Natalie’s goal was always to get away from her family—to get away from Luke?

I’m pretty sure that 90 percent of murders happen over money or sex. It turns the contents of my stomach over, thinking that what’s going on with Ms. C could be some sick combination of both. If Caroline’s story is true, Luke may have felt a little too close to his adopted sister.

Had he gone farther than threatening Natalie’s boyfriend? Is that why she fell apart when she was sent home after being expelled—she couldn’t take his advances anymore?

I exhaust every available resource cyber-stalking Luke Barnes. The most I can gather is that he’s a super-private guy. The kind who has the maximum privacy settings on his Facebook account. There’s a generic Net Space Twitter account, but it tells me nothing about Luke the person, and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t even run it.

I minimize the screen when I hear the door lock begin to stir. Remy slips in, quiet as a cat.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi.” She sits on my bed—I’m too shocked to come up with a response to that, but she speaks first anyway. “I didn’t say nothing about Kaylee on purpose. It just … never came up.”

“I know,” I say. “I know you would never keep something important from me.”

She averts her eyes to my comforter, no doubt thinking of last year, when I found out that Remy and Brent hooked up before I even came to Wheatley. Nausea rolls through me.

“Nothing happened between them,” she says.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “But thanks.”

Remy gives me a smile. It could almost be real. She’s definitely trying.

It kills me that I may not be around to see her actually forgive me.

After class lets out the next afternoon, I’m on the train to the city to do a little surveillance on Luke Barnes.

I have to spot Luke Barnes on his way out of the Net Space ffice. To make sure it’s a one-way viewing, I have my hair tucked in a low bun that gives the illusion of a pixie cut. That, combined with a swipe of lipstick and sunglasses, is enough that he shouldn’t recognize me.

I park myself at a café across the street with outdoor seating and order a rooibos tea and a croissant. We’re reading
Candide
in World Literature, so I crack it open and get a head start on the chapters Knight assigned for this weekend.

The book is good in a wacky way, so I almost forget to pick my head up and periodically glance across the street at the Net Space building. I sip my tea and admire the ring of lipstick on the mug—MAC, in Lady Danger, a coral-red shade I’m rarely gutsy enough to wear.

I amuse myself by pretending I’m a French intelligence agent and Lady Danger is my cover. Lady Danger has short hair and no problems with men, because she has no time for them. Maybe she has a cat. One of those hairless ones; I’m allergic.

The longer I sit here, the harder it is to let the thought of her go. The idea of trading my life for someone else’s is tempting. It’s impossible.

I want it so much right now it hurts.

Is this how Ms. C felt? Like she had nothing left, except becoming Jessica Cross?

The dregs of tea in my mug are cold and I’m fielding dirty looks from the waiter by the time I’ve finished the book. I check my phone—it’s after five. I’ve been here almost two hours. I’m scoping out the other businesses nearby, looking for a backup stakeout spot, when I see motion behind the Net Space building door.

The man who steps outside is not Luke Barnes—but the man behind him is. They hang out outside the building, chatting, and I hide my face with my book. I peek around it to see Luke shaking the guy’s hand. They split up, each heading in a different direction.

I leave an obscenely large tip on the table since I don’t have time to wait for change. I stay on my side of the street, about half a block behind Luke.

Luke passes the T station, to my relief. There’s no quicker way for me to lose him than on a train car during rush hour. He makes a right onto a side street, taking us deeper into the Back Bay area.

About ten minutes later he stops outside a brownstone apartment building. I slip into the space between two buildings a few hundred feet away. I count to twenty and poke my head around the corner.

Luke is gone, inside the building.

It’s a five-story building with a gated door, buzzer, and an entry keypad. I scan the windows, spying potted plants, a decal for a sorority, and even a row of glass beer bottles arranged by color. Looks like mostly college students live here.

A light goes on in one of the third-floor windows. A man’s silhouette passes by. It’s him. He lowers the blinds, and moments later, what little light is leaking through the slits goes out.

And a cab pulls up outside the building.

Is Luke leaving already? I panic, scanning the street for an escape route where I won’t run into him if he comes downstairs. I spot a narrow side street in the opposite direction from which we came.

I’m about to dart across the street when the front door to Luke’s building opens. He hurries out, slowed down only by the bags he’s carrying: A suitcase and a duffel bag. I press myself against the corner I’m hiding behind, but Luke doesn’t stop to look across the street before he gets into the cab.

My breath is staggered, unable to keep up with my heartbeat.

It looks like Luke Barnes is leaving town.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

Leaving town with two large bags isn’t proof that Luke is running from something. It’s entirely possible he was leaving for a trip, and he was worried he was going to miss his flight.

If he hadn’t made the trip out to Wheatley just to follow me, I’d be more inclined to believe that.

The cold works its way into my fingers. I stick my hands in my pockets and leave in the opposite direction from which I came, just in case anyone saw me.

That could pose a problem if Luke comes home and figures out that I was in his apartment.

Somewhere between the Starbucks on Boylston and the walk back to Luke’s street, I almost change my mind and head back to Wheatley. If I’m going to do this—break into his apartment—I have to do it while I’m here. Before I lose my nerve.

The sun goes down and I return to my spot across the street from Luke’s building. I wonder when I passed the point of no return. Was it when I agreed with my dad that I needed to come back to Wheatley? Or am I deluding myself, and it was the moment I decided to find Isabella’s killer on my own?

Two girls in Mass Art sweatshirts come out of the building, reusable grocery bags draped over their arms. They laugh all the way to the corner, moving apart so a man walking a golden retriever can walk through them.