Dial Em for Murder (10 page)

That was one debt I'd never be able to repay.

“Or something.”

I crossed my arms and glared at Sebastian. “Okay, you win. I don't understand your cryptic clues. So here's a novel idea: why don't you just tell me if your grandfather is dead or alive?!”

“It's more complicated than that, Emmy. Although I suppose someone with such a black-and-white view of morality might have trouble comprehending the shades of grey between them.” I nearly snarled a retort, but Sebastian wasn't finished. “My grandfather is legally dead. A body, which may or may not be his, was delivered to the morgue. As far as the world is concerned, Frederick St. James no longer exists.”

Frederick. I swallowed hard. Somehow it was harder to breathe now that I knew the dead man's name. It was easier to think of him as my coffee thief or Sebastian's grandfather, but he'd been a man named Frederick St. James.

And the past tense was the key part of that sentence.

“So he's dead.” It wasn't a question, but a gut-wrenching statement of fact. I felt like an idiot for imagining him in a hospital somewhere being spoon-fed green Jell-O.

“He
appears
to be dead.”

“But if the homicide detective
and
the medical examiner both believe that—”

“It's cute,” Sebastian said. “Your faith in humanity is downright adorable, but since it's also going to get you killed, I'm going to fill you in on a little secret. Adults aren't smarter, or nicer, or stronger, or less screwed up than teenagers—they're simply excellent liars. They lie to themselves every single day as they wake up for work. They hide their fears and anxieties behind polite smiles and small talk. They dole out platitudes and vague generalizations, and if anyone has the nerve to call them on their bullshit, they say, ‘What do you know? You're in
high school
. Talk to me when you're older,' because that's safer than looking at their own lives.”

“I—”

Sebastian continued to steamroll right over me. “Consider this your second lesson: Never trust an adult. They see what they want to see, and most of the time they are lying to themselves.”

“Have you ever considered that
you
might be the one deceiving yourself, Sebastian?” The words felt hot in my mouth. Hot and sour and steeped in bitterness, the kind of honesty that hurts more than it helps. “Did it ever occur to you that this isn't some kind of grand conspiracy? Your grandfather died. Yesterday. Right on top of me.” I shuddered at the memory. “He tackled me to the ground and, look, I'm very sorry for your loss, but that doesn't make him any less dead.”

Sebastian's lips tightened into a hard, thin line. “My grandfather has cheated death more times than I can count. He's been tracked by the best of the best of the
best
. He wasn't murdered inside that Starbucks.”

“Let me get this straight: You think your grandfather was too tough to die?”

Sebastian nodded. “That's right.”

“The guy had to be in his eighties!”

“We celebrated his eighty-seventh birthday in Rome six months ago.”

“Of course you did,” I tried not to sneer, but
seriously
? How rich do you have to be to celebrate birthdays overseas? “Did you notice him slowing down? Having trouble following conversations? Maybe confusing you with somebody else?”

Sebastian's cold expression grew even stonier.

“He was fine.”

“Well, the man I met in the coffee shop wasn't fine. He wasn't remotely close to being fine. He called me
Gracie
, okay?”

Sebastian stepped back as if I'd sucker-punched him right in the gut. For the first time I watched Sebastian St. James turn speechless. If we had been discussing anything else, I would have felt a small surge of victory. A tiny jolt of triumph. Instead, I just felt sad and helpless and mean.

But if I tried to take any of it back, I would only be supporting a lie. Sebastian would keep right on believing that his grandfather was still alive. I knew enough about holding out hope for a statistical improbability to last me a lifetime. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy.

Even when a self-absorbed jackass was standing right in front of me.

“He—you—” Sebastian's pale blue eyes darkened and a chill ran up my spine. He didn't seem like a devil-may-care rich kid now. He looked more like a killer whose patience was nearing the end of its rope. “What else did he say to you?”

“N-nothing!” I sputtered, trying to recall any other detail that might satisfy him and coming up empty. “Who's Gracie anyway? Is that your mom?”

“It's none of your business.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. “Seriously? Well, if I'd known
that
was an acceptable excuse I'd have used it long ago. Why don't I give it a try now? ‘It's none of your business, Sebastian.' Wow. That really does make me feel better.”

Sebastian didn't laugh, not that I had honestly expected him to see any humor in the situation. He didn't say a word. Instead, he prowled closer until he filled my vision, until I could see each splotch of grey that made his eyes look so icy, and then he turned and resumed walking down the pathway. As if nothing had just happened. I didn't move until he twisted around to glare back at me.

“I told you, I've got places to go and people to see. Try to keep up.” He pointed to a dark silvery blob, apparently warming up to the role of tour guide. “The pigeon statue was donated five years ago from one of our alums. It's made of titanium with gold and silver accents.”

“Classy pigeon.”

Sebastian inclined his head. “Behind him is the Turin library, which houses an exceptional rare books collection on the third floor.”

I nodded. I doubted I'd
ooh
and
ahh
over their pretentious first editions, but it might be a good place to hide out if my roommate turned out to be a high-maintenance germophobe.

“So where is your crazy-expensive computer lab?” I asked.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You've done some research. I think that's the first bit of initiative you've displayed.”

I snorted disdainfully. “You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that this preppy nightmare wouldn't be complete without a tech center. Let me guess, it's state of the art and staffed by experts.”

“Your jealousy is showing, Emmy. You might want to work on that, now that you're attending this ‘preppy nightmare,' as you so charmingly put it. The lab is actually staffed by students, many of whom have internships with Slate Industries. Emptor Academy strongly encourages students to pursue real world experience in the tech industry.” He sounded like he had swallowed the academy brochure.

Audrey would have geeked out over the opportunity to challenge Emptor's biggest techies to a coding battle. Me, though? All I wanted was to be left alone. To keep my two best friends updated on Operation Find Father, or OFF for short. And then to get the hell out of there.

Of course, Ben would say that I was
off
my meds if he ever heard my ridiculous codename.

“How many pretenti—I mean,” I smiled with a sugary sweetness that wasn't even remotely genuine, “how many kids go here anyway?” It was the kind of question that made me regret not scanning the website when I had the chance.

“We have two hundred students, give or take a few.”

Overwhelming claustrophobia struck out of nowhere. I was accustomed to a fair amount of anonymity. Unless you were one of the rich, popular kids at my high school, it wasn't hard to fly under the radar. That was exactly how I liked it. Audrey, Ben, and I were able to say and do virtually whatever we wanted with nobody the wiser.

That was a far cry from this expensive fishbowl.

“Two hundred? For the whole school?” My mouth fell open. “So that's what, fifty kids in each grade?”

“Impressive mathematical skills, Emmy. Two hundred divided by four does equal fifty. I can hardly wait to see you multiply and subtract.”

“Shut up, Sebastian.” It was the first time I'd come right out and said it, and the words felt so intoxicatingly wonderful that I repeated them. “For the love of all that is holy,
shut up
.”

He pointed to yet another impressive-looking building, which had probably been designed from Frank Lloyd Wright's secret schematics, but he didn't say a word.

It was galling to admit, but I'd actually kind of appreciated his running commentary. The huge brick buildings felt slightly less imposing when I could distinguish the library from the computer lab.

“You have got to be the most frustrating person in the history of the world.”

His grin was one hundred percent self-assured male. “I always aim to be the best.”

I chose to ignore that particular comment. “So what's that building? The etiquette hall? The music building? Is that where our trusty steeds are housed?”

“It's the girls' dorm.” Sebastian didn't offer to lift my suitcase up the four stairs that separated the cobblestone pathway from the entry doors, leaving me without the satisfaction of turning up my nose at his assistance. “Enjoy room 258. Tell Kayla we're still on for tonight.”

“You're not going upstairs with me?” I couldn't hide the surprise from my voice, which was stupid because I didn't even
want
him mucking up my roommate introduction. He would probably call me “the scholarship kid” and say that he'd rescued me from a life of painful mediocrity.

“Inviting me to your bedroom already, Emmy?” He glanced at his watch. “We've only had ten minutes to become reacquainted. I don't unzip for everyone, although I suppose if you ask real nicely . . .” He trailed off, letting the words hang there between us.

If Ben had said that, I would've laughed. In fact, I had trouble suppressing my amusement even knowing that Sebastian wanted to needle me into an unguarded response. To charm me into cooperation. I pretended an air of nonchalance. “And here I thought you'd never overlook an opportunity to skulk around the girls' dormitory.”

“I don't need to skulk. Not when it comes to girls. You might want to hold off on making too many assumptions. Boxing me in has never ended well for anyone.”

“Why? Because you'll only pick the lock?”

His smile broadened. “Something along those lines.” Sebastian hadn't taken more than two steps before he swiveled, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the unmistakable slim package of a Slate. “One more perk of being a student here. Everyone gets the newest model to hit the marketplace.”

My jaw fell open. I couldn't accept a brand new Slate, especially not when Sebastian's own grandfather had died after slipping one of them into my pocket less than forty-eight hours ago. I had no business carrying
that
Slate around already. So accepting yet another piece of expensive equipment, courtesy of the St. James family, definitely pushed the boundaries of my moral code.

It made me feel greedy. Manipulative. Totally materialistic.

“I can't.”

Sebastian didn't lower his outstretched hand. “Because you already have one of your own, right?” he scoffed. “Everyone has a Slate here, Emmy. It's standard issue. Take it.”

I didn't know what to say.
Actually, yes, I do happen to have one. Your grandpa gave it to me, in fact. But thanks for that generous offer, Sebastian. You really have a talent for irritating the crap out of me.

That would only lead to yet another interrogation.

So I reached out, my fingers grazing over the side of Sebastian's thumb as I awkwardly accepted the small package. It wasn't nearly as light as the Slate currently hiding in my suitcase, but I chalked that up to the inclusion of a charger and the inescapable weight of packaging.

“Thanks. I, uh . . . appreciate it.”

Sebastian leaned forward and I felt transfixed under his intense scrutiny. It reminded me of waiting to be chosen for a basketball game, being examined by a team captain who clearly thought of you as more of a liability than an asset. “Want to know how you can repay me for it? Fill me in on the plan.”

“Tell me more about your grandpa,” I countered. “What was he like? What did he do? Who were his friends?”

His eyes somehow did the impossible and became even harder and more remote.

“That's what I thought.”

Grabbing my suitcase, I beat a hasty retreat into the warm depths of the girls' dormitory.

Room 258 didn't look like anything special from the hallway.

There weren't any personalized touches or name tags to distinguish one room from any of the others. If Sebastian hadn't told me which door to knock on, I would've been stuck wandering through a maze of bland wooden doors. As it was, I half expected to be on the receiving end of a prank the moment I knocked. I wouldn't put it past Sebastian to send me into the boys' dorm instead. Steering clear of the aptly nicknamed Sebastian St. Jerk was going to be a lot harder at a small school like Emptor Academy than I'd initially thought. Some contact would be unavoidable, making my promise to Ben to steer clear of Sebastian nearly impossible to keep.

I was tempted to call him and repeat my conversation with Sebastian verbatim, just in case it sparked some jealousy. In case a little danger was all he needed to realize there was more between us than mere friendship. The fizz of heat warming my cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature inside the girls' dorm. I had no trouble picturing it.