Get Even (7 page)

THIRTEEN

KITTY WAS FIDGETY AS SHE DROVE TO SCHOOL THE NEXT
morning, unable to get Ronny DeStefano out of her head.

Phase one was complete—they had Ronny’s hard drive. Now they just needed some juicy tidbit of a secret on his computer that they could use against him. But time was short. How long would it be before he realized his video had been deleted? Maybe it had been a mistake to jump so quickly into this mission without a complete plan of action? It was so unlike her to do so, but with Mika’s reputation on the line, she hadn’t really had a choice.

Kitty turned onto DuMaine Drive, and instantly all thoughts of Ronny DeStefano faded away.

At least half a dozen police cruisers lined the streets around campus. An officer stood sentry at the main entrance, and as she pulled into the upperclassmen’s parking lot, she found another officer at the side door.

For a split second, Kitty thought about fleeing the scene. She could pretend to be sick, tell her mom she had food poisoning, fake a migraine, anything that would get her out of school for the day. There could only be one reason for the police, one thing that could bring them to campus for the second time in less than a week. Father Uberti had found out who was behind DGM.

Logic kicked in almost immediately. Why would they wait to arrest her at school? Wouldn’t they show up at her house and bring her in for questioning? Taking a deep breath, Kitty pulled into her usual parking spot.

Four police officers ringed Mrs. Baggott’s desk as Kitty entered the office to prep the morning announcements. Their eyes were alert and the walkies attached to their shoulders crackled with unceasing chatter.

Father Uberti pointed his finger menacingly at the school secretary. “I don’t care what the Archdiocese says. If they won’t do anything, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

“Of course, Father,” Mrs. Baggott said, eyeing the police officers.

Father Uberti’s head whipped around as soon as Kitty approached. “No announcements today,” he barked. “I’m taking care of it.”

John was already at his desk for first-period religion when Bree plopped into her chair.

“Why does school have to start so early?” she asked, stifling a yawn. She hadn’t slept well after her experience in Ronny’s bedroom, unable to shake the feeling that someone had seen her in the house. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, convinced the cops would kick down her door any moment and take her into custody.

“Think of it this way,” he said, tossing a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Every day when you mosey in five seconds before the bell, I’ve already been here for half an hour.”

“Bite me,” Bree said.

The final bell rang and, much to Bree’s surprise, Sister Augustinia, their perpetually late religion teacher, was already at her desk, looking pale and fretful.

“Settle down, class,” she said, the usual airy-fairiness gone from her voice. She sounded almost hoarse, as if she’d been screaming. Or crying. “We have a special announcement coming from Father Uberti.”

Bree went rigid. A special announcement? Did that mean he’d gotten credible information on Don’t Get Mad?

There was no time to speculate, no time to worry or even plan an escape route. The loudspeaker buzzed to life.

“Attention, students of Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School,” Father Uberti began. “Last night, a member of our student body was found dead in his home. The scene is being investigated as a homicide. The victim’s name is Ronny DeStefano.”

FOURTEEN

MARGOT STARED UP AT THE LOUDSPEAKER. IT WAS AS IF
the world had fallen away, swallowed up by a dark void, leaving only the voice of Father Uberti filtered through a box on the wall.

The room began to swim around her, fading in and out of view. Her hands tingled, her neck and chest broke out in a heavy sweat, and her breaths came in frantic gasps, as if an invisible hand were choking her.

Margot clamped her eyes shut.
Quiet the mind, quiet the panic.

The world went silent. Occasionally, a word or phrase would jump out in Father Uberti’s sharp, nasal voice. “Investigation.” “Police presence.” “Interrogation.” It seemed so far away, and yet as her brain labored to internalize the words’ meaning, the reality of what was happening overwhelmed her with a new emotion: fear.

“Crazy, huh?”

In an instant, Margot was back in the world. Back at Bishop DuMaine. Back in AP Government, gazing at Logan.

“Yeah,” Margot managed to croak. “Crazy.”

“Did you know him?”

Margot shook her head. “I never met him.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

“Tall guy?” Logan continued. “About my height? Sandy blond hair with too much gel and bad acne?”

That described Ronny to perfection. “I don’t know.”

“Right. Sorry.” Logan smiled sheepishly. “You just said that.”

There was something comforting about the affable face, the blue eyes that immediately calmed her down.

“We have reason to believe,” Father Uberti continued, “that the group known as DGM was involved. Once again, if you have any information as to the identities of those behind DGM, we ask that you come forward as soon as possible.”

The loudspeaker fell silent.

Margot stared blankly at her desk. They couldn’t seriously think DGM or anyone at Bishop DuMaine had a hand in Ronny’s death, could they?

Logan cleared his throat. “You’re vibrating.”

Margot opened her backpack and rooted around for her cell phone. “Sorry. Getting a text.”

The very words were foreign to her. No one ever texted her except her parents, and absolutely never during school. Considering the bomb that had just been dropped on Bishop DuMaine, Margot wasn’t the least bit surprised to see that the text was from Kitty.

We need to meet ASAP. Lunch today by the baseball field?

Margot paused. It was a bad idea for the four of them to meet on campus, but Kitty was right. Something horrific had happened, and they needed to get to the bottom of it.

She texted back.

Computer lab at lunch. I have a key. Regular greeting.

Kitty stood next to the water fountain, trying to look as casual as possible. The hallway in front of the computer lab was deserted, but Kitty was taking no chances. If she was pacing by the door to the lab, that might appear suspicious, but using the water fountain, checking the time on her watch, was innocent enough.

She was being overly cautious, but after what had happened that morning, she needed to be.

The door at the far end of the hall creaked and Kitty immediately bent over and pushed the bar on the front of the water fountain, as if she’d been passing through and just happened to need a drink.

Kitty looked up, relieved to see Margot hustling down the hall.

Without breaking stride, she yanked a key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. Margot ducked inside, and after a quick glance down either side of the corridor to make sure they were alone, Kitty followed.

The computer lab was dark, lit only by the dull glow of screen savers from a wall of monitors. The whole effect was surreal, and Kitty felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

“Are you sure no one will find us in here?” Kitty asked, desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence.

Margot pulled out a chair. “Only the yearbook class uses this lab anymore. The rest of the time the door’s locked.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Margot looked up at her coldly. “No one’s ever bothered me in here.”

Knock.
Pause.
Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Am I late?” Olivia asked breathlessly as she dashed into the lab. “I had to give Amber the slip and then I couldn’t find the room.” She ran a hand through her short hair. Before Kitty could stop herself, she pictured that hand caressing Donté’s face, his bare chest. . . .

“Bree’s not here yet,” Margot said. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Thirty seconds or we start without her.”

As if on cue, the doorknob shook, then the DGM knock sounded on the lab door. Forceful and strong, the kind of announcement that said Bree didn’t care who heard her.

Kitty whipped open the door and Bree stepped unhurriedly inside.

“I’m here,” she said. “Let’s get this over with so I can finish my lunch.”

“This isn’t a joke, Bree,” Margot snapped.

Bree walked to the nearest chair. “If you say so.” She deposited her cell phone on a desk, propped her combat boots up next to it, and tilted the chair back.

From beside her, Bree’s cell phone rang. She silenced the call and tossed it back on the desk. “It’s just John,” she said without being prompted.

“Does he know where you are?” Kitty asked.

Bree arched an eyebrow. “We’re not attached at the hip.”

The phone rang again. This time Bree sent the call to voice mail.

Olivia cocked her head. “Are you sure about that?”

“Are you sure,” Bree said drily, “you like your face that way? Because I could rearrange it for you.”

“Guys,” Kitty said, stepping between them. She kept her eye on the phone, wondering if the third time was the charm. “No fighting. We’ve got enough problems.”

“Have you heard the rumors?” Olivia asked, switching gears. “Rex said Ronny had ‘DGM’ carved into his chest.”

Bree rolled her eyes. “How can you take anything Rex Cavanaugh says seriously? The guy has a set of gonads for a brain.”

“I thought maybe he’d heard it from Father Uberti?” Olivia pouted.

“Even if F.U. knows,” Kitty said, trying to keep everyone calm, “which I doubt, there’s no way he’d be allowed to share that information with anyone, especially not a student who might be a suspect.”

Olivia’s blue eyes grew wide. “Rex is a suspect?”

“Wake up, Princess,” Bree said. “We’re all suspects.”

Kitty held up her hands. “We don’t know that yet. Ronny’s death could have been an accident. Or suicide.”

Margot glanced up but didn’t say a word.

“Come off it, Kitty.” Bree kicked her feet off the table. “The police wouldn’t show up at school for an accidental death. Ronny was killed, plain and simple. They must suspect someone at school is involved or they wouldn’t be here.”

“Poor Ronny,” Olivia whimpered.

Bree snorted. “Poor Ronny? The guy’s a sexual predator. I’d say he got what he deserved.”

Olivia sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“I think what Bree means,” Kitty said, with a cutting look in her direction, “is that maybe it’s not a surprise Ronny was murdered?”

“Murdered . . .” Olivia jumped to her feet. “We have to get out of here. Right now. What if they find us? We’ll get sent to juvie. Oh my God, do you know what happens to girls like me in prison?”

“They become someone’s wife?” Bree suggested.

Olivia started for the door. “I have to go.”

Kitty intercepted her. “Olivia, we are not going to juvie, okay?” If Olivia panicked, Margot melted down, or Bree went rogue, they’d all be screwed. “We need to go about our lives like nothing’s happened.”

“Like nothing’s happened?” Olivia’s eyes were glassy, a clear indication tears were on the way. “I have an audition tonight for the fall play. How am I supposed to focus on Shakespeare when Ronny is . . . is . . .” Her eyes faltered as she wiped stray droplets from her cheeks.

“It’s just one more role, Olivia,” Kitty said. “Consider it an acting challenge.”

“I’m glad you’ve got your priorities straight,” Bree said. “Audition over murder. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Olivia whirled on her, her eyes wet. “What about you? You don’t seem to care at all that Ronny’s dead.”

Bree stuck out her chin. “I don’t.” Only Kitty could see that her lower lip trembled.

“Where were you last night?” Margot said from out of nowhere. Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Olivia caught her breath. “Me?”

“All of you.”

Turning on one another wasn’t going to help. “Hold up,” Kitty said. “We can’t go pointing fingers.”

“One of our targets is dead,” Margot said. Her lips flattened as she pressed them together, and she looked more angry than scared. “No one else knew we were going after Ronny. That makes us the most likely suspects.”

“Maybe we should go to the police?” Olivia said. “Tell them we didn’t do it?”

Kitty nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. It’s not like they have proof DGM was involved.”

Margot stared at her. “Don’t they?” She wrenched her spy-caliber laptop out of her bag, entered a password on the screen, and pulled up a browser window. Within seconds, she was reading from a newspaper article. “‘Authorities are searching for suspects involved in the fatal bludgeoning of a seventeen-year-old Bishop DuMaine high school student. Officers responded to an anonymous 911 call in the early hours of Wednesday morning near the Menlo Park neighborhood of North Fair Oaks. The victim sustained multiple blunt force trauma injuries to the head and was pronounced dead at the scene. He is believed to have been in bed at the time of the attack. No signs of forced entry. The entire household appears to have been asleep at the time and heard no sign of a struggle.’”

Olivia bit her lip. “Anonymous call?”

“It means identity unknown,” Bree said with a smirk.

“I know what it means,” Olivia snapped.

“‘The apparent murder weapon was found at the scene,’” Margot continued. “‘Along with a moniker for a local organization. No suspects are being held at this time. Anyone with information about the incident is asked to call detectives at the Menlo Park Police Department.’”

Kitty shrugged. “I don’t see how any of that points to DGM.”

Margot swung around in her chair. “The moniker for a local organization? That would be us.”

FIFTEEN

“WE CAN’T BE SURE OF THAT,” KITTY SAID QUICKLY. WHY WAS
Margot so intent on placing the blame on a member of DGM?

Margot sighed, clearly frustrated. She spun back to her laptop, fingers blazing over the keyboard, then pulled away to reveal a photo on the screen.

It was a long metal baseball bat, the bottom third of which was thickly coated in a dark red substance. It stood leaning against a dresser, and the same reddish-brown liquid had seeped into the beige carpet, staining it.

Kitty’s brain refused to process what she was seeing. It dawned on her slowly, painfully.

“You hacked into the police database?” she asked.

Margot didn’t answer.

“Oh my God,” Olivia gasped. “Isn’t that illegal? Can’t they find you and track you down and send us all to . . .” Her voice choked off.

“Juvie,” Bree said. “We get it. You’re obsessed with juvie.”

“I’ve randomized the IP address,” Margot said simply. “Even if they could trace us through the satellite modem, the search won’t lead them here.”

Bree arched an eyebrow. “Not gonna lie, Margot. You’re freaking me out a little bit.”

Margot ignored her. She clicked the mouse rapidly, scrolling through several photos of the crime scene, then stopped. This time, all three of them gasped at the picture on the screen.

The photo was of a male hand, palm down on a bed. Blood splatter coated the gray-and-white striped bedspread like a Jackson Pollack, redder and more violently eye-catching than it had been on the bat or the carpet. Tucked beneath the hand, a white note card with three letters printed in a neat black font, reminiscent of an old typewriter: DGM.

“So much for going to the po-po,” Bree said, slumping against the wall. “They’d never believe us.”

“They have to,” Olivia squeaked.

“Who has the rest of the DGM cards?” Kitty asked.

Bree slowly raised her hand. “But I didn’t kill Ronny.”

Kitty sighed. “Of course not. I’m wondering who might have had access to your room.” She stared at the photo on Margot’s computer. The DGM moniker might be the key to finding the killer. “It must have been stolen. How many people have actually seen one of those cards up close long enough to have been able to create an exact replica?”

Margot looked right at her. “You mean besides the four of us?”

“Stop it!” Kitty cried. “We’ve got to stick together if we’re going to figure out who killed Ronny and why.”

Margot turned her steely gaze on Kitty, so implacable it made her uncomfortable. “Is that what we’re going to do?” she said softly.

“I . . .” Kitty’s voice trailed off. Twelve hours ago, Don’t Get Mad had been a united front. Suddenly, in the wake of Ronny’s death, Kitty could see the cracks forming. Blame, guilt, distrust, fear. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Look,” she said. “If we want to avoid getting blamed, we need to find out who actually killed him.”

“Fine,” Margot said. She clasped her hands in front of her. “If we assume that one of us didn’t do it, then there are two logical possibilities: either someone wanted to kill Ronny and used DGM as a scapegoat, or someone wanted to frame us for murder, and killed Ronny to do so.”

“But why Ronny?” Olivia asked. “And who would want to frame us for murder?”

“You mean other than Coach Creed?” Bree asked.

Bree had a point. After DGM’s public humiliation of Coach Creed, he’d definitely be a suspect. Kitty nodded. “Creed runs first-period leadership. I can keep an eye on him.”

“Rex,” Olivia added. “He said at lunch the other day that he’d do whatever it took to bring down DGM.”

“Good,” Kitty said. “Then he’s your assignment.”

“I think Rex and Ronny knew each other,” Bree said. “Or had a mutual friend. They had a weird conversation in phys ed on Thursday that made Rex twitchy.”

“Even better,” Kitty said. “Olivia, look into it.”

“I’ll go through Ronny’s hard drive,” Margot said. “Maybe I’ll find a clue.”

Bree sat up. “I saw something in Ronny’s room.”

“Yeah?” Kitty prompted.

Bree tilted her head to the side as if suddenly confused; then she rushed over to Margot’s laptop. “Scroll back,” she ordered. “Through the crime scene photos. I want to see something.”

Everyone’s eyes were locked on the screen as Margot clicked back through the photos. Most of them were mundane, photos of a messy room meant to document its exact condition when the body was discovered. After two dozen or so photos, Bree straightened up.

“Stop!” she shouted, then tapped the screen. “It’s not there,” she said. “Someone took it.”

Kitty peered at the photo. It showed Ronny’s bedroom door, half-open, with dirty laundry shoved into the corner behind it. “What’s not there?”

“A list,” Bree said quickly. “There was a list on his door with three names: Coach Creed, Rex Cavanaugh, and Theo Baranski.”

“Removing evidence from a crime scene is against the law,” Margot said.

Bree clicked her tongue. “So is murder.”

“You think the killer took the list,” Margot said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Bree said.

“Any idea what those names have in common with Ronny?” Kitty asked.

Bree shook her head. “Nada.”

“Okay.” Kitty glanced around the room. “Everyone keep their eyes open on that one. If the names are all connected to Ronny, it might point us toward his killer.” Kitty smiled. They were thinking like a team again.

“Anything else?” Bree asked, checking the time on her phone.

“You can make a list of who had access to the DGM cards,” Kitty said, her voice stern.

“And keep an eye on John Baggott,” Margot added.

Bree whirled on her. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Margot remained unnervingly calm. “He’s your best friend, he has access to the DGM cards, and he’s Father Uberti’s number-one suspect. I’d say that makes him very much involved.”

“I’m sure he’s got nothing to do with Ronny’s death,” Kitty said, trying to pacify Bree. “But if Father Uberti’s on his case, it might not be such a bad idea if you kept an eye on him. For his own safety.”

Bree turned her back. “Fine.”

“We’ll lie low,” Kitty continued. “No contact at all unless there’s an emergency, okay? And let’s meet at the warehouse one week from tonight to see what we’ve come up with. If we can’t trust F.U. or the police to give us the benefit of the doubt, then we’ll have to find Ronny’s killer ourselves.”