Pretty Sly (2 page)

Something else was bothering me. I walked back into the closet and knelt down for another look. It was empty, yes, but unharmed. The lock on the safe hadn’t been picked or burned out or busted in any way.

How could that be? I drew in a breath and felt my heart pulse through it.

“It was opened by the combination,” I said.

Aidan folded his arms across his chest. “So Plaid Shirt had to have known it.”

“Only my mom had it, though. Unless . . .”

. . . They’d found it somewhere else. With a start, I dashed down the hall to my mom’s office-slash-painting-studio-slash-inner-sanctum. The one room we hadn’t checked out yet.

Plaid Shirt had been in here, too. It was obvious from the computer monitor that was smashed and the hard drive that looked like it had been hit repeatedly with a hammer. The file cabinets were open, though they were still mostly empty from the other day when I’d watched my mom destroy old papers in a shredding
binge. Sickened, I went to the closet where she kept her paintings and slid open the louvered doors.

Empty.

Aidan came to stand next to me.

“They took her paintings, too,” I said.

He pinched his chin. “Anyone you know that would be after her art? I’m sure that’s the kind of question a cop would ask.”

“They could be worth a lot of money, but I don’t know who would know that,” I said. My mom had supposedly sold some of her work at auction, which was how we could afford this fancy place, the exclusive zip code, the elite school. The thing was, I was pretty sure she’d lied about selling those paintings—just a few days ago I found all of them in that closet. And if
that
was the case, then I had no idea where that money actually came from.

“Collector? Art thief? Whoever he was, he knew what he was looking for,” Aidan said.

We walked back through the house into the kitchen and I tried to see it through a thief’s eyes. (Maybe not so much of a stretch.) Full shelves of dishes and glasses had been tossed and trampled. Some of the cabinet doors were hanging off their hinges. He’d even unloaded our refrigerator. Which was just tacky, in my opinion.

“He must have,” I said. “I just don’t know why he had to pulverize every last piece of tableware.”

All I knew for sure was that the first beautiful house
we’d ever lived in was ruined.

But it was almost like all the destruction, all the wreckage around the house was some kind of subterfuge to distract us from the robbery. Like he’d wanted it to look like it was sabotage. I had to admit that it was a pretty smart approach—one that I wish I’d thought of in my own thieving days. Whoever Mr. Plaid Shirt was, he was good. A pro.

“He wanted to scare you.”

He’d been watching us. A wave of dizziness hit, and I felt behind me for the stable support of the wall. I could no longer look at the situation like a fellow thief. I could only see it as a victim. This wasn’t just a prank by some kid. This was a criminal in another league of criminals. If scaring me was what he wanted, he’d accomplished his mission. And whatever this thing was, it was much bigger than I’d thought.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

TWO

WE HAD TO
call someone. I knew that much. Someone who could help us.

I was on the floor and desperately rifling through the pile of broken stuff, looking for the cordless phone. My hands shook, panic rattling my movements.

Then I remembered.

My mom had disconnected our landline and cell phones after the local media firestorm when I was arrested. With all the reporters camped outside our house, she’d been freaked out about our privacy, and now that someone had actually broken in, I could understand why.

“Can I have your phone?” I asked Aidan.

But he didn’t move a muscle. “Are you sure about this? I don’t know if the police are going to take either of us seriously, considering we both have records.”

Never mind that I still had no idea what was on
Aidan’s record or why he’d recently gotten kicked out of Prep. I remembered the way the cops had treated me the night they took me in. Not the most sympathetic bunch. And my mom might not appreciate the possibility of us landing on the nightly news again. Why couldn’t I be a normal citizen with a normal break-in to report? I would’ve given anything to be normal just then.

One thing I knew: Cops or no cops, she was going to lose it when she got home. Things were already rough between us. My run-in with the law, the call from the police station in the middle of the night, and the legal fees that followed were not exactly good for mother-daughter bonding.

But it was more than that. Ever since we moved to Paradise Valley, she’d been acting moody and reclusive, coming and going at odd hours. There was the lie about the paintings. And other things, too. She’d claimed to be volunteering at an art center and a food co-op but the stories didn’t add up. I even followed her one day after school, only to discover that she was meeting some guy in a Target parking lot. At first I thought she was having an affair but now I was pretty certain this guy was an FBI agent named Jeremy Corbin. Because he’d been here, too. After the intruder. He’d left his card for me on the doorstep.

Corbin.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card to reread the note scrawled on the back in blue ink.

Willa, I know you’re in trouble. And I can help you.

Call me if you need anything. JC

How had he known? Was he psychic? It was eerie, almost. Could this theft have something to do with my mom, something more personal?

“We could call this guy,” I said, handing Aidan the card.

Aidan turned it over in his hand and squinted. “Who is he?”

“An FBI agent. He left it here—today, before we came back.”

“That’s weird,” Aidan said. “Like,
after
the house had been broken into?”

I nodded. “He knows my mom. It sounds like he knows what happened here. Maybe he saw something.”

“I just don’t get it,” Aidan said, handing the card back. “Why would FBI just be hanging around?”

I shrugged, doubt weighing on me.

It
was
strange. What if my mom wouldn’t want me to call him? I still didn’t understand their relationship.

Ugh. How was I supposed to know the best way to handle this situation? I was fifteen years old. I didn’t know how to drive yet. “Maybe we should wait until she gets home.”

“That sounds like a good idea. She might have more information. If she does know this guy.”

“She definitely does,” I said, remembering a recent
night in a restaurant when Corbin had been lingering around our table. Later, he’d tried to talk to my mom and she’d blown him off, not wanting to acknowledge him for some reason. “I’ve seen them together.”

The corners of Aidan’s mouth turned down with intrigue. “Interesting.”

Yeah, it was “interesting” all right. My whole life had gotten really “interesting,” but I was pretty sure it wasn’t something to be proud of.

“So we’ll wait, then?”

“I guess so,” I allowed. All in all, it seemed like the wisest decision. “She should be back any minute now. But if you need to leave . . .”

He put his hand on my shoulder and gave me that twinkly-eyed, lethally charming look I’d come to associate with Aidan Murphy eye contact. “What kind of guy do you think I am, Willa? Do you think I’d really just leave you in the middle of all this?”

“It’s not about what kind of guy I think you are,” I said. Though I had to admit that at this point I understood way more about Aidan’s lips than I did his inner psyche. Of course, I hoped to get to know both. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.”

“I know I don’t. You seem perfectly fine on your own. I just happen to enjoy a good mystery—and, you know, hanging out in wrecked houses. This is a particularly fine example.”

I smiled for the first time in what felt like hours.
“Well, my wrecked house is flattered.”

“I knew it would be.”

We went back into the living room. I looked at the couch where my mom and I used to curl up with our old wool afghan that had followed us through all of our moves—twelve in my fifteen years. We’d watch movies and have pj’s-till-five Sundays.

The couch was upended and torn apart. Aidan helped me set the furniture upright and rearrange the cushions so we could sit. I was tempted to clean the rest of the house but I’d seen enough TV shows to worry about disturbing the crime scene.

I folded my legs underneath me. “So we’re thinking this whole thing was about the art, with no connection to me?”

Something about that just didn’t sit right. It seemed like too much of a coincidence. Here I was, a known and convicted burglar, and then my house, which was very nice but unremarkable in a town of ten-million-dollar-plus megamansions, was targeted for robbery? My mom was talented but she was no Banksy. I wished Cherise were still talking to me, because she was a dedicated reader of crime books and she would certainly have a few ideas.

“Maybe yes and maybe no,” Aidan said. “The thing is, random robberies rarely happen in Paradise Valley. I mean, we’ve got one of the lowest crime rates in the state. That’s what they kept saying on the news when you . . . well, when your thing happened. ‘The most
robberies the town had seen in decades.’ That’s why you were such a big deal.”

“Maybe I started a trend,” I said mournfully.

“You never know,” he said with half a grin. “You definitely had people talking about all your Sly Fox maneuvers. Dodging security cameras, hopping gates, picking locks. Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Not the most original scheme, maybe, but it had a certain populist appeal.”

“So says the son of the billionaire CEO,” I retorted.

“Hey, I’m down with the people. Anyway, my point is, these things have a way of taking on a life of their own.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. That it’s my fault.” I sighed. I knew what I’d done was wrong. I’d been sentenced, I was starting my community service and probation, and I was ready to move on. Start over fresh.

And now this. We were tangled up with the law again, somehow. It just didn’t make sense, though. Why had Corbin been here? And how did my mom know him?

But it would all be explained when she got home, wouldn’t it? “What time is it, anyway?”

“Eight,” he said, pulling out his Droid to check.

“How long have we been here?”

“Two hours, maybe?”

Two hours?
How had that much time passed?

Where the hell was my mom, and when would she be coming back? Then, another thought: What if she’d
been here when the break-in happened?

A sickening feeling settled over my skin like a cold sweat.

“Are you okay, Willa? You look pale.”

I could barely speak. “Your phone.”

This time he handed it over right away. “Are you calling the cops?”

“No.” With shaking hands, I logged into my Gmail account. I hadn’t checked it since we’d gotten home— I’d been too overwhelmed to even think about it.

As the page loaded, I saw I had twelve new messages in my in-box—I quickly scanned the list of names. It looked like there was some brand-new hate mail from Nikki and Kellie.

Fantastic.
I deleted their messages without reading and continued scrolling down.

From: Joanne Fox

“There’s an email from my mom,” I murmured. I clicked on the message—sent at 4:47
P.M.
, with the subject line
Letting You Know.

Dear Willa,

By the time you read this, I’ll be long gone, and I wish I could explain why. But trust me when I say that you’re much better off not knowing the details. The only thing I can tell you is that I have to leave. I really have no choice.

I’m sure you might find it hard to believe right now, but you are the most important person in the world to me. Leaving you behind is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I hope that once things are sorted out, I can come back for you and make it up to you.

I’ve tried to plan for this moment the best I could. I left you something at 3829 Chandler Ranch Road Unit 87. The key is under the agave plant in our front yard—you may have to dig a little. That should help you at least financially for a while. In the meantime, please stay with Cherise. I know her family will take good care of you. If anyone asks, I’m on an artist residency in Japan.

Don’t call the cops—that will only make it harder for both of us. And please, please, please do *not* come looking for me. I’ll be in touch when I can.

I love you.

Fingers cold, mouth dry, I handed Aidan the Droid. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?” He jiggled the phone in his hand.

“Read it.” I gnawed on my thumb, watching him as his eyes tracked over the screen.

He frowned, closing his hand over it, and looked up.
“Whoa. This is really weird, Willa. Do you think it has something to do with the break-in? Do you think she was
kidnapped
?”

As the visual of my mom being tied up and taken away by some dangerous people flashed across my mind, hot acid rose in the back of my throat; my whole body shuddered. It was too awful.

“I really don’t know,” I gulped, trying to force down some air. “But we need to find that key.”

Twenty minutes later we were in front of the house kneeling on the gravel beneath the two giant agave plants. These were the same plants Aidan had once nearly hit with his car, back when I’d first moved to town and he’d driven me home from school. I remember being flummoxed by his very special combination of sexiness and arrogance, coupled with the reckless driving.

But that all seemed like eons ago, now that we were using my mom’s garden spade to dig up the landscaping in some sort of screwed-up version of a treasure hunt.