T*Witches 3: Seeing Is Deceiving (10 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SEEING IS DECEIVING

“Are you sure you did the right thing?” Cam asked anxiously as the twins trekked back to Marble Bay.

“I’m not sure of anything,” Alex answered, trying not to sound defensive. “Except this: Ileana needs help. What else do I need to be sure of?”

Cam frowned. “Our parents made them for us….”

Alex closed her mind. Mention of their parents would lead to Miranda. If she was alive, she’d abandoned them. If she wasn’t… Alex pushed down hard on the black rubber pedals of the mountain bike and pulled ahead of her twin.

Cam quickly caught up. “I want to help Ileana, too. But she’s not the only one in trouble. So are we — that’s
why we tricked her into meeting us. You just gave her the only defense we have. The necklaces might not even work for her.”

The late autumn day, bright with biting sunshine that morning, had turned overcast. Alex slowed down. “She could be related to us.”

“Her eyes are the same as ours,” Cam admitted, adding, “and the branches of this family tree are one tangled mess….”

“Whoever she is,” Alex concluded, “she can’t help us now. We have to deal on our own.”

And they did.

To keep their mind off Karsh and Ileana, Cam and Alex spent every spare minute of the next two days plotting how to smash the web of deceit that had caught Beth — and could trap them.

They started early Monday morning before school, digging into the organization called Helping Hands. Was it legit? Cam went on-line, but the website was identical to the pamphlets at the mall. They were full of hype, cleverly appealing to people with a soft spot for the helpless, and who were willing to work on their behalf. It didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.

Cam was about to hit
EXIT
when Alex stopped her.
“Hang on. Forget about what’s there. Think about what’s missing.”

“Huh?” Cam scrunched her forehead.

“There’s a ton of info about why they’re raising money, the services they provide to children, but no specific mention of where the money’s going.”

Cam shrugged. “We know where it’s going — Sunshine House.”

“And that piece of crucial info would be missing from the website … why?”

“Because … there’s no such place?” Cam guessed.

She was wrong. Sunshine House was real, all right. The info on its website confirmed what Helping Hands had described, a professionally staffed shelter for abused and abandoned children. A safe place for kids to be until they could either go home or into foster care, it was located in California, just south of Los Angeles.

“How convenient,” snorted Alex. “Beth Fish, of Marble Bay, Massachusetts, can’t exactly drop by and see her hard-raised funds at work.”

Cam considered. “Ms. Webb told Beth that Helping Hands actually runs the shelter. Even if that’s an exaggeration, they’ve got to be a major benefactor.”

If they’re on the level.

“So how do we find out?” Alex said.

“I’m sure there’s some kind of law that says a not-for-profit place has to divulge where the Benji’s are coming from. My dad would know.”

“But we’re not involving him, remember? Besides, why would they divulge
anything
to a pair of nosy fifteen-year-olds?” Alex noted.

“Who said anything about two teenagers asking?” Cam’s eyes twinkled. She expertly set up a new screen name on her e-mail account.

A slow grin spread across Alex’s face. She edged Cam out of the way to begin the letter.

Dear Sunshine House,

I’ve heard about the excellent work you do on behalf of unfortunate children. I’d like to help out. But my advisors — you know how they are! — insist I find out more about the funding you already receive before I make my donation. Could you send me a complete list of your benefactors? I’m sure you understand the need for complete secrecy. Please respond to this e-mail address, which in no way identifies me, but which I’ve set up specifically for this fact-finding purpose.

Cam elbowed Alex out of the way and finished it, Respectfully yours, Brice Stanley.

Alex hit
SEND MAIL
.

*        *        *

At Marble Bay High, the debacle at the dance was topic A. Miraculously, and thanks to the quick action of the chaperones and local police, no one had been seriously hurt.

What had gone wrong in the gym? How could the wiring
and
the plumbing have gone kerbloohey at the same moment? It had to be sabotage, went the prevailing opinion. All students who’d eyewitnessed the disaster were required to talk with the authorities. But the perpetrator and the motive remained elusive. Was it a kid with a grudge? A rival school’s sports team? A random psycho?

Only three beings knew. And they would never tell.

Meanwhile, the gymnasium would be in rehab for several weeks, so all PE classes were either held outdoors or canceled outright. The school had also set up special guidance sessions for anyone who felt traumatized by Saturday night’s disaster.

Of the Six Pack, Brianna seemed most affected by the experience. Beth had saved her from getting trampled. Because she simply couldn’t say “thank you” in her Bree-way, she was making an effort to become closer to Beth. Cam squashed the pang of jealousy she felt seeing them walk down the hall together giggling, passing notes in class, and sharing the sushi Bree had delivered to the
cafeteria.
Beth is
my
best friend — Bree barely used to tolerate her….

Eyes on the prize,
was the telepathic message from Alex.
What we’re doing for Beth is what’s important.

Their investigation took a giant leap forward when Cam and Alex got home from school. Logging on, the happy sound of “you’ve got mail” greeted them.

Dear Mr. Stanley,

Thank you for your recent inquiry. We would be honored to count you among our supporters. In the enclosed attachment, you will find information about our facility and the children we serve. Included is the list you requested.

It was signed Oliver O’Day, director, Sunshine House.

Cam held her breath as Alex clicked on the attachment. The shelter received funding from no less than 150 divergent sources, organizations, and individuals. All were listed alphabetically.

Helping Hands, which should have been between Have-A-Heart and Just For Kids, was not there.

“So it’s official,” Cam declared. “Our hunch was right; Helping Hands is a huge scam-o-rama.” She picked up the phone.

“Who are you calling?” Alex demanded.

“Beth! And then Mrs. Hammond — and hello, my dad!”

“Down, girl. Jumping to conclusions is not one of the events in this competition,” Alex advised. “There still could be some logical reason why it’s not listed among the donors. All we know for sure is: Helping Hands doesn’t ‘run’ or probably even support Sunshine House, and neither Ms. Webb nor Shane is what they pretend to be. But,” Alex cautioned, “twin lies don’t build a truth.
We
need to build our case.”

Cam was impressed with Alex’s careful logic. It was a side of her sis rarely on display. She had to laugh. “You sound like a lawyer’s daughter. I thought that was my position in this household.”

“In case you didn’t notice” — Alex’s lip curled mischievously — “there’s been a little shifting of positions in the home game of Barnes Family Dysfunction since I got there.”

Impulsively, Cam hugged her. “Lucky for all of us.”

“Yo, we’re gonna need more than luck to unravel this mystery,” Alex reminded her, squiggling out of Cam’s embrace. “On to stage two, sista.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BREAKING THROUGH

The law firm of Crunkle, Wong, Barnes, and DiBenedico was located in the business section of Marble Bay. The offices were in a three-story Revolutionary-war-era townhouse that the partners had bought a decade ago. Cam had always loved going there. The dark wood-paneled walls lined with bookshelves, the winding stairway, the rich aroma of coffee brewing, had seemed inviting and cozy to her. Everyone was friendly to her — she was the boss’s daughter. Of course, she’d never been there when it was dark and deserted.

Until now.

She and Alex, using the excuse of an emergency library excursion, had jumped on their bikes after dinner
and pedaled the two and a half miles to the office. Cam was nervous, but she didn’t feel guilty about breaking into Dave’s office. How weird was that?

Reading her mind, Alex responded, “Because you’re doing something righteous. And besides, you’re not technically breaking in. You have the keys.”

“Correction: I stole the —”

“Override: borrowed,” Alex reminded her as they parked their bikes and walked up the three steps to the front door. “You’re only borrowing them for an hour or so. As soon as we get home, if you can’t sneak them back into his desk drawer, I’ll use a little magic and replace them.”

“Show-off,” Cam muttered. “Make yourself useful — use your hyperhearing for any random sounds while I open the locks.” After turning the several locks, Cam waited for the low buzz of the alarm. Expertly, she hit the right numbers to disengage it.

Alex was impressed. It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be an alarm — or that Cam would know the code. “Dave must really trust you.”

“Maybe he knew I’d need it someday. And trusted that if I used it without telling him, it would be for a good reason.”

“It is, Cami. It is. Come on, let’s do this.”

What Cam didn’t have was the slightest idea of
where to find what they were looking for: the file for the Lizzie Andrews case. “Remember,” she cautioned Alex, “all we want is her address, so we can talk to her. No excess snooping.”

“So if I happen to find something related to the Barnes vs. Fielding hearing — your family against icky Ike — I shouldn’t even look at it, right?”

Cam heaved a sigh. There was no answer to that one.

Or to the more immediate problem: The file cabinets in Dave’s third-floor office were locked. A situation Cam hadn’t counted on. Of course, she didn’t have the keys. What power could she use now? She couldn’t exactly melt the locks.

Alex read her mind.
How ’bout the power of common sense? Where does Dave
—

“Got it!” Cam understood. Her dad would likely keep the keys to the files in a place similar to where he kept the office keys in the house. She checked his desk drawer. Left side.

Ignoring her own vow not to eyeball anything confidential, Cam read through the entire file. Lizzie Andrews, a fifteen-year-old foster child living in Waverly, Massachusetts, the next town over, had been caught stealing a pair of diamond earrings from a store in Boston
by a security camera. She’d been working with an adult accomplice, who got away — and who she has refused to identify. The salesperson had given a description of the woman: tall, thin, blond hair, brown eyes. She could have been almost anyone.

Cam jotted down Lizzie’s address, then carefully replaced the file, exactly where it had been.

Alex, meanwhile, had her nose in a different file. Like Cam, she’d found what she was looking for.

Cutting class was not something Cam ordinarily did, but she purposely chose the middle of the afternoon on the next day to pay Lizzie a visit. It was her best shot at finding the girl alone. From the file, she’d learned Lizzie’s foster parents worked, and until her trial date, she was being home-schooled by a tutor who might be gone by the time Cam got there.

So just before her last class, Cam sneaked out of school and walked to the bus stop for the half-hour ride to Waverly. She went alone, because, following their plan, Alex had something of equal importance to do.

The address Cam had copied down belonged to a small brick row house. Her stomach a tangle of knots, Cam walked up two steps to the front door and rang the bell.

“If you’re selling something, we’re not buying.” The woman who answered the door was so large, she filled the frame.

“D-does Lizzie Andrews live here?” Cam stammered.

“Who wants to know?”

“A … friend …?” Cam tried. “I mean, from school.” She smiled hopefully. “I have a book to give her.”

The woman looked Cam up and down, then apparently decided she wasn’t a threat and summoned Lizzie to the door. “You’ve got five minutes,” she said, and walked away.

If it was possible, the girl Cam remembered was even paler, more fidgety and beaten down than she had been that day at the mall. Dark purple circles ringed her eyes, evidence of wakeful nights.

She recognized Cam immediately. Her hand flew to her mouth; her eyes popped. But before she could scream — or slam the door — Cam assured her, “I’m not here to hurt you, Lizzie. I’m here to help.”

Lizzie let her guard down for a moment. “What are you doing here? What do you want?” she whispered nervously.

“Is there somewhere we could talk?” Cam scanned the dimly lit room behind the girl.

Over her shoulder, Lizzie called to the woman
who’d answered the door, “Rose? I’m sitting outside for a minute. I’ll be right in.”

The answer came back, “Keep the door open. So I can see you.”

“Is that your foster mom?” Cam asked as Lizzie guardedly sat down next to her.

The nervous girl’s jaw tightened. “No. She’s my court-appointed watchdog — wait, how do you even know I have a foster mother? Who are you?”

Cam took a deep breath. “My bad. Rewind: I’m Cam. Barnes.”

“Barnes? You mean … you’re related to —”

Cam shrugged. “Six-degree world, huh? He’s my dad.”

Lizzie paled. “So obviously you told him about… that day at the mall.”

“I didn’t, actually,” Cam said, and saw Lizzie relax. “It wasn’t my place to — but things have changed. I really need you to tell me the whole story.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Maybe if you knew why —” Before the girl could protest, Cam told Lizzie about Ms. Webb showing up as her substitute. And about Beth, who trusted the shifty woman and was working for Helping Hands. Beth, whose grades were plummeting, who was involved with a guy
up to no good. Cam talked about her fear that Beth might soon be lured into stealing, as Lizzie had.

Lizzie’s question took Cam by surprise. “Your friend Beth? Is she … a foster child?”

“No! She lives with her bio-folks, the whole nuclear family thing. Why do you ask?”

“Forget it.” Lizzie shrugged and started to stand up. “So if you can ID Webb, why do you need me?”

Because I can’t tell anyone what I know, Cam thought. Because if I did, everyone would find out I’m a witch. Who can do things … well, like this:

She and Alex had composed an incantation the night before. Which Cam would use only if she had to. Before Lizzie could turn away, Cam trained her magnetic eyes on the frightened girl and chanted,

“Your burden is too heavy, your shoulders slim and frail,

It’s your secrets that enslave you, your shame that makes you fail.

Free yourself, Lizzie Andrews, from the chains that bind you.

Trust in me and tell me all; freedom and peace will find you….”

Cam bit her lip at that last line, hoping … hoping …

Lizzie’s eyes glazed over. And she told her story.

Many hours later, sitting next to Cam at Dave’s office, she repeated it. Trusting father and daughter, Lizzie confessed that she’d been lured into the shoplifting ring through the ruse of Helping Hands. That she’d been warned — if she ever told the truth, Webb would get her booted right out of her foster home. “They prey on kids who come from broken homes,” Lizzie tearfully told them.

Cam’s heart broke for this girl as Dave gently asked the big question: “Do you know where the money’s really going?”

“Not to help kids. I didn’t know that then, but now I do — it’s going right into the pockets of Cecilia Webb and her little ring of slimy thieves.”

By the time Lizzie had finished, she’d given details not only about the robbery she’d been caught at, but the ones before, those she’d gotten away with.

Cam’s emotions matched Lizzie’s. Relief and anxiety washed over her — mixed with a dash of guilt. So far, David Barnes hadn’t asked his daughter how she’d come to talk to Lizzie Andrews, how she’d brought his client to his office and convinced her to open up. Cam didn’t have any truthful answers to give him. She hoped he’d just go with it, trust her. Cam needed to tell Dave one more
thing. She hoped he wouldn’t ask how she knew. “Dad, tell the police to check Webb’s cell phone calls. I think there’s someone in prison she’s been calling.”

An hour later, Dave had contacted the police and a warrant had been issued for the arrest of Cecilia Webb — who Lizzie told him also went by the name of Belinda Rogers. Cam flashed on the receipt in the car: So that’s what BR stood for. Lizzie explained that the woman made frequent trips to Boston to pick up the fake jewelry they used to make the switches.

Trompe l’oeil — a “trick of the eye,” as Dave had explained the store’s name. How appropriate, Cam thought.

Cam gave herself major props. All by herself, she’d found a way to free poor Lizzie and bring that shady woman down.

Too much time would pass before she found out how premature her back-patting was.