Bianca Torre Is Afraid of Everything, page 23
NORTHERN CARDINAL—Mayfield Vegan Treats
GREEN HERON—Marco’s Pet Supplier
I keep scanning the list for our high school. The em dash to the left of it connects to RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD.
“We don’t know who these people are,” Anderson says.
“No, but we know where to find them.”
I close out of the document. I don’t want to keep looking at the code names.
I continue scrolling through the rest of the files and come across another Word doc, this one titled TO THE GIRL WITH THE TELESCOPE.
It’s not like I can be mad at a dead man for misgendering me under the circumstances, and there’s no way that’s intended for anyone but me, so I hover the mouse over the document.
Anderson reads the title, eyes widening. “Oh, wow,” he says.
I’m about to click it when glass shattering echoes from outside. Anderson and I look at each other and move toward the window. It’s kind of strange to view it from this other direction. To see my house, my own bedroom window.
My own bedroom window, which was broken into.
By a person in loose black clothing and a plague doctor mask. They are straddling the sill, ducking through the shards of glass, the blade in their hand glinting in the light from the streetlamp.
Anderson’s eyes are wide. “That’s the . . .”
I don’t hear the rest of the sentence. It’s like I’m taken back to the night I saw Mr. Conspiracy. The blood. The way his rigid body paled.
Only this time, they came for me.
If I was at home, I would be a body on the floor, like Mr. Conspiracy.
Panic strikes through me. Puck is here. Kate is at the final dress rehearsal. Mom and Dad are at work or the hotel. They’re safe.
I call 911 as the person disappears into my room.
My breathing starts coming quickly, my vision growing splotchy.
Oh no.
I reach out and grab Anderson’s good arm. He steadies me.
Puck meows as if she can tell something is going on.
I can’t breathe, and the minutes feel like hours as Anderson sends off quick texts to his family.
The sirens blare in the distance, getting closer.
The person in the mask appears back in the frame of my bedroom window, starting to climb over.
Anderson and I both watch as the figure in the mask kicks one leg through the jagged opening and angles it toward the raised, empty flower bed at the side of the house. That’s probably how they climbed up, and it makes a nice enough crash pad. The figure doesn’t immediately jump. Instead, they look over.
Directly at the two of us.
A moment passes with them staring through the creepy holes of the mask, no way to tell where their eyes are. But we’re practically across from them, in plain sight.
I push Anderson out of the way so neither of us are visible.
Anderson finds his voice first. “Do you think they recognized us?”
I can barely hear him. Between the sirens growing in volume and the pounding of my own heart, the world around me and within me is nearly deafening.
I cautiously move back toward the window, trying to not be so obvious about showing myself while looking to see if the person is there.
But they’re already gone.
Thirty
A Completely Uneventful Birding Hike
The night was filled once more with talking to cops about the break-in, being unable to give much of a description, and Mrs. and Mr. Coleman speaking with my parents. I didn’t want to mention anything about Feathergate to the police yet. I’m not sure they’ll believe me. Someone broke in, but that doesn’t mean it was a murderous money-laundering cult. Even the cops said it was probably someone from school messing with me.
I need to figure out who is behind all this first. For Mr. Conspiracy.
And maybe it’s wild to admit, but for myself, too. We’ve gotten so deep into this, can I really just step aside when I don’t know if they’ll actually see the investigation through?
Anderson, Ronan, and I stayed up late. Our parents decided that I would still stay at the Colemans’, along with Puck, while Kate remains at Yoneta’s and my parents go back to the hotel. The Colemans reported the incident to apartment security, and the other people in the building were told to not let anyone in. Not that it would stop someone from breaking in, but at least they were made aware of the potential danger.
Ronan and Anderson are deep asleep when my phone vibrates at six thirty in the morning to wake me up. Anderson sleeps on top of his comforter, with Ronan curled up with Puck at the end of Anderson’s bed.
Trying to not make so much noise that I wake up Ronan, I tiptoe over to Anderson and nudge his shoulder.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Wake up.”
He slowly opens his eyes halfway. “No.”
“I have to leave soon to go to my birding group even though someone tried to kill me last night. And you should get going too.”
Keeping his eyes mostly closed, he holds out his good arm like he’s going for a hug. I pat him on the head instead.
“I’ll be ready in, like, five minutes.”
“Text me if anything bad happens,” I say. “And drive away if it seems unsafe. You’re sharing your location?”
“I’ve been sharing my location.”
“Sounds good. We’ll keep each other updated?”
“You got it,” he says. “Don’t die.”
“Not before I find out what the One Piece is,” I assure him.
As if he doesn’t have to get up soon, Anderson closes his eyes again with a little smile. I’ll text him to make sure he gets there on time.
My phone lights up. Elaine’s on her way. I probably should have set the alarm for a little earlier. I have on clean clothes, but the lack of sleep is definitely visible on my face.
I walk into the kitchen, where Mr. and Mrs. Coleman are already awake, sipping coffee. It’s like they never sleep in.
“Morning, Bianca,” Mr. Coleman says. “Want a cup?”
“Yes, thank you,” I say. I’m on a few hours of sleep at best, but I can chug it down.
He starts pouring me some, and it’s nice to have regular coffee instead of my dad pushing the Italian espresso that Nonna ships him. Although that wouldn’t necessarily be unwelcome, considering how strong he makes it.
It sort of makes me miss it. Just waking up and smelling the espresso, seeing Mom and Dad in the morning. Not having murderers after me.
A lot changed in just a few weeks.
“You’re up early,” Mrs. Coleman says. “It’s been a night.”
“I have my birding hike,” I say. Mr. Coleman hands me the warm mug. “Thank you.” I look between them, both having done so much for me, and my eyes prick. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t stay out of it and now you’re all involved. If anything happens to any of you . . .”
“Hey.” Mrs. Coleman pulls me into a hug. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to take precautions, and make sure that no one is alone at home until it’s figured out.”
“No weirdo is going to kill you or my sons,” Mr. Coleman adds. “Not while I’m alive.”
Mrs. Coleman pulls away enough to make eye contact. “Do you need a ride to the hike today? If that’ll make you feel better, I think it should be okay to go. We can go with you, if you’d like.”
“One of my friends is going to pick me up.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Coleman says. “But text me the exact location right now, in case anything happens. You call immediately.”
“Got it, thank you. I’m sharing my location with Anderson and Ronan too.” I copy the name of the trail and address from the invite and text it to Mrs. Coleman. “I really can’t thank you both enough.”
Mr. Coleman waves it off. “If you make it big as some fancy ornithologist, make sure to take care of us.” He gives a smile. “I wouldn’t mind a beachfront property.”
I really doubt I’ll get the big bucks from studying birds, but if I ever win the lottery, the Coleman family would be the first people I’d spoil. Then again, after seeing Jillian’s mansion, maybe there could be something to it.
“All right,” I say, smiling. “If anything, I’ll split the cost with Anderson and Ronan to get you both a house in Malibu.”
“That’s all I ask,” Mr. Coleman says with a wink.
After I down the coffee and put the mug in the dishwasher, Mrs. Coleman walks me outside to wait for Elaine. I’m not sure the cult will try anything when the sun’s up, but it’s nice to not have to be on my own and out in the open.
“So,” Mrs. Coleman says. “Who’s this friend?”
I can already tell by her tone of voice what she’s asking.
My face heats up. “It’s not like . . .” My hope from yesterday keeps creeping back up. “I mean, maybe it’s a little like that.”
Mrs. Coleman nearly does a little dance in excitement. “Aw, you and Anderson can double-date.”
I’m bright red now, I know it. “Well, it’s not anything yet, like . . . I definitely like her.”
“Well, she has no reason not to like you,” Mrs. Coleman says. “Unless she’s trash.”
While I’m hopelessly embarrassed, it’s also really nice to talk about this with her. It’s not like I can go to my mom and mention my crush on a girl. Even if I don’t like making a big deal of things, that’s probably not the best way to come out.
Elaine’s car pulls up, and Mrs. Coleman pinches my arm when she sees her. “Oh, she’s cute.”
And I’m a literal shaking tomato.
Elaine parks at the curb, and upon seeing Mrs. Coleman, gets out of the car for a moment. She walks up to her and holds a hand out. “Hi, I’m Elaine Yee, Anderson’s friend and Bianca’s, uh, friend. Also.”
Mrs. Coleman gives me a pointed look before smiling at Elaine and shaking her hand. “I’m Alicia. Anderson’s mom because I birthed him, and Bianca’s second mom because I like them.”
That gets me right in the feels. I would kill a man for this woman.
Which is good, because with a murderous cult at my heels, I might have to.
I swallow the rising bile and put on a grin. “Hi, thanks for the ride.”
“No problem,” Elaine says.
She smiles back at me and it lights up her whole face. Her brown eyes practically sparkle gold in the rising sunlight, and I keep looking between them and her lips, painted a rose color that I’d really like to taste.
I turn away.
“I have the address, call if anything happens, or if you have the slightest bad feeling at all,” Mrs. Coleman says. She looks at Elaine. “You take care of each other.”
“We will,” Elaine says. “Promise.”
“Holding you to that,” Mrs. Coleman says. She lets the two of us get into the car and waves us off. “You kids have fun.”
We wait for Mrs. Coleman to walk back into the apartment building, and then head toward the meeting location for the hike. Just to be safe, I double-check that my location is shared with Anderson and Ronan.
Anderson has already sent a quick One Piece meme. At least I know he’s awake now.
“What was on the flash drive?” Elaine asks.
“Everything he had on Valley Quail and Feathergate was backed up on it. It connects everything to the Flock. We know that there are twenty members.” I almost mention that Mr. Conspiracy also left a document for me, but I was too nervous to read it. I’d rather wait until this is all over, whatever this ends up being, so I don’t feel like I failed him. Looking at his words now would be too hard. Besides, it would be hard to explain that document without also explaining my casual stalker tendencies, and that’s not exactly the best topic of conversation for someone I’m really into romantically.
“They are stealing money, then.” Elaine tightens her grip on the wheel.
“Yeah, from at least twenty different businesses,” I say. “I mean, there could be more. This is just what Mr. Conspiracy uncovered.”
“Maybe I can come over after the hike to look at it?” Elaine asks. “If Anderson wouldn’t mind.”
“I doubt he’d mind,” I say. “We were kind of interrupted last night.”
Concern washes over Elaine’s features. Her eyes dart to me for a second before returning to the road ahead. “What happened?”
“One of them broke into my bedroom,” I say. “At my actual house—I’m staying with Anderson.” I lean back into the chair. I try not to think too hard about it, to say the words like they aren’t connected to me. “They had the same mask and large knife as the night Mr. Conspiracy was murdered, so . . . I think they wanted to do the same to me.”
Elaine pales, and her mouth opens for a few seconds before she speaks. “Are you all right?”
It seems like that’s what everyone has been asking me lately, and I’m starting to feel like I never was. Before seeing Mr. Conspiracy bloodied and lifeless, I was stuck in my bedroom with a whole list of fears I never faced and limited interactions outside my family that didn’t take place silently through multiple layers of glass.
That wasn’t exactly all right either.
“I’m good,” I say, “really.”
Because that’s the kind of thing you say, even if you’re not.
Elaine gives a small smile. “You ready to potentially put yourself into more danger?”
I glance toward her, leaning back in my seat.
“No,” I say. “But I seem to be really great at it anyway.”
The birding hike is very calm and uneventful, unless I count the vermilion flycatcher Terrance snapped a picture of toward the start of the trail, which is an extremely rare find this time of year in Los Angeles. Everyone politely and quietly clapped. It’s almost like everything is completely normal.
One key difference on this hike is that Elaine and I walk together. We don’t talk a lot. Mostly we pay attention to the surroundings, point out any possible sightings, and trade our note-covered field guides back and forth.
Occasionally, as we walk along the trail, our arms brush. Tingles shoot through my skin at the mere touch, but I don’t pull away.
And neither does she.
“Bianca, Elaine, did you see the flycatcher before it flew off?”
We turn toward Jillian, smiling brightly in her matching shorts and T-shirt, both somehow the exact same shade of lavender. Even the frames of her glasses have a purple accent.
“I did,” I say the same time Elaine says, “I didn’t.”
“I saw the picture though,” Elaine adds.
“Wish I didn’t miss it.” Jillian turns toward me. “I’m glad you caught it, Bianca. You’re such a natural observer.”
“Thanks, Jillian.” I’m not really sure what to say to that, but her tone definitely made it seem like a good thing, and it would make sense for her compliments to be a bit more on the quirkier side.
“I’m so glad you made it today,” Jillian says. “We are all so proud of our two youngest birders.”
Now I’m a little embarrassed.
“I’m glad you welcomed me into the flock—I mean, fold!” I try to hide my wince with a smile.
“I’m happy to help,” Jillian says. “Because I know that you’d help me in return. Right?”
It’s a bit odd for her to say it like that, but I can’t really speak to anyone saying things that sound more awkward than intended. It’s practically my special talent.
“Of course.”
Jillian is all smiles. “Oh, by the way, are you two free tonight? I was thinking of doing a little get-together dinner party at my house.”
“I have my sister’s musical performance tonight.”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be until later, so you can come after! Let me know!” She clasps her hands together. “Well, I won’t bother the two of you any longer. Don’t fall too far behind the rest of the group.” She winks at the two of us.
Elaine blushes nearly as much as I do.
What is Jillian suggesting?
She keeps up her pleasant attitude, turning on her heel to greet Mr. Hawthorne, an older white man who I believe is a lawyer or something. He definitely has that look to him.
“That was strange,” Elaine says. “But sweet.”
“Jillian has mastered the fine line between them,” I say. “I didn’t know there was something planned for tonight.”
“Maybe she just decided on the spot.” Elaine shrugs. Then, she immediately twists her head to the right. “Wait, what’s that?” She points to a bird rustling in one of the trees to our left, but I can’t quite make out the features.
We stop, and I lift my binoculars to get a better view.
Before I can focus on the bird, I’m yanked back. My heart stops.
Fear #3: Murder
I turn around to see Anderson.
“What the hell?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low. “Weren’t you meeting with that guy?”
“I was, and I have urgent news. Ryan’s waiting for us in the parking lot.” He looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “We have to go. Now.” He starts to pull me with his good arm, but can’t grab onto Elaine. “You too, Elaine, let’s go.”
“What did he say?” My eyes widen. “You know who it is?”
“Yes, and that’s why we need to get out of here. Now. It’s this group. They’re the Flock.”
My stomach churns and my hands start shaking. I wasn’t prepared for this. Even Elaine looks like she saw a ghost. “Everyone?” I ask.
“Everyone who joined before you did, at least.” Anderson looks to Elaine. “Unless you have something to share?”
Elaine frowns. “No, but you can’t be serious.”
She’s right. How could it be nearly everyone in the group? Some of them seem the type, maybe, but not . . .
“Jillian too?” my weak voice presses.
The get-together she was mentioning . . . is that what the sticky note was about?
No, that’s . . .
Anderson nods. “Jillian is practically the helm of it. The contact Mr. Conspiracy found used to be part of the group but got out of it and changed his name. And it gets worse. Look at what he had.”
He holds out his phone to show us a photo. It was clearly taken at a wedding, featuring Jillian in a straight white dress, holding a bouquet of flowers and kissing the cheek of a smiling . . .
