All Eyes on Us, page 24
30
ROSALIE
TUESDAY, JANUARY 23
Amanda should probably still be in bed with an endless supply of fluids and The O.C. on streaming, but instead she’s across the street at Carter’s welcome home party while I’m stationed in the Kelly’s living room, cordless phone in my lap. My whole body is tense, waiting for it to ring. I try to settle into the silence, but I’m restless, mind retracing the past six hours.
I got Amanda’s email at the end of school, then took the first bus home. I checked on my bag, still concealed safely in the shed, and grabbed my bike. My parents think I’m staying with Elissa tonight, one more lie, but soon, I’ll tell them everything. Tonight we put a stop to Private, and then I move on with my life. On my terms.
Amanda filled me in on the rest when I got to her house. Last night, when she didn’t return to the benefit, her mother went looking and found her daughter passed out cold in the parking lot, slouched across the front seat of her car.
They pumped her stomach and found about .6 fluid ounces of alcohol and trace amounts of two prescription drugs: a heavy sedative and something used to treat infections. The doctors at Mercy think her reaction to the dangerous mix was intensified by the lack of food in her stomach. Amanda’s mother seems convinced her daughter’s way of coping with the stress of this past week was to “make poor life decisions regarding drugs and alcohol,” which had Amanda in hiccupping, hysterical laughter when she told me, since I guess her mother is a raging alcoholic.
But what happened seems clear enough. Amanda was drugged by someone who didn’t want her new phone getting to the PI. They managed to delay things overnight, but this morning, her dad drove out to Nathaniel’s office to hand it over.
I paced back and forth across her plush bedroom rug while Amanda refreshed her email, fingers tapping the desk. Two hours before she was due across the street, an email from Nathaniel finally came in. We studied the screen shots; three texts that had just arrived to my phone:
Carter’s welcome home party tonight. You’re not invited, but that won’t stop you, you little party crasher.
When Amanda fulfills her part of the bargain, you’re going to show up with some news of your own for the party boy.
I want my audio recording. I want the truth. If you don’t do what I say, blood will spill.
We stared at Amanda’s laptop screen, and then we stopped talking about Private. The PI is doing his best to unblock the two disguised numbers, and whatever’s going down tonight, it’s going down at the Shaws’. So instead of imagining the worst, we spent a couple hours watching Ryan Atwood and Marissa Cooper fall in love on the Ferris wheel and trying to forget about the ticking clock above Amanda’s bed.
At eight, I helped her pick out a green cocktail dress and heels and watched her unclasp the necklace she always wears and slip it into her dresser drawer. Then Amanda went across the street to keep a close eye on Ben, leaving me in her living room with Nathaniel Krausse on speed dial.
I sink into the Kelly’s plush couch and wait. I don’t love the idea of being split up, but with both our phones gone, someone has to be reachable on the landline. From their living room, I have a clear view of Ben’s car, which is conveniently out of the shop and parked down the block. It gleams in the yellow streetlamp light. Our strategy is simple: Amanda keeps watch inside, and I’m on alert for anything suspicious outside. Mostly, we’re both hoping the PI comes through with some solid digital evidence before Private makes a move.
My finger twitches across the phone’s keypad. Maybe I should call Nathaniel now, tell him to get over here. Amanda is certain it’s Ben behind everything, but as much as I want to believe her, as suspicious as he is, I’m still not entirely convinced he’s acting alone. Which is why before I biked into Logansville, I dug out Amanda’s pink sticky note and asked the PI to keep an eye on Paulina tonight.
Just in case.
I shiver despite the blasting heat and roaring gas fire. If I’m right, it’s a necessary precaution. But if I’m wrong, I am officially the worst girlfriend ever.
I stare across the street at the Shaw estate. The house and lawn glow bright against the winter dark. People are still arriving, filling the massive horseshoe driveway and lining the street with their cars. This must be the Shaws’ idea of an “intimate gathering.” My eyes travel to the only car I really need to watch, the gray Ford parked half a block away.
When the Kelly’s phone rings, I almost drop it.
“Hello?”
“Rosalie Bell? This is Nathaniel Krausse.”
“This is Rosalie.” My breath catches. Please let it be that he unblocked one of the numbers. Please let this be over.
“Paulina Flores is on the move. Black Honda Civic headed into Logansville, male driver, early twenties. I’m following.”
“That’s her brother’s car.” A giant knot forms in my throat. “Ramon Flores.”
“Sit tight, Rosalie. I’ll be in touch.”
31
AMANDA
TUESDAY, JANUARY 23
I brush aside the curtain and peek out the bank of windows that line the Shaws’ parlor, but the only thing I can see is the reflection of the fire crackling in my living room window. Perfect. If I can’t see Rosalie, no one else can see her either. Watching. Waiting for Ben to make a move.
I turn away from the windows and walk across the room to stand behind Carter, who’s surrounded by well-wishers. He’s stationed on one of the Shaws’ stiff parlor sofas in makeshift formal attire: suit pants, shiny gray striped tie, white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows to accommodate his cast. The bandages are gone, and even with the cast, he looks healthy, almost back to normal. He’s deep in conversation with his Aunt Patricia, who flew up from Miami for her nephew’s homecoming, but he reaches for me absently with his uninjured hand, his fingers closing around mine.
For a minute, I stand behind the sofa, my hand in Carter’s. I touch my neck out of habit, but the skin is bare where his onyx heart used to be. When this is all over, when Ben Gallagher is behind bars and Carter and I finally get a chance to talk, will he be heartbroken when I tell him it’s over? Or will he be relieved?
I release Carter’s hand and reach into my bag for my phone, but then I remember it’s with PI Krausse. I’m naked without it. I lean down to give Carter a quick kiss on the cheek, then walk over to my mother, who’s standing with Krystal Shaw by the bar. Naturally.
“Any news?” While I’m phoneless, she’s supposed to be on high alert for any word from the PI. He has our home number and my mother’s cell. But of course there’s a glass of bubbly in her hand and her phone isn’t even out.
“Oh, Amanda, no. I promise I’ll tell you if he calls.” She gives me a look that demonstrates exactly how seriously she’s taking this. As far as Linda Kelly is concerned, I brought last night upon myself. Not only did they find two prescription drugs in my bloodstream, but there were three loose pills rolling around the bottom of my clutch. The irony of my supposed substance abuse problem is so bitter it’s almost funny. Now she’s threatening treatment for real; I have an appointment later this week at a private center with a name like Serenity Grove or Coral Vista.
I leave my mother and Krystal to continue dissecting last night’s best and worst dressed and turn to my next task: Ben. For most of the party, he’s been out in the great hall, kicking it with Graham. They’re standing in the same corner they took over on New Year’s, talking about lacrosse or skydiving or comic books like everything’s normal. But all night, Ben’s been checking his phone.
I leave the parlor and stroll across the hall. “Gentlemen.”
Graham folds me into a hug. He’s wearing gray slacks and a pale pink shirt. He looks dashing, as always.
“How you feeling?” he asks.
“Never better.” I turn to Ben and try to keep my voice level. “Expecting an important call?”
“What?” He looks at me blankly.
“You can see the screen flashing from across the hall. It’s like a beacon.”
“Oh.” Ben shoves his phone into the pocket of his cargo pants, and I scowl. A quip about the dress code dances on the tip of my tongue—the invitation said cocktail party, not trucker casual—but I bite the words back. All this time, I’ve been hard on Ben for the wrong reasons. He put Carter in the hospital, and yet he has the nerve to be here drinking the Shaws’ booze and joking around with Graham. I can feel the anger spark and flare across my face.
“I guess I’m just a little preoccupied,” he mumbles.
“That right?” I raise my eyebrows. Ben may have a good five inches on me, but tonight I’m almost at eye level in my heels. I lock his eyes with mine and lean in. “It’s a party, Ben. Lighten up.”
“Jesus, Amanda.” Graham steps between us and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Think you could take a bit of your own advice?”
Ben scowls into the floor panels and I let Graham ease me back a step. Ben looks sufficiently cowed. I’m either riling him up, or calling his bluff.
“You’re right,” he says suddenly, scowl wiped from his face. “Who needs another drink?”
“I’ll come with you,” Graham offers. “Amanda?”
“No, thanks. I’m not drinking.” Since I woke up in the hospital, I’ve gone over and over last night’s events. Anyone could have dissolved the pills in my drink at the trustee table; the glasses had sat out untouched for at least fifteen minutes before the toast. And anyone could have slipped a few extras into my clutch when I left it on Table 14. In a way, my mother is right. I did bring last night upon myself. I won’t make that mistake twice.
Ben and Graham walk across the hall toward the parlor bar. I’m about to duck into the powder room to check my mascara when Carter’s dad appears in front of me.
“Amanda, glad I found you.”
I smile up at him. “This is such a lovely party, Winston. I know Carter’s so happy to be home.”
“Thank you.” He places a hand lightly on my arm, just above the elbow. “Amanda, I need to ask you for a favor. The pharmacy texted; Carter’s prescriptions are ready. Krystal and I are parked in. It would take us all night to get our cars out of the drive. Can you make a quick run to CVS?”
My eyes flicker across the hall to Ben. Trina’s with him now, snapping a selfie. Across the room, Adele’s settled in on the couch, demanding Carter’s full attention. No one’s looking at me.
“Of course. Not a problem.”
“They’ll ask for Carter’s date of birth—”
“Winston,” I interrupt with a smile. “I’ve got this.”
“Of course you do.” He runs a hand through his hair, blond like Carter’s, and starting to thin in patches. I duck out and accept my coat from the woman running a coat check in the entryway. Then I slip across the street.
“Just me.”
Rosalie’s sitting on the living room couch, phone in her lap, exactly as I left her. She has a floppy knit cap pulled down over her ears, mostly covering her hair. It actually looks kind of stylish.
She leaps up when she sees me. “Is something wrong?”
“All quiet at the Shaw estate. I just have to run a quick errand.”
She sinks back into the couch and curls her legs into her chest. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Nathaniel called, half an hour ago. Paulina and her brother were on their way into Logansville. They must be here by now.”
“At Carter’s?”
“No—I don’t know. He just said they were headed into town, and he was following.”
“Why is he following them? He’s supposed to be working on the numbers.”
“Right, I know.” She takes off her glasses and starts scrubbing at the lenses with her shirt. “I called him, earlier. I think Pau’s involved.”
“Like working with Ben?” I duck into the hallway and grab my car keys from the hook. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to think it was true.”
She looks tiny and miserable balled up on the couch. Something unlocks inside my chest. It’s impossible to be mad at her.
“Fine. I have to run to CVS to pick up Carter’s prescriptions. It’s two blocks down from the high school. I’ll be right back.”
Rosalie nods.
“Keep watching Ben’s car. And if I’m not back in twenty minutes, call PI Krausse.”
“Got it.”
For a minute, we both stare out the window. The trickle of new guests has slowed, and except for two of Carter’s cousins smoking on the front lawn, illuminated in the porch light, everyone’s inside.
I head down to the garage and get in the coupé.
32
ROSALIE
TUESDAY, JANUARY 23
Amanda’s been gone all of three minutes when Ben walks out the Shaws’ front door. He pauses to check his phone on the stone patio, and my heart starts to pound. I rush to the window and look down the street, but Amanda’s BMW is definitely gone.
Ben switches off his phone and pats his coat pockets, checking for something. Before he puts it away, I try to get a good look. What does a burner even look like? I picture one of those boxy Nokias with a tiny screen and no camera, but I can’t make it out in the darkness.
A minute later, he shoves his way through the bushes lining the patio, avoiding the clusterfuck of cars in the driveway and cutting straight across the lawn toward the sidewalk. Toward his car. Amanda must have told someone where she was going, or Ben overheard someone ask her to go. He speed-walks across the grass, head down, and he doesn’t look like a killer. He looks like a gangly kid underdressed for a fancy party. In another life, he looks like someone who could be my friend.
I press speed dial five and wait for Nathaniel’s voice on the other end. After six rings, his voice mail picks up. No. No no no. I hang up and redial. My feet carry me from the couch to the fireplace, from the fireplace back to the couch. Six more rings, voice mail again.
I throw the Kelly’s phone into the couch as hard as I can, and it sinks into the plush cushion with an unsatisfying sigh. I look back outside just in time to see Ben’s car disappear at the end of the street. I let Amanda go to CVS alone. And someone is setting her up. Someone who is probably not my girlfriend. Someone who is now following her in a gray Ford.
I sink down on the couch and press my fingertips into my temples. The Logansville police are filing false reporting charges because of Amanda’s truly asinine mother, so they’re not going to be any help. And the PI who’s supposed to swoop in and save the day? Officially following the wrong trail, because of me. I grab the phone and dial Nathaniel again. This time, it doesn’t even ring before going straight to voice mail.
“Where are you?” I shout into the receiver. “This is Rosalie. Forget about Paulina and Ramon, okay? You need to get to the CVS two blocks down from Logansville South. Amanda’s in danger, that Ben guy followed her, and I’m stuck here with no phone and no car and where the hell are you? Don’t call back, just go.”
I drop the phone and stand in the middle of the Kelly’s warm, dim living room with the gas fire crackling. I can’t just stay here and do nothing. Leaving the Kellys’ means severing my one line of contact to the PI, but fine. He’s off the radar, and I’ve already made my decision. I grab my coat and messenger bag and run out back for my bike.
I shove off and head down the street, headlamp illuminating the pavement ahead. The high school is the opposite direction from the bus station, I know that much. If I can just get myself off this tree-lined avenue and onto a main road, I’ll figure it out. I take the same left that Amanda and Ben took at the end of the street and keep going. More big Victorian houses and lawns that are unnaturally green for the middle of winter. At least most of the snow has melted from last week’s storm, and the roads are clear. Up on my right, there’s a woman walking her white fluff ball of a dog. I slow down.
“Excuse me, which way to the high school?”
“North or South?” she asks.
“South.”
“Take a right at the end of the street, then a left onto Pike. Take your second left onto Foster, and you’ll see it from there.”
I thank her profusely and take off as fast as I can pedal. Right, then left, then second left. When I get to CVS, I’ll figure something out. Go inside and call 911. False reporting charges or not, they’ll have to respond to a real emergency. Right?
33
AMANDA
TUESDAY, JANUARY 23
“Picking up for Carter Shaw.”
The pharmacist turns to rifle through the bins of white bags, and I reach for my phone, but of course it’s not there.
“What time did you request them, miss?” He’s empty-handed.
“I don’t know. His dad asked me to pick them up. Winston Shaw? He got a text about twenty minutes ago.”
“One minute.”
I wait while he types something into a computer in the back, shifting my weight from the balls of my feet to my heels and back again. I need to get back to the party.
When he returns, he looks apologetic. “Miss . . . ?”
“Kelly.”
“Right, Miss Kelly. Mr. Shaw’s physician called in three prescriptions this afternoon, but they haven’t been filled yet. They were scheduled for tomorrow morning. Our system doesn’t have any record of a message to the Shaws, but we can fill them now while you wait.”
I frown. “How long will it be?”
“No more than ten minutes. We’re about to close, but we’re happy to fill them since you’re here.”
