Private 8 - Revelation (10 page)

I gasped when I saw it up close. There we were, Cheyenne and I, smiling broadly with our arms around each other, but you'd never know about the smiles. Because both our faces had been X'd out with black ink.

Trembling, I reached over and snatched the photo off the wall, the tack ripping a hole through the top of it. Hot tears filled my eyes and I tore the photo down the middle. What did it mean? Had someone crossed us out because we were both out of Billings... or was the

98 intended message worse than that? Was this just a follow-up to the pills that had been left in my room?

I was about to tear the photo into shreds when I realized it was evidence. Maybe whoever had left this here had left prints. Of course my prints were all over it as well, but still. I fumbled in my bottom drawer for an envelope and dumped the two halves of the photo inside, then stashed it away in my dresser along with all the other "presents" my stalker had left for me over time. The black balls, Cheyenne's pink clothing--it was all there except for the pills and place card, which I had tossed.

Slowly, I sat down on my bed, staring at the contaminated drawer. As my breathing normalized I realized there was no way Ivy could have left that photo in my room. She had already been in the bathroom when I had gotten there and had left about five seconds before me. Not enough time to get into my room, tack up a picture, and get out. Did this mean she was innocent? Was she really not my stalker? Not the killer?

No. I refused to believe it. Until I figured out who S.O. was or found out something majorly disturbing about Astrid or someone else, Ivy was still the only person with a real motive. The only person with a psycho stare. The only person who had both a motive to kill Cheyenne and a motive to stalk me. Maybe she had an accomplice. Maybe she'd gotten Jillian or someone else to put the picture up while I was in the bathroom. Or maybe the photo had been there all afternoon and I just hadn't noticed it.

I quickly opened up my laptop and typed up a new e-mail to Noelle.

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Noelle,

I think Ivy killed Cheyenne. You need to be careful. She told me everything about what happened with her grandmother your junior year. She blames you for everything. Please. If you won't talk to me, at least watch your back. -Reed

My fingers trembling, I sent the e-mail into the ether, just hoping that Noelle would read it. That maybe there was some tiny soft spot left in her heart that trusted me enough to at least open an e-mail.

Ivy had to be the culprit. She had to be. Because if she wasn't, then I was truly at a loss. And the enemy could be anyone.

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NEW QUEEN BITCH

Amberly Carmichael was getting on my last nerve.As I sat alone at a table in the conservatory on Friday night, she led a group of Billings Girls up to the Coffee Carma counter like she owned the place. Which I suppose she did, technically. But just the counter. Not the entire school. And just to make things worse, the girls she was with-- Missy, Lorna, and even Rose, Kiki, and Portia--trailed after her as if she was the new queen bee. As if they were in awe of her. Of a twitty little freshman who would have prostrated herself at their feet a few weeks ago for the mere privilege of talking to them. It was all so very, very wrong.

"Daddy wanted to go to Australia this Christmas. Can you believe it?" Amberly said, loud enough for the entire room to hear. "He has this thing about wanting to surf the Maroubra on Christmas morning and I'm like, 'Daddy! Get a life!' I mean, I love that he's adventurous

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and all, but he can surf whenever. He already promised the whole family would go to St. Bart's with the Langes for Christmas, and I was not letting him go back on that one." "Surfing in Australia? Oh my God, your dad makes my dad sound like a total geriatric loser," Missy said with a snort.

"I wouldn't mind going to Australia with him and watching him surf," Missy added, dropping her Louis Vuitton bag down on the counter. "I saw him when he dropped you off in September, and he's pretty much the hottest dad on earth."

I glanced at Amberly, who looked momentarily grossed-out, as any daughter would be at hearing such a thing, but then she laughed.

"Put your wallet away and order whatever you want," she said, waving a hand at Lorna. "It's on the company. Daddy totally owes me."

I narrowed my eyes at Amberly. She looked different somehow. Softer. Her blond hair was straightened again and tucked back behind her ears instead of overly styled. She wore less makeup than usual, making her look slightly older and more sophisticated. Then there were her clothes. She had unbuttoned her white coat, and underneath were a white turtleneck sweater, skinny jeans, and fringed suede boots with wool peeking out the tops. Her bag was a structured, dark green croc satchel. Looking at the shoes and bag, I realized what had changed. She wasn't as severely matchy as she normally was. She looked as if she had just thrown the outfit together instead of thinking about it for days on end. Which only made her look cooler.

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"Thank you so much, Amberly!" Missy gushed, double air-kissing the girl as she retrieved her huge coffee.

"Yeah. This is way cool," Kiki added in her signature monotone. She had, of course, gotten a mocha frap with double whip and chocolate shavings. All about the sugar, that one.

Damn. Even realizing that I knew Kiki's coffee preferences made me nostalgic. Okay, Reed. Get a grip. Back to the task at hand.Endeavoring to ignore the Billings Girls and how left out I felt, I went back to my list of suspects. I lifted my red pen and finally did what I had been meaning to do all night. I drew a line through Missy and Lorna. When I had Googled them the night before, I had found nothing remotely incriminating or suspect, although I had learned a couple of interesting tidbits. Namely that Lorna had two older sisters, one at Oxford and the other getting an advanced degree from MIT, which might just account for her obvious inferiority complex. And that Missy had had a younger brother who had passed away at the age of eight of leukemia, which made her seem human for the first time ever. But that was it. Nothing else interesting. And when I really thought about it, I realized that neither of them had been acting at all strangely since Cheyenne's death. Missy had ice in her veins, so I could maybe believe that of her, but Lorna... Lorna would never have been able to pull off a murder plot without losing it a little. She would have been paranoid, jumpy, weepy, something. But she had never been any of the above. It just didn't add up.

Up at the counter, Amberly let out a tinkling laugh and I cringed.

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Amazing how the list of people I couldn't stand was growing exponentially, even as my list of suspects dwindled. The only people left on it now were Astrid, Marc Alberro, S.O., and Ivy.

Speak of the devil.... At that moment, Ivy walked through the door, clutching Josh's hand, their heads bent close together as they whispered to each other. The sight of them was a cattle prod to my ass and I immediately stood up to gather my things. There was no way I was going to sit here and watch the two of them get all touchy-feely over lattes. No way in hell.

My sudden movement caught Ivy's attention and she smiled at me triumphantly, reaching up to kiss Josh's cheek as they continued on their way. Josh, luckily, was oblivious to my presence. I wasn't sure if I could deal with the humiliation of him seeing the look on my face right then. I shoved my notebook into my bag and headed for the door, but my scarf got snagged on an empty chair. I struggled to free it, and when I finally did, I stumbled back a couple of steps. Right into Amberly Carmichael.

There was a sputter and a splash and suddenly my sneakers were covered in light brown liquid.

"Ugh! You bitch! Look what you did!" Amberly blurted.

Her white coat was covered in what appeared to be chai latte, and some had splattered on her white sweater as well. She held the almost empty cup out as the liquid dripped from the hem of her coat to the floor. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing and glanced over at Rose and Kiki, who along with Missy, Lorna, and Portia were

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hovering around Amberly. Rose and Kiki both glanced away. Of course.

"Sorry," I said with a shrug.

"You are so paying for the dry cleaning," Amberly said, slapping the cup down on a nearby table and grabbing some napkins. "This coat is one-of-a-kind."

She wasn't yelling, just fuming. Fuming and trembling. As I watched her long, pale fingers work at dabbing the stain, I felt this eerie sense of deja vu, but try as I might, I couldn't place where it was coming from.

"I'm not paying for anything," I told her, shouldering my bag. "It was an accident."

"Oh, you so are," Amberly said, glaring at me. Her blue eyes pierced right through me like ice picks. Clearly just a few days in Billings had taught her how to intimidate and awe. "And it's not going to be cheap," she said, looking me up and down with a sneer. "Better start saving your pennies now."

Forget queen bee. Try queen bitch.

Missy, Lorna, and Portia laughed and my skin burned. I even saw a smile playing on Rose's lips for the briefest second and felt as if I had just been stabbed through the gut Caesar-style, betrayed by the people who were supposed to have my back. Kiki was the only one who didn't react, but maybe her iPod was turned up so loud she couldn't hear what was going on.

"Don't hold your breath," I said through my teeth.

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"I'll be wanting the Carma Card back," Amberly replied. "And I will get my money."

"Yeah. Good luck with that," I said with a scoff.

Then I shot my former friends a scathing look before striding out.

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TWO LISTS

I spent Saturday afternoon in the library. Everyone around me was studying. Pencils scratched in notebooks. Whispered debates were being held on everything from the feminist movement of the early 1900s to the history of space travel to the merits of Monet and Manet. At the other computers, coffees were sipped as fingers tapped away crazily at keyboards. I could practically smell the anticipation and tension in the air. Final exams. Final papers. Final oral reports. It was all upon us.And I was spending my Saturday surfing the Web for a gift for Josh Hollis. Well, that and Googling what was left of my suspect list. I hadn't done one full minute of studying since Sabine had left me an hour ago to go hook up with her bio study group. I was so screwing myself, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I had bigger things on my mind. Like murder. Like first love. Like not letting the murderer--if it was Ivy--murder my former best friend.

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Sigh.

On the first-love front, it was impossible to find something good for Josh. Nothing said what I wanted it to say. Namely, "I love you. Doesn't this gift remind you of how much you love me?" I had been at it for hours, scouring every shopping site from L.L. Bean to art.com to eBay, but had come up with nothing good. The Holiday Dinner was less than a week away. It was time to admit defeat--especially since I definitely didn't have the money for overnight shipping. I couldn't pay for an Internet gift with what little money I had left from the Billings fund, since it was in the form of cash. All I had was the only-in- emergencies credit card my dad had given me over the summer, and the less I spent on that, the quicker he would be to forgive me. I went back to art.com, selected the Gauguin print I had been halfheartedly eyeing, and just ordered the damn thing.

Sigh, sigh.

The sophomore guy next to me vacated his computer and even before the scent of his raspberry bubble gum had faded into the ether, Marc Alberro had taken his place. He sat down on the chair sideways so that he could face me, the bulk of his winter coat wedged between desk and chair back, his book bag on his lap. Instantly, my heart stopped beating and a tingle of fear shot through me.

"Sorry I haven't returned your message. It's been crazy," he said. "So, what's up?"

I'd been avoiding him since James showed me that video, and glancing over at him now, I found I couldn't even look him in the eye. 108

Could he be the killer? Had he sneaked into Billings while we were all asleep and force-fed those pills to Cheyenne? Suddenly I felt like I was about to retch.

"What? What's the matter?" Marc asked, tilting his head.

"I have to go."

I grabbed up my things, leaving the reserved card on my computer so I wouldn't have to stop to return it to the front desk, and rushed awkwardly for the door. I tried to shove my arms into my coat while semi-sprinting, my bag strap all twisted around my wrist. I attempted to untwist it as I exited the building, but in the process my bag turned upside down, sending all my books and notebooks tumbling down the library stairs.

"Perfect," I said under my breath, crouching to retrieve them. The sky overhead was a threatening gray and wind whistled around the buildings. Any second the clouds were going to open up and pour freezing rain on my head. I could feel it.

"Reed!" Marc was there in a flash. He stooped to help gather my things. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

As we stood up, our arms full of books, I forced myself to look at him. His brow was creased with concern and his light brown eyes were open and honest. For a second I couldn't imagine that he could have hurt Cheyenne. But after what she had done to him...

"You were Fourteen-in-Fourteen Flower Boy!" I blurted, rather more loudly than I intended.

All the color drained from Marc's face. He handed my notebooks to me.

109 "Well, I prefer to go by Marc," he said, taking a step back and shoving his hands under his sleeves.

My cheeks were flushed with heat. "Marc, this isn't funny. How could you have never mentioned that you and Cheyenne had a thing? Were you hiding it for a reason?"

A group of freshman girls scurried up the stairs between us and I realized it was a good thing this conversation was taking place in such a populated area of campus. If Marc was capable of violence, he couldn't get away with hurting me right here, out in the open like this.

"Well, yeah. I had a couple reasons," Marc replied, his eyes wide. "One, it was the most humiliating experience of my life, and two, I don't really relish the idea of getting pounded on by Trey Prescott. Cheyenne was his girlfriend last year during the, uh, fourteen-in- fourteen incident. Although I swear I had no idea they were together at the time."