Private 8 - Revelation (16 page)

"Rose? You didn't hear?" Sabine said, stabbing at a chunk of melon with her fork. "Hear what?" I asked, my throat closing.

"She went home yesterday morning," Sabine replied. "She has mono or something, so they sent her home so she wouldn't spread it."

"Mono?" I repeated. That seemed a tad convenient. Right when I was onto a breakthrough, the girl who could sort it all out had fled campus? My pulse raced through my veins like a brakeless freight train. It was all too big of a coincidence. It had to be Rose and Ivy. It had to be.

But why?

'You should go to the police," Sabine said, her eyes serious. "I mean it, Reed. If someone is stalking you, that's a serious crime, no?"

I scoffed. "They won't listen to me. I've already asked them to investigate Ivy and they won't bother. I need to get some concrete evidence."

"Well, did you take pictures of the damage to your room?" Sabine asked. "Show them that."

My face burned in embarrassment. It hadn't even occurred to me to take pictures. I had been too busy freaking out and trying to clean it up so that I wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

"No. No pictures," I said.

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"Oh." Sabine chewed slowly. "Well then, next time... I mean, if there is a next time," she said comfortingly, "make sure you get pictures." "I will."

I folded my arms on the table and rested my chin atop them, realizing I actually felt relieved. Just like that, I could put Ivy back at the top of my list. I no longer had to figure out a whole new list of stalker suspects. I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder every second--only when Ivy was around.

Another laugh from the Billings table caught our attention. Sabine rolled her eyes as she took another bite of melon.

"I am so sick of that Amberly girl," she said.

"Tell me about it," I replied, happy for the change of subject. Something to distract me. "I'll bet she sucks as a roommate."

"I hardly know," Sabine replied. "She's in Noelle's room twenty-four-seven. They're fused at the hip. All they do is talk about their travel plans for Christmas. Noelle even gave Amberly a vintage Louis Vuitton travel trunk. Portia said it's worth more than Noelle's car."

I could practically feel my skin turning green. It was weird even to think about Portia and Sabine hanging around Billings, discussing such things. Weird to think that normal Billings life was going on without me.

"I don't understand what Noelle sees in her," I said through my teeth. "Would you believe the little twit tried to blackmail me?"

"No! How?" Sabine asked.

"Remember the other night at the library when you walked in on us by the vending machines?" I said. 167

Sabine nodded, obviously intrigued, her fork suspended over her fruit salad.

"She basically told me she wanted me to give her that Billings disc or else," I said, rolling my eyes.

Sabine's face slackened slightly. "But you destroyed that disc."

"I know, but I told Noelle I still had a copy," I replied, blushing slightly as I recalled my own lame attempt at blackmail.

"Oh. But you don't?" Sabine asked, pushing her food around now.

"No. I was just trying to get Noelle's attention," I said with a sigh, folding my arms on the table. "Anyway, Amberly went all Sopranos about it. Like she was willing to do anything to protect her own."

"Well, it's a good thing she can't get her hands on that information," Sabine said, laying her fork down finally. "It would not be good for anyone if that got out."

"I know. I kind of have a feeling that, no matter what she says, our privacy would not be her first priority," I added, glancing over at Amberly as she held out her hand to show her manicured nails to Lorna.

"A ditzy little upstart like her? Definitely not," Sabine agreed, following my gaze.

"Well, whatever. I'm kind of dying to see what her version of 'or else' looks like," I said with a laugh as I stood. "I'm going to go get some more cereal." As I rejoined the food line, Ivy and Josh were just coming out the

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other end with their breakfasts. Much to my surprise, Josh said hi to me, but Ivy simply smirked. I narrowed my eyes at her and didn't look away until the snarky expression completely fell off her face.

She and Rose had been torturing me. I was sure of it. Now all I had to do was find the proof. And photograph it.

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DIFFICULT

As I sat in morning services, listening to the Crom drone on about rules and regulations for tomorrow night's Easton Holiday Dinner, I realized I felt better than I had at breakfast. About as good as a person in my rather precarious and pathetic position could feel. I turned in my pew slightly to glance back at Noelle. She was texting on her iPhone, so she didn't see me. I couldn't help but cross my fingers. I so had to win her back tomorrow night. Had to. Because if my plan didn't work... No. I couldn't think that way. I had to be positive.Wiping the worry from my mind, I started to face forward again, but before I could I caught a glimpse of Josh on the other side of the aisle, sitting on the end of the last pew. He wasn't paying attention to Cromwell either. Instead, he was sketching like crazy in a small sketch pad, his brow knit in intense concentration. As I watched him, he pressed his lips together, then pursed them, then went back

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to normal and started the process all over again. I smiled, my eyes stinging with nostalgia. He always did that when he was really in the zone, though he never believed me when I told him about it. I wished I could take a picture right then and prove it to him, but it wasn't my place anymore. And besides, Cromwell's henchman Mr. White would see the flash and swoop down on me like a vulture.

But I couldn't tear my eyes away from Josh. The weak sunlight streaming through the colorful stained-glass windows danced against the right side of his face. There was a tiny fray in the hem of his turtleneck sweater and his corduroys were partially rolled up on one side, revealing the tiniest bit of pale skin. I drank in every detail of him while I could. If only he knew how much I missed every inch of him, inside and out. If only he knew how much I regretted everything.

Cromwell dismissed us just as the second brilliant idea of the past twenty-four hours hit me like a brick to the head. The perfect gift for Josh. What might be the perfect gift for both of us.

I jumped up and raced down the rapidly filling aisle, headed for the heavy, arched door. If I was going to pull this off, I was going to need as much time as I could make for myself.

"Gotta throw up again, Brennan?" Ivy shouted after me. "They have clinics for that kind of thing!"

A few people laughed, but I ignored them all. I would deal with Ivy later. I shoved the door open and the cold air hit me like a slap to the face. I paused for a second to button up and pull my hat on. Big, big mistake.

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"So, Glass-Licker," Amberly said, sidling up next to me. "You missed your deadline."

I clenched my jaw and started speed-walking down the cobbled path. Unfortunately, Amberly had no trouble keeping up. "You owe me a disc, remember?" she said. "I hope you have it with you this morning. I'm really too busy to keep following you around."

I stopped in my tracks and looked at her, letting out a fed-up sigh.

"You don't have it, do you?" Amberly laughed and shook her head. "Don't you realize I can make things very difficult for you?"

I threw up my hands and let them slap down at my sides. "Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound? What did you do last summer, take some course called Soap Opera Villainy 101?"

Amberly's blue eyes narrowed. She tugged her fur-lined gloves on slowly. "Okay, then. Difficult it is."

I shook my head mirthfully. "Yes. Difficult it is. Bring on the difficult. I can't wait to see what your tiny little brain comes up with."

Then I turned and strolled off casually, letting her see just how very unaffected I was by her threats. There was a lot that could get to me, especially lately, but I was not going to be intimidated by some poser freshman. Especially not Amberly.

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EVIDENCE

I spent the next twenty-four hours on edge. Not only was I now looking forward to the Holiday Dinner as the potential setting for my reconciliation with both Noelle and Josh, but I was dying to get back into Ivy's room and do some more snooping. I had to find some real evidence that she was my stalker and that she was plotting against Noelle. I had to put an end to her plans before I lost my mind. Before Noelle lost her life.In the meantime, a thousand questions plagued me. Did Ivy really kill Cheyenne? And if so, did Rose know about it, or was she only helping Ivy mess with me? Why would Rose want to hurt Cheyenne? They had been such good friends. And why would she want to hurt Noelle?

Too many questions. None of which would be answered by Rose, apparently, since I had left about twenty messages on her voice mail and heard nothing back.

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But no matter. I could take care of this without her explaining--or, even better, admitting her guilt. If I was on my own, I was on my own.

***

Friday morning I stood next to my door inside my room and waited for Ivy and Jillian to get their stuff together and get out. The general noise in the hallways was convivial and excited. The Crom had shortened all our classes for the day, so that they would all be crammed in before lunch, giving us time to get ready for the Holiday Dinner that afternoon. The atmosphere in Pemberly was not unlike the last day at Croton High before Christmas break. I could just tell no one was going to be paying attention in class. We would all be too busy looking forward to the festivities.

But first, I had a mission.

I heard Ivy and Jillian's door close and they strode by my room, chatting about what they might wear that night. Taking Sabine's advice to heart, I slid my iPhone into the back pocket of my jeans and waited until their voices faded to nothing. Then I slipped out of my room and into theirs. This time I went right for Ivy's dresser, yanking open the top drawer. All her things were folded and lined up in perfect little rows, the black underwear separated from the white, separated from the colorful. Crap. If I was going to search this stuff, I was going to have to do it carefully, meticulously. Not good, considering how badly my hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, I pushed a row of tiny undies aside, cringing at the very idea that I was touching Ivy Slade's intimates. I quickly uncovered birth control pills and a box of condoms, both of which

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made me think of her and Josh and how far they might have already gone, which made me want to vomit, but there was nothing else there.

The second drawer was all T-shirts, again perfectly folded and arranged in rows. I lifted out a stack and there was nothing underneath. Same with the next.

The third drawer contained about twenty black and white sweaters. Ivy's staples. I lifted up the first pile, holding the sweaters toward my shoulder, and froze. Sitting in the bottom of the drawer was a very familiar silver box. A box with the letters VMS etched into the lid. The very box Ivy had been sent into her grandmother's house to steal. The very box I had seen in Cheyenne's room the night before her parents had come to pack up all her things.

Clutching the sweaters in the crook of my arm, I reached down with my free hand and flipped open the lid of the box. Sure enough, sitting inside on the velvet lining was Cheyenne's diamond B necklace--which was slightly bigger than everyone else's--the chain broken a few inches away from the clasp.

Ivy must have sneaked into Billings that night--the night before Cheyenne's things were carted away. It was the only explanation. She was still so angry that Cheyenne had taken the box, she must have sneaked in to steal it back. That was how much this little token meant to her.

Suddenly, my skin tingled with excitement. This was it. This was the key. The heirloom box gave Ivy a very concrete motive. She had never forgiven Cheyenne for her role in her grandmother's stroke and

175 for leaving her there to take the blame. She had never forgiven her for taking the family heirloom with her. So she had killed Cheyenne and, once she knew the police had inventoried everything, she had sneaked back to the scene of the crime to reclaim what was hers. The fact that the B necklace was inside was even better. Maybe Ivy had ripped it off of Cheyenne during some kind of struggle. I would have bet my life that the B had Ivy's fingerprints all over it.

This was it. I finally had her.

Fingers trembling, I whipped out my iPhone and snapped a picture of the open box with the B necklace inside, sitting right where it was. Then I covered my hand with the end of my sleeve to keep from leaving more fingerprints, closed the box, and snapped another picture. Finally, I took a step back and got the wider scene--the open drawer with the box inside and some of Ivy's things in the background, so that the police would have no question as to where I was.

I placed the sweaters back in the drawer and closed it carefully. My heart was racing with unbridled excitement. Ivy was going down. It was almost over. I almost couldn't believe it.

I was about to grab the doorknob and hightail it out of there, when I heard determined footsteps coming down the hall.

"So stupid," someone said to herself.

My heart stopped. It wasn't just someone. It was Ivy. She was about two seconds away from opening her door and finding me standing in the middle of her room with my iPhone out.

I wheeled around. The door to Jillian's closet was open. I flung

176 myself inside, tripping on her shoes and banging into a dozen hangers, and yanked the door closed.

Ivy shoved the door to the room open and stormed inside. I was breathing so hard she was sure to hear me. I grasped the sleeve of one of Jillian's sweaters and held it over my mouth, forcing myself to breathe in and out slowly, quietly. Through the tiny space between door and wall, I could see Ivy moving about.

"Where the hell did I put it?" she said to herself, shoving some papers aside on her desk.

She groaned and opened a drawer, then slammed it. Shuffled a few more things around. The whole time I had to clutch myself to keep from trembling and losing my balance atop the sea of pumps and boots and sneakers. If I moved, my ankle might turn and I might tumble right out onto the floor.