One of Us is Lying(78)
“We haven’t met him yet.” Mrs. Macauley sounds near tears. “Someone’s been appointed, but they haven’t been in touch.”
Eli drops his pen with a frustrated grunt. “Possession of Simon’s things isn’t great. Not great at all. People have been convicted on less. But the way they got this evidence … I don’t like it. Anonymous tips, things that weren’t there before conveniently showing up now. In places that aren’t hard to access. Combination locks are easy to pick. And if the DA’s talking about sending Nate to federal prison at age seventeen … any lawyer worth a damn should be blocking the hell out of that.” He rubs a hand across his face and scowls at me. “Damn it, Bronwyn. This is your fault.”
Everything Eli’s been saying has been making me more and more sick, except this. Now I’m just confused. “What did I do?” I protest.
“You brought this case to my attention and now I have to take it. And I do not have time. But whatever. That’s assuming you’re open to a change in counsel, Mrs. Macauley?”
Oh, thank God. The relief surging through me makes me limp and almost dizzy. Mrs. Macauley nods vigorously, and Eli sighs.
“I can help,” I say eagerly. “We’ve been looking into—” I’m about to tell Eli about the red Camaro, but he holds his hand out with a forbidding expression.
“Stop right there, Bronwyn. If I’m going to represent Nate, I can’t speak with other represented people in this case. It could get me disbarred and put you at risk of implication. In fact, I need you and your mother to leave so I can work out some details with Mrs. Macauley.”
“But …” I look helplessly at my mother, who’s nodding and getting to her feet, securing her handbag over her shoulder with an air of finality.
“He’s right, Bronwyn. You need to leave things with Mr. Kleinfelter and Mrs. Macauley now.” Her expression softens as she meets Mrs. Macauley’s eyes. “I wish you the best of luck with all this.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Macauley says. “And thank you, Bronwyn.”
I should feel good. Mission accomplished. But I don’t. Eli doesn’t know half of what we do, and now how am I supposed to tell him?
Addy
Monday, November 5, 6:30 p.m.
By Monday things have gotten oddly normal. Well, new-normal. Newmal? Anyway, my point is, when I sit down to dinner with my mother and Ashton, the driveway is free of news vans and my lawyer doesn’t call once.
Mom deposits a couple of heated-up Trader Joe’s dinners in front of Ashton and me, then sits between us with a cloudy glass of yellow-brown beverage. “I’m not eating,” she announces, even though we didn’t ask. “I’m cleansing.”
Ashton wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, Mom. That’s not that lemonade with the maple syrup and cayenne pepper, is it? That’s so gross.”
“You can’t argue with results,” Mom says, taking a long sip. She presses a napkin to her overly plumped lips, and I take in her stiff blond hair, red lacquered nails, and the skintight dress she put on for a typical Monday. Is that me in twenty-five years? The thought makes me even less hungry than I was a minute ago.
Ashton turns on the news and we watch coverage of Nate’s arrest, including an interview with Eli Kleinfelter. “Handsome boy,” Mom notes when Nate’s mug shot appears on the screen. “Shame he turned out to be a murderer.”
I push my half-eaten tray away. There’s no point in suggesting that the police might be wrong. Mom’s just happy the lawyer bills are almost over.
The doorbell rings, and Ashton folds her napkin next to her plate. “I’ll see who it is.” She calls my name a few seconds later, and my mother shoots me a surprised look. Nobody’s come to the door in weeks unless they wanted to interview me, and my sister always chases those away. Mom follows me into the living room as Ashton pulls the door open to let TJ enter.
“Hey.” I blink at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Your history book ended up in my backpack after earth science. This is yours, right?” TJ hands a thick gray textbook to me. We’ve been lab partners since the first rock sorting, and it’s usually a bright spot in my day.
“Oh. Yeah, thanks. But you could’ve given it to me tomorrow.”
“We have that quiz, though.”
“Right.” No point in telling him I’ve pretty much given up on academics for the semester. “How’d you know where I live?”
“School directory.” Mom’s staring at TJ like he’s dessert, and he meets her eyes with a polite smile. “Hi, I’m TJ Forrester. I go to school with Addy.” She simpers and shakes his hand, taking in his dimples and football jacket. He’s almost a dark-skinned, crooked-nosed version of Jake. His name doesn’t register with her, but Ashton exhales a soft breath behind me.
I’ve got to get TJ out of here before Mom puts two and two together. “Well, thanks again. I’d better go study. See you tomorrow.”
“Do you want to study together for a while?” TJ asks.
I hesitate. I like TJ, I really do. But spending time together outside school isn’t a step I’m ready to take. “I can’t, because of … other stuff.” I practically shove him out the door, and when I turn back inside, Mom’s face is a mixture of pity and irritation.