The Case for Jamie (Charlotte Holmes #3)(56)

“I don’t think that makes it less complicated,” I said.

Our house came into view. Despite the weather, the garage was open and lit up, and inside it, figures were hauling in suitcases from a rental car.

“Your mother’s here,” my father said happily as we pulled up into the drive. He was doing that adult thing that I hated, where he pretended an uncomfortable conversation hadn’t happened. “Go in through the front, will you, and make sure the cat hasn’t gotten out? And see if your stepmother needs help.”

I grabbed my backpack and a few of the grocery bags, trying not to look inside them (my stomach still wanted to pretend that food didn’t exist), and fought my way through the sleet through the front door.

Abbie wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Neither was the cat. I was checking inside the pantry, looking for it, when my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Jamie, it’s me.”

“Shelby?” I said, moving around some bags of potatoes. No cat. “Where are you? Aren’t you here? Are you okay?”

“Are you alone?” Her voice was urgent, ragged.

I grabbed the pantry door and shut it. “I am now. What’s wrong?”

“Jamie, everything is seriously so messed up, I don’t even know where to begin, and I think I only have a minute—”

My heart was racing. “What’s happening, Shel?”

“That school? In Connecticut? It’s not a school, Jamie, it’s like some kind of rehab, and I have no idea why I’m here but I’m here, I’m in the infirmary because I fainted, I guess, when I figured out what was going on, and I’m using the phone here because they took mine, but the doctor might be back, and Jamie, you have to do something, you have to come get me—”

“Rehab?” I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. “What was their justification? What the hell is going on?”

“It was Mum. I don’t even understand it. She’s super furious about the stuff going down with you, still, which is weird, first of all, because usually she, like, rages but then gets over it, and then she was going through my things and she found a bottle of vodka in my drawer, but it wasn’t mine, I swear, I’d never seen it before!”

“I believe you—”

“And Ted tried to talk her down and then— Footsteps. I hear footsteps. Wait.”

I stood there in the dark pantry, clutching the phone to my face, listening to my sister’s frightened breathing. I’d never felt so helpless in my life.

“They’re gone,” she whispered. “I don’t know when they’re coming back. But the school—I can’t. It’s like a wilderness camp, and there are horses, but it’s like survivalist, they put you in the woods for days, there’s no school at all, and Mum insisted—and she and Ted got married—”

“What?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” Shelby had been talking so quickly I could only half-understand her. “In the middle of the day yesterday. In London, at the courthouse. So like . . . meet your new stepdad?”

“Are you serious—”

A rustle, a man’s voice. “No no,” she was saying, and then the line went dead.

The nausea hit me again, full force, this vertiginous feeling like I was crashing, and I was sure now that all of it was panic.

I made myself breathe. Be logical, I thought. Be a grown-up. Shelby could be lying about the vodka, it could have been hers. The school could just be more severe than she was used to. It could be homesickness. Ted could be a nice guy.

Breathe.

From the garage, I heard my father saying a hearty congratulations. Laughter. The garage door groaning to a close.

They staggered in through the door, then, laughing—my mum with her hand on my father’s arm, chatting excitedly, my new stepdad hauling a pair of bags behind them.

“Jamie,” my mother said when she saw me, rushing forward. “I swear you’ve gotten taller—hello, sweetheart.” She grabbed me by the shoulders; she was never this effusive. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Hey,” I said, forcing myself to sound friendly. “Where’s Shelby? Thought she was coming.”

“Loved her school,” Ted said, behind my dad. “Just loved it. Wanted to start right away.” He had a wonderful speaking voice, a round tenor with a Welsh accent.

“She did,” my mum said, and turned back to me. “Just loved it. And we have news!”

“Gracie, not so fast,” Ted said. “I haven’t even met the boy yet.”

“Hi,” I said, stepping forward to shake Ted’s hand. I was going to rewrite this conversation, take control. I’d figure out exactly what was going on. “I’m Jamie, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

He took it, scowling a little. Ted was tall, broad-shouldered, surprisingly bald. Maybe my sister had mentioned that to me before? But he didn’t have eyebrows either—it looked almost as though he’d shaved them—and his eyes beneath were small and shrewd. He looked like someone, I thought, my pulse beginning to speed up. Who did he look like?

“Jamie,” he said. “Hi. Ted Polnitz.”

“His given name is Tracey,” my mother said, coming up beside him, smiling. She’d had her hair done, her makeup. She was wearing a necklace that belonged to my grandmother, pearls on a long string. She looked beautiful. “Tracey! Isn’t that cute? But he prefers his middle name. Theodore. More serious. And we have plans for tonight—a reception!”