The Becoming of Noah Shaw (The Shaw Confessions #1)(26)

Mara’s eyes settle on the picture of the officer. She barely skims the rest of the piece before thrusting it back into my hands. Jamie snatches it from me directly, stares longer than Mara. Daniel has to urge him to part with it.

“What is this?” I ask no one in particular.

Daniel takes the envelope from me, turns it over. “Who sent these?”

“The doorman didn’t say who left them,” Mara says.

“But he gave them to you?”

“He called her Mrs. Shaw when she was walking us out,” Jamie chimes in. “Passssssword . . .” he singsongs under his breath.

“Why would someone send you this?” Daniel asks. “Who even knows you’re here?”

Solid question. I didn’t buy the flat under my own name, but anyone working for or with my father would probably have the means to find out where I’m living. So, not exactly a secret.

Mara takes the clippings from her brother. “Add that to the growing list of questions, like, why are we killing ourselves?”

We. The word stings like the bite of a whip. Why are we killing ourselves.

“Noah,” Mara says, “where did you say the address was?”

“I didn’t.”

“What address?” Jamie asks. Three pairs of eyes watch me.

The words stuck in my throat, but it was too late to do anything but confess. “The boy who killed himself this morning—he did it with pills. The address was on one of the bottles. Two-thirteen Myrtle.”

Mara looks at her brother, then at Jamie.

“Oh, I’m definitely coming,” Jamie says.

Daniel looks at me for permission, and I appreciate the gesture. “Join us, won’t you?” I ask.

He cracks a small grin. He takes out his phone and texts someone first, then looks up. “Ready?”

Mara’s already by the front door, pulling her leather jacket from a hook. “How’s Sophie?” she asks Daniel as the rest of us assemble.

“How do you know I was texting Sophie?”

“Because you’re always texting Sophie.” She opens the front door.

Goose is standing behind it, his duffel in hand.

“Hello, darlings. I’m home.”





17


BRUTE NEIGHBOURS

SO, WHERE IS IT WE’RE going?”

“All in good time, mate,” Jamie said, mocking his accent as he gestures for Goose to follow him. Then to me, “It’ll be fine, old chap. I’ll take care of everything.”

I do not love the idea of Jamie mind-fucking my friend for the day, especially not on this ill-conceived excursion, but having Goose along for part of it might present an excuse for me to get on alone for the rest of it. I was the only one who saw what the boy saw. I could use that, perhaps, to pawn Goose off on someone else. And Jamie seems quite happy to oblige.

And so the five of us find ourselves standing on the corner of Myrtle Avenue staring at a brownstone down the street that looks as if it’s been dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. The front steps are cracked and buckling, and the door, which appears to have once been red, seems rotted through.

Goose looks bored. “What are we doing here, again?”

“Exploring Brooklyn real estate,” Jamie says. “I’m not sure I want to live in the loft after all.”

Mara and I exchange a look. Real or not real?

“And you are obviously a man of great wealth and taste,” Jamie says in his normal voice, “So I invited you along.”

Goose shrugs. He’ll go along with most anything—one of his finer qualities. “What are we waiting for, then?

For the ambulance in front of one of the houses to leave, the house I suspect we’ve come to visit.

“Which house is it?” Goose asks.

Everyone looks at me, but Jamie’s the one who speaks. “Two-thirteen. But we’re waiting till the ambulance leaves.”

Goosey looks rather put out. “That’s absurd,” he says, and starts walking in the direction of the house.

Daniel says to Jamie, “Shouldn’t you . . . do something?”

“Goose. Stop,” Jamie calls out—mind-fuck voice, this time. No response, no reaction. Possibly didn’t hear him? He’s quite a ways off. When I catch up with him, Goose is already at the ambulance, which is closing its doors.

“Good day, fine gentlewoman,” Goose says to the EMT about to get into the ambulance’s passenger seat. “May I ask what happened over here?”

“Nothing I can tell you about,” she says, tightening her straw blond ponytail. “Run along, boys,” she says to us, shooing Goose away from her door.

The driver checks the rearview mirror. “Good to go.”

“Have a lovely day, then,” Goose says. “Excellent work.” The EMT rolls her eyes as the ambulance drives off.

Mara, Daniel, and Jamie, however, are looking anxious, annoyed, frustrated in turn.

“What?” Goose asks.

“Nothing,” I say, warning the others off. “They’re just paranoid.”

“?’Bout what?” Goose is genuinely innocent—he has no idea what we’re doing here. Which should’ve been fine, as Jamie’s supposed to be handling this, but since he isn’t handling it, and I’m not sure why and can’t very well ask at the moment . . .