White Rabbit(74)
“How did she seem?” I ask carefully.
“Super upset. Like, her face was all blotchy and swollen from crying and stuff, and, I mean, she ordered an herbal tea for Pete’s sake—it’s a total cry for help. Like, either she’s ninety years old, or she’s in emotional free fall, you know? Anyway, she just sat there, messing with her phone for about fifteen minutes, and then all of a sudden Race walks in.” Ramona straightens up importantly. “And, I mean, they were obviously not expecting to see each other, because he takes, like, two steps through the door, catches one glimpse of Peyton, and I swear it was like the start of a brand-new fucking ice age. Race spins right around, not a single word, and storms out again. Peyton chases after him—literally—and they totally just get into it. Waving their arms around, shouting at each other in the parking lot—like really shouting—and then they just … took off.”
“Together?” I ask.
“At the same time, anyway. They both had their own cars.”
“Did you hear what they were saying?”
“Um, if I had, would I be asking?” Ramona counters deprecatingly. “They always play the music too loud in here.” She pouts in a way that can only be described as aggressive. “But it was clearly an epic fight. They were both totally red in the face and, I mean, they looked pretty dunzo to me.” She fires a beady-eyed gaze at Sebastian, seeking confirmation—but I’m not “dunzo” with Ramona Waverley just yet.
“What time?” I demand, and I must sound like a lunatic, because Lucy, Brent, and Ramona all raise their eyebrows at me. “I just mean, you know, about what time did Peyton get here? Do you remember?”
“Well, I didn’t, like, check the clock or whatever…” Ramona pauses gratuitously, letting me pay for my eagerness. “But it had to be about ten thirty, maybe quarter to eleven? And Race came along fifteen, twenty minutes after.”
Sebastian and I stare at each other, and I feel abruptly more grateful than I ever thought possible for Ramona Waverley and her great big mouth. More than an hour elapsed between the time that April’s outburst prematurely ended Fox’s Independence Day party and the occasion whereupon Peyton and Race arrived—separately—at Silverman’s Diner. Just like that, the biggest gossip in Chittenden County has handed us exactly what we’ve been looking for: proof that Ethan Allen’s cutest sophomore couple were lying through their perfect teeth when they said they’d gone straight back to the Atwoods’ together after leaving South Hero.
23
Feeling obligated to compensate Ramona for the valuable information she provided, Sebastian and I offer a heavily redacted version of the night’s events over a fresh basket of fries. Another wave of guilt steals over me as I feed lies and half-truths to Lucy one more time, but I promise myself that once the night is behind us—when everything is settled and I’m four thousand George Washingtons richer—I’ll tell her the whole story.
As it is, unable to account for the real reason Sebastian and I want to leave almost the second we’re done eating, I let my best friend’s prurient imagination supply the missing details. As we head for the exit, Lucy calls out, teasingly, “Good night, boys! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Before the door closes behind us, we also hear Brent’s sarcastic reply. “What kind of advice is that? The only two things you won’t do are eat cilantro and watch anything starring Gwyneth Paltrow.”
“Dude,” Sebastian exclaims as soon as we’re in the relative privacy of the parking lot. “That’s it—that’s what we needed! We can show they were lying now; we have to tell the cops!”
“We can’t—I mean, not yet. What we just found out … it’s nothing that’ll make any difference to the police.”
Sebastian bridles. “Race and Peyton lied, Rufe! Their cover story is a load of crap!”
“They lied to us.” It’s an important clarification. “We don’t even know if the police have spoken to them yet, or if they’re still using the same story. Our big Gotcha won’t mean dick unless we know their lie is on the record first. They weren’t expecting you and me to come asking for a timeline of their evening, so they might have just made a sloppy mistake in the heat of the moment; but they’ll realize that Ramona will remember seeing them—especially if they were fighting. By the time they sit down with their lawyers and then talk to the authorities, you can bet they’ll have some way to account for everything.”
“But we can’t—” Sebastian tries to check his frustration, but it clearly gets the better of him. “You don’t know that for sure. If they weren’t trying to hide something, they wouldn’t have pretended they’d gone straight to Race’s house from the party in the first place. We know they lied to us, and we’ve got to explain it to the police! Maybe they’ll understand—”
“Understand what?” I spread my arms. “It’ll be our word against theirs, and they’ll just say they didn’t want to tell us about Silverman’s because their fight was none of our business. And don’t forget the cops have a freaking file on me, and that they were second-guessing everything I said tonight! I really don’t need to give them any more excuses to dissect my original statement.”