Don't You Trust Me? (19 page)

Attaboy, Uncle Karl.

He came upstairs and went into the master bedroom. I still did not dare to go back down. It would take him time to get into bed and go to sleep. I nearly fell asleep myself, waiting. In fact, I think I kind of did. My watch said 3:00 a.m. the next time I looked.

I got up and went downstairs. I can all but float when I want to, so I didn't make a sound on the stairs. I was in and out of the study in less than a minute, a fat envelope thrust into my underpants, under my nightgown, in case anybody spotted me on the way upstairs. But no, all was still, and I slipped into my bed much, much richer than I had left it. How much richer? I would leave that discovery until the morning light.

“May I have some more coffee, please, Mrs. Barnes? Oh, Karl, I meant to tell you: the Luttrells are leaving today,
and they asked us to water their plants,” Aunt Antonia said. She pushed a small bag across the table toward me. “Here, Morgan. I found these cough lozenges in our bathroom cabinet. They should help your throat.”

Uncle Karl looked up from his cell. We were at breakfast—at least Aunt and Uncle and I were. Brooke was still in her room.

“Oh? For long?” he inquired.

“A week, I think. We don't need to go over there until Wednesday because she watered them last night. There's a funeral in the Midwest they have to go to. Her sister. Only forty-three, but she had some rare cancer. It's been a long, horrible illness.”

“Mmm, too bad,” said Uncle Karl. He stabbed the yellow of his egg with a fork, and it bled messily over his toast. “Hope I keel over dead when I'm playing poker, as drunk as a lord and holding a royal flush.”

“
Really
, Karl!” Aunt glanced at me, and her lips tightened. He wasn't supposed to say things like that in front of the children, I guess.

I smiled benevolently upon this morbid conversation. I was struggling to keep up the pretense that I was in too bad a shape to go with them today. Dear,
dear
Uncle Karl had come through for me. That envelope had contained $18,620 in well-worn bills. The wonderful, clever man had nearly doubled my money!

I swallowed the last of my orange juice and, remembering
to cough, made my exit. “If you don't mind,” I said, “I think I'll go back to bed. I'm awfully sleepy.”

“Yes, do, Morgan,” Aunt Antonia said. “We'll clear out of here soon and leave you in peace.”

I passed Brooke in the hall and gave her a pitiful wave before retiring to my room. She nodded and blushed, averting her face as she passed. Whether it was because she had a bad case of the hots for that boy, or because she was suspicious of my virtue, I could not be bothered to discover. I was leaving today. I just needed to see them off the premises, and I could pack up and go.

Once in my room I started to—well, not worry exactly, but wonder. What if Uncle decided to take the money to the bank this morning? And what if he looked
in
the envelope? It was pretty good fake money, much more convincing than Monopoly or toy dollars, but still, no bank teller would be taken in by it. I sat for an endless time listening, trying to guess whether or not he paid a visit to the study. My ears were also tuned for the house telephone. It would seem a little weird if I had to rush out and answer it, seeing as how I was supposed to be sick and asleep, but too bad, I'd have to do it if it rang.

At last I heard the sounds of them leaving. Car doors slammed, and they drove off.

I smiled. Janelle hadn't called. Maybe she
was
pregnant, and that was why I hadn't heard from her. Anyway, it was not my problem anymore.

WHILE I PACKED, METHODICALLY GOING
through my desk and bureau drawers, sliding clothes off hangers and shoes off shoe trees and polishing away my fingerprints, I brooded upon the unfairness of my expulsion from this suburban Eden. Why should I leave Brooke in the sole possession of this palatial house complete with lavish meals, loving family, and cute little sports cars?

It was Janelle's fault. Well, and perhaps there was a smidgeon of blame to be laid on Brooke, who had so lately become suspicious and grudging in her friendship. Aunt Antonia, too, tended to side with her dearest Brooke. If only we could get rid of troublesome Janelle, two-faced Brooke, and unfair Auntie! How
fabulous if this household were to be made up of Uncle Karl, Grandma, and me. Oh, and
dear
Mrs. Barnes too, to cook and clean and deal with the dirty laundry I dropped on the floor.

Speaking of Mrs. Barnes, she popped her head around my door at noon. I had kept the bed unmade, so I was able to slip back into it, fully clothed, the blankets pulled up around my neck, when I heard her footsteps on the stairs. Seeing I was awake, she advanced into the room with a lunch tray. Gazing down at it (a small vase with one late rose for decoration, chicken salad with sugar snap peas and slivered almonds, an herbed goat cheese with crackers, and a small wedge of cherry pie for dessert), I could not help but feel that she was deliberately tormenting me with the excellence of her cooking and homemaking skills. She announced that she was off to do the grocery shopping. I nodded—I had known she would be, and was counting on her absence so I could finish my preparations and leave.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes,” I said mournfully. She was the one I would miss the most, by far. I reminded myself to step into her room for that great big diamond ring before I left. Oh, Mrs. Barnes, a source of good things right to the very end.

I waited until I'd heard her car pull out of the driveway, and got back to work. I tucked Brooke's little collection of jewelry into Janelle's suitcase and then added Aunt Antonia's.
To my surprise and delight I found a Rolex in Uncle Karl's sock drawer. Where had that come from? It hadn't been there the other day. He must have won that as well as cash in the poker game. I'd also found a money belt in his drawer, so I split up the cash; ten thousand in hundreds, the least bulky denomination, was concealed in the belt under my shirt, and the rest went back into the suitcase. I didn't like the idea of putting all my golden eggs in one basket.

I had just, with considerable difficulty, zipped the bulging case shut and hauled it downstairs, when the phone rang.

There was no rational reason to answer it. I was leaving—nothing could stop me now. But I did. I suppose it was because I'd trained myself to lunge for the phone the previous week, waiting for Janelle to call. And guess who it was.

“Oh, good, Brooke. It's me, Janelle. Look, you've got to come and pick me up at the bus station. I haven't got any more money, and this place is creepy.”

“Ah, Janelle,” I said, my voice flat. “You're here? Here at the Albany bus depot, you mean?”

“Well, of course,” she said crossly. “Where else?”

Um, how about the San Jacinto Mountains, spending my hard-earned money on junk food and pregnancy tests? That was where she was supposed to be.

“I got
bored
,” she said, like I should have known,
which I suppose I should have. “Nobody's answering the phone at home, and the voicemail is full, so I can't even yell at them anymore. I called one of my friends, and she thought I was crazy. She said my parents went to
Brazil
, and they're staying there for
months
. So I bought a ticket east with the rest of the money because I didn't know what else to do. You've just got to talk your mom and dad into letting me stay. Oh! And I'm not pregnant. Isn't that great? Such a relief. It took me
days
to get here, and I'm so sick of being on a stupid bus. I'm, like, filthy dirty, and I stink because I haven't had a shower in ages. So come and get me.”

“You make it sound so appealing,” I said absently. Whiny
and
smelly, what a combination! But I was thinking. If I hung up the phone, I could head straight for the airport and forget about her. The problem was, the family and Mrs. Barnes would be back before too long. If Janelle behaved true to form, she would keep calling and calling until she reached somebody here after I hung up. Yeah, it would take a while for them to sort out what had happened, but the next thing they'd do is call the police, and the police would alert the airport, the train station, and the bus terminal, and everybody would start looking for a blond girl traveling with Janelle's ID, who had paid cash.

Not good.

I'd tossed my own ID back in LA, not realizing how
it might come in handy someday. If only I'd had more time, I could've faked some up, using the papers I'd liberated from the school filing system or Aunt Antonia's desk. But there was no time! Pain-in-the-butt Janelle was, as usual, causing all kinds of complications.

One thing was for sure: I needed to get myself and my overstuffed suitcase out of here before anybody came back home. My eye fell upon the rack of keys in the mudroom. There was a new set of keys, labeled with the Luttrells' address, hanging on it. I grabbed it and returned to the living room, peering out the front windows. Yes, I could see the house.

“Bro-o-o-ke!” Janelle's voice did this irritating slide up and down the musical scale. “When are you co-o-oming?”

“Right away,” I said.

When the Styles family had left to go to Grandma's, they'd taken two cars. The senior Styleses took the Cadillac, but Brooke took her Miata because she planned to continue on to somewhere else afterward. She'd been holding these whispered phone conversations on her cell lately, so I supposed it was a rendezvous with her new boyfriend she had in mind.

That left a choice between the Jeep and Uncle Karl's cherished Corvette, yet
another
sexy little roadster this family owned and wouldn't let me drive.
He
hogged it
all the time, and it was even an automatic, so I wouldn't have any trouble with it. I snagged the 'Vette keys off the Peg-Board. Well, I mean, wouldn't you?

I put the top down, tossed my suitcase into the trunk, and backed out of the garage. I paused in the driveway for a moment, put the parking brake on, and ran back into the house, and returned a moment later after one last wipe for fingerprints, with a bright scarf and a big pair of sunglasses, both belonging to Aunt Antonia. They might provide at least a little disguise.

Yowza! Great car! I roared around the corner of Woodcrest and Grapevine doing fifty-five, the passenger-side wheels riding up over the neighbors' front lawn a little. If it weren't that the car was so conspicuous, I'd have been tempted to keep going, maybe driving south for the winter. But no, they'd catch me for sure, so I eventually slowed and drove sedately along Central Avenue toward downtown Albany, stopping at every red light.

It occurred to me that I had no idea where the bus terminal was. Oh well. Probably near the government buildings. I finally had to ask somebody. It was tucked away from sight on a side street like they were ashamed of it, which maybe they were, because Janelle was right about it being creepy.

Janelle was standing out front looking pissed off, with this cheap little nylon bag at her feet that held all her worldly goods.

When I pulled up in front of her in the red Corvette, she smiled and waved. When I got out, though, and she focused on my face, half hidden though it was by scarf and shades, she frowned.

“It's me. Brooke,” I said, grabbing her bag. “You're Janelle, right?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“You don't remember me, do you? It's been so long since we've seen each other. Way back when we were seven years old.” I tossed her bag into the trunk next to mine and slammed the trunk shut, superfast so she wouldn't notice that my bag was really
her
bag. “Hop in.”

She hesitated for a second, but then climbed into the passenger seat.

“Sorry,” she said. “You remind me of somebody, but I guess . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“I remind you of
you
,” I said, pulling the scarf tighter around my throat. “We look a lot alike. No wonder! We're cousins.”