Evil Genius (28 page)

Finally he washed his face and marched heavily back upstairs.

"Here he is," said Thaddeus, who was stationed in front of his most recent transmitter screen, which was larger and more advanced. Though Dr. Darkkon's transmitter was now concealed under a fake corn on his foot (a corn that he had to peel off when he wanted to speak to Cadel), advances in nanotechnology meant that Cadel saw more of his father than ever before: hands, shoulders, neck, even bits of his pudgy waist. Sometimes Cadel wondered if this was really an improvement.

"Cadel," said Dr. Darkkon, craning forward so that his bloodshot eyes became huge. "What happened to your face?"

Cadel opened his mouth. "Uh," he began, realizing that he hadn't thought up a good excuse. Fortunately, however, Thaddeus jumped in to save him.

"I'm afraid that's the result of faulty evacuation procedures," he said. "Cadel got pushed against a doorframe during a bomb scare."

"But—"

"I've got Luther on the case now, revising guidelines," Thaddeus assured Dr. Darkkon, who frowned.

"I should hope so," he said. "Are you all right, son?"

"Yes," Cadel replied.

"Sure it wasn't someone seizing the moment, taking advantage?"

"Yes."

"Well ... as long as you're on the mend." Dr. Darkkon eyed Cadel's injuries for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Sit down, Cadel," he commanded. "There's something we have to talk about."

Obediently, Cadel sat. There was a burning sensation at the back of his eyes, but he tried to concentrate on what his father was saying. At least, whatever it was, it would take his mind off Kay-Lee. The cruelty! The
unfairness]

No. He wouldn't think about that. Not now.

"Cadel, it's your birthday tomorrow," Dr. Darkkon declared. "You're going to be fourteen."

Oh yes, thought Cadel dully. I forgot about that.

"Have you decided what you want, son?"

There was only one thing Cadel wanted at that moment. And his father couldn't give it to him.

"Not really," he muttered.

"Well, there's no hurry," Dr. Darkkon continued. "When you've made your mind up, you can tell me. Meanwhile, I've got something to tell
you.
Something I swore to tell you when you turned fourteen. When you weren't a child anymore, in other words."

"But I am a child," Cadel pointed out, before he could stop himself. "Legally, I won't be an adult till I'm—"

"Yes, yes, I don't mean under
law.
" Dr. Darkkon's tone was impatient. "I mean in the truest sense. You may not be an adult yet, but you're certainly not a child."

"The Romans didn't think so, anyway," Thaddeus interjected, and Dr. Darkkon flashed him an irritated look.

"Yes, well, that's neither here nor there," Dr. Darkkon said. "The point is, Cadel, I've something to tell you about your mother."

"My mother?" This was completely unexpected. Cadel struggled to concentrate. All at once, his heart contracted painfully. "You don't mean—she's not
alive,
is she?" he squawked.

"No. Oh no."

"Calm down, Cadel." Thaddeus put a firm hand on Cadel's shoulder. "It's nothing like that."

"She is dead, I'm afraid. There's no question about that." Dr. Darkkon's voice cracked, then grew hoarse. He cleared his throat. "But before she died, Cadel—well, you might have wondered about her. What she was like. Why I haven't shown you any pictures. That sort of thing."

Cadel realized, with growing astonishment, that he never
had
given much thought to his mother. Why was that? Because his mind had been fully engaged elsewhere? Because Thaddeus had almost never brought the subject up during their talks? Because both Thaddeus and Dr. Darkkon, on the rare occasions when they
did
mention his mother, spoke dismissively, as if she wasn't of any importance?

"The fact is, son, she left us before she passed away," Dr. Darkkon sighed. "She abandoned us both. She was taking drugs, and she got involved with the wrong sort of people, and—well, she disappeared. That's all I can tell you."

Cadel gasped. "You mean, you don't know what happened?" he squeaked.

Thaddeus, who hadn't let go of Cadel's shoulder, applied more pressure, and leaned down to address his bewildered client.

"What your father means," he said quietly, "is that Elspeth vanished, leaving behind all her possessions and what was left of her money. Her purse was found at the bottom of a cliff. No one's seen her since, except the people who killed her."

"But—but if no one's seen her," Cadel stammered, "then she could be alive! Couldn't she?"

"No, son." Dr. Darkkon spoke gravely. "She was killed. I never found her body, but I found the men who did it. At least, Thaddeus did. He took care of them, too."

"They disposed of the body," Thaddeus interposed. "They told me how, but I won't describe the method. It really doesn't matter."

"What
does
matter," Dr. Darkkon went on, "is that she betrayed us, Cadel. She walked off as if she didn't care. One day she just walked off, and that was that. I neither saw nor heard from her again. It was as if we'd never existed."

"But—"

"I was frantic." Dr. Darkkon stared off into space. "I never knew that she'd been living this other life. You had a nursemaid, so she didn't have to take you along with her." There was a pause as he brooded. Then he shook off his dark reflections and set his jaw. "Women do that, son. You can't trust 'em—not the best of'em."

"Look at Doris," Thaddeus interrupted. "A natural-born poisoner. You couldn't trust her an inch."

"They just drop you and walk away," Dr. Darkkon insisted. "It happens all the time. I want you to know this, Cadel, in case you've ever wondered why I don't talk about your mother." He swallowed and blinked. "Frankly, it's far too painful," he finished.

Cadel simply stared at him, not knowing what to say. His mother. Kay-Lee. They'd done the same thing to him.

How couldn't he believe the worst about them both?

Mrs. Piggott decided to throw a party in Cadel's honor. It wasn't every day, she said, that a boy turned fourteen. Cadel couldn't argue with that, of course, but he was puzzled. It wasn't every day that a boy turned ten, eleven, twelve, or thirteen, either, and she hadn't organized any parties for
those
birthdays. His last birthday party had taken place when he was nine.

As soon as the guests began to arrive, however, he saw that the event had very little to do with him. His birthday had simply given Lanna an excuse to pay off countless friends for
their
invitations. Cadel knew almost none of the people who arrived for lunch the following day. The day after Kay-Lee dropped her bombshell.

Cadel had spent a bad night. He had slept very little, tossing and turning and finally getting up to pace the floor. He couldn't even turn to his computer for comfort, because his overwhelming impulse was to hammer at the keys with clenched fists. At one point he'd shed tears (silently, so as not to wake the Piggotts). When at last he had slept, Kay-Lee and his mother had become all tangled up in his dreams.

Upon waking, he discovered that his chaotic feelings had sorted themselves out a bit. He was now angry. Purely and simply furious. She hadn't given him a chance. Not one single chance. She had refused him even an
explanation.
That wasn't right. It wasn't the behavior of a decent human being.

He thought,
I'm going to get even with her.

He shuffled out of bed and went to his bathroom. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was chalk white, except for the bruised bits, with gray smudges under his eyes making them look even bigger than usual.

"Oh my god," Lanna cried, when she first caught a glimpse of him. "Don't tell me you're
sick!
"

"No," said Cadel, heading for the fridge. It was nine o'clock and the kitchen was already in disarray, cluttered with unopened bottles of beer and wine, white cardboard boxes full of French pastries, packets of pretzels and water crackers, tubs of exotic dips.

"Don't touch that!" Lanna commanded as Cadel reached for one of the packets. "That's for later."

"How many people are coming?" asked Cadel, gazing at the rows of glistening wineglasses lined up on every available surface.

"Seventy-four."

"
Seventy-four?
" Cadel couldn't believe it. "I don't even
know
seventy-four people!"

"Don't be silly. You know lots of these people." Lanna was spooning low-fat yogurt into her mouth, one eye on the clock. "We're having the Mayles, the Van Hoorts—you know their two sons, Aidan and Kirby—"

Cadel groaned.

"And the Driscolls, you've met them—"

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have. Before they went to Hong Kong. And Dr. Roth's coming—"

"Thaddeus?"

"Oh
bugger
!" Mrs. Piggott slapped her forehead. "I forgot to call the florist!" Then the doorbell rang suddenly. "Stuart!
Stuart!
" she cried. "Will you
please
answer that?"

Cadel grabbed a granola bar and retreated before Lanna could ask
him
to open the front door. It wasn't until he was back in his room that he realized something: She hadn't wished him a happy birthday.

She had probably forgotten that it
was
his birthday.

He smiled grimly to himself. Then he sat down and turned on his computer, because today was the day. He was going to find out every tiny little thing that he could about Kay-Lee McDougall. And then ... well, then he would see how it could be used. He already knew a great deal, of course. Thanks to the sloppy security on her computer, he had been able to fish around inside it the way most people would fish around inside someone's desk drawer. He had found and read through her conversations with various mathematicians around the world, with a friend called Ivy, and with a supplier of "assistive devices" for handicapped people. Weatherwood House being a kind of group home for disabled kids in wheelchairs, this last exchange had to be work-related. Strangely enough, there wasn't much else about work on Kay-Lee's hard drive. Cadel had picked up most of his knowledge about Weatherwood House from its information website.

The website included photographs of a large white building surrounded by trees, and other pictures of stick-thin kids trying to manipulate paintbrushes, or being supported in swimming pools, or simply draped in wheelchairs, grinning, with party hats on their heads and smiling adults clustered around them. Cadel scanned these photographs carefully but saw only one person who might have been Kay-Lee. It was hard to tell because she was in a swimming-pool picture, turning away from the camera and wearing a rubber cap. Nevertheless, he thought it was her.

The home had its own swimming pool, shuttle bus, kitchens, vegetable garden, trained physical therapists, and a "broad range of assistive technology." Cadel scrolled through the endless lists of goals, achievements, and useful links, looking for more information on the staff. There wasn't much. He did find out that Weatherwood House had staff "living on the premises" to allow for "maximum involvement and supervision."

That's Kay-Lee, he decided. She lives on the premises.

He had never paid much attention to the Weatherwood House website, and as he examined it more closely, he felt more and more left out. Kay-Lee had hardly ever mentioned her work. Yet here it was, in full color, and it didn't look like something you could easily ignore. A big house, stuffed to the brim with people and noise and color; parents coming and going; kids demanding attention; kids wetting themselves and spilling their drinks and needing comfort in the middle of the night. It looked all-consuming. Especially if you were living on the premises.

Cadel wasn't the least bit involved in this side of Kay-Lee's life. He was completely cut off from it—from something so big!

It suddenly occurred to him that he probably hadn't been as important to her as she was to him.

"Cadel!" It was Lanna, somewhere down the hall. "
Cadel!
"

"
What?
"

"Are you dressed?"

"Huh?"

"I want you dressed, please! I want to see what you'll be wearing!"

"Yeah, okay!" Cadel ignored her. He started to track down the Weatherwood House staff, using phone records as his jumping-off point. But he wasn't allowed to work in peace for very long.

"Cadel!" The door swung open. "What are you doing? You're still in your pajamas!"

Cadel glowered at Lanna like a small, cornered animal. But she refused to be intimidated.

"Get those off," she ordered. "
Now.
I want you in something decent. These will do. And these." She began to pluck various garments out of his wardrobe. "
Not
those disgusting shoes. I'm going to throw those away." She picked them up. "Your guests will be arriving in one hour, so I want you out of here and waiting by then. Understand?"

"
My
guests?" Cadel snorted.

"Don't you get smart," warned Stuart, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. "If you give your mother any more lip, you can stay in here all day."

"I'd prefer to stay in here," muttered Cadel.

"
Without
the computer," Stuart added. Then there was a loud crash from the kitchen and his head jerked around. "For Chris'sake, what's that?"

"The caterers," said Lanna, despairingly. "Go and see what's happened, will you?" Frowning, she caught sight of Cadel's screen. "What are you doing? Some kind of project?"

With one swipe at a key, Cadel exited the site. He didn't want Lanna poking her nose into his private business. "Nothing," he said, and realized, with a sinking heart, that he wasn't going to be left in peace that day. After all, it was supposed to be his birthday party.

Sighing, Cadel stashed his computer back in its old hiding place, inside the hollowed-out atlas. Just to be on the safe side, he also implemented his fail-safe program, which was designed to keep his computer from booting up unless special codes were entered. Only he knew the codes, of course. Anyone else who tried to turn it on would be unable to do so. He would explain that the machine had broken down.