Rites of Spring (27 page)

“Did they steal anything?” Ben asked. Somehow, he’d already snagged himself a cup of coffee and several of the other Diggers were giving it longing glances.

“No,” the caretaker announced. “The assailants, however, left a message.”

We all waited, breathless, until we became aware that Salt was not about to volunteer the particulars without sufficient setup.

“Let’s just call Hale and get the scoop,” Jenny whispered to me.

I clenched my jaw. This guy was unbelievable. “What did it say, Salt?” I prompted, and he practically giggled as he read:

“‘It’s not over. Dragon’s Head.’”

Well, Felicity had warned me that the feud hadn’t ended as a result of her bargain with “her boyfriend.” Just the campaign against me. And that note was a fair warning that though one battle had ended, the war was still raging. Now they’d breached the Inner Temple.

“How convenient for them that we’re not on campus,” Jenny said.

“Yeah,” Demetria replied. “Just like it was convenient for us in January.”

“But why didn’t they just steal something of ours?” I asked. “Then we’d be even!” Then we’d be forced to tell them about their stupid dragon.

“Maybe they’re planning something worse,” said Harun.

Ben shook his head. “So we’re getting it from two fronts now? A bunch of conspiracy theorists on our neighboring island, and another society back home?”

Harun looked at him with interest. “Actually, do any of us know they are conspiracy theorists on the other island? Maybe that’s Dragon’s Head, too. Maybe…”

And thus passed another day on Cavador Key. Breakfast in the morning, followed by me resisting a boat trip while the others commandeered the island’s craft to check out the neighboring island. (Report from George: “I don’t think Dragon’s Head members tend to be quite so counterculture as the guys we saw through the binoculars.” Retort from Demetria: “So counterculture to you is dreadlocks and facial piercings?”) A leisurely lunch, then an afternoon of intermittent siestas and sunbathing, during which time Poe spirited me away for another trip to the crescent beach to practice dog-paddling, floating on my back, and French kissing. (I’m much better at the latter, still suck at the first two.) A long dinner with lots of wine, and a late night campfire complete with marshmallows, hot rum drinks, hot dogs, and ghost stories. (Poe is an excellent storyteller, by the way. Even Jenny and Clarissa admitted to being impressed, and I was glad I had the heat from the fire to explain away my blush.) Still later, the four of us girls tripped back through the woods to our cabin, a little drunk on rum and feeling as relaxed as I could recall being since New Year’s Eve.

Way too early the following morning, we heard a distant, rhythmic thwapping, getting steadily louder and louder.

“What now?” Demetria groaned, pulling a pillow over her braids. “God, people, you win, okay! We’re trying to take over the world. Now let us get some fucking sleep!”

Jenny threw her pillow at her. “You’re making more noise than they are.”

Clarissa was sitting up in bed, cocking her head and listening. “Guys,” she said.

“Go back to bed, Clary.”

“No, guys, I think—” The noise got louder and louder until there was no doubt in our minds what it was. A flyby.

Instantly, all four of us were on our feet and out the door, though Clarissa found time to roll up the bottoms of her silk pajama pants against the morning dew. We looked to the skies, where indeed there was a large white helicopter circling low over the island.

“Salt’s gonna freak,” Jenny observed. We grabbed our flip-flops from the porch, rushed through the woods to the main compound, and found everyone else hurrying out of the cabins and buildings as well, eyes turned up. Was it a news helicopter? An emissary from the White House, come to exonerate Gehry and invite him back into the fold? Or had the conspiracy theorists finally scraped up enough dough to do an aerial pictorial?

Salt came running out of his cottage, walkie-talkie pressed to his mouth.

“Out of the way!” he yelled over the sound of the rotors, waving his free arm at the assembled crowd. “Move out, move out! You’re standing on the landing pad!”

The what? We all looked at our feet, where the path widened into a rough circle. This was a helicopter landing pad? We had landing pads on Cavador Key? And Salt wanted the copter to
land
here?

“Move!” the caretaker bellowed over the deafening roar. The helicopter dipped lower and hovered above us, stirring up massive clouds of dust and sand and whipping hair into everyone’s faces.

We moved, and as I scooted back to the fringe of the forest, I couldn’t help but glance over to the boys’ cabin. Malcolm and Poe stood side by side on the porch, watching the proceedings and leaning on the rail. Poe was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. As the helicopter descended into the compound, I saw Malcolm lean toward Poe and cup his hand around his friend’s ear to speak into it, and I stiffened.

Hands off, big sib.

Where the hell did that come from! Not that I suspected Malcolm had anything other than friendly feelings toward Poe—and there was definitely no chance of the reverse. That had been made breathtakingly obvious in the last two days. And yet I was as taken aback by the very fact that I had a reaction as I was by the reaction itself. Jealousy? Over
Poe
? This was all moving way too fast.

The helicopter’s runners finally set down on the soil of Cavador Key, and the rotors slowed. Every inhabitant on the key waited in awe, their focus turned toward the machine.

And I do mean
every
inhabitant. While they all watched, I couldn’t help but notice four figures coming up the path from the house near the docks, forming a small nuclear family knot a safe distance from the group. Even our resident shut-in wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

But before I could nudge Demetria and point to the object of her political obsession, the door to the helicopter slid open, and Kurt Gehry dropped off my curiosity meter.

Out popped a figure in a tight, corset-style top and the biggest sunglasses I’ve ever seen. Her dark red hair fell past her waist, her smile looked like it was made for billboards.

“Hi, guys!” said Odile Dumas. “Miss me?”

15.

Pageantry

Kevin let out a whoop of joy and rushed Odile, and several other members of my club followed. Enveloped in hugs, she laughed. “So I guess the answer is yes?”

“The question is,” Demetria said, slapping her a high five, “did you show up because you missed
us
?” We retreated from the helicopter as the pilot set down Odile’s bags, waved farewell, and prepared to take off again.

“Yes,” Kevin said. “We missed you. What are you doing here?”

Odile shrugged. “Production shut down for a few days and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about this place.” She looked at her surroundings and wrinkled her pert little nose. “Bit rustic, huh?”

At least someone agreed with me! I glanced at the other people in the clearing. The younger patriarchs, used to seeing Odile around campus, had lost interest, but their families were still staring and pointing. Any second now they’d start asking for autographs. Poe and Malcolm had disappeared back inside their cabin, but the Gehrys remained on the lawn, watching silently from a distance. Kurt had his hands on his wife’s shoulders; she was in turn holding the hand of her little daughter. Darren stood beside them, hand raised to his brow to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

“Hey, Demetria,” I said, and nodded in the direction of the family.

“Oh, so he is here!” Odile said. “I’d been wondering, as has the
New York Times
.”

“He’s here, but it’s the first time anyone’s seen him!” Demetria exclaimed. “Let’s go say hi.” She started across the lawn, followed by the other Diggirls, and as soon as he noticed, Kurt nudged his wife as if to encourage retreat toward the house. Mrs. Gehry shook him off and kept staring at our group, and I saw her husband lean over and bark an order at his son before grabbing his daughter by the hand and marching away posthaste.

“Odile Dumas,” Mrs. Gehry said when we arrived before her. “My daughter is a huge fan of your work.” She looked around, but saw that the little girl was no longer standing by her side, no longer holding her hand. “Where? Where did she go?”

I saw that Darren’s arms were outstretched toward his mother, as if ready to catch her.

“Oh, she’ll be so disappointed!” Mrs. Gehry said, wavering slightly. Darren’s hand came closer. “Darren, darling, go fetch her. Tell her the girl from the dancing movie is here.”

“Mom, why don’t you come with me?” he asked pointedly, though he couldn’t take his eyes off Odile.

Odile caught on. “Ma’am, I’m going to be around for a while, so you can just have—”

“Darren!” Mrs. Gehry shouted, though I now noticed that her eyes were unfocused. “Go get Isabelle. What would your father say if he knew how rude you were being?”

“Tell you what,” Odile said quickly, as Darren fought back his blush. “I’ll come with you both to meet Isabelle, how about that?”

“No,” Darren said quickly. “We can’t. Mom, come on, let’s go back inside now. I’ll bring Belle by later.” And with that, he pasted on an expression not unlike his father’s at his most inflexible, grabbed his mother by the hand, and started leading her down the path.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Demetria said.

“My goodness,” Jenny added. “What’s wrong with the wife?”

“Heavy-dose pharms,” Odile said with surety. “It’s really obvious.”

Clarissa nodded. “Antidepressants, maybe?”

“Yeah, but those are like candy.” Odile shrugged. “There’s a lot more going on there. She was stoned.”

“Maybe she’s
stoned
stoned,” Demetria said. “Prescription marijuana?”

Jenny shook her head. “I couldn’t smell it.”

“Ganja cakes,” Demetria suggested.

“Or roofies,” said Clarissa. “See how she could barely stand?”

“Rohypnol is illegal,” said Jenny.

“So is marijuana,” I said.

“And so is employing illegal aliens,” Demetria finished. “Which, if I recall, was one of Gehry’s biggest hot-button issues. So apparently, the law just applies to everyone else. Not him.”

And yet, seeing his wife and children in that sad state…“I don’t know if I can blame her, whatever she might be on. Their whole world has fallen apart.”

Demetria toed the ground. “I have less sympathy for her, but I really feel for those kids. Darren must be mortified.”

I stared at the retreating pair. Neither of the adult Gehrys seemed in much of a position to provide good parenting, leaving Darren to his own educational devices, and sequestering Isabelle inside. Bet the kids were really starting to miss their usual caretakers. You know, the ones not taking roofies. Or lithium, or whatever it was Mrs. Gehry was on.

Cook emerged from the kitchen and rung the bell on the porch of the main house. Breakfast.

“A bell? This is like a ranch!” Odile exclaimed. “So, fill me in, what’s been going on here?”

“All kinds of scandal,” Clarissa said. “Amy almost drowned, Demetria is going to beat up a patriarch’s wife, our room was trashed by conspiracy theorists, Dragon’s Head broke into the tomb in Connecticut, and Jenny has a crush on Harun.”

“Do not!” Jenny said.

“In other words,” said Demetria. “The usual.”

Odile laughed. “Man, I love this society.”