Rites of Spring (34 page)

My mouth dropped open. “How dare you try to take the moral high ground with me? You broke Genevieve’s heart. Willingly. Cavalierly.” I shook my head. “Are you saying the difference is that she wasn’t a Digger, and so wasn’t supposed to have the same courtesy? Is that why you didn’t tap her?” Is that why I was standing here right now?

Malcolm was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, all the anger was gone from his voice. “I regret so much what I did to Genevieve. I cared about her a lot, and you’re absolutely right. I hurt her, and I shouldn’t have. It was a cruel thing to do and I will never do something like that again.” He scrutinized me. “So you see now—”

“No,” I said. “It’s not the same.” And it didn’t matter anyway. Poe and I were through.

He sighed. “Fine. Screw it. You don’t listen to me, he doesn’t listen to me. I’m not a fucking babysitter. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

“If Jamie’s a vegetarian.”

He stood there for a second, blinking at me. “Yeah, you clearly care for him
so
much. You don’t even know something like that?”

“I thought I did.” And in my defense, he wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming individual on the planet.

“He is. Why?”

“Did he eat the lobster last night?”

Now Malcolm stepped back, eyes wide, face a mask of disbelief. “What the hell is your problem? Let it go already! So you all got food poisoning. What’s the big deal?”

“Did he?” I pressed.

“I have no idea! I don’t calorie count other people’s plates.”

“Try to remember,” I said, urging.

Malcolm threw his hands in the air. “Probably not. Vegetarians don’t tend to go for things with faces, remember?” At least that was something we had in common. “Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “Because he told us all that he had been eating it. Last night when he was busy insisting we were a bunch of paranoid freaks. Curious, don’t you think?”

And I walked away.

I don’t know if Malcolm talked to Poe before lunch, or if the seed I planted had any effect at all on my big sib. But, as I lingered over my grilled-cheese-with-tomato and chocolate milk, I noted the following:

1)
Malcolm and Poe were sitting on opposite sides of the room.

2)
Jenny and Harun were the only knights of D177 who hadn’t made it in for lunch.

3)
Frank and Kadie Myer had not yet left.

The dining room was packed to the brim, as if no one wanted to miss out on a hot lunch and be relegated to fending for themselves with questionable deli meat for the rest of the afternoon. They’d planned an island-wide barbecue for dinner, and Salt had only recently returned from the mainland, the small boat packed full of ribs, steaks, burgers, and fixings. Even Darren Gehry was present again, having apparently recovered from his bout with food poisoning as well. I watched him finish his third cupcake—iced in Eli blue frosting—and proceed to sweet talk Cook into letting him into the kitchen to lick the bowl. I chuckled when she capitulated. Apparently, she had a soft spot for boys with attitude problems.

“Change your mind?” I overheard another patriarch ask Frank toward the end of the meal. “I’m so glad to see it!”

“Nah,” Frank said. “We’re just having a little bit of engine trouble and I want to take a look at it before we sail out. Just in case.”

Engine trouble? Why in the world would Demetria do something to the Myers that caused them to remain on the island? And even if she had a good reason, it seemed a bit beyond her to dismantle a ship’s engine. When I looked back at Demetria, her grin had vanished, and as I watched, she excused herself from the table. I pursed my lips. Could no one in this organization be trusted anymore?

(Yes, okay, fine, it’s not like I haven’t kept my own secrets.)

“Dee, wait up,” I said to her on the porch. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said without looking at me.

I took the steps down to the path. “This is going to sound crazy but…you didn’t sabotage the Myers’ boat, did you?”

She stopped and looked at me. “Amy, please, like I’d want them here any longer?”

“That’s what I thought but…we all know you did something.”

She bit her lip, then leaned her head in close. “Yeah, I did, but you can’t tell anyone.”

“That’s what my oaths are for,” I said, putting my hand over my heart.

“Okay, so the idiot left her shampoo in the shower house last night. Her name was right on it in black marker. Some designer product, sixty bucks an ounce. I just refilled the bottle with Nair.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. “You didn’t!” Maybe I was growing paranoid after all. Why in the world would I suspect my fellow Diggirl of doing something so hard-core as destroying a yacht?

“Who knows if it will work, but I couldn’t resist getting back at her.” She glanced over her shoulder at the shower house. “But now I’m worried that she forgot to pack it.”

“Let’s double check!” We took off for the shower house, laughing all the way. This was what a society prank was really like. No nonsense about sabotaging gazillion-dollar boat engines. Just some hair remover in the beauty products. No vast, month-long conspiracies against the girl trying to steal your boyfriend. Simply break into her society’s tomb and wreak havoc.

We’d just reached the door to the showers when a shout rent the air.

“Nooooooooo!” We froze, looked around. Where was that coming from?

“Oh, no! Help! Help! This is a travesty! This is the last straw!” On our left, the door to the tomb burst open and Salt came running out, his face a mask of hysteria, his shouts so loud they were almost hurting my eardrums.

At the main house, people had moved to the windows or spilled out onto the porch to see what all the fuss was about. Demetria and I trailed Salt up the path, where he’d ground to a halt at the base of the steps, still shouting at the top of his lungs, but so incoherently I couldn’t follow a word he was saying. He held something white in his hands, but was waving it around so fast I couldn’t get a good look.

“Total destruction…last straw…how could they…abominable…really have to call the police this time…”

“Salt, Salt,” Malcolm said, hands extended, palms down. “What are you talking about? Did someone break into the tomb?”

“Yes!” And now he threw whatever he was holding onto the steps, where it struck with a loud
crack
and shattered. And I saw what they were. Broken bits of china. With little tiny swastikas on them.

“The whole set is smashed. Destroyed.”

Oh my God. I looked up at Poe, and he was staring at me, too, his expression utterly unreadable.

“Eww, what is this, Nazi memorabilia?” Demetria said. “Good riddance, I say!” Guess she hadn’t seen them on the tour after all.

“Miss!” Salt said, turning on her. “This is the island’s property. It’s a monument to the hard work and sacrifice of one of our own in service to our country.”

Jenny looked confused. “Hitler?”

Harun patted her on the shoulder. “I think he means a Digger in the army during World War II.”

“That’s not the point!” Malcolm said. “Someone broke into the tomb. That’s the point.”

Poe nodded, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “Was anything else destroyed, Salt? The cabinet? The furniture? The paintings?”

“No,” the caretaker reported. “Just the china.”

Poe’s lips compressed to a thin line. “Call a meeting. I want every member of the Trust in the tomb in ten minutes.”

“Of the Trust?” Demetria said. “What about the rest of us? Don’t we all have a right to know who is on the island and why?”

Poe dragged his gaze away from me. “I think we’ve put on enough of a spectacle for the barbarians in the group. Everyone, go back to lunch. I’ll take care of this.”

Okay, what were the chances? Poe and I had been joking about smashing that china all week. He hadn’t done it, had he? In some bizarre attempt to get my attention?

“Take care of what?” George scoffed. “Nothing was stolen, nothing was ruined that shouldn’t have been, if you ask me. Change the locks and call it a day. Why does everything have to be such a big deal?”

Poe whirled on him. “Because someone has been systematically infiltrating both this island and the tomb back home. I want to know who it is, I want to know why, and I want it stopped, now.”

“Why do you think it’s the same people?” I asked, baffled. Clearly, Dragon’s Head was responsible for the break-in at Eli, whereas the likely culprits here were the conspiracy theorists on the other island. I mean, if it hadn’t been Poe himself.

And now he looked back at me. “I don’t,” he said simply, then announced at large, “Ten minutes,” and walked past us all to the tomb, belying all of my suspicions. If he’d smashed the china, why would he need to see it for himself? Unless he was trying to cover those tracks and pretending to be more upset than he was. Salt hurried behind him, along with some other Diggers and patriarchs, all eager to see the extent of the damage. The barbarians and the rest of the knights clustered, whispering furiously to one another. George rolled his eyes and sat down on one of the rocking chairs, which seemed to me to be the most sensible reaction I’d seen so far. Like he’d said, what was the big deal? So a couple of really macabre bits of Digger booty got wrecked. So what?

Still, I stood there, in the middle of the path, completely unmoored. My mind spun with possibilities, lies, suspicions.
Was
Poe responsible for breaking the china? And if so, then why was he launching some big meeting to deal with the situation? Why would he lie like that? Why would he lie about eating that damn lobster?

And then I remembered our conversation on the moored boat that night, when he was so determined to make me believe that someone was after me and he was the only one who recognized it. It wasn’t possible that this was for me, was it? That if I saw him taking charge of the situation, directing people, acting the part of avenging angel, that I’d somehow be impressed?

No. That was way too manipulative, even for someone who’d bought in to the Digger party line.

So why couldn’t I shake my suspicions?

For that kind of vandalism, I’d expect a lover’s reward.

Had he done it hoping I’d…reward him?

A hand clamped down on my wrist. “I need to talk to you,” Poe hissed, and tugged me off the path. I had to almost run to keep up with him, and he pulled me around the back of the main house, away from any open windows, and into the shadow of its walls.

I whipped my arm back and crossed both over my chest. He stood across from me, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“What the
hell
were you thinking?” he asked.

“What the
hell
are you talking about?” I snapped back.

“Why did you do it? It’s not like I care. I’m glad to see that shit gone. But how am I supposed to defend you to the Trust?”

I let out a bark of laughter. “Me? You’re kidding, right?”

“Amy,” he said, “this is no coincidence. Not after our conversations.”

“Oh, I agree,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “You practically promised me you would. For a
reward
.”

He did a double take. “You think
I
did it? That’s ridiculous. I was joking. I have a lot more respect for society property than that.”

“Oh, and I’m just the one who tosses all our traditions to the wind? That’s what you think of me, isn’t it?”

“You hardly even
looked
at the plate pieces Salt had. You had no interest in checking out the damage. That reeks of guilt to me.”

“George wasn’t interested, either!” I said in my defense. “Because you know what?
It’s not a big deal.
”

Poe clenched his jaw so tight, his cheekbones stood out like knife blades. “George,” he said, and almost smiled, though it was the scariest smirk I’d ever seen. “Of course. How stupid of me. Especially given the nature of your ‘reward.’ Tell me, was the big plate smash part of the foreplay or just something to pass the time between bouts of mind-blowing in-tomb sex?”

I gasped. Actually gasped. And from the expression that flashed across Poe’s features, he didn’t believe he’d said that, either. But almost before I had a chance to register the look, it was gone, replaced again by the cold, calculating mask.

Every inch of my face burned, but whether with anger, shame, or sadness, I couldn’t tell. I could hardly breathe, could speak not at all.

“What, no denial?” he said in a mocking voice.

“I wouldn’t dignify it with one,” I whispered, since that was the most I could manage. George was right about Poe. He was a jerk. I swallowed, and for a moment I thought I’d never done so before, it was so hard. “But because you’re about to go into that meeting with who knows
what
kind of theories, let me at least put your mind to rest about one thing: I never touched those goddamn plates in my life.”

And then I was back in the sunlight, back in the compound, surrounded by friends and fellow knights, but a red haze had settled over my vision. I stumbled blindly past them, shook off their hands and Amy-what’s-wrongs? and Are-you-okays? Through the compound, down the path to the beach, where the afternoon sun was already glinting on the water. But I felt cold. My shoes flopped hard against my soles and eventually filled with sand, but I kept running. Through the trees, where pine needles and bits of bark scraped at my ankles, through a grove of mangroves, where I crushed roots in my rush, sloshing through muck and onto another beach. The one where Poe had given me those swimming lessons. I must not be far from the lagoon. At the edge of the water was a large, bulky shape caught upside down between sand and shore. The skiff.