her body.
John rolled onto his side to face her. “So where were you at lunch?”
Bree picked up her iPod and pretended to search through its contents. She’d known this question would be coming and she’d prepared an answer, gone over the delivery in her mind, trying to make it sound credible. But she didn’t want to look at John while she lied to him. “I had an appointment with Mr. Niemeyer.”
John snorted. “Since when do you actually show up for appointments with your guidance counselor?”
“Why would I lie about going to the guidance counselor?”
“I was worried you’d been hauled into Father Uberti’s office.”
Bree chuckled. “Yeah, right. F.U. won’t risk the wrath of Senator Deringer without proof.”
“Don’t be too sure,” John said. “This is a murder investigation. The rules have changed.”
A chill passed over Bree. Murder. Someone had deliberately and intentionally killed Ronny. She remembered the creak of the door and the faint patter of footsteps outside his bedroom. Had she been in the presence of a killer without knowing it? And if so, would he come after her next?
“I’ve been thinking,” John said, pushing himself upright with sudden energy. “If it’s not us perpetrating these crimes on douchebag humanity, then who is it?”
“ If it’s not us?” Bree smiled. “You mean since it’s not us.”
John shrugged. “Sure.”
Bree didn’t like John’s body language. Sure? Could he possibly believe, even for a second, that Bree was involved?
“Whoever it is,” John said, staring out the window, “they’re smart.”
Thank you. “So that rules out Rex’s brain trust.”
“Not necessarily.” John leaned forward. “What better way to gain insider information? I mean, think about it. That dance-recital footage of Tammi Barnes last year? You and I wouldn’t have known anything about it. But someone from Tammi’s inner circle might have.”
Like Olivia . “Okay,” Bree said, playing along. “Let’s say it is one of them. I know the rich bitches aren’t the sharpest arrows in the quiver, but don’t you think someone would have figured it out by now?”
The right side of John’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “If there was only one person involved, sure. But my guess is that DGM is a group. Three, maybe four members. That way, no one person would be the source of all their information, or responsible for every aspect of their pranks.”
“You’ve thought way too much about this.”
“If you’re accused of a crime you didn’t commit, you get curious about who’s really to blame.”
A wave of guilt passed through her. It was, after all, partially her fault that John was a suspect.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and Bree stretched her arms over her head. “If F.U. had you working for the ’Maine Men,” she said with a yawn, “this case would be solved by now. Maybe we should get you one of those polo shirts and you can crash their next meeting?”
“Hell no,” John said, sliding open the van door. “If I did know who was involved with DGM, Father Uberti would be the last person I’d tell. I’d want to give them a hug, that’s all.”
John locked the minivan with the key fob as he walked toward the school. Students were already pouring out of the side door as Bree fell into step beside him. “Or join them.”
“Nah,” John said. “They don’t need Prime Suspect Number One hanging around. I’m pretty sure F.U. thinks I’m a killer at this point.”
Bree laughed. John couldn’t hurt a fly.
“I’ve gotta hit my locker,” he said. “Meet you at the bus stop?”
“Okay,” she said to no one. John had already bounded off down the hall.
Bree couldn’t help but sigh as she wove through the crowded hallway toward her locker. She’d known for a while that John had a man crush on DGM and their antics, but she hadn’t realized exactly how much energy he’d spent contemplating their identities.
Bree
John rolled onto his side to face her. “So where were you at lunch?”
Bree picked up her iPod and pretended to search through its contents. She’d known this question would be coming and she’d prepared an answer, gone over the delivery in her mind, trying to make it sound credible. But she didn’t want to look at John while she lied to him. “I had an appointment with Mr. Niemeyer.”
John snorted. “Since when do you actually show up for appointments with your guidance counselor?”
“Why would I lie about going to the guidance counselor?”
“I was worried you’d been hauled into Father Uberti’s office.”
Bree chuckled. “Yeah, right. F.U. won’t risk the wrath of Senator Deringer without proof.”
“Don’t be too sure,” John said. “This is a murder investigation. The rules have changed.”
A chill passed over Bree. Murder. Someone had deliberately and intentionally killed Ronny. She remembered the creak of the door and the faint patter of footsteps outside his bedroom. Had she been in the presence of a killer without knowing it? And if so, would he come after her next?
“I’ve been thinking,” John said, pushing himself upright with sudden energy. “If it’s not us perpetrating these crimes on douchebag humanity, then who is it?”
“ If it’s not us?” Bree smiled. “You mean since it’s not us.”
John shrugged. “Sure.”
Bree didn’t like John’s body language. Sure? Could he possibly believe, even for a second, that Bree was involved?
“Whoever it is,” John said, staring out the window, “they’re smart.”
Thank you. “So that rules out Rex’s brain trust.”
“Not necessarily.” John leaned forward. “What better way to gain insider information? I mean, think about it. That dance-recital footage of Tammi Barnes last year? You and I wouldn’t have known anything about it. But someone from Tammi’s inner circle might have.”
Like Olivia . “Okay,” Bree said, playing along. “Let’s say it is one of them. I know the rich bitches aren’t the sharpest arrows in the quiver, but don’t you think someone would have figured it out by now?”
The right side of John’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “If there was only one person involved, sure. But my guess is that DGM is a group. Three, maybe four members. That way, no one person would be the source of all their information, or responsible for every aspect of their pranks.”
“You’ve thought way too much about this.”
“If you’re accused of a crime you didn’t commit, you get curious about who’s really to blame.”
A wave of guilt passed through her. It was, after all, partially her fault that John was a suspect.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and Bree stretched her arms over her head. “If F.U. had you working for the ’Maine Men,” she said with a yawn, “this case would be solved by now. Maybe we should get you one of those polo shirts and you can crash their next meeting?”
“Hell no,” John said, sliding open the van door. “If I did know who was involved with DGM, Father Uberti would be the last person I’d tell. I’d want to give them a hug, that’s all.”
John locked the minivan with the key fob as he walked toward the school. Students were already pouring out of the side door as Bree fell into step beside him. “Or join them.”
“Nah,” John said. “They don’t need Prime Suspect Number One hanging around. I’m pretty sure F.U. thinks I’m a killer at this point.”
Bree laughed. John couldn’t hurt a fly.
“I’ve gotta hit my locker,” he said. “Meet you at the bus stop?”
“Okay,” she said to no one. John had already bounded off down the hall.
Bree couldn’t help but sigh as she wove through the crowded hallway toward her locker. She’d known for a while that John had a man crush on DGM and their antics, but she hadn’t realized exactly how much energy he’d spent contemplating their identities.
Bree
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