The Finishing School by Michele Martinez Page B

paid her, but how much was that, really? Six thousand? Maybe a couple of thousand more when you threw in shoes, bag, hair, makeup. Nothing in the scheme of things. She could scrounge up that much in gifts by giving some rich parent the evil eye. She didn’t need to expose herself to hard time for a few baubles.
    James drew an aggrieved breath, but she could feel him calculating on the other end of the line. Once all was said and done, she had the power to make him keep his word. If nothing else, she’d threaten to turn state’s evidence, the last best refuge of the woman scorned.
    “Of course, darling,” he said finally. “We’re in this together. You know that.”
    She felt faint with relief.
    “What were you doing looking at the books anyway, silly? You could end up leaving an electronic trail if you’re not careful. And I need to hear about this problem you found. You probably just misread the numbers,” she said.
    “I certainly hope you’re right. But I don’t want to talk about the details over the telephone.”
    “So let’s meet. It’s been too long. I miss you.”
    “This mess with Whitney is screwing everything up. I can’t leave the house. The police could be watching me. The press
definitely
are.”
    “Why the police? You’re the grieving stepfather. They should be bringing you a cup of hot tea.”
    “Are you kidding? They’d love to see me trip up. Melanie Vargas was all over me about the timing last night. Where was I, when did I call the police…?”
    Patricia caught an undercurrent of something in his tone. “I thought you were at that Guggenheim thing,” she said suspiciously.
    “Yes. Yes, I was.”
    “So why was she asking you, then?”
    “Who knows? You know how these people are. I’m surprised she didn’t ask
you
.”
    “Let her. I was home with the doggies.” Patricia glanced over at Vuitton, who was napping. Coco was at the doggy shrink. Poor thing’s eating disorder was acting up again, the way it did every year as January 1 approached. They lived in a building that barred dogs weighing more than twelve pounds because they took up too much space in the elevators. The annual weigh-ins were disastrous for Coco’s body image, even though Patricia constantly reassured her there was no chance she’d hit the limit. Coco was tiny—barely eight pounds!
    “So they searched?” James asked.
    Patricia was distracted, her mind wandering to the bothersome question of where he’d been last night. “Hmm? What?”
    “What did they search? They didn’t ask about the school’s computers, did they?”
    “No. And I don’t see why they would. It was just the girls’ lockers they were interested in.”
    “But you’d gone through Whitney’s—”
    “Yes, of course!” she exclaimed irritably. “I came in at five to be sure nobody would see me. I went through everything, like you told me, all right? I left the innocuous stuff where they would find it so it wouldn’t look too obvious.”
    “What do you mean? Was there anything you removed? Anything that
wasn’t
innocuous?”
    Did he really have so little idea what his stepdaughter had been up to? He was surely playing dumb. After all, if he didn’t already know what was in there, why have her search? But she wouldn’t tell him what she’d found. She didn’t trust him these days; she needed something up her sleeve.
    “No,” Patricia lied. “Just the usual teenager crap.”
    “What about the other lockers? Did they find anything?”
    “Yes indeed. As a matter of fact, they found heroin in Carmen Reyes’s locker.”
    “Really?”
    “Mmm-hmm.”
    “Well.” He chuckled. “That’s fabulous. Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I just did.”
    “It makes so much sense. The little wetback with drugs in her locker. Just like I told them it would be. Now we can force them to stop investigating. Every second they’re out there poking around, you know, we’re at risk. And we don’t need any problems before