The Sleuth Will Set You Free - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Eleven

Yet, a part of me wanted to cast her words aside.  In that moment, they seemed almost useless.  Of course I would end up on the right side of things—I was a Goode.  We were the good guys.  We had always been the good guys.

"Are you headed to your room?" she asked.

I nodded.  "Homework," I explained.

"Okay.  I'll turn in for the night, then.  Go straight to your room—I don't want to hear about any late night snacks.  I don't care how much crème brûlée is left in the fridge."

"How did you know about—?"

"I've got eyes everywhere, kid," she said.  "And don't you dare forget it.  Do you have your panic button?"

I felt for the pocket of my skirt, searching for that permanent extension of myself.  When my fingers brushed up against a hard bump, I nodded.

"Good," she said with a final nod.  I watched her legs as she turned, wondering how she could follow me around all day in those heels.  She was all business in her pencil skirt, leaving me to wonder if it was some sort of crime against nature for a Gallagher Girl to walk her halls in anything but a skirt.  "Straight to bed, Maggie," she called again.

So, here's the thing.  I really was going to go to my room.  Honest.  I had every intention of throwing on some comfy pants and curling up with my blankets and a good textbook, but it's these pesky ears of mine.  They always want to take detours.

And, well, it wasn't really a detour.  When it really comes down to it, Ellie Suttons' room is between Bill's and mine, so it wasn't so much a detour as it was a delay.  Totally different.

It wasn't any of the usual suspects chatting it up at Ellie's bedside.  Aunt Liz had already made her visit for the day and Alice was, presumably, in our room (although, I don't think I need to remind you that Alice is very good at not being where you expect her to be).  It wasn't the neurosurgeon or the orthopedic surgeon or any of the other surgeons that reminded us daily just how bad of shape Eleanora Sutton was in.  Instead, I heard the voice of Charlotte Woods say, "I've had quite enough of your laying around."

There was a tease to her voice.  Something that came with years and years of jokes aimed at the same person, but there was something wrong with it.  Something empty.  Any life that I'd seen pumped into my CoveOps teacher over the past year had been stolen from her the night that Ellie came back with a bullet in her side.  Maybe it had even been gone sooner than that.  "I think it's about time you wake up and join the party."

I heard the sound of metal against wood as she dragged the chair across the room.  I could just picture her straddling it, looking as cool and indifferent as she always did.  I wondered how she did it—how she separated herself from everything.  Then I wondered if it was something she could teach me.  "You're missing all the good stuff, El," she said.  "We found the lead in Europe.  I hear the boys are kicking some serious ass.  Jealous?"

There was no response, but Woods talked on as if there had been and I had just missed it.  "Your info helped," she said.  "Granted, it wasn't much.  I bet you have more for us, haven't you?  Wake up and tell me what else you've got."

It was a dare.  Or a plea.  Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between the two.   But it didn't matter, because when Ellie didn't answer, Woods talked on as if everything were normal.  "Zach and I just finished assigning cover legends for prom.  That's coming up soon—did you know that they recycle the covers?  I didn't know until I saw the cover that Zach assigned to Alice.  Gianna Bassanelli.  Remember that name?"

She let out a short laugh, but it was mutilated.  Pained.  Like someone had punched her in the chest and she couldn't hold back the shout.  "Of course you do.  You remember everything.  I bet you wouldn't even need to see the file to reprise your role.  Tell me how much you remember, El.  Wake up and brag."