I was hoping to be able to confide in Jeremy about my investigation. It’s come to a standstill, and without a little more intel on the situation, I’m kind of stuck. I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I found Dad’s manila folder full of hospital records in the garage, but that turned out to be my last solid lead. Even trying to look into this Scavo character has me banging my head against the wall.
Thanks to Google and the general public’s fascination with the Italian Mafia, I was able to stumble upon a few things that might be of help. Maybe I’m not a detective down in my bones, because it took a few days of research to figure out that I was going about everything all wrong. I have been looking into Carlo Mancuso’s thug roster to no avail. The only information I could find was on guys who had been pinched or who’d been “taken care of.” No Scavo to find. Anywhere.
Eventually it occurred to me that I had no information on this guy—not even a first name—but I do have a lot of information on one person who is deeply connected to the Mancuso organization. Alex.
Now she has a pretty long internet trail. I was able to find bits and pieces on her life, including some rather disturbing candid photographs that were taken while she was out and about with various people. There’s research and then there’s stalking. I tried to avoid those sites as much as possible. Nothing good turned up at first. A few mafia fansites led me to newspaper reports from the day her cousin was shot. Dad would rather I not know, but I’m fully aware of why Alex is here and that the club has put their lives on the line to keep her safe. I even know why Dad doesn’t want her here, but I keep that to myself to avoid a fight. The problem is that Dad hasn’t let me go over to Aunt Ruby’s house since Alex came to town. But that’s just fine. I have a plan. Only, I have to wait until the bell rings to get the hell out of this classroom for good.
“Miss Grady,” Mrs. Cowger says from the front of the room. Letting out a heavy sigh, I set down my pen and raise my head. Mrs. Cowger is an okay teacher. I mean, she tries. I just don’t really care about Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet were morons.
She raises an eyebrow and points at my notebook. “Miss Grady, I’d like your attention on me rather than your desk.”
“No offense, Mrs. Cowger,” I say. “I just don’t have the energy for this crap.”
The words leave my mouth, and I’m not entirely certain what I’ve just done. Half the room either gasps or snickers. My eyes shoot to Tracie, who sits across the room from me. She shakes her head and mouths with a grin, “Bitch.”
When we’ve managed to end up in the same class, our teachers have refused to seat us together. It’s my last day here anyway, so it shouldn’t matter. All my extracurricular investigations have taken away from the time I’m supposed to be in class. With over thirty unexcused absences—ten this semester alone—not even Holly can save my ass. Which is fine. We’re only a month into the new semester, so I have no way of making that time up. Nor do I want to. The sooner I get out of this place, the sooner I can figure out where I’m going next. First my GED and then eventually culinary school in the city. Dad’s pissed as hell that I’m basically being expelled less than a full semester before graduation, but I’m pissed as hell at life in general. We’ll deal.
“I think you should visit Mr. Beck’s office, Miss Grady,” she says in response.
“Good idea.” I smile and happily pack up my stuff. Fuck Mr. Beck. He and Holly already arranged for today to be my last day. What’s he going to do? Expel me? Mr. Beck and Dad already reached the agreement that in exchange for not expelling me that I would leave of my own accord.
Across the room, Tracie is just staring at me in astonishment. Drawing-Jeremy and Drawing-Daniel get shoved into my backpack, and I stride out of class without looking back. I wish I were badass enough to flip her the bird on the way out, but as it is, I’m already a train wreck of nerves. My hands begin to shake the moment the classroom door closes behind me. There’s only ten or so minutes of class left, but it’s enough to get to the office to tell Holly that I’ve been unceremoniously excused early. She is not going to like this.
But really, I was blowing this Popsicle stand anyway. Still, I’m going to be in for it when I get home. I don’t know why they’re going to care. I just know that they will. Parents are strange creatures who give a shit about the dumbest stuff. I can’t even begin to think about Grandma. She is going to tan my hide—that is if she’s even home. She’s been curiously busy and absent from the house lately. I don’t like it one bit.
The office door feels heavier when I open it, and the air feels stuffy when I walk up to Holly’s desk. She is smiling down at her phone in her hands and so engrossed in whatever she’s reading that she doesn’t hear my approach. God, I hope she and Dad aren’t sexting again. After the last time, I won’t be peeking at either of their phones anytime soon.