Yet, here was another conundrum. Helen died ten years ago, roughly twelve months after giving up her little girl. So, where was the little girl? Well, not so little anymore. I remembered the calendar, knew she’d be seventeen...maybe eighteen.
What was she to me? Because she had to be something. No one else had eyes like ours. I’d always thought I’d inherited mine from my dad, even though his were dark blue. Apples and oranges, I admitted now.
How was Cole going to react to this?
I peered at Kat. “Would you hate me if I skipped out on another girls’ day?”
“Only for a minute. Then I’ll get over myself.”
I smiled. “If I was into girls...”
“I know! You’d be all over me. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself. But that’s true of every person on the planet.”
Healthy ego intact? Check. I kissed her cheek and gave Reeve a hug. “Thanks, guys.”
“I notice you didn’t ask about my hate,” Reeve quipped.
“You’re not likely to claw my face off in a fit of pique.”
She nodded. “That’s fair.”
I paced outside Mr. Ankh’s office for ten...fifteen minutes, but the conversation remained on business, and I couldn’t interrupt. I finally gave up and holed up in my room to pore over the journal and compare its pages to the pictures on my phone.
The effort paid off. I found a missing page in the journal, the paper ripped close to the binding. My mind leaped from one thought to the next. The copied page had come from Anima. Helen had worked for them. If she came from my mother’s side, she could have had access to the journal. She could have ripped out a page and handed it over.
That would make her the traitor Cole was certain she was.
No time to process. Cole strode into my room and shut the door. Gasping, guilty, I shut the journal and jolted to my feet.
“You’re here,” I said and gulped.
He frowned. “Do you not want me to be?”
Yes. No. Maybe. “Will you...” crap “...tell me what you know about Helen Conway.” I couldn’t avoid this topic anymore, didn’t want to. “Please.”
“What do you want to know?”
Everything. “Anything.”
“Why?”
“Tell me. Then I’ll outline my reasons.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “She worked for Anima with Veronica’s mom. They were roommates, friends. Then Veronica’s mom abandoned ship. She didn’t.”
“How did she die?”
“My dad killed her.”
Okay. That, I couldn’t have predicted. “Because she worked for Anima?”
His eyes narrowed, hate swimming in their depths. “Zombies might have been the smoking gun that killed my mother, but she pulled the trigger. She sent them. Then she collared my mother’s spirit and sent her after me and my dad.”
And I was most likely related to her? Might vomit. “Cole. I’m so sorry.”
He waved away my sympathy, too upset to accept it.
“How do you know she was responsible?” I asked.
“She cornered my dad about a week before, bragged about what she was going to do.”
Wait. I shook my head, unsure. Bragged—or warned?
I don’t want to think the worst about her, do I? No matter the evidence stacked against her.
“After...just after, my dad went after her,” he said, gritting his teeth. “He shot her. And if you want to know any more than that, I’ll have to ask him.”
This had to be a nightmare for him, like ripping scabs off old wounds, and I hated that—but it didn’t stop me. “Yes, please.” I had to know the truth. “Ask him.”
He stalked across the room to make the call. I dialed Nana.
“Ali!” Hearing her voice warmed some of the chill that had taken root inside me. “How are you?”
“I’m...okay.”
“Okay? Well, that’s not very banging, is it?”
Banging? Oh, Nana. Not that word. Please, no. “What are you up to?” I thought I heard waves lapping in the background.
“Strangely enough, I’m chillaxing. I hate to admit this, but...it’s nice. Since your pops died, I’ve been... Well, you know. I didn’t realize I needed this. And that makes me feel so guilty! Especially because you’re there, doing I don’t know what, and I probably don’t want to know what.”
True. “You don’t need to worry about me. I am kicking butt and not bothering with names.”
“Oh, sweetheart. That’s wonderful. But are you eating properly? Resting? Doing the horizontal hokey pokey with Cole?”
I nearly choked on my own tongue. “Nana!”
“It’s a legitimate question, dear. One that deserves an answer.”
“No!” I blurted, certain I was a nice shade of lobster-red. “I’m not.” Not technically. I cleared my throat, then, changing the subject, asked, “Are you safe?”
“Never been safer.”
“Good. That’s good.” I paused. “Nana,” I said, launching into an urgent, back-and-forth pace, “am I related to a girl named Helen Conway?”
Silence.
Such heavy silence.
“Nana?”
“Ali,” she said. She cleared her throat. “She’s my niece. Your mother’s cousin. Why?” Gone was her joviality.