“I promise,” Aster said.
“Are you near his computer?” Mitch asked.
“I’m sitting at it.”
“Okay. I’m going to e-mail you a URL. Type it into Mason’s web browser exactly, then download the application on the screen.”
Aster called up her Saybrook’s e-mail. Sure enough, Mitch had sent her a URL. He’d also e-mailed her something called a key logger application, which she needed to install on Mason’s machine; it would give Aster access to anything Mason had ever typed—including his passwords. She downloaded both of them and installed them on Mason’s computer. A string of type came up, including Mason’s Gmail password: Dumbo. Aster felt a stab of guilt.
She typed the password into Gmail, and sure enough, Mason’s personal mail began to load. Aster lurched forward, peering at the screen. “It worked,” she whispered.
“I told you it would.” Mitch cleared his throat. “Now uninstall those programs immediately. I don’t want your dad noticing them on his machine.”
Mitch walked Aster through how to remove the program and then said he had to go. “I won’t forget this,” Aster said meaningfully.
“You’d better not,” Mitch quipped. “I expect lots of dancing at the wedding.”
“Fine.” Aster groaned, but she was smiling. “See you tomorrow. Have fun with your online tournament thingie.”
She hung up and looked at her dad’s computer screen. There were so many e-mails—updates from the country clubs and university affiliations he belonged to, as well as travel updates, receipts of purchase, and personal e-mails from friends. Nothing about stolen jewels.
On a whim, she went back to around five years ago, to the summer when Poppy was named president and Steven died. Her gaze caught on a transaction record, the liquidation of a huge number of stock shares. Aster paused. It was the same transaction she’d seen on her dad’s computer the other day.
She clicked on the e-mail; it listed a few transaction details, but nothing about where the money had gone. What had Mason done with all that cash? Then Aster saw a second transaction receipt from the same day, this one for $1 million. There was nothing listed about the bank account except the initials GSB. Who was that? Aster racked her brain, but she had no idea.
Hands shaking, she returned to the in-box and typed in Poppy’s name. Still nothing. Think, Aster. On a whim, she checked the Deleted folder—and an e-mail thread appeared. Lying was the first word she saw.
We need to come clean with this, Poppy wrote. Especially the money. I’m tired of lying.
Over my dead body. Or yours, Mason had replied. Seriously, Poppy, stop pushing or you’ll be sorry.
Aster looked up, straight into the eyes of the elephant. Come clean about what? And what money? Whatever it was, it sounded like something Mason had done—not Poppy. So maybe it wasn’t about the missing jewels at all. Maybe it was something bigger. What was Poppy trying to push Mason to tell? And to what lengths had Mason gone to keep her quiet?
Her thoughts tumbled like dominoes. She stood up, feeling dizzy. No. She was overreacting. Elizabeth couldn’t be right. Aster shut her eyes, not wanting to consider the possibility.
Her mind returned once more to that night on the beach with Steven. The warm breeze kissing her bare skin, the sounds of the party in the distance, and the way Aster’s heart had thumped when she’d turned around and saw her father staring. Steven had shot into the bushes to pull on his clothes; he might have been listening, but Aster didn’t care. “If you can screw my friend, then I can screw yours,” she’d snapped.
Mason’s face had clouded with confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?” he barked.
“Don’t play dumb.” Aster’s voice rose over the sound of the waves. “I saw you and Danielle together. I know what you’re doing.”
Mason’s face paled. He glanced in the direction Steven had gone, then grabbed Aster’s wrist, hard. “That’s none of your business,” he said into her ear.
“Yes, it is. She’s my best friend. How could you?”
She tried to wrench away, but Mason squeezed her wrist harder. Aster felt her pulse throb under the skin. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around, go back to the party, and say nothing,” her father said in a chillingly calm voice. “If you utter even a word of this to anyone, you’ll be sorry.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Aster warned him.
Mason’s eyes blazed. “Well, you should be.”
He gave her a shove. Aster yelped, wheeling across the sand. Her heel got stuck in a divot and flew right off her foot. She lay where she was, waiting for her father to help her up and apologize profusely, but when she turned back around, he was gone.