I felt the blush roll into my eyeballs. “Uh, so, what was your plan?”
His eyes washed over me and cut over my shoulder. He jutted his chin and I looked. “What’s she doing here?”
Fallon was cresting the hill on a white and mint-green bicycle, spotlighted by the streetlights. She was still in her uniform, her Mercy skirt tucked between her legs, the heavy fabric brushing against her thighs, catching the breeze, exposing the edge of her white, boy-short panties. Her hair sailed behind her in long pigtails, lazy s-waves that licked her shoulder blades and tumbled down her back. Her lips were pursed, her eyes a steely blue. She zigzagged down the street, commanding the blacktop as though a car would never dream of clipping her, of stopping her slow ride.
Even I was taken by her, and I felt myself scowl. Fallon Monroe was a lollypop and an Aerosmith song away from a Nabokov novel.
I jumped back as Fallon skittered to a stop in front of Will and me. Her eyes never left his and her front tire grazed my pant leg. I would have been certain that her pigtails and push-up bra had resulted in a stunning case of tunnel vision had she not flicked an apathetic, “Sorry, Ms. L,” my way.
Fallon pressed her feet to the ground, the bike balanced lewdly between her thighs. “What are you doing here, Mr. Sherman?”
Will’s eyes were firmly lodged on Fallon’s forehead and I appreciated that, given the fact that Fallon’s perfectly manicured forefinger and thumb were playing with the top button on her blouse. A hint of white lace peeked out, stunning against her tan skin.
“Actually, Ms. Lawson and I were looking to speak to Mrs. Rand.”
“Ms.”
“What was that?” I asked.
Fallon kicked at the dirt. “Ms. Rand. She’s not married. And she’s not here right now. She’s probably on her way home.”
“Home? Doesn’t she live here?”
Fallon’s laugh was halting and bitter as she swung a leg over her bike seat. “She doesn’t live here. She works here.” She grabbed the handlebars and pushed the bike up the walk, dropping it unceremoniously on the porch. The bike dropped in a huge clatter, and Fallon was walking through the front door that had just been slammed in our faces.
Will’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, how about that?”
“How about nothing.” I was striding up the walk, about to knock, when Will grabbed my arm.
“What are you doing?”
I whirled, suddenly angry for being jealous of a teenage girl’s sex appeal, angry that Fallon got to live in a house like this, angry that I would always be the outsider with the heavy, gorgeous door to fabulousness slammed in my face.
“I’m going to find out some answers.” I whipped Alyssa Rand’s records out of my purse. “How come the address Mercy has on file for Alyssa is Fallon’s address? And what did Fallon mean that Ms. Rand doesn’t live at this house. She—” I paused, feeling dense. “Alyssa’s mother works for Fallon’s family.”
Will nodded and took Alyssa’s papers from my hand. “And Alyssa’s mother must have used the Monroes’ address to keep her daughter at Mercy.”
“I feel like this blows everything wide open.”
Will eyed me. “You’re thinking that address masking led to Alyssa’s kidnapping? Or Cathy Ledwith’s? Wait.” He splayed both his hands as though he were about to lay something deep on me. “You’ve discovered that the demon our little criminals are trying to summon is the Antichrist of desegregation, right? Satan’s own school administrator?”
I narrowed my eyes, clenching my fists and jamming them into my pockets so I wouldn’t wallop Will right between his sexy hazel eyes in the middle of the goddamn street. “Go to hell.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. Go ahead.” Will held up his palms. “Tell me your theory.”
I thrummed my fingers against my hip bones, the cogs in my head spinning but coming up with little.
“Well, there is only one reason why a student would have to use another address to attend a private school. Frankly, if you have the money and the grades, you could live on Jupiter and still attend—as long as you show up, right?”
Will shrugged blankly. “This is your thing, love.”
“Every year, a certain number of scholarships are made available. The girls have to do well on the entrance exam and have the grades, but they all have to live within a certain radius of the school.”
“So?”
“So, Alyssa, likely on scholarship, used Fallon’s address to qualify.”
“Aha!”
I turned. “Aha, what?”
“Nothing. I just don’t see how your little theory here changes or, let’s just say, ‘improves’ anything. But I wanted to be supportive.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m thinking out loud here. What if someone caught on to Alyssa’s false address and threatened to not only have her expelled, but have”—I dropped my voice to a hoarse whisper and cut my eyes toward the house—“Fallon exposed, too.”