about what Lawrence told me. Something that’s not right,
although I can’t put my finger on what.
After dinner, I try to concentrate on reading when I hear the
doorbell ring. Mom answers. Her voice takes on that cheerful
“cool mom” tone, and I know the door’s for me. Frowning, I
set down my book and investigate.
Brandon Marks stands in the entryway, chatting Mom up
with a good-son grin. As I come in, he gives me a wink.
A wink. Okay…
“Here she is,” Mom says, smiling. “I’ll let you two chat.”
“Thanks, Amber.”
Um, since when are he and my mom on a first-name basis?
“Well, hello there,” Brandon says when she’s gone.
I raise an eyebrow. “Hi.”
“You’re not answering your phone. Did you lose it or
something?”
I wrack my brain to remember the last time I used it. When
your best friend is cavorting around Europe and your only
potential romantic interest lives eighty years before cell phones,
you don’t use yours much.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing behind him. No
one else is waiting in the driveway. It’s just him.
Brandon leans against the door frame. “I told you. I couldn’t
get hold of you. I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d
swing by.”
“For…”
“Well, I wanted to ask you on a date.”
“A date,” I repeat.
Brandon gives a “Why on Earth wouldn’t I be asking you
out?” kind of smile. “I can get us into Mancuso’s,” he adds,
cocking his head triumphantly.
I glance past him again, looking to see if someone else is in
the car. “Oh, is this a double with Travis?”
Brandon frowns. “Travis?”
“Well, if anyone can get us into Mancuso’s, it’s him.”
“What are you talking about?”
I hold up my hands, defensively. “Hey, don’t be offended. It’s
no mark of superior character that his dad is better connected.
I’m merely making an observation.”
But Brandon is still confused. If anything, he looks more
puzzled. “Who are you talking about?”
I roll my eyes. “Um, Travis? You know, your best friend.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“Ha-ha,” I say deadpan. “You’re killing me, Brandon. Stop. I
might die from laughing.”
Brandon seems exasperated. “I’m not joking! Who’s Travis?
Does he live in Crest Harbor?”
“No, he’s actually from Outer Mongolia. That’s why he likes
to come here for summer vacations. All that yurt living can be
hard on the spine.”
Brandon just stares. I fold my arms across my chest.
“Where is Travis? Did he put you up to this? I bet your phone
is on right now, and he’s listening to every word, isn’t he? Hi,
Travis. Nice attempt, but try again.”
Now Brandon seems concerned. “Are you okay, Cass?”
“Excuse me?” I scoff.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up to show
me. It’s off.
“I’m not joking right,” he says slowly. “I don’t have any clue
who you’re talking about. I’m racking my brain, but the only
Travis I know is my eight-year-old nephew, and I don’t think
you mean him.”
He seems completely sincere. I never took Brandon for much
of an actor. He’s either improved a thousand percent or he has
shortterm
amnesia.
I stare hard at him. “You’re telling me that you don’t know
Travis Howard?”
The moment I say his full name, a light snaps on in my brain.
That’s it! That’s what was bothering me about my conversation with Lawrence this morning. His friend who died…his last name was Howard.
The air in the room suddenly feels thin. There’s a faint ringing
in my ears.
“Travis Howard,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Never heard of him.”
I take a staggering step backwards. My lungs suddenly seem
incapable of drawing in a breath. Then a thought comes to me,
and the only thing that matters is getting to my phone. I make
a beeline for the stairs.