Crosstalk (46 page)

Trent was still talking.
…figure out something…get engaged if I have to…

I don't want to hear any more,
Briddey thought, and reached for the tuning knob.

…sure I can convince her how crucial…once she's on board…can focus on finding out how the telepathy works…translating the circuitry into software.

Oh, my God. He wasn't talking about emojis. He was going to try to turn the telepathy into code and put it into the new phone! I've got to tell C.B.,
she thought, standing up so abruptly she knocked her latte over. The woman reading the
How to Tell If It's Truly Love
book looked up, annoyed.

“Sorry,” Briddey said. She mopped it up, grabbed her phone, dumped the sodden napkins and her latte cup in the trash, and ran out to her car, trying to think of how to get in touch with C.B. She couldn't speak to him telepathically with Trent listening in, and after the night he'd had, he might be asleep, in which case calling to him wouldn't do any good. And with Trent at Commspan, she couldn't risk going to see him. She'd have to phone him. But she couldn't use her own phone, for fear of leaving a trail to C.B. She had to find another phone she could use.

Whose? Not Charla's. Now more than ever, it was critical that no one at Commspan know of a connection between them. And Kathleen would ask too many questions.

Maeve,
she thought, and drove back to Mary Clare's. She could take Maeve aside, tell her she'd lost her phone, and ask her if she remembered her having it in the car after they left the park. And when Maeve said no, she'd ask her if she could borrow her phone to make a couple of calls and then try the lab, or use Maeve's phone to look up his home number.

If she could get past Mary Clare, who took one look at her and said, “Oh, my God, you found out something when you took Maeve to brunch! Something so bad you couldn't tell me over the phone!”

True,
Briddey thought.
Or in person either.

“Maeve's in some kind of trouble. I
knew
it!”

“She's not in any trouble. I just can't find my phone, and I thought Maeve might remember what I did with it.”

“Oh,” Mary Clare said. “She's over at Danika's doing homework. I'll phone her and ask her, and then we can sit down and have a nice cup of tea.”

And you can pump me about Maeve,
Briddey thought, but Mary Clare had barely gotten her phone out when Maeve burst in, shouting, “I forgot my math book.” She was red-cheeked and out of breath. “I ran the whole way,” she said, taking in the kettle on the stove and the teacups in her mother's hand.

She's going to think I came back to rat her out, and there's no way she'll help me,
Briddey thought, but Maeve said cheerfully, “Hi, Aunt Briddey. What are you doing here?”

“She's lost her phone,” Mary Clare said. “Do you remember seeing it at the restaurant?”

Of course she does,
Briddey thought,
and now she's going to say, “She talked on it the whole time I was feeding the ducks,” and Mary Clare will launch into the dangers of avian flu.

“I can't remember,” Maeve said, furrowing her brow in concentration. “I think so. You put it on the table, and then the waiter came and brought our pizza.” She turned to her mother. “We went to Carnival Pizza at the mall, and it was so fun!” She turned back to Briddey. “I bet he laid the pizza pan on top of it, and that's why we didn't see it.”

“I bet you're right,” Briddey said, and since there was no hope now of getting access to Maeve's phone, she stood up and put on her coat. “I'd better go see if they've got it.”

“Can't you just call and find out and then ask them to hold it for you?” Maeve said. “You can use my phone. It's in my room. Come on.” She grabbed Briddey's hand and dragged her off.

Bless you, childeen,
Briddey thought as she followed Maeve into her room, which now had crime-scene tape across the door in addition to the sign saying,
KEEP OUT
—
THIS MEANS YOU
,
MOM
.

Maeve took down the tape, ushered Briddey in, put the tape back up, shut the door, and locked it. “So Mom can't come in,” she said unnecessarily.

Briddey looked around at her room. A large poster of
Tangled
was pinned to the wall above her bed next to several photos of male teen stars, which had apparently been cut out from
Tiger Beat
magazine, though Briddey didn't see any of the messy-haired Xander. There was a stuffed Olaf the Snowman from
Frozen
on her pillow, and a screensaver of
The Twelve Dancing Princesses
on her computer. Not exactly the meth lab or international money-laundering operation Mary Clare was imagining.

“You really should let your mother in here,” Briddey said. “She'd feel a lot better.”

“No, she wouldn't,” Maeve said, sitting on her bed and picking up Olaf. “The squelched-girl thing, remember? Plus, I don't want her to fix the nanny cam.” She pointed to it, and Briddey remembered Mary Clare saying Maeve had disabled it. “Or my computer.”

“What's on your computer?”

“
Nothing,
but she'd just say I must've deleted it, you know?” Which was true.

Maeve pulled her smartphone out of her pocket and handed it to Briddey. “You didn't really lose your phone, did you?”

“No. I said that because I need to call somebody, and I can't use my own phone.”

Maeve nodded wisely. “Like in
Zombienado.
The zombies bugged the hero's phone—”

That sounds highly unlikely,
Briddey thought.

“—and he had to use this dead guy's, only it was still stuck to his hand because the zombies had eaten everything except his arm—”

“As soon as you two are done in there,” Mary Clare called through the door, “come to the kitchen. I'm making a nice loaf of Irish soda bread.”

“Okay,” Maeve shouted, and turned back to Briddey. “You're not going to tell Mom I saw
Zombienado,
are you?”

I'm not exactly in a position to, am I?
Briddey thought. “No,” she said, reaching for the phone.

Maeve yanked it away. “You have to tell me who you're going to call first, because if you're committing a crime or something, I'd be an accessory, like in
Zombie Cop.
This zombie—”

“I'm not committing a crime.”

“How do I know that if you don't tell me who it is?”

“Fine. It's somebody I work with at Commspan, C.B. Schwartz. I need to get him a message—”

“C.B.?” Maeve said, frowning. “But if it's him you need to get a message to, you don't—” She stopped short.

“I don't what?”

“Have to look up his number. I've got it on my phone. Which one do you want, the lab or at home? I've got both. He gave them to me that time he helped me with my science project in case I needed to ask him anything else. Hang on. I'll find them.”

She turned her back to Briddey and hunched over her phone, clearly not wanting Briddey to see what she was doing, though it didn't look like she was doing anything. She was just standing there staring at the phone as if it were a crystal ball. Briddey wondered if she'd forgotten her password.

After a long minute, she began alternately swiping through screens and typing busily, which meant the numbers must not be on her list of contacts.
She's probably hidden it from her mother,
Briddey thought, not blaming her.

Or else she didn't really have the numbers and was trying to look them up. Briddey was about to say something when Maeve put the phone up to her ear and said, “It's ringing.”

Briddey reached for the phone, but Maeve shook her head. “Hi, C.B. This is Maeve. Remember? You helped me with my science project?”

“Maeve,” Briddey whispered, motioning to her to hand her the phone.

“I'm fine,” Maeve said. “No, none at all.”

“Give me the phone,” Briddey said, reaching for it.

“Okay,” Maeve mouthed, and said into the phone, “My Aunt Briddey wants to talk to you.” She handed the phone over.

“C.B.? This is Briddey Flannigan. From work. I'm calling about a matter I need to discuss with you,” she said, trying to sound impersonal and businesslike with Maeve listening—and possibly Trent. And she must have succeeded because Maeve sat down at her computer, put in earbuds, and began playing Cinderella's Castle Adventure.

“I assume that Maeve's still in the room?” C.B. said.

“Yes, and I don't have a solution for that problem.”

“You're right about that,” C.B. said, amusement in his voice.

“This isn't funny—”

“Sorry. What is it you phoned about?”

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Trent is—”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, and she could tell from his tone that he did know, and not just what Trent had said this afternoon but all of it—why he'd suggested the EED and what he was planning to do with the results.

He's known all along,
Briddey thought.
That's why he kept trying to talk me out of having the EED. And out of telling Trent after we connected. Because he knew what Trent would do with the telepathy if he got hold of it.

Why didn't you tell me?
she said, but she already knew the answer. She wouldn't have believed him.
You must think I'm a complete idiot.

“No, I think Trent is, for not appreciating what he had. And I'm so sorry you—”

“It doesn't matter. What matters is that he's trying to get in touch with”—Briddey glanced anxiously over at Maeve, but she was completely engrossed in her videogame—“in touch with Dr. Verrick,” she whispered, “to tell him about the…project. And if he runs tests or scans—”

“He won't run tests if he doesn't believe Trent, and it's not like Trent has anything tangible to show him.”

“Yes, he does. This morning, he—”

“I know. Don't worry about those tests he had you take. You did great, by the way. I especially liked the whole Angkor Wat petunias thing. But even if you'd written down what you actually sent him, it still wouldn't prove anything. Look, we shouldn't be talking about this right now.”

“Because of—” She glanced over at Maeve, who was busily chasing Cinderella's mice.

“Little Miss Curiosity? No, because of your boyfriend.”

“He's
not
my—”

“Well, we can't let him know that. It's imperative that he not find out you're onto him. Right now he's only able to hear you sporadically, but you were only able to hear
him
sporadically, and look what you found out. So you can't think about
any
of this—about me or the telepathy or what a low-down, rotten, dirty piece of pond scum he is. You've got to think things he can hear—you're madly in love with him and you're thrilled to be connected and you can't wait to see Dr. Verrick and tell him what's happened.”

“But—”

“I know. We need to come up with a plan of action. And we will. But not till we can be sure he can't hear us.”

Did that mean she shouldn't have called him? That they weren't safe talking?

“No, we're fine. Trent's on the phone with Verrick's nurse right now, trying to get her to divulge his whereabouts, and talking out loud like this helps screen your thoughts. And anyway, I've got defenses up. But I don't want to take any chances. So I want you to go home and read a nice, boring book.
The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
You can tell me how it turns out.”

But what if Trent decided to come over again? “I'm at my sister's right now, and I'm sure they'd let me stay for supper.” Or she could go to the Daughters of Ireland meeting with Aunt Oona. They were bound to be having one, and Trent would
never
think of looking for her there.

“No,”
C.B. said. “The last thing we want to give Trent is any hint of the Irish connection, including overhearing your family talking about ‘foine Irish lads.' ”

Or bad boyfriends,
Briddey said, thinking of Kathleen.

“You don't have to worry about Trent coming over to your apartment. He's too busy trying to reach Verrick. And if he should decide to head your way, I'll give you a heads-up so you can get out of there. Go read. Or better yet, take a nap. If you're asleep, Trent won't be able to pick up anything at all.”

“But if I”—she glanced over at Maeve, who was still seemingly engrossed in her videogame—“do what you say, how will you get in touch with—?”

“Don't worry about that. And don't worry about Trent or Dr. Verrick. It'll be fine. Get some sleep,” he said, and hung up.

“You'll email me the report, then?” Briddey said into the dead phone. “Good. I'll contact you when I've gone over the figures. Goodbye.” She gave Maeve her phone back, expecting a barrage of questions, but Maeve scarcely looked up from her game, even when Briddey stood there a minute, memorizing his phone number in case she needed to call him again. “Thank you,” she told Maeve.

“What are you two doing in there?” Mary Clare called anxiously through the door.

“Nothing!”
Maeve shouted back, and rolled her eyes at Briddey. “Jeez, Mom.”

“Well, come have some tea, then,” Mary Clare said. “Aunt Oona's here.”

Of course she is,
Briddey thought,
and now how am I going to get out of here? Aunt Oona will insist on going over all the reasons I shouldn't get an EED and then try to convince me to talk Kathleen into going out with Sean O'Reilly.

“I need to go,” Briddey said, without much hope of getting away. “The restaurant had my phone, and I need to go get it before they close.”