Twist (14 page)

Oh, the weight of the world suddenly felt so heavy on my body again. Gravity tugged on my cheeks.

Amilee's
face grew tight. She pointed at the pile of documents. “Who hired you, Mom? Do you know anything about them?”

“Sure. I have this card.” She flipped through her wallet and handed it to Amilee.

“Health Aide Quarterly, HAQ.” Amilee handed me the card.

In the bottom corner was a handwritten word:
Sanctity
. My vision blurred and I thought my ears would explode with the pressure that instantly filled my brain. “Who wrote that?” I asked.

“I don't know. It was the only card she said she had left. She told me to ignore it.”

“Who is
she
?” I asked.

“Margaret Schmidt, the woman who gave me this material to study,” Mrs. Gray said. “Girls—what's with the interrogation?”

Amilee said, “We'll be right back, Mom.”

She pushed me into the kitchen and her mom yelled after us. “Why are you behaving psychotically?”

“It's our dates tomorrow,” Amilee yelled. “It's making us crazy.” Then she grabbed hold of my shoulders and shook me. “You can't tell her about Sanctity and your dad. She'll start drinking again.”

“We can't let her get in the middle of this.” I was trying to whisper. “What in the hell is going on?”

Amilee yanked the card out of my hand, “Let's find out.” She poked her head into the dining room. “While you finish studying we're going to go out and buy more soda. We'll be back in a while.”

We
heard the phone ring as we left, then Mrs. Gray chased us down the driveway. “Beatrice, it's your lawyer. You missed your appointment.”

“Crap,” I said. “Can you tell him I'll call him later?”

She handed me the cordless phone. “No, he wants to talk to you.”

I put the phone to my ear and Mr. Campbell said, “What happened today, Bea?”

“I'm sorry. I totally forgot.”

“Why don't you ever answer your cell phone?” His voice boomed so loud that Amilee heard it and flinched.

“I know. It's a bad habit,” I said.

“You're going to have to miss school in the morning. How about I pick you up?”

I knew I had no choice. “Okay, what time?”

“Eight o'clock. We can talk on the way.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “See you then.”

I handed Mrs. Gray the phone. She walked back to the house mumbling, “Crazy girls.”

Amilee put the address from the card into the GPS. “Let's start with this place. Then we'll check it out online. Maybe we can get help from someone we trust.”

“Like who?”

“Can we ask Mr. Mean Man Campbell?”

“Good idea.” I pulled my cell phone out—there were five missed calls. I hit redial. “I should have asked him before.”

“Not in front of my mom. Not yet,” Amilee said.

I
was about to disconnect when he answered. “Now you look at your phone,” he said. “What can I do for you, Beatrice?”

In one breath I explained Amilee's mom's new job and the word that was written in the corner of the card. “Please tell me if you know anything about this.”

He sighed so loud the phone crackled. “Why don't you come by here and I will clarify some things.”

We found his hotel within five minutes, and he was waiting in the lobby.

“Bea, it's really important you forget about that card during your meeting tomorrow with the FBI.” He was walking us to a corner of the lobby, where there were a few chairs. “If you had shown up earlier today, the FBI would be done. I'd be able to tell you everything. But there are things they cannot know. I don't want to put you in the position of saying things you shouldn't. At least not before tomorrow.”

Amilee hiccupped. “Sorry,” she said. “I do that when I get nervous. So is the FBI going to interrogate Bea again?”

“Not exactly.” He looked at me. “I have your permission to talk freely?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Your father is making a deal with the FBI. Part of this deal is that you will not have to testify.”

“That's good news,” Amilee said.

“You will have to meet with your father, though. They agreed to set up a meeting,” he murmured. “It's the only way he'll cooperate with the FBI.”

“What if I don't want to see him?”

“They'll make sure you do,” Mr. Campbell said.

“
What does that mean?” Amilee said and hiccupped again.

“Better to just agree,” he said.

“Why is my mother being brought into this?” Amilee handed him the card.

He looked down at the card and shook his head.

“Why not tell us now,” I said. “Are they going to torture me?”

He chuckled. “Let's hope not.”

Amilee: “Are you (
hic)
trying (
hic
) to be (
hic
) funny?”

“Look, Jessica Gray is not in danger.” He looked at me. “You will be fine, too. If you just answer their questions. And I'll be with you. And then we leave.” He stood up and added. “I know this is hard to believe, but if you do as I say the outcome will be good.”

He walked us to the door and said, “Are you set for tomorrow?”

“I guess.” I hated this whole Quasimodo operation. “Am I ever going to be able to just be a sixteen-year-old?”

Mr. Campbell shrugged. “Is anyone?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “Amilee is, sort of.”

She scowled at me and then let out a really loud hiccup. “This is crazy,” she said.

“I know . . . What does the FBI want to ask me?”

“Same old stuff. Good night, girls.”

Outside of the hotel Amilee jiggled her keys and said, “I can't believe my friend is Ms. Mission Impossible.” She jumped around puddles across the parking lot. “I'm just not as happy as I was earlier this evening.” She pointed her key at the car and unlocked the doors. “Do you want to follow through with what he's asking?”

“
What else can I do?”

Her bottom lip jetted out. “I suppose nothing else. Hey, does he remind you of Bruce Willis, the actor?”

“Exactly what I thought when I first saw him.”

We didn't talk at all during the ride home. When we got there, I said, “I know your mom sounds really into this new job, but I don't think she should go back.”

“I know, we have until Tuesday before she goes back so let's wait,” Amilee said.

And in that moment I realized I'd have to move back to Aunt Charlotte's house because my father's insane life was now affecting people besides me. I loved him and I hated him all in the same instant.

I'd wait to tell Amilee about my decision, just as she was waiting to tell her mom.

Chapter
30

I didn't want the doorbell to wake Mrs. Gray, so at 7:55 a.m. I sat on the porch anticipating Mr.'s arrival.

I'd tried to cancel our dates that evening because it was obvious that being around me in any capacity was dangerous. I had concerns for Grant, and besides, why would I want to get involved now? I was leaving. But Amilee wouldn't let me cancel. She kept saying, “Life back to normal.” Which was also Aunt Charlotte's favorite line, so I'm sure they talked. And I didn't want to argue with Amilee. Her swinging mood tree was almost as bad as mine.

Mr. Campbell showed up at eight. He stepped out of the cab and held the door open for me. The cab driver didn't move a muscle, which for some reason made me very suspicious, so I leaned in and said to him, “Hello.”

He turned his head and spoke with a thick accent. “Good morning,” he said, confirming that he was not my father.

I sat back.

“You must have some idea about what they are going to ask me? How could they possibly have another question for me?” I said.

Mr. Campbell had settled himself in the backseat with a folder on his lap. He carefully placed it in the outer pocket of his briefcase, and then he narrowed his eyes. “You brought your license?”

“Yes.”

“
Once your identification is verified, you'll be searched. The book bag, your phone, any loose items will stay outside. You'll be led into a room that you might think is private. It is not.” He brushed a piece of lint off of his immaculate suit. “As long as you are on their premises, know that they will be watching everything you say and do.”

I almost responded that they hadn't done that last time, but Mr. Campbell put his index finger up as if to say,
one second
and kept talking in his smooth, composed way. “After you spend time with your father, the agents will debrief you, but don't let them start until I am in the room. Demand that your lawyer be present if they insist on continuing.”

“You didn't tell me I'm seeing my father today!”

“Does it matter? You don't want to testify, right?”

I felt the vein on my forehead pop out as I held back a scream. “I need to know the truth, not this contrived, manipulated crap!”

He nodded toward the cab driver and in a low tone said, “After your visit, I promise. It's not the time or place right now.”

We were dropped off at the side entrance to the FBI field office, an older high rise building on Third Street in downtown Seattle. Apparently, Mr. Campbell was headed home after this meeting because the cab driver lifted his suitcase out of the trunk and left it on the sidewalk.

When we went inside, the security guard looked at the luggage and frowned.

“Sorry, guys, I have an early flight,” Mr. Campbell said.

It looked like airport-level security in the building anyway, so what did they care? I placed my book bag in the bin, pulled my phone out of my pocket, and they waved me
through
the X-ray machine. Within seconds, I was on the other side, waiting for my attorney.

After searching every crevice of his suitcase, they let Mr. Campbell join me in the lobby. He used a wall phone to announce our arrival, and then we waited.

Agent Carter came down to collect us. “Hello Beatrice,” she said, as if we were old friends. “How are you?”

For a moment I actually thought her smile was genuine. “Fine,” I said.

Mr. Campbell said, “Sherri,” in such a familiar manner I had to shake off my paranoia.

Just how well did they know each other?

“Keep your enemies closer,” he whispered in my ear, as if he could read my mind. But it made me feel a little better, considering my situation, even though there had to be something wrong with an attorney who wasn't exactly forthcoming with his client.

“Hopefully, we can close everything today,” Agent Carter said. “No more trial pending, nothing else to worry about. Well, I mean . . . you can get back to being sixteen.”

“I don't think that's ever going to happen,” I said, remembering her part in sharing my most intimate moment with my father, and whoever else she showed. I still couldn't believe the lengths the FBI went to just to find my dad.

We took an elevator up several floors and headed down a long corridor. The wheels on Mr. Campbell's suitcase made an awful squealing noise, setting my nerves even more on edge.

“What time is your flight?” Agent Carter said.

“
This afternoon,” he said.

She stopped in front of an open office and pointed at a table inside. “Put your stuff down there.” I dropped my book bag, and Mr. Campbell put his briefcase and suitcase next to the table. He pulled out that folder and said, “Some pictures for your father.”

I tucked the folder under my arm.

Campbell said to Agent Carter, “No handcuffs, and they can make contact.”

“Yes. But first I need to complete a thorough search of Beatrice.” We went through another door. The room was nearly empty—one folding chair, no windows. “You're going to have to strip down,” Agent carter said.

“Seriously? I didn't even know I was seeing him today until a few minutes ago.” I slammed the folder down on the chair and tossed my jacket on top of it.

She lifted my jacket and went through the pockets, then hung it on the chair and carefully examined the folder. “Have you been back to California?” she said, as if we were best friends strolling through the mall.

“Nope.”

For each piece of my clothing, she searched the seams and pockets. I resisted the urge to cover my skin, but I was furious that I was being put through this unnecessary embarrassment, especially at the hands of Agent Carter!

As I got dressed, she said, “Have you talked to Lucas Drake?”

“Nope.”

“
It's a shame they never caught the person who beat him.” Agent Carter's voice dropped even lower. “He has had to relearn how to walk and talk and doesn't even remember who he is. My heart goes out to his family.”

My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the buttons on my shirt. I tried not to think about Luke and what might have happened to him because of me.

When I was done dressing, I sat down in the chair and folded my hands on top of the folder. I tried to show how calm I was but my insides felt like a tsunami.

“Have you adjusted to being home?”

“Can we just get this over with?” I said. “I don't want to chat.”

Agent Carter frowned. “I . . . feel like I know you, that's all. I hope you get a break.”

Then I did the most teenager thing I could think of—I rolled my eyes, because I didn't believe anything that woman said.

“Let's go,” she said, reaching for my arm.

“I'm a big girl, I can walk on my own. I'm not in custody, remember?”

Mr. Campbell was standing outside the room. “Agent Carter, I expect to be a part of the debriefing, as we agreed,” he said as we walked past him. When she didn't answer, he said, “Sherri?”