Лорен Кейт - The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

Now, here she was, four husbands later and going on her second multimillion-dollar property — purely based on her uncanny powers of feminine persuasion. My mother might be a tramp, but she was no idiot. She’d figured out her own golden secret: Security didn’t come from having a man who “loved” her; it came from what those things bought her — in her own name.

I could not end up like this.

“Honey, come see the labyrinth,” Mom called to me from the backyard.

I sighed and started trooping around the side of the house so I wouldn’t have to shudder at the decor inside. But before I got to the labyrinth, I spotted Darla leaning over the balustrade talking to Kate Richards. I’d been so consumed by the god-awful hacienda, I hadn’t even noticed we were just two houses down from her family’s lake house.

I was just about to round the magnolia tree when I heard Darla’s voice.

“It was Nat’s idea that I borrow the dress,” she lied, smoothing over the fabric where it puckered at her heaving chest. “Our parents are together. ”

“Nat Hargrove’s mom and your dad?” Kate asked with a tiny throaty laugh. It bugged me that she suddenly sounded so interested. “And you’re moving in next door? Is Nat here with you today?”

Darla nodded. “But don’t bring up Baxter or J.B. or anything. It’s, like, all people are talking to her about,” she said, nodding knowingly. “Since she’s Princess. She’s kind of over it—”

“Oh, hi, Kate,” I said, coming up on them from behind. Her Rapunzel hair was mounted in a messy bun on top of her head. Where her white wifebeater tank top cleared her jeans, I could see the pink heart tattoo on her hip. “Any word from Baxter?” I asked.

Kate raised an eyebrow at Darla, then turned to me.

“Actually,” she breathed. “He finally got in touch.”

Fighting the urge to seize on her for details, I calmly hoisted myself on the balcony and drawled, “Oh yeah?”

Kate leaned in. “He apologized for disappearing. He said we’ll probably have dinner or something soon.”

Her voice carried the unmistakable female urgency to deliver the news — and to be consoled that it was good news. I sighed. This wasn’t strong-willed, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-miniskirt Kate that I’d befriended last year. You think you know a girl — and then she goes and loses her virginity at a Mardi Gras party and goes soft.

“That’s great, sweetie,” I cooed. “And did he mention anything about the night he disappeared?”

Kate bobbed her head. “He swears he’s innocent. He says he’ll prove it soon, but he wouldn’t tell me where he’s been or when he’s coming back.”

“But. . so he is coming back?” I asked.

I could see from the way she was looking at me, forehead creased and eager eyes, that Kate was in pretty deep. I felt for her, I did. No girl dreams of her crush disappearing immediately after her first time. But this girl really needed to snap out of it. On his best day, Baxter didn’t come anywhere near deserving her. Plus, I needed a clearheaded and unemotional source of information on his whereabouts.

If I knew Baxter, wherever he was, he was probably planning on making a grand reentrance as soon as the opportunity arose. If he was already putting out teasers of his innocence and claiming to have proof, that grand reentrance sounded less than promising for Mike and me.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be as simple as I’d thought. I could feel my heart start clamoring in my chest, but the only thing to do was channel that energy into something productive.

“You must be so worried,” I cooed, shaking my head, “to not have any idea how to help him. If only you knew where he was, maybe then there’d be something we could do.”

“I can keep trying to find out.” Kate sounded hopeful at the thought of a Baxter-related project. Darla shuffled her feet.

I brushed a loose strand of Kate’s hair behind her ear. “Whatever happens, you know I’ll be happy to help,” I said sweetly. “Just keep me posted. Anything you find out, anything you need, come talk to me.”

“Of course,” Kate nodded. “Thanks.”

“Girls,” the Dick called from the upstairs balcony, “come on up and get the tour.”

Both he and my mom looked flushed. I didn’t even want to think about what they’d been doing in the master bedroom. Usually, whenever I thought about other people getting it on, I’d get a flash of Mike’s body over mine in bed, followed by a tingly feeling inside. Mike and I called it the flash ’n’ tingle.

But today, something was different. When my mind flashed to Mike’s eyes, they didn’t look turned on. They looked terrified.

If I wanted to see the desire in Mike’s eyes, not the fear, I needed to keep the two of us and our crowns in the clear. When I looked at Kate, I couldn’t stop thinking about Baxter. Mike and I were helpless until we knew enough about what the old druggie had up his sleeve. Only then would we be able to thwart him.

B y Monday morning, the rumors were spreading like wildfire. The school-wide gossip circuit was another long-standing tradition at Palmetto. At the start of the week, anyone with news (loosely defined and ranging from “X made out with Y” to “Guess who spent the night in jail again”) passed it around on a slip of paper — bonus points for pithy creativity. The fun was in seeing how far word could travel by the end of the day — and how screwed up it could get. Since anyone could add to or revise the news that churned, the rumor mill was kind of like the love child of Wikipedia and a game of “telephone.”

No one knew who started the mill, or when, or why by now we hadn’t updated the old-fashioned note-passing format to accommodate any range of technological advances. But every kid in this school loved it (and occasionally loved to hate it). So despite the loathing faculty’s tired attempts to eradicate it, my guess was that the rumor mill would outlast us all.

I hadn’t exactly expected to spend my first official day as Palmetto Princess mitigating rumors that had to do with me, but there I was in first period European history, censoring the notes that came around.

True or false: Princess Nat and the Double D are soon to bunk up bayside?

Someone had drawn an arrow under Darla’s name and written:

So that’s why real estate prices are sagging in the Coveted.

My instinct was to put a big red circle around False and forge in someone else’s hand: Premature rumoring. Paperwork not finalized so the deal could still fall through. Someone churned too soon.

Instead, I kept my cool:

Nota Bene: There will be no Double D. The Duke’s “gift” is for Hargrove use only. Anyone who wants an invite to my parties will keep this truth in mind. -NH

By next period, in French class, the second note milled through:

Rumor has it Baxter Quinn won’t take these murderous little accusations lying down. He’s got an alibi and a suspect of his own.

I laid the note down on the middle of my desk and tried to read anyone else’s handwriting into it other than Kate’s. But the telltale hot-pink pen and half-print/half-cursive writing style was unmistakable. I covertly popped a piece of Juicy Fruit and grit my teeth around its juice. I leaned down to stare at the odious note until the letters went out of focus and I could think again.

Something about my close friend relaying Baxter’s Bin Laden-style communication to the whole school felt so subversive. Especially after the little conversation she and I had had at the Cove yesterday. I thought I’d made myself very clear that the lines of Baxter communication between the two of us should be kept open at all times. What became of Baxter was not for the whole school to concern themselves with.