Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

“That’s what I thought but…we all know you did something.”

She bit her lip, then leaned her head in close. “Yeah, I did, but you can’t tell anyone.”

“That’s what my oaths are for,” I said, putting my hand over my heart.

“Okay, so the idiot left her shampoo in the shower house last night. Her name was right on it in black marker. Some designer product, sixty bucks an ounce. I just refilled the bottle with Nair.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. “You didn’t!” Maybe I was growing paranoid after all. Why in the world would I suspect my fellow Diggirl of doing something so hard-core as destroying a yacht?

“Who knows if it will work, but I couldn’t resist getting back at her.” She glanced over her shoulder at the shower house. “But now I’m worried that she forgot to pack it.”

“Let’s double check!” We took off for the shower house, laughing all the way. This was what a society prank was really like. No nonsense about sabotaging gazillion-dollar boat engines. Just some hair remover in the beauty products. No vast, month-long conspiracies against the girl trying to steal your boyfriend. Simply break into her society’s tomb and wreak havoc.

We’d just reached the door to the showers when a shout rent the air.

“Nooooooooo!” We froze, looked around. Where was that coming from?

“Oh, no! Help! Help! This is a travesty! This is the last straw!” On our left, the door to the tomb burst open and Salt came running out, his face a mask of hysteria, his shouts so loud they were almost hurting my eardrums.

At the main house, people had moved to the windows or spilled out onto the porch to see what all the fuss was about. Demetria and I trailed Salt up the path, where he’d ground to a halt at the base of the steps, still shouting at the top of his lungs, but so incoherently I couldn’t follow a word he was saying. He held something white in his hands, but was waving it around so fast I couldn’t get a good look.

“Total destruction…last straw…how could they…abominable…really have to call the police this time…”

“Salt, Salt,” Malcolm said, hands extended, palms down. “What are you talking about? Did someone break into the tomb?”

“Yes!” And now he threw whatever he was holding onto the steps, where it struck with a loud crack and shattered. And I saw what they were. Broken bits of china. With little tiny swastikas on them.

“The whole set is smashed. Destroyed.”

Oh my God. I looked up at Poe, and he was staring at me, too, his expression utterly unreadable.

“Eww, what is this, Nazi memorabilia?” Demetria said. “Good riddance, I say!” Guess she hadn’t seen them on the tour after all.

“Miss!” Salt said, turning on her. “This is the island’s property. It’s a monument to the hard work and sacrifice of one of our own in service to our country.”

Jenny looked confused. “Hitler?”

Harun patted her on the shoulder. “I think he means a Digger in the army during World War II.”

“That’s not the point!” Malcolm said. “Someone broke into the tomb. That’s the point.”

Poe nodded, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “Was anything else destroyed, Salt? The cabinet? The furniture? The paintings?”

“No,” the caretaker reported. “Just the china.”

Poe’s lips compressed to a thin line. “Call a meeting. I want every member of the Trust in the tomb in ten minutes.”

“Of the Trust?” Demetria said. “What about the rest of us? Don’t we all have a right to know who is on the island and why?”

Poe dragged his gaze away from me. “I think we’ve put on enough of a spectacle for the barbarians in the group. Everyone, go back to lunch. I’ll take care of this.”

Okay, what were the chances? Poe and I had been joking about smashing that china all week. He hadn’t done it, had he? In some bizarre attempt to get my attention?

“Take care of what?” George scoffed. “Nothing was stolen, nothing was ruined that shouldn’t have been, if you ask me. Change the locks and call it a day. Why does everything have to be such a big deal?”

Poe whirled on him. “Because someone has been systematically infiltrating both this island and the tomb back home. I want to know who it is, I want to know why, and I want it stopped, now.”

“Why do you think it’s the same people?” I asked, baffled. Clearly, Dragon’s Head was responsible for the break-in at Eli, whereas the likely culprits here were the conspiracy theorists on the other island. I mean, if it hadn’t been Poe himself.

And now he looked back at me. “I don’t,” he said simply, then announced at large, “Ten minutes,” and walked past us all to the tomb, belying all of my suspicions. If he’d smashed the china, why would he need to see it for himself? Unless he was trying to cover those tracks and pretending to be more upset than he was. Salt hurried behind him, along with some other Diggers and patriarchs, all eager to see the extent of the damage. The barbarians and the rest of the knights clustered, whispering furiously to one another. George rolled his eyes and sat down on one of the rocking chairs, which seemed to me to be the most sensible reaction I’d seen so far. Like he’d said, what was the big deal? So a couple of really macabre bits of Digger booty got wrecked. So what?

Still, I stood there, in the middle of the path, completely unmoored. My mind spun with possibilities, lies, suspicions. Was Poe responsible for breaking the china? And if so, then why was he launching some big meeting to deal with the situation? Why would he lie like that? Why would he lie about eating that damn lobster?

And then I remembered our conversation on the moored boat that night, when he was so determined to make me believe that someone was after me and he was the only one who recognized it. It wasn’t possible that this was for me, was it? That if I saw him taking charge of the situation, directing people, acting the part of avenging angel, that I’d somehow be impressed?

No. That was way too manipulative, even for someone who’d bought in to the Digger party line.

So why couldn’t I shake my suspicions?

For that kind of vandalism, I’d expect a lover’s reward.

Had he done it hoping I’d…reward him?

A hand clamped down on my wrist. “I need to talk to you,” Poe hissed, and tugged me off the path. I had to almost run to keep up with him, and he pulled me around the back of the main house, away from any open windows, and into the shadow of its walls.

I whipped my arm back and crossed both over my chest. He stood across from me, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped back.

“Why did you do it? It’s not like I care. I’m glad to see that shit gone. But how am I supposed to defend you to the Trust?”

I let out a bark of laughter. “Me? You’re kidding, right?”

“Amy,” he said, “this is no coincidence. Not after our conversations.”

“Oh, I agree,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “You practically promised me you would. For a reward .”

He did a double take. “You think I did it? That’s ridiculous. I was joking. I have a lot more respect for society property than that.”

“Oh, and I’m just the one who tosses all our traditions to the wind? That’s what you think of me, isn’t it?”

“You hardly even looked at the plate pieces Salt had. You had no interest in checking out the damage. That reeks of guilt to me.”

“George wasn’t interested, either!” I said in my defense. “Because you know what? It’s not a big deal. ”