“I mean, it sounds like a pretty good scam to me,” Krystle says. “Harass the new neighbor and then offer to fix it—for a few thousand dollars, of course.”
“That’s not what’s happening.” I walk as fast as I can without breaking into a jog. I’m five minutes late, and I have no idea if Dustin will wait around for me or if he has to get back to class.
“I mean, this stuff all started when you moved in across the street from him, right? And wasn’t it his mom who took you to the pool that day someone took your picture in that bikini? Was this Dustin kid there?”
I pause. I don’t know if he was there. I hadn’t thought about it. I brush the question away. It’s a distraction. “Forget Dustin. Dustin isn’t following me in an Audi. Have you heard anything else I said?”
Inside Starbucks, I scan the room for Dustin in his familiar hoodie. Bethesda High School is a few blocks away and, judging from the number of teenagers sipping from white paper cups, this is a popular hangout. But no Dustin. I get in line for an espresso. I need it. It’ll be my third dose of the day. The other two didn’t even put a dent in my grogginess.
“Allie, have you considered that maybe, just maybe, it’s not the worst idea to go check out this Bridgeways place? Not because this stuff is all your fault but because you seem really stressed.”
“Whose side are you on?” I snap and then offer a smile to the confused-looking barista, a young pockmarked guy with a gray beanie pulled low over his forehead. “Espresso. Actually, double espresso, please.”
I step aside to wait for my coffee.
“I am on your side,” Krystle says. “I want to help you. But is now the time to run off and play Nancy Drew? Listen, do you want me to take over Sharon’s affairs? I’d be happy to become power of attorney if that would help.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking of what Mark said about Krystle being the one who took out the reverse mortgage. It’s true that her requests for emergency cash infusions have morphed over the years from midnight runs to Western Union to curt texts asking for me to Venmo her. But I know my sister. She’s not a great money manager, and maybe she doesn’t exactly have her shit together yet, but she wouldn’t do this to me. She wouldn’t put me through this. “If you want to help me, you can look into what’s going on with the house in Westport.”
“Already on it. In fact, I spoke to a detective in Westport this morning about the reverse mortgage.”
“You did?” A barista calls my name. I grab my small cup and head toward two unoccupied chairs.
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not an idiot, Allie.” Her tone is terse. I’ve offended her. But I have to admit that I am surprised.
“I know you’re not an idiot. I think that’s awesome that you’re doing this.”
“You think this is all my fault,” Krystle says.
“No, I don’t.” I hope the brusqueness in my voice cuts this short. I can’t get into this again. Yes, if she had been more alert, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But it’s just as much my fault for expecting her to be on top of it. “So this detective, what did he say?”
“He said this kind of fraud is very common. They get your social security number and date of birth, and that’s all they need. They said this kind of thing happens to people in nursing homes all the time. They get scammed like this.”
“What’s the next step?”
I see the familiar, stooped figure enter. Dustin pulls off his hoodie and looks around the room until his eyes lock with mine.
“They open an investigation,” Krystle says. “He asked me for a bunch of information—”
“Look, I’ve got to go, Krystle. Dustin’s here. Just give the police whatever they need and keep me posted.”
Dustin lurches toward me, his backpack slung over one shoulder. I clear my stuff off the beat-up, upholstered chair next to me that I’ve been saving for him.
“Well, call me later,” Krystle says. “And be careful. I don’t trust this freak.”
42
“Rule number one is you can’t tell my mom.” Dustin pulls a laptop covered in stickers from his bag.
“And why not?” I wasn’t planning on mentioning our meeting to Leah, but I want to hear his reasoning.
“She wouldn’t understand.” Up close, I can see that his ever-present black hoodie is filthy, with dark grease stains on the sleeves. A smattering of white dots, like a dusting of snow, lies across his shoulders. Dandruff, maybe. For a split second, I wonder if Krystle’s right, if maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Dustin grunts. “She thinks I spend too much time on computers as it is. She wants me to have hobbies. Like sports.”
He spits out that last word with the same scorn as if Leah had nagged him to take up belly dancing.
“Dustin, I’m not going to lie to your mother. We’re friends.”
“I didn’t say you should lie.” He crosses and uncrosses his long, spidery legs. “But you don’t have to, like, tell her, if she doesn’t ask, right?”
“I guess not.”
“How about this. You tell me what’s happened, and then I tell you what I can do, and then you can decide if you want to hire me.”
I sigh, not sure where to start. I feel as if I have run down this list so many times in the past few days—to friends, Krystle, the police—and no one has been able to help. But I do it again, making sure to hit the details I think
