This Wicked Game

NINETEEN

Sasha’s house was quiet except for the distant sound of her younger brother, Maddox, playing Xbox in the den.

If Sasha was right, hanging out in the kitchen was their best bet for cornering her dad long enough for Claire to look on his computer. Sasha’s dad drank coffee all day, every day. It was only a matter of time before he emerged from his study to top off his cup. Her mother was doing the grocery shopping and wasn’t home.

“Want some sweet tea or something?” Sasha asked her.

Claire nodded nervously. “Sure.”

Sasha poured the tea and they sat at the kitchen island, waiting.

Claire took a drink from her glass. “So tell me again what I’m looking for.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Sasha said. “I don’t dig around in my dad’s work. I’d say go to all the document folders first. Look for a main folder that has to do with the Guild and then a sub folder titled Addresses or Contacts or Members or something.”

“And we don’t have a last name for Crazy Eddie?” Claire asked.

“I’ve been trying to remember it. I know I’ve heard it before, but it must have been a long time ago. Just look for any name with Ed, Eddie, or Edward. We can compare them against existing members later if we have to.”

Claire nodded, rubbing her sweaty palms on the side of her shorts. “What if you can’t keep him in here long enough?”

She patted something on the counter. “Taken care of.”

“What’s that?” Claire asked.

She held it up. “The Louisiana State DMV rule book. I finally convinced him I’m ready to take my road test. I’ll ask him to quiz me.”

“What if he says he’s busy or he has to get back to work or something?”

Sasha thought about it. “I’ll say something really loud. Something like . . . ‘Do you want me to make you a sandwich, Dad?’”

Claire laughed. “A sandwich?”

“Yeah, I could kind of shout it when he turns to leave without it seeming too weird. If you’ve got something better, I’m listening.”

“I don’t,” Claire admitted. “But won’t he be suspicious?”

“I don’t think so. I make him lunch sometimes when I make my own, especially when my mom’s not home. It’s the most normal thing I can think of.”

“All right,” Claire agreed. “I’ll listen for the sandwich.”

They turned as they heard someone making their way down the hall, the footsteps purposeful and heavy.

“Sasha? You home?” her dad called. He stepped into the kitchen. “Well, hello, Claire. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hi, Mr. Drummond. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. And you? How are your parents?”

Moving through the expected niceties of conversation was second nature. She was pretty sure her first word wasn’t “mommy” or “daddy” but “please” or “thank you.” It had been bred in Claire since she could speak.

“We’re all fine. Thank you for asking.”

He moved to the coffeepot on the counter, preparing to fill his cup.

This is it, Claire thought, her stomach in knots. Do it now. Do it for Xander and Sasha.

“Excuse me,” Claire said. “I’ll be right back.”

She was counting on the fact that Sasha’s dad would assume she was going to the restroom and wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t.

Claire tried to be leisurely as she left the kitchen, but once she was in the hall, she booked it to Mr. Drummond’s study.

She was careful not to bump the door, already half open, on her way in. It was easy to feel someone else’s presence, to notice little things that had been moved or were out of place, when you were intimately familiar with a room.

She took a few seconds to orient herself. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been in Mr. Drummond’s study, and she took in the large, ornate rug in the center of the room, the Haitian and African art on the walls. The desk dominated one area of the room, a sleek laptop open on its surface.

She forced her feet to move, her heart thudding in her chest every step of the way, adrenaline surging through her veins at the possibility of being caught.

Moving around to the other side of the desk, she let her hand graze the touchpad. The black screen lit up, opening to a spreadsheet that seemed to contain expense reports or something. She minimized it, feeling guilty for even glimpsing the Drummonds’ private finances.

Luckily, Mr. Drummond used a Mac. It made everything a little bit easier, and she started by pulling up the Finder. She chose Documents first, relieved when a folder labeled GUILD appeared. She clicked on it, sucking in her breath when it opened to reveal multiple subfolders and more documents than she could count. How much paperwork did it take to be head of membership for such a selective organization?

The answer, apparently, was a lot.

Labeled by country, there were folders for England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Spain, Germany, and almost every European country she could think of, including countries in Eastern Europe. Her eyes lingered on the folder labeled GUILD_ROMANIA, but she continued down the list.

She didn’t have time to browse.

She glanced at the door of the study, listening for sounds from the hallway, before clicking on the folder titled GUILD_NOLAHQ.

It didn’t exactly narrow the field. There were dozens of documents.

She started at the top, scrolling down and trying to gauge the contents of each file from its title. She had no idea how long she’d been gone. But it was only a matter of time before Sasha ran out of ways to keep her dad in the kitchen.

The amount of paperwork was dizzying. There were reports for dues and other membership expenses, documents that seemed to have something to do with narrowing the qualifications for membership in the Guild, and finally, something labeled CONTACT_INFO.

She clicked on it, and it opened to reveal a spreadsheet with names, addresses, and phone numbers.

Jackpot.

It was alphabetical by last name. She started at the top, skimming the list for someone that could be Crazy Eddie. She came across six Edwards, but they were all families whose last name she recognized. She started again, looking more closely.

And this time, she found what she was looking for.

Edward “Eddie” Clement.

Next to his name was an asterisk. She looked at the bottom of the document for a key. There it was: another asterisk with the word “INACTIVE” next to it.

She continued scrolling, wanting to make sure there weren’t any others. But no. Eddie Clement was the one and only name with the asterisk that denoted inactive membership.

Voices rose from the kitchen. Claire’s eyes darted to the door, and she held stock-still for a few seconds, listening for Sasha’s code words. They didn’t come.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she made a note of Eddie’s address.

“Do you want me to make you a sandwich before you go back to work, Dad?”

Sasha’s voice carried through the house.

“Damn,” Claire muttered, eliminating the screen with the addresses, backtracking through every document until the screen was empty. She half expected Mr. Drummond to appear in the doorway of the study while she brought his original document back up.

When everything on the screen looked the way it had when she got there, she slid out from behind the desk and started for the door. She was almost out of the room when she remembered something.

The screensaver had been up when she’d first gotten into the study.

Sasha’s dad called out, his voice too close to the study for comfort. “Ham and cheese, but would you mind bringing it to me? I have to get back to work.”

Claire ran back to the computer and hit the keys that would put the computer in sleep mode. She was at the study doors when she heard Mr. Drummond’s footsteps coming to the bend in the hall.

She slipped out of the study, trying to slow her breathing down. She came to the powder room just as Mr. Drummond’s feet appeared at the end of the hallway.

Ducking into the half bath, she closed the door and turned on the light. Waiting, she listened as he approached. Then she opened the door and turned off the light, trying to act surprised to run into him in the hallway.

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Drummond.”

“Hello again, Claire. Nice to see you. Tell your parents hello.”

“Will do.”

They went their separate ways, Mr. Drummond toward his study and Claire toward the kitchen, where Sasha was waiting. When she got there, Sasha looked at her with terrified eyes.

“Did you get caught?”

Claire collapsed onto the tile floor, lying on her back. “No.”

“And?”

Claire lifted her head, pulling out her phone and holding it up. “I think I got it.”