I could almost hear him thinking that of all the people in the world who Henry Marquette might trust to find out what had happened to his grandfather, my sister wasn’t near the top of the list.
In fact, it was a good bet that Ivy wasn’t on that list at all.
CHAPTER 32
“I assume you’ve made progress with your half of the assignment?” Henry Marquette sat opposite me in World Issues, a thick file folder open on the table between us. Clearly, he’d done his half of the assignment.
“You know what they say about assumptions,” I said.
Henry quirked an eyebrow at me. “Tell me, Kendrick, what do they say about assumptions?”
“It’s Tess.”
“Is that your way of telling me that you did not screen the candidates on your half of the list?” Henry asked me. “Tess.”
“Actually,” I said. “I looked into them.” He didn’t need to know what exactly I’d looked for—or why I’d been looking.
“And?”
And there’s reason to think Judge Pierce paid to have your grandfather killed.
“And,” I said, “I wasn’t really that impressed.”
Henry’s lips ticked slightly upward. “I get the sense that you might be a hard girl to impress.”
That almost sounded like a compliment.
Henry seemed to realize that, too. “In all likelihood,” he said abruptly, thumbing through the file he’d compiled and tearing his eyes away from mine, “we’re looking for someone on the court of appeals—DC circuit is most likely, but I wouldn’t rule any of the others out.”
My mind went immediately to Judge Pierce. Was he on the court of appeals?
Ivy told me to stay out of it, I thought. But she could hardly blame me for doing a school assignment, now, could she? As Henry briefly outlined the credentials of his top couple of candidates, I pulled Pierce’s information up on my laptop. I stared at the photograph that popped up. He was balding, in his early fifties. He stared back at me from the screen: deep-set eyes, solemn expression, a face you could trust.
You’ll get your money when I get my nomination.
I forced my eyes away from the photo and read. Pierce had a seat on the Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. Prior to that, he’d served as the attorney general for the state of Arizona.
“Pierce.” Asher came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. “An interesting choice, to be sure.”
I forced my face to stay perfectly neutral. Asher was clearly fishing for information—and not about the assignment. I closed the window.
“Don’t you have your own project to be working on?” Henry asked Asher mildly.
“Indeed I do,” Asher replied, his eyes still on me. “Sadly, however, my partner is absent. Woe be to the Asher who is forced to work on his own.”
“I mourn for you,” Henry said dryly.
“So what do we know about Pierce?” Asher ignored Henry’s sarcastic tone and helped himself to the chair next to mine. He leaned over, plunking his elbows down on my desk.
“Nothing,” I said, reaching for one of the papers in Henry’s file.
Asher gave me a look. “Somehow, I find myself doubting that’s true.”
I felt Henry’s eyes on us then. I gave Asher a look.
“Vivvie Bharani has been absent for over a week.” Emilia didn’t bother with a hello. She slid into the seat next to Henry’s. “Last year, she was the only person in our grade other than me to have perfect attendance. Am I the only one who finds that strange?”
“Is that an expression of concern?” Asher asked his twin, arching an eyebrow at her.
“I can be concerned,” Emilia told him, sounding almost insulted. “I’m a very empathetic person.”
Asher and Henry exchanged a glance over her head. Clearly, empathy had never been Emilia’s strong suit.
“I heard Vivvie’s father got fired,” Emilia continued bluntly.
I darted a glance at Asher.
“And where might you have heard that?” he asked.
“From a freshman whose mom works at the Washington Post.”
The idea of people knowing that Vivvie’s father had lost his position at the White House made me queasy.
“I mean, technically, he wasn’t fired,” Emilia clarified. “He was reassigned. But precision of language has never been the gossip mill’s forte, and I guess anything’s a pretty big step down after the White House.”
Henry stood up abruptly. “Whatever position her father has or does not have, can we agree that has little to nothing to do with Vivvie?”
Emilia blanched as if he’d slapped her. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Why would I?” Henry replied. His voice was calm, but I could see the tension in his neck. He had to have noticed the timing: Vivvie’s dad getting demoted shortly after operating on his grandfather.
Henry came around to my side of the table and slammed a piece of paper down in front of me. “My choice for nominee.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and stalked toward the front of the room. I heard him ask Dr. Clark for permission to go to the bathroom.
Emilia shot Asher a bewildered look. “What was that?”
I moved to follow Henry. At my Montana high school, teachers guarded bathroom passes like they were the keys to the proverbial kingdom, but Hardwicke didn’t even have passes. Dr. Clark just let me go.
I caught up to Henry just as he reached the bathroom door.
“Can I help you?” he asked without turning around.
I didn’t reply immediately. Henry stood there, perfectly comfortable with the silence, until I broke it. “Thank you,” I said. “For standing up for Vivvie.”
Henry looked distinctly uncomfortable with my thanks. “It is possible,” he admitted, his voice taut, “that I know what it is like to have your family be the featured story on Hardwicke’s gossip circuit.”
If what we suspected was true, if it got out, Henry and Vivvie wouldn’t just be the subject of gossip at Hardwicke. Their families would be front-page news.
“It is also possible,” Henry continued, his back still to me, “that I suspect you might have had something to do with Vivvie’s father’s demotion.”
Henry was connecting the dots—too much, too fast. How? “Not everything is my fault,” I told him.