Page 11 of Cruel Riches

My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I reached over and pressed the answer button. There were a few seconds of static as the call connected via my car’s Bluetooth, and then my friend Jasper’s voice started playing through the speakers. “Hey, man. How are you doing?”

Jasper was an Oregon transplant who’d been in my fraternity at Blackthorne since we started college two years ago. He was a nice enough guy, if you chose to ignore his raging pill and coke problem.

“I’m good,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Wondering what the fuck you’ve been up to, mostly. I haven’t seen you since that party at your house. When was it? Five weeks ago? Six?”

“Something like that.”

“So what’s up with you? Where have you been?” he asked. “You missed Sam’s boat party. I was boring as shit, though, so skipping it was probably the right call.”

I dropped off the radar so I could spend the last five weeks stalking a girl I met at the same party where we last saw each other,was the unvarnished truth. Of course, I couldn’t actually say something like that to him, so I gave him some generic bullshit answer.

“Just the usual shit keeping me busy. I caught some sort of bug a few weeks ago, too. Laid me out for a while.”

“Probably the same flu my cousin got a few weeks ago,” Jasper replied. “It was fucked. He ended up in the hospital with pneumonia.”

“Shit.”

“He’s fine now. Anyway, main reason I called—are you coming back to the house today?”

“Yup. I still have to pack some stuff up at home, so I’ll be there around one. Maybe half past,” I said, glancing at the time on the center console.

“Cool. We’re having a bit of a thing later. Nothing major. Just a few people to celebrate our last day of freedom before all the bullshit starts up again.”

“Nice. I’ll catch you then, man.”

Half an hour later, I pulled into the hedge-lined driveway of my family’s estate in Arcadia Bay. I looked up at the stone monstrosity before me with tightened lips. I never really liked this house much, with its pretentious Gothic-inspired design, countless empty rooms, and echoing corridors. It was tolerable as a kid, because it was fun to have so much space to run around in, but when my father died ten years ago, it was like any happiness the place had ever seen was sucked right out.

Now it just seemed far too large and cold. Too much space for me and my mother. The only thing I really liked about it was Colette and her cooking.

Colette was our housekeeper, but she was more like a grandmother to me than anything else. She was always there for me when I was a kid, baking me treats, tending to grazes when I hurt myself playing outside, and helping me with my homework. She didn’t live with us in the mansion, but she was always close, because her place was on the grounds of the estate.

When I stepped inside, I followed the heavenly scent of vanilla and found her in the kitchen, pulling a large baking tray out of the oven.

“Hi, Col. What are you making?”

She glanced up at me, eyes wide with surprise. “You’re back earlier than I expected,” she said in her thick French accent. “I was hoping to have these done before you came in. It’s your favorite—choc chip.”

I stepped over to her with a grin. “You know I’m not ten years old anymore, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, but you always have some sort of party when you return to college, don’t you?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought you and your friends might like some treats for that.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that cookies weren’t the kind of treats my frat brothers would appreciate at a party. Not unless they were laced with something.

Then again, I could just lie and say they were laced, because the placebo effect was real. I once saw a guy acting stoned as hell after smoking a joint, but it turned out everyone was just fucking with him, and he’d only smoked a bit of dried parsley and oregano.

“Thanks,” I said, leaning down to give Colette a hug and a peck on the top of the head. “I’m sure the guys will love these.”

She smiled and playfully swatted me away. “Careful! The tray is still hot.”

I stepped back, jokingly raising my arms in surrender, and Colette’s forehead wrinkled. “What on earth are you wearing?” she asked, waving at my head. “All black clothes, and that awful hat? You look like a criminal.”

I took the beanie off and tossed it on the marble island counter along with my sunglasses. “You’re right, Col. I’m a criminal. I’ve been following a girl around for a few weeks now, figuring out every detail of her life, and I went to her house today to work out the best way to break in so I can look through her stuff. Maybe even plant some surveillance equipment,” I said smoothly. “This outfit was a sort of disguise in case anyone saw me hanging around.”

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