Page 29 of Shark Cove

Harry shut the door once the two were in her bedroom. “I had a call from the headmaster of your school today. He put me onto that gossip blog he’d told me about. I want to know everything you know about it.”

“What blog?” Malia said.Deny, deny, deny—she’d learned that from Dad. “Geez, Mom. What’s up with the third degree? I can’t even take a pee? Put down my backpack?”

“This website right here.” Harry punched a few buttons on her open laptop and swiveled it to show Malia’s “update” with the voting buttons enabled. “As far as I know, the only person to have this kind of information about Camille, isyou.Who have you been talking to?”

Malia’s chest loosened a fraction—it didn’t seem like her mom had realized Malia was the blogger. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“As soon as I read this, I called Leonard William. When I asked if anyone had called him about Camille, he saidyouhad. Seemed surprised I didn’t know about it. Thanks a lot, Malia, for going behind my back. You had no business contacting that man about this case!” Harry’s voice had risen, her hands were on her hips, and her cheeks were flushed with the scarlet of betrayal.

Mom didn’t know the half of it, but the best defense was a good offense—another Dad-ism. Malia imitated her mother’s posture. “I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me first, before you called Leonard William!”

“And what would you have said?”

“I would have said that I wanted Mr. William to get off his rich fat ass and rescue Camille out of that concentration camp in Idaho! I hoped that he cared about her, but obviously, just likemydad, he thought paying for school was all she needed!” Malia’s eyes filled.

Harry’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not responsible for how your father has behaved.”

“Dads who run away and throw money over their shoulders suck! And that’s the kind of dad Camille and I both have.”

“You’re trying to distract me.” Harry shook her head, her eyes still narrowed. “How did the website get this information? Only you knew those specifics!”

“How do you know that? Without Camille, I don’t have any friends to even talk to!”

“What about that boy who’s been sneaking around and picking you up in the gray Mercedes? Feel free to tell me any time you’re getting a ride to school with someone else and not taking the bus like you’re supposed to!”

Malia scrambled for a response. “It’s not what you think. Blake’s been helping me find Camille. He’s Camille’s boyfriend. He hates me now, anyway.”

“Oh, for crap’s sake.” Harry sat down on the bed, her tone suddenly defeated. “Come here.” She patted the spread. “Sit down. Tell me what the hell’s going on with my daughter in my own house.”

Malia sagged onto the bed, feeling terrible—she was hurting her mother. She reached into her loose sleeve, sliding her fingers up inside of her elbow. She pinched the skin, digging her nails into it until fresh tears filled her eyes and she gasped at the pain.

“What are you doing?” Harry grabbed Malia’s hand and yanked it out of her sleeve. “Show me your arms.”

Tears streamed down Malia’s cheeks. “It’s nothing, Mom! It’s nothing. I’m just upset, that’s all.”

“I said, show me your arms! Take off that sweatshirt!”

Malia unzipped the hoodie and shrugged out of it. She held out the pale interiors of her arms, gouged with scratches and blue with bruises. Fresh tears of shame welled, and Malia bit her lips to keep from weeping aloud.

Her beautiful mom, Harry, the strong detective who knew all the answers to everything, threw back her head and wailed.“Nooooo!”She sounded as awful as if she’d been stabbed, as if her heart was utterly broken. “Oh, honey. This has to stop! All this has to stop!”

Harry reached out and pulled Malia in close. Their tears mingled as they cried together.

Chapter Twelve

After Leiand Harry’s visit to the airport, Harry had gotten a phone call. She’d seemed upset, and excused herself from the next meeting, claiming a problem at her daughter’s school.

Hungry, Lei walked into Ichiban, her favorite restaurant for lunch in Kahului. Stevens and his CI, Freddie, were already seated at one of the slightly greasy Formica tables. A lighted paper lantern swayed in a breeze from one of the fans rotating back and forth from the corner of the room.

Stevens stood up to give Lei a brief hug. “How’s your day going?”

Lei shrugged, but turned to smile at Freddie. “Better, now that I get to eat lunch and see my husband and one of our best confidential informants.”

Freddie fiddled with his laminated menu, chewing something rapidly. “Anything I can do for Mike, here.”

“Thanks, Freddie,” Stevens said. Her husband didn’t always like the wiry little man’s choices, but they’d somehow kept their relationship going over the years.

The waitress came by and took their drink orders. Lei made a little pyramid of her fingers and leaned over it toward Freddie. “We really appreciated your help on that pirate case—and now I need any information you can give me on something similar.”

---