Page 54 of Reading Between the Lines
Atlas hitched his chin back, taking another drag and squinting as he exhaled a cloud of smoke in Diem’s direction. “I knew we hadn’t seen the last of you. Weston’s mother is a bit squirrely, and she isn’t going to let it rest, is she? Got herself convinced her boy was targeted.”
“You think she’s wrong?” Diem’s voice rang low and caustic in the cold morning air.
Atlas shrugged. “How should I know?”
“You looked awfully smug in there. Got something you wanna tell me?”
Atlas studied Diem as he took another haul. “Depends.”
Diem and Atlas entered a staring contest, each as stubborn as the other. I wondered how badly Diem was craving a cigarette with the fumes in his face. He’d quit for the hundredth time six weeks ago, but I’d seen the empty packs of Nicorette in the garbage pail at the office. I’d seen him murdering the stress ballI’d given him. I’d seen his bruised knuckles from long sessions punching a bag at the gym. He coped the only way he knew how.
Without taking his eyes off Atlas, Diem dangled the keys to the Jeep in my direction and spoke. “Glove compartment. Zip pouch.”
I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but I retreated to the Jeep and searched for the pouch. Under a stack of service receipts, I located it. Inside, I found a short stack of bills, all twenties. A quick tally showed a hundred and sixty dollars.
I chuckled. “Bribe money. Why am I not surprised.” Unfortunately, with the rising cost of living and the decrease of work, the price of bribes had gone down.
Knowing he wouldn’t want more than a single bill, I plucked one from the pouch, zipped it, and shoved it back under the service papers. I was about to close the door when a stack of familiar envelopes caught my attention. I pulled them out. Bills. Hydro, phone, and water. Every one of them was stamped with aPast Duewarning on the front.
“Shit.” I knew money was tight. I knew the business was struggling, but Diem hadn’t told me it was this bad. A thread of worry pulled tight in my gut. When he said he needed this job, he wasn’t kidding. I tucked the envelopes back under the pouch and locked the compartment.
Carefully, I made my way back to Diem—who was still in a stare-off with Atlas—and tucked the cash in his palm.
Diem held it up, pinched between two fingers. “Last chance to cooperate. I don’t get what I want from you, this offer goes to someone else.”
“And you think twenty bucks is an incentive?”
“To someone it might be.”
Atlas seemed to consider, sucking on the end of his smoke before flicking away the butt when he exhaled. “Talk.”
“The Murder Club. What is it?”
Atlas smirked. “I think that question was already answered.”
“I think it wasn’t. I think that cover-up was bullshit. I think there’s more to tell.”
Atlas glanced around the parking lot and down the road before facing Diem again and shrugging. “It’s a writing club.”
“It’s not a fucking writing club. Do I look like a goddamn fool?” Diem stepped forward, encroaching on the teen’s space, oozing hostility.
I cleared my throat. “D, there’s not enough money in the envelope for me to bail you out of jail if you get arrested for assault.”
Diem’s nostrils flared, but he stood his ground.
A smirk bloomed on Atlas’s face. The kid was asking to be pummeled. “It’s a writing club,” he repeated with more emphasis.
Before Diem could spit and snarl, I touched his arm. “Can you explain what you mean?”
Chin high, Atlas held Diem’s unflinching gaze. “It’s an after-hours extension of the Whodunnits? A little grittier, a little livelier, and a lot more secretive. Exclusive invitation only.”
I glanced from Atlas to my boyfriend, whose threatening features morphed into confusion. I recognized the shift into processing mode.
“Can you elaborate?” I asked.
“We’re a group of students who wanted to take their writing to the next level but were bound by childish high school regulations, so we branched off on our own.”
“What next level?” Diem asked, seeming somewhat recovered.
