Page 112 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
We end up at a table much farther away from Constantine than I think he likes, but also a bit too far from the boys for my liking. But I concede, if only to hear what the fuck this news about Ivy Hightower is.
“If you haven’t heard already—and I assume you will shortly—Ivy Hightower was an informant of mine.”
I just stare across the table at Sara Young and try to decide what it is I’m supposed to be feeling right now. Pamela and Penelope … I shut the thoughts down with an iron door, one crafted of self-preservation and twisted hope. Any lingering ideas I had about Pam valiantly accepting that she would go down for Neil’s death, if only to make up for her past transgressions, has been dashed. Also, finding out that Ivy was Sara’s informant both makes a ton of sense and also infuriates me. Likely, that’s the reason we found her dead on Aaron’s front lawn in the first place.
“Your informant,” I repeat, and Sara nods, even though I wasn’t asking a question. I lift my coffee to my lips and take a sip, enjoying it black while Sara loads hers with enough cream and sugar to choke an Asian palm civet cat.
I drag my phone from the pocket of my gray blazer and do a quick search. Sure enough, there it is, plastered over every local news site and several national news sites as well. Local Girl Killed While Under the Protection of the Violent Gang Task Force.
I look up. Sara’s face is sad and distant, but there’s no less steel in her expression than before. If anything, she looks even more determined than usual. When I set my coffee cup down, and it clinks against its saucer, she finally turns back to me.
“I put Ivy in danger, and I shouldn’t have asked the same of you. I’m glad you’re safe at Oak Valley.” She pauses and sits back as I scroll the article. Apparently, Ivy’s body was found on an unnamed piece of rural property near Veneta. Tom’s property.
“Neil killed her?” I say, and I phrase it as a question. I mean, thus far that was just theory on our part anyway. But Sara’s slight nod gives me a sense of … not peace, exactly, but understanding. Everything makes sense now. Every person in my story is connected, somehow, to the Grand Murder Party.
“I want you to know that everything you’ve ever told me, I’ve taken to heart,” Sara continues, exhaling sharply and glancing in Constantine’s direction, like maybe she’s about do something she shouldn’t but is planning on it anyway. She flicks her doe-eyes back to mine as I pick at the edge of my croissant with my perfect fingernails. Vera’s aunt is basically a nail goddess. Not sure if I’ll ever be this happy with another nail artist for as long as I live. “That tip about Neil’s father and brother … You’ve given me all the ammunition I need, Bernadette.”
“How so?” I ask, thinking about all the times I wished I could call the cops on Neil, report him to the authorities, all the times the Thing and Pam got in trouble and found their records wiped clean.
“I can’t talk about the details of an active investigation,” Sara begins, sipping her milky coffee carefully and giving me a look that I know I’m supposed to read into. “But the connections between those two men and the GMP are astounding.”
I just stare back at her, the clinking of cups and the dancing of silverware a comforting murmur of normality in a life that’s been anything but normal thus far, that’s likely to be anything but normal ever again. But in a good way, the best way, because if Neil’s family goes to prison, and Pam goes to prison, and the GMP is neutered and twisted by the VGTF, and they stop selling and hurting kids … what could happen to me?
Could I live a fabulous live surrounded by men that I love? Could I be a queen in so many other ways beside violent, dark, shadowed ones?
Something strange happens inside of me, this odd bubbling sensation that feels like a champagne bottle about to burst. Like fireflies dancing. Like the feel of hot fingers on your skin after you come inside from the rain. Happiness.
Pamela’s face flickers into view again, but I crush it down.
This could really be it, the end of everything I’ve ever suffered. The bodies on Tom’s land blamed on the GMP, the deaths of the Charter Crew, the atrocities of the Pence family. All of it wrapped neatly into a black silken bow.
“Anyway, what I meant to say was … I’m sorry. You and your boyfriends,”—and here her mouth twitches slightly—“should try to enjoy your time at Oak Valley. I’m leaving your police detail outside the school, just in case. But for now, at least, I’m not pursuing any charges against you.” She levels a look on me that also very clearly says, just because I’m being nice now doesn’t mean I don’t suspect y’all of mayhem and chaos elsewhere. “I would, however, like to know about Heather Pence. And Kara and Ashley Fadler.”
