Page 65 of Hacking the Holidays
No, I was spiraling.
This was paranoia talking, the same paranoia that had me seeing threats in every shadow lately. Rose couldn’t know about Good Sam. She was talking about something else. She had to be.
I forced myself to breathe, to let it go, and wait.
Her expression shuttered closed again.
“Everyone has secrets, Sam,” Rose said quietly. “Some of us just have better reasons for keeping them.”
“Like breaking into libraries and computers?” The words escaped before I could stop them.
She went still. “What do you mean?”
“The perfume,” I said, wanting to see how she would respond after finding out I knew. “Beverly was wearing the same perfume as the person who broke in this morning. You recognized it too—that’s why you suddenly sprayed my air freshener, to cover it up, then you took her contact form. I just don’t know who you’re protecting.”
“I can’t say,” Rose repeated.
“Of course not.”
She was still watching me with those eyes that had gotten under my skin from day one. She reached out like she wanted to say something more, then dropped her hand.
“Well, good night.” She turned to leave.
I cleared my throat. “Rose. I need that contact form.”
She stopped, shoulders tensing, as she turned back around. “It’s better if you don’t have it. Really.”
“Because you’re protecting me,” I said.
“Yes.”
“I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
“Sam …”
I held out my hand and waited.
Rose hesitated, then, with a resigned sigh, she reached down the front of her top. She pulled out the form, unfolded it, and then held it out to me without a word.
I glanced at Beverly’s contact info, then at the bottom of the page, where she had checked the box requesting more info for financial assistance. She claimed she was recently divorced and had lost everything. She sounded desperate.
Too desperate.
Her words practically dripped with manufactured vulnerability, each phrase calibrated for maximum sympathy. It was a performance, just like everything else about Beverly had been.
Was it a scam? A setup?
I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
I needed to do more digging.
“At least tell me how you know Beverly,” I said.
“You’re assuming I do,” Rose replied.
“You know what? I’ve had enough lies for one evening,” I said, tiring of going around in circles with her, feeling my frustration climb and my hopes sink. “Let’s call it a night, shall we?” I turned to walk off the stage and?—
“Wait,” Rose said, grabbing my arm. “Okay—we know each other. From Boston University.”
