Free The Deadly Sister by Eliot Schrefer Page A

eighteen. I can handle whatever’s coming. You’re not about to start cutting me out of the loop.”
    “It’s not a question of whether you can handle it. I have no doubt you’re capable enough, darling. It’s whether you should. Assisting in anything illegal is very serious. I’m at a stage of life where I’m willing to take on the risk. Even if you think you are, you’re too young to make an informed decision. This really isn’t up for discussion.”
    It was like the air pressure in the room was increasing. I could feel my mind getting heavier—Veronica going rogue could jeopardize everything, but I couldn’t figure out how to stop her. “I’m her sister. I know you’re close to Maya, but you’re not even related to her.”
    “Abby, you should be in school. It’s not a good idea for you to even be here. It looks suspicious. Go back. Find out what you can. We need to clear Maya’s name, if we can. And for that we need information.”
    “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
    She agitatedly picked up an artsy nudes book from the coffee table and put it back down. “Goddammit. Look, Maya doesn’t want you to know.”
    “She doesn’t want me to know where she is? She wants to get away from me, is that what you’re trying to tell me? Even after I saved her ass?”
    “She’s hysterical. She wants to live on her own terms for a while. It makes sense to me. Give her some space. Let me take care of her. You take care of yourself, Abby.”
    Unbelievable.
    Veronica was one of the few people who used people’s names when talking to them, like in a soap opera. She was a woman with…flair. A highly developed sense of the dramatic, my mom had once called it, not kindly. Who knew what crazy plan Veronica had concocted with Maya—neither of them was exactly stable. Suddenly, I was on my feet, hurling open doors. The first led to Veronica’s bedroom, tassled bedspread neatly made, romance novels on the bedstand. The next to a toilet, seashell soaps. The next to the laundry room.
    “Abby! Excuse me! Abigail Goodwin! What do you think you’re doing?”
    She didn’t dare try to stop me, though. Eventually, I got to the last possible door, at the back of the hallway. It was locked. “What’s in here?” I demanded.
    “There’s no way I’m going to answer a question thrown in my face like that. Get over it, Abby. Maya isn’t here.”
    Already the energy was seeping out of me. I knew I’d been acting extreme. “Why won’t you open the door, then?”
    “Because I’ve chosen to keep it locked. That’s my right. It’s not your right to know, Abby.” On the last “Abby,” she took my hand. “Your feelings are hurt, aren’t they, honey?” she said. “You want to be the protective big sister. I get it.”
    She wasn’t describing exactly what I was feeling. But it was true that I’d spent so long being the big sister that I didn’t know any other way to be around Maya (or so Cheyenne always phrased it); Veronica had hit close enough to home, and she’d offered warm empathy when I least expected it. If I didn’t catch myself, pretty soon I’d be gushing tears.
    Veronica mopped my face with a tea towel, as if I actually had cried. I headed toward the front door. Veronica loved me but also wanted me out of there, I knew.
    “Abby,” Veronica said as I stood by the door, “what I’m about to say is for your safety as much as Maya’s.”
    “What?”
    “Don’t come here anymore. Not until I tell you it’s okay.”
    I hugged her before I left. My hand pressed the tea towel draped over her shoulder. It was wet; I guess I had cried after all.

12.
    I realized as I was leaving Veronica’s that I’d been dumb to think it was a good idea to skip school—wouldn’t a classmate’s dying make most people crave company, comfort, gossip, and confirmation? Missing school sent the message that I was either unfeeling or very deeply upset, for some specific reason. It would look suspicious