Free Notorious by Allison Brennan Page B

creep.”
    “I didn’t know why.”
    “Now you do. Be glad you’re not on the swim team.”
    “Still, you have to do something about Ms. Blair. I really like her, and she needs help.” Max had read a book about cutting. She couldn’t imagine anyone hurting themselves, but she knew it was something serious.
    “No.”
    “How can you be so cold?”
    “How can you be such a bleeding heart? I’m sorry I showed you anything. My diary’s off-limits to you.”
    Max walked out and didn’t speak to Lindy for two weeks. Instead, she followed Ms. Blair, trying to catch her cutting herself, because then she could go to Mr. Horn and say what she saw, and not bring Lindy into it.
    But she never saw anything. And a month later, Ms. Blair took a leave of absence. Lindy—of course Lindy would know—said she checked herself into rehab. In addition to cutting, she was a drug addict, and she’d nearly OD’d. Lindy had heard that from a school board member who was having dinner at her house with her parents.
    True to her word, Lindy never let Max look at her diary again. They managed to rebuild their friendship, but conversation about the diary—and Lindy’s secrets—were off-limits. But two years later, in the middle of their freshman year, the book would come back to bite Lindy in the ass.
    *   *   *
    The waitress refilled her coffee cup a third time, startling Max from her memories. Max thanked her then looked back at her notes, needing to get her head out of the past. She noticed she’d scraped the polish off her thumbnail again. Why did she even bother with manicures when she always trashed her nails?
    Penny and Henry Hoffman walked into the hotel’s dining hall and seemed relieved and nervous that Max was already there. They smiled and sat across from her. Penny said, “I was afraid you’d changed your mind.”
    Max got right to the point. “I did a little research last night, but have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
    “Please, anything we can do to help.”
    “Did Jason’s parents, or anyone else, hire a private investigator to look into the homicide?”
    They glanced at each other and shook their heads. “I don’t think so,” Henry said. “Mike would have told me.”
    Possibly, though it depended how close the family was, and whether Jason’s parents wanted to spare the older couple.
    “Did the police say anything to you or to Jason’s parents about the investigation? If they had a suspect or if there were similar crimes?”
    “Maybe you should talk to Mike and Sara,” Penny said, her hands clasped on the table in front of her. “They really haven’t told us much of anything, though we’ve asked,” she added quickly.
    Max feared she’d let her affection for the couple yesterday and her frustration with her assistant cloud her judgment. She should have known better than to be brought into an investigation by grandparents. They usually meant well, but didn’t have much information or access to those who did.
    “In your original letter, do you remember why you thought Jason’s death was something I’d be able to investigate?” Max phrased the question carefully. “Other than the fact that he was murdered at my old high school.” She didn’t want the Hoffmans to think that she wasn’t going to pursue this, but if she had to start from ground zero, she wouldn’t have the time, at least not for the next few months. She had several commitments, not the least of which was covering the Bachman trial back in New York City.
    Penny brightened and said, “Oh, yes. I have a copy of the original e-mail I sent right here.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a slightly crumpled paper.
    Max took the paper from Penny and unfolded it. The header showed that it had been sent two months ago to Max’s “hot line” e-mail reserved for information about cold cases or upcoming trials, on February twenty-sixth, three months after Jason’s murder, and two weeks after Ginger had