Page 91 of Faultlines

Unfortunately, without any prompting, Sloane spends the first ten minutes of the drive outlining her elaborate investigative strategy. Lucy and I repeatedly point out its glaring flaws to no avail.

By the time we pull into the restaurant parking lot, its brightly lit sign glowing against the twilight, I’m no longer thinking about Ethan, Seattle, or my awkward conversation with Jennifer Starling.

Instead, I’m trying to figure out if it’s possible to voluntarily disown a cousin. Oddly enough, it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt all week, amidst the absurdity.

Dinner itself is enjoyable, this is largely because Sloane spends most of it explaining increasingly absurd investigative theories, her voice animated, while Lucy and I take turns reminding her that we are not, in fact, private investigators. I can almost forget why we are here. By the time we leave the restaurant it’s well after ten o’clock.

The closer we get to the school, the quieter I become. Sloane, however, only gets louder. “I just want everyone to know that this is where preparation separates professionals from amateurs.”

Lucy’s brow pinches. “You’re a boutique manager. At a vineyard.”

“Details.”

“You sell handbags.”

“Leadership is leadership.”

I stare out the passenger window. “Can we please remember that we’re only here because you insisted?”

Sloane looks offended. “No. We’re here because you have a gut feeling that I’m not letting you ignore any longer.”

“We’re here because you wouldn’t let it go.”

“Also true, and because I love you.”

The school parking lot is empty when we pull in, and the building is dark. Rehearsal ended over an hour ago.

“What’s the plan?” Lucy asks.

Sloane grins. “Follow me.”

Instead of the main entrance, she leads us around the side to a narrow service corridor behind the gymnasium.

I stop. “What are we doing?”

She doesn’t slow. “Taking the scenic route.”

“There is no scenic route.”

“There is if you know where to look.”

Sloane stops beside an unmarked metal door, hidden behind overgrown, skeletal shrubs that scrape against the brick. Lucy and I exchange a look.

“What is that?” I whisper.

“An entrance.”

“I can see that.”

Lucy narrows her eyes. “How do you know about this?”

Sloane looks too pleased. “Unlike you two, I led a very interesting double life in middle school,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“You got detention constantly for causing havoc.”

She pulls a small case of lock picks out of her back pocket.

Lucy squeaks, “Where did you get those?”