Deceitful (Rules of Deception 1)

Her scowl disappeared when she saw me. “Tessa, mein Mädchen.” She always called me her girl.

I lowered my stuff onto the kitchen island.

She wiggled her index finger. “Oh oh, Tony won’t like that. You’ll get grease on your papers!” Martha was the only one who called Major by his first name, Tony, short for Antonio. Most people didn’t even dare to address him by his last name, much less a nickname. And the actual chance of getting grease on anything was close to zero. Martha’s kitchen was the cleanest room in headquarters, apart from the canteen upstairs.

“He won’t find out, will he?” I climbed onto one of the barstools and spread Madison’s yearbook and the papers out in front of me. Martha leaned against the sink and watched me.

“Having trouble with your man?”

“How can you tell?” I asked, not trying to deny it. Whenever Martha called Alec my man, a pleasant shudder passed my body. If only he really were my man.

“I know that look. All lovelorn. I too was young once, mein Mädchen.”

Martha was the only person I’d ever heard use the word “lovelorn” in her daily speech. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine her as a young girl, without a double chin, flappy skin, and wrinkles.

She put a wrinkled hand on mine, her palm rough from baking and washing dishes. “French toast makes everything better. What do you say?”

I smiled. She squeezed my hand and began assembling the ingredients for her infamous brioche French toast with fresh raspberries. Martha treated everyone in headquarters as her children, no matter their age, because she’d never had children of her own.

I opened the yearbook and skimmed through its pages until I landed on Madison’s photo. She looked happy. Right next to it, I found a picture of her best friend, Ana. She had curly brown hair, an oval face, and huge eyes like a girl from a manga. I’d surely recognize her in person. I browsed further, scanning the faces at dances, pep rallies, and school plays, only to stop at a photo of a guy named Phil Faulkner. I was halted by his eyes, which were a translucent, watery blue, like the color had been washed from them. A number of Variants had weird eyes, Kate and I among them. If Phil was a Variant, that might help explain why Major was interested in the case. But strange eyes didn’t automatically make him one of us. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him just in case.

Martha set a plate down in front of me. It smelled of vanilla, sweetness, and lemon. “Thanks,” I said, already bringing a fork to my lips. “Mmm.” That was enough validation for Martha. She patted my shoulder and returned to scrubbing the counters.

Careful not to drop any food onto the yearbook, I continued to pore over its pages. There were too many names, too many faces with too many histories behind them to remember everything. Moving on to the final pages of the book, I found the superlatives section, where people were awarded titles like Best Artist or Dream Couple.

As I scanned over the photos, I choked on a bite of brioche, my eyes starting to water. Martha looked up from the counter, face tight with disapproval over my ruining a perfectly fine bite of her French toast by coughing. I swallowed, staring at a picture of Madison and Ryan. “The Dream Couple.” Holy shit. Why had nobody bothered to tell me this?

So Madison had had a boyfriend, Ryan Wood. Had they been a couple up until her attack?

As I studied the photo, something was off about their body language. Ryan looked like he couldn’t be happier, but Madison’s smile was a bit too bright, her expression a bit too devoted, everything about her a bit . . . too much. I wished I could see into her thoughts in that moment but even Kate wasn’t capable of such a thing.

As it was, I’d just have to investigate the old way. I slammed the yearbook shut. Martha tsked but didn’t say anything.

Next I rummaged through Madison’s school papers. There were essays about Tolstoy, Kafka, and even Nabokov’s Lolita, for which she had earned perfect grades. I hoped no one expected me to write papers about literature, which really wasn’t my thing. Though Major probably had someone on hand for that task as well.

I spread the map of Livingston on the kitchen island. Right next to Livingston was Manlow, the neighboring town. Nestled in between them lay the lake where Madison and one of the other victims had been found. Stretches of deep green dominated the map, indicating lots of forest. Livingston had only two main roads, where most of the shops were located. I counted two gas stations, two graveyards, and a drive-in movie theater. Not much of anything really. Madison and her parents lived in one of the newer developments bordering the forest. I folded the map and after a moment of hesitation I opened the file about the murders.