“Is this your real number?” I ask.
“No,” they both answer together.
“How?”
“Magic tricks,” she replies, which is so very Davis that I believe she’s his sister.
“Whoareyou?”
“That’s classified. But our family tree isn’t.”
“Did you find out Patrick’s related to you?”
“Yes,” she says at the same time Davis says, “No.”
I gasp.
“Fourth cousins thrice removed,” she says.
“Practically no DNA in common at that point,” Davis says. “It’s like saying we’re all related to the king of England.”
My head is spinning.
The popcorn is popping.
Maybe-Vanessa says something else, but I don’t hear it over the popcorn.
I head back to the living room, which smells like campfire and melted cheese.
Why doesn’t my house smell like campfire and melted cheese? In the good way, I mean.
I think about my house, then I think about it being ransacked, and I shiver again.
“Why now?” I repeat to Vanessa. “Why’s he searching for the treasurenow?”
“He’s had a string of bad luck personally and professionally, and he could use a treasure,” she replies.
“Davis?”
She snorts again. “No. Patrick.”
“Oh. Was it…your fault…he had a string of bad luck?”
“No,” she says as Davis says, “Probably.”
Okay.
Yes.
I am fully convinced, no questions, that these two are siblings.
“Did you really fake-marry Davis once?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’ve used up your quota of questions for the day, and I have to go. Davis, show her the family tree or I’m sending the mothers.”
