Artie noticed me and paused, his mouth dropping open dramatically. He reached for his camera and snapped a photo of me, burning a flash into my eyeballs.
I blinked the light away. “You just... scorched my eyeballs. Why?”
“For myrecords,” Artie said, pursing his lips.
When my vision cleared, I sauntered toward him. “Whatrecords?”
He looked up at me with contempt, standing his ground as I approached. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Nick Carrington theThird... resident rabble-rouser,and—”He looked back at the mansion, his mouth dropping open in a theatrical show of surprise. “Aguestfor a Buchanan event? Who would’ve thought? The papers are dying to know,” he said, turning back to me. “Is it true that Mr. Gatsby is a rum runner who smuggles liquor from Canada to New York?”
I advanced on them further, causing the whole trio to take tiny steps back. “Don’t you have something better to do than follow me?”
His entourage cooed and gasped, but Artie just rolled his neck. “Excuse me.You should be happy a boneless country wing like yourself is getting coverage anywhere.Gatsbyis the real cover star, honey. Don’tflatteryourself.”
I snatched his camera off his neck, causing him to trip and fall over. The violence just came over me—I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to!
“Wait!” he screamed, face full of horror, grabbing at the strap.
It was too late. I smashed it, lens first on the driveway like a plate at a Greek party. It went boom like a firecracker—glass everywhere!
“There!” I screamed. “That’s what it’s like being Jay Gatsby’s mistress! You should try it someday! Destroy all your possessions! Anything else?”
Artie was horrified. He must have spent a lot of money on that beautiful piece of junk, to snap it in people’s faces until they went nuts.
Let the gossip grow grander now. I was no longer worried about being liked.
Cannon walked out the doors of the house, stepped over the camera, and said, “Uh-oh! Looks like we need some tidying up!” And then, with a giggle, he ducked into a limousine that had just pulled up to the circular lot.
Suspicious... why was he skipping out without his parents?
The safes would have to wait.
I darted into the lot and couldn’t find a sign of Jay anywhere. I’d lost him, but there was still time to follow Cannon. I knocked on the windows of one of the idle cabs, shocking the driver into a spastic dance. I slid into the car, slammed the door, and thrust a random amount of bills and coins at the dashboard. “Please, follow that limo, sir.”
Where are you going, you sicko?
“Almost gave me a heart attack, boy.” The driver adjusted hiswide-billed hat and started the car, taking the limo down the dark streets and toward the south of the city.
I wasn’t going to be nice about this. Cannon could easily be a pawn for the Buchanans’ evil deeds. He’d been chummy with Charlie from day one.
The limo moved through the city like a smooth bullet. I leaned between the two seats to watch the car from the windshield until the limo let Cannon out by two buildings, close to the place I found Daisy a few months ago. The Green Light was in an alley not too far down this road.
“Stop here,” I told the driver.
I watched from the windows, slinking down in my seat to hide my face from the streetlight. Cannon tucked his hands into his long coat and took a meditative walk. He didn’t seem to be doing anything suspicious.
“Okay, but you gotta get out,” said the driver.
“Oh, sorry.” I stepped out of the car.
I was left waiting on the pavement, looking for clues in the sway of Cannon’s walk. We were the only ones here.
He stopped suddenly and turned around, grimacing at my presence. I had no choice but to approach him then in the middle of the boardwalk.What was one to do when walking a long distance toward someone you hate?
“Nick Carrington. If you’re looking for a date, I’m not interested.”
“Actually, not at all. Since the police seem to be doing nothing,I’m looking for who started the fire at West Egg.”
Cannon raised an eyebrow. “And you’re asking me? How would I know?”
