“Why didn’t you tell Hank?”
“He got a restraining order against me.” Mary shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, I didn’t want him to know and actually fix the issue. It’s not like wewantedthe permits to go through.”
Lizzy shook her head. “If you were happy for Tristan to do nothing, then why crash his party and destroy that painting?”
“Didn’t you ever hear him brag about the fact that he only flies on private jets?” Mary replied, disgusted. “Those cause fourteen times the pollution of commercial planes. He’s a climate criminal.”
Lizzy had assumed Mary’s resentment toward Tristan had been because of the endangered island slugs; it hadn’t even occurred to her that it would be about anything other than that.
“Mary, I swear to God, if I hear you say the words ‘climate criminal’ one more time!” her mother hissed, holding her hand over the phone as if it would mute her voice. Then she removed it and her pinched face transformed into a smile again. “Oh, Barb, I told you it was nothing, so it’s not a surprise, you know?”
“Whatever,” Mary said, standing up with her Pop-Tart in one hand and the jar of peanut butter in the other. “I’m going to my room.”
It was dark by the time Lizzy headed outside to the sailboat parked on the lawn. She had fixed as much as she could—now it was time for answers. Or at least commiseration.
Her father was sitting at the small table in the galley kitchen. His head was down, focused on a letter in his hand, so he didn’t notice her until she was carefully navigating the narrow ladder down to the cabin.
“Hey.”
He looked up. The hard line of his brow softened slightly. “Hey, kiddo.”
She sat down on the bottom rung. “So.”
“So,” he repeated with a sigh. “Did you see Mary?”
Lizzy nodded. “She was eating everything in the pantry. I guess the NYPD doesn’t offer a vegan menu in jail.”
He chuckled, but it faded quickly.
She sighed, leaning back against the wall. “What happened?”
“Good question.” He scratched at the stubble that had grown around his mustache. “It took a while to track down where she was being held. By the time I got to her this morning, they told us this Tristan guy had dropped all charges and she was free to go.”
“You’re sure?”
He didn’t reply, just handed over the papers in his hand. The wordsAffidavit of Non-Prosecutionwere emblazoned on the top, followed by a long block of text that she could only skim. The words “right to counsel” and “State of New York” jumped out, along with Tristan’s name and signature, and the capitalized statement: I DO NOT WISH TO PROSECUTE. Beside it, another signature from a law firm called Page, Lefroy, and Brandon LLP.
She stared down at it for a long moment. “But… why would he do that?”
“No idea. But I’m not going to argue. I guess that painting was worth over a million dollars, so it would have been a felony.”
Lizzy’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”
He nodded.
“But I don’t get it. She admitted it. The video is everywhere.”
“I guess he changed his mind. Which would explain why Hank got an email promising to have Tristan’s entire fee returned this week, too.”
Lizzy looked down at the papers again. None of it made sense. But she also didn’t want to question it. They barely had enough money to cover the recent renovations to the bakery—she had no idea where they would have found the funds for a lawyer, and bail, and court…
She sighed, pushing her hair away from her face. “So, how long is she grounded?”
“Not sure I can get away with grounding a twenty-two-year-old. Besides, I can’t blame her.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “You can’t?”
“Well, I can blame her for the felony,” he said. “But I can’t blame her for being passionate about something. She’s doing what makes her happy.”
