“I knowofBrutus Dyers.”
“His name’s BRUTUS?” Denny bursts out, proving that she’s listening into the conversation by popping her head around the door to the kitchen. “What is this? Ancient Rome?”
My girl’s too good at acting, I swear.
Dad frowns at her. “Denver, what are you doing there?”
“You mean aside from this being her damn house?”
Both ignore my sniping.
“It’s what’s known in the trade as refereeing, Mr. Bradley. You two tend to fight and I refuse to let my first Christmas with Zach as his girlfriend be ruined because you’re a party pooper.”
“I’m a what now?”
“A party pooper. Our friend Callan taught me that one?—”
“I know what it means, Denver.”
“You do? I thought you’d know killjoy, but I rather like party pooper. Aside from the fact that you’re being one, of course. And Zach’s right. Where’s his gift? He got me this gorgeous coffee machine after one of his bimbettes broke mine.” She flutters her lashes. “I hope you got Mom something… even if it’s only a hostess gift.”
“I have wine and presents in the car.” Dad pinches the bridge of his nose again. “But I’m trying to have a conversation with Zach?—”
“I’m not stopping you.” She beams at him. The smile’s so nauseatingly sweet that I almost roll my eyes. I don’t know who she reckons she’s kidding, but it’s not working on meorDad. “I think it’s so cute that you’re here, in fact. You two should be together for the holidays.” Before he can reply, she snags the paper out of his grasp and scans the article. “Such a shocking story, but I’m not surprised he’s out on bail considering his background.”
“You believe it?” Dad cuts in.
You’d never know that D was the mastermind behind Dyers’s takedown. Her expression’s guileless, and anyone who’d gotten toknow her more than surface-deep, like my dad, would have known that too.
She doesn’t look so innocent in her sleep!
“Well, the press has definitely taken an interest in him, and they wouldn’t have if there wasn’t dirt to dig up.”
“You can’t trust the media.”
“No, but they’re not likely to make up lies at this level, are they? Especially as Dyers’s dad is an emissary to an embassy,” I point out.
“He’s the General Consul,” Dad corrects.
“You know him?”
He clears his throat at D’s question and, this time, appears shamefaced. “Ofhim.”
She hums. “I tell you whatIknow is a fact. A dozen students from Oakwood have come forward about being victims of his explosive temper. That’s something we can also attest to. Someone even posted videos of him exploding on random people.”
“Was he that unpopular? His family has a point—it does sound like a hate campaign.”
“Because there’s a lot to hate,” I snap. “If you’d have listened to me, you’d have known that.”
D pats my hand. “There’s a hate campaign and then there’s the whole goat’s blood and holy water his frat brothers found in his bathroom cabinet when they evicted him, Allan.”
“That’s a joke, surely!”
Ironically, they weren’t things D had planted. None of that was down to us. Callan surmised that some of his frat brothers wanted to muddy the waters. It’s not like we can judge!
“Maybe.” Her tone’s dubious. “But I don’t think so.”
“He was always so manic before hockey games. It’d make sense if he was taking part in fucked-up rituals?—”
