Dark Water - Laura McNeal [48]
“Calling to report weird phenomenon,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Well, Hickey’s mom belongs to the Land Conservancy, you know?”
“No.”
“And they were having this big Clean Up the River campaign today, and she made Hickey go with her because she says all he ever does is hang out with me until late at night and then sleep for, like, eternity the next day, and she thinks he’s going to get juvenile diabetes from lack of exercise.”
I thought his mom probably had more to worry about than juvenile diabetes, Hickey being the bony type, plus I was pretty sure he was fabricating the love with Greenie, but I didn’t say anything. I pictured the river instead. I saw a bunch of people armed with orange plastic bags and trash pokers gathering around Amiel like a haz-mat team.
“I told him his mother should take you next time,” Greenie said, “since you could be, like, Miss River Hike of the Santa Margaritaville, and he said he would definitely pass on your name as a potential member.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Anyway, Hickey’s going along picking up garbage, and he’s texting me every few seconds to tell me the disgusting nature of trash he’s found, and like five seconds ago I get a message that says he’s found some letter you dropped on the trail.”
I had just picked up the joined pair of silkworm cocoons and was trying to see inside them. “A letter I dropped on the trail?” I asked. I set the cocoons down. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. A letter. With your name on it. He didn’t, like, open it.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t addressed to him, dummy. He’s a respectful person. It was addressed to you, I guess.”
“To me? It said Pearl DeWitt and my address and everything? Was there a stamp on it?”
“I don’t know. He just said there was this really thick envelope with the name Pearl on it. He knows you go there, like, hourly, and it’s not like Pearl is a common name if you’re under the age of eighty-nine. So he figured you were the Pearl in question.”
I couldn’t think what it was. There were the notes I’d written to Amiel, of course, but I hadn’t used envelopes. Would Amiel use an envelope?
“So where is Hickey now?” I asked.
“Out on the trail, poking more trash. He’s picking me up after, so we’ll come over.”
“When will that be?”
“I think he said two o’clock.”
Twenty-nine
Hickey and Greenie stayed to watch me open the envelope. I told them to go away and make out or something, but they just sat on the sofa and waited.
“Who do you think it’s from?” Greenie asked.
“No le clue,” I lied.
We were all surprised, though, when I broke the seal with a steak knife and found a bundle of twenty-dollar bills with their edges all soft and torn.
“Are you selling drugs?” Hickey asked. He seemed hopeful.
“Hickey!” Greenie said, smacking him. “Are you?” she asked.
“Not that I know of,” I said.
“Count it,” Hickey said.
I was concentrating pretty hard on hiding from them a torn piece of paper that was tucked down in front of the sheaf of bills. I wanted desperately to read it but just as desperately to prevent Hickey and Greenie from knowing anything at all about Amiel de la Cruz. I began to count the money just so that I could hide the torn piece of paper.
“It’s two hundred and forty dollars,” I said.
“Why is somebody giving you two hundred and forty dollars?” Greenie asked.
“More like totally failing to give it to you,” Hickey said.
“I don’t know,” I lied. The amount of Amiel’s medical bill was $240.
“If you think it’s some mistake, and it’s really for that other Pearl, the drug dealer of La Santa Margarita,” Hickey said, “I can keep the money for you.” He did a pretty good Spanish accent, which annoyed me.
“I’d better ask my uncle about it,” I said. This made no sense, so I had to keep improvising as I talked. “He pays the workers in cash, see, and maybe one of them dropped