Get Dirty (Don’t Get Mad Book 2)
Get Dirty: Chapter 2

OLIVIA’S BREATH SPIRALED FROM HER MOUTH IN WISPY LITTLE poofs as she rounded the corner to DuMaine Drive Tuesday morning. The bells of the nearby church broke the early morning silence. Was it seven o’clock already? Oops, late again. Kitty would be pulling her hair out.

But instead of doubling her pace, Olivia continued unhurried toward campus. She didn’t panic, didn’t scurry down the street like prey running from a predator. For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.

It had been four days since Bree turned herself in, just as Christopher Beeman had demanded. And true to his word, he’d backed off. No envelopes, no mysterious messages, and most importantly, no murders. He seemed content with Bree behind bars and Margot in the hospital, and that complacency would be his undoing.

Because now it was their turn. DGM was going to catch a killer.

She felt as if they were finally taking control of the situation as she trotted up the front steps and yanked open the door.

“Olivia!” someone cried the instant she entered the building. Standing in the middle of the corridor was Tyler Brodsky.

He tossed his dark brown hair out of his eyes and beamed at her. He had three rolls of packing tape shoved up his arm like bulky bracelets, and a sheet draped over his shoulder. Behind him, an eight-foot ladder spanned the width of the hall with Kyle Tanner on top, attaching one end of a banner to the ceiling.

Kyle and Tyler wore the same long-sleeved Henley shirts—Tyler in slate gray, Kyle in navy—over the same faded, slim-cut jeans, and Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if they called each other every morning to pick out matching outfits. If it wasn’t for Kyle’s dark skin and closely shaved head, they’d be indistinguishable.

“What are you doing here so early?” Tyler asked.

Kyle glanced over his shoulder. “Come to help?”

“Um . . . ,” she sputtered. She and Kitty had specifically decided to meet at that ungodly hour because no one would be at school, and now she’d run into two members of the ’Maine Men, which was the last thing she wanted.

Tyler and Kyle stared at her, expecting an answer. Better play along. “Sure?”

“Awesome.” Tyler shifted the banner off his shoulder. “Hold this. I’m gonna grab another ladder.”

Olivia took the vinyl fabric from his hand as Tyler trotted off down the hall. What were they doing at school this early? Only one way to replace out.

“So,” she began, smiling up at Kyle. “What’s going on?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Kyle said. “Father Uberti’s big announcement after the school board meeting yesterday. He’s declared today V-D Day.”

Olivia blinked. “V-what day?”

Kyle cocked his head to one side. “V-D Day. You know, like in World War Two. It’s Victory over DGM Day!”

Olivia held out her arm, stretching the banner to its full length. “Celebrate V-D!” she read aloud. “Victory is ours!”

Kyle started down the ladder. “Isn’t it awesome? Rex’s idea.”

Of course it was.

“We’re hanging them all over campus,” Kyle continued. He dragged the ladder to the other side of the hallway, then took the banner from Olivia’s hand. “Rex is in the leadership room, prepping the flyers. I think he’s . . .” Kyle cleared his throat. “Alone.”

Ew. “I’ll go see if he needs help,” Olivia said quickly, jumping at any excuse for an escape. Not that she would be caught dead alone in a room with Rex Cavanaugh, especially not since he and Amber broke up. That was practically an invitation to get molested. But at least it gave her a reason to bail.

Olivia strolled casually down the hallway toward the leadership room, but as soon as she was out of Kyle’s sight, she broke into a run. If Rex and his ’Maine Men were decorating the entire school, it would only be a matter of time before they reached the hall outside the computer lab where Kitty was waiting. They needed to get in and out of there as quickly as possible. She dashed past her locker and double-timed her way up the stairs like a marine in basic training.

As she reached the top, she froze midstep, her senses on alert. She’d heard something, she was positive. Footsteps close behind her.

Olivia swung around and gazed down the staircase. No one was there.

Motionless, she slowly counted to ten. Still, no one appeared in the hallway below. She was being ridiculous, the old paranoia affecting her judgment. No one was following her, and no one knew what they were up to. With a dismissive wave, Olivia turned and hurried to the computer lab.

Kitty paced back and forth across the slick tile floor. It wasn’t a real shocker that Olivia was late, but they were about to take a giant step in the hunt for Christopher Beeman, and the wait was killing her.

She glanced down at a glowing monitor. On the screen, a window was open to an anonymous email account. She’d already plugged in the thumb drive and uploaded the entire DGM dossier on Christopher Beeman: the emails between Christopher and the now-deceased Ronny DeStefano, the link between Christopher and the also-now-deceased Coach Creed. With one click of the mouse, she would send the file hurtling through cyberspace to Sergeant Callahan at the Menlo Park Police Department.

The killer had given them a reprieve after Bree turned herself in, and they needed to use this freedom to end Christopher’s reign of terror once and for all. Sergeant Callahan would have to realize Christopher was the killer and would mobilize the entire police force to replace him. Bree would be exonerated, and Christopher’s killing spree would soon be over.

She hoped.

In the distance, Kitty heard the rapid clickety-clack of impractical footwear hurrying down the hallway, followed by a faint knock on the door: once, a pause, then three quick raps. Kitty whisked open the door and a breathless, pink-faced Olivia rushed inside.

“Sorry!” she panted. “I got caught downstairs by Kyle and Tyler.” Olivia braced herself against the wall. “Have you seen what’s going on?”

“Father Uberti contacted the leadership class about it yesterday afternoon after the school board meeting. Said he wanted to celebrate victory, now that Bree’s been arrested.” Kitty sighed. “Super classy considering two people are dead.”

“Classy is F.U.’s middle name,” Olivia said.

Kitty took a deep breath and sat down at the computer screen. “It’s all good to go.”

Olivia leaned over her shoulder and read the prepared email message out loud. “Attached is some information you might replace enlightening in regard to the Bishop DuMaine killings. Christopher Beeman, formerly of Archway Military Academy in Arizona, has connections to the victims, and motives to kill both Ronny DeStefano and Coach Richard Creed. Sincerely, A Friend.” Olivia straightened up. “That’s perfect. This is totally going to work.”

“Ready?” Kitty asked.

Olivia bit her lower lip, scraping most of the iridescent gloss off in the process, then gave a quick, decisive nod. “Ready.”

Kitty clicked the mouse and a window with the words “Your email has been sent” filled the screen. She leaned back in her chair and let out a long sigh. “There it goes. Christopher Beeman will soon be behind bars.”

“You sure about that?” said a familiar voice.

Olivia’s elation turned to anger as she spun around and found Ed the Head’s grinning face in the doorway. “Where have you been?”

“The moon and back, baby,” he said, pumping his eyebrows.

Kitty took a step closer to him. “I’ve called you approximately seven thousand times since Thursday night. Nothing but voice mail. You want to explain that?”

Ed the Head shrugged. “I flushed it. The component pieces of the burner phone formerly belonging to Ed the Head are now floating somewhere in the San Francisco Bay.”

“Why did you flush your phone?” Olivia asked.

“Well, last I checked, I was texting with Margot just a few hours before she was attacked. Every cop in town is probably trying to replace that phone.”

Kitty narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like an admission of guilt.”

Ed calmly pulled out a chair and sat down. “Ladies, chill. If I attacked Margot, do you think I’d be here right now talking to you?”

Olivia exchanged a glance with Kitty. He had a point.

“Why are you here?” Kitty asked.

Ed the Head slipped a piece of paper from the front pocket of his bag. “I wanted to show you this.”

Kitty snatched the paper from his hand, glancing at it briefly. “It’s a speeding ticket.”

“Highway 101 North,” Olivia read from the carbon copy. “Exit three sixty-seven, Morgan Hill.”

Ed the Head nodded. “Check the date and time.”

Olivia’s eyes zipped to the top of the form. “October seventh, nine thirty p.m.”

“Exactly,” Ed said. “And Margot was attacked at approximately nine fifty according to the police report. There’s no way I could’ve made it forty miles in fifteen minutes. I didn’t do it.”

“Then why did you wait three days to tell us?” Kitty asked.

Ed dropped the glib facade, his face suddenly hard. “Because you were the only ones who knew I was supposed to meet Margot that night.”

Olivia stiffened. “What are you trying to say?”

“It might have crossed my mind that you were setting me up to take the fall.”

“You think we tried to kill Margot?” Olivia asked, horrified. “She’s our friend, you little weasel. If you think for a second—”

“Was she really your friend?” Ed jutted out his chin. “I seem to recall some pretty horrific photos of Margot from back in junior high.” He pointed at her accusingly. “Photos you took.”

Olivia’s hands began to shake as the shame of what she’d done to Margot washed over her anew. “Oh yeah?” she said, lashing out. “Well, how do we know you’re not Christopher Beeman?” She wasn’t entirely sure it made sense, but someone had to be Christopher, and they were running out of options.

Instead of denying it, Ed the Head burst out laughing.

“Why is that funny?” Kitty asked.

“If I’m Christopher Beeman,” Ed gasped, “I’ve got bigger problems than a murder rap.”

A creeping sensation spread down Olivia’s spine, as if she’d just backed into a spiderweb. Something about Ed’s tone put her on edge. “What do you mean?”

“That’s what I discovered in Arizona,” he said. “Christopher Beeman is dead.”