Body & Soul полностью

“Jail? For what, impersonating a slumlord?” She sniffed. “Doubt it.”

“Hello?” a female voice said in my ear.

“Uh, hi,” I said, feeling ridiculous.

“Just be angry. Really angry!” Alona hovered at my elbow, coaching, which I ignored; but I did try to sound stern and landlordish, though I hadn't a clue what that might actually sound like.

As it turned out the bored receptionist probably would have given me Malachi's social security number, blood type, and anything else I asked, to avoid having to actually do work or walk away from FarmVille, or whatever was holding her attention.

“His real name is Edmund Harris,” I said to Alona after I'd hung up. “And his home address is in Decatur. Four twenty-two Sycamore, Apartment B. I can't believe that worked.”

“Me either,” she said, shaking her head. “You were a terrible landlord.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let's go.”

The apartment was empty. Dents in the dingy brown carpeting showed where the furniture had been. A cheap plywood entertainment center still remained in the corner, heavily listing to one side.

“Oh, my God, it's like that part in Empire Strikes Back where they can never get into light speed,” Alona said with a disgusted sigh.

I stared at her.

Catching sight of me, she scowled. “What?

“Nothing. I just…” I tried to find the words. “Alona Dare making a Star Wars reference. I never thought I'd live to see the day.”

She arched an eyebrow at me. “At least one of us did.”She crossed the small room to the tiny hallway, which presumably led to a kitchen and bathroom. “Besides, it's only because you made me watch it, like, a hundred times,”she called back, her voice sounding hollow in the empty space.

“It's a classic, and it was twice,” I said, following her to a minikitchen. If I stood with my arms outstretched, I probably could have touched both walls. “And only because you fell asleep in the middle the first time.”

She shrugged dismissively. “The Dagobah stuff was so boring. No Han Solo.”

She looked around the room at the cabinet doors hanging open and sighed. “There's nothing here.”

I should have figured that. He had, after all, been packing up to leave town.

“All right,” she said in the tone of someone done messing around. “Phone.” She held her hand out.

I pulled my phone from my pocket but held on to it. “Who are you — who am I calling?” I asked cautiously. I'd saved the number the rental company receptionist had given me for Edmund, but I didn't think calling was a good idea. “Malachi… Edmund, whatever, he's not going to be thrilled to hear from us.” In fact, I was afraid calling him might make him bolt farther than he already had.

Alona shook her head. “I'm not calling anyone.” She peered with a grimace into an open drawer. “We're going to—”

Before she could finish explaining her plan, my phone rang, echoing loudly in the empty apartment and startling both of us.

I looked at the number. Uh-oh. I felt a renewed surge of panic. “Uh, Al, did you have your phone on you when Erin—”

“No. Mrs. Turner still has it confiscated,” she said, bumping the drawer shut with her hip and moving closer to me. “Why?”

I held up my phone and showed her the words lily's cell flashing on the screen. “Someone's noticed you're not where you're supposed to be.”

Her eyes widened. “Answer it!” She reached for the phone.

I lifted it over my head, away from her grasping hand. “No way; it has to be the Turners,” I said. If Mrs. Turner had dropped Ally off at Misty's this morning, it wouldn't have taken much for her to connect the dots. Mrs. Turner had probably called Misty, and Misty had told them about their newly recovered daughter leaving with the guy Mrs. Turner hated most. Great.

“Exactly. You have to tell them I'm okay.” She crossed her arms and glared at me. Interesting that she cared so much about them now, when all she'd talked about before was how difficult it was to be around them.

“Except I don't actually know if you are okay. The version of you that they know, anyway. And they might get a call about you — her—being very not okay at any time.” I didn't know much about our legal system, but vouching for the safety of a girl who later turned up hurt or in jail or something struck me as a particularly bad idea.

She bit her lip.

There was a loooong gap between the final ring and the voice-mail signal, and even the happy little chime sounded angry.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Are you going to listen to it?” she asked, seeming more anxious than I would have imagined.

“No,” I said, stuffing the phone back into my pocket. No sense in confirming things were as bad as, or worse than, I figured they already were.

“They're going to be worried,” she mumbled, sounding annoyed; but she wouldn't look at me, focusing instead on a splotch of something on the chipped and fading tile floor and kicking at it with the tip of her gym shoe. After all this time, she couldn't fool me. If she was annoyed at anyone, it was at herself for caring.