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fake?”
    He didn’t wait for an answer. He was already striding off when I thought of one.

Chapter 5
    I was halfway through the next morning before I came out of my Sherlock fog and decided that I was definitely NOT going to play his little game. Unfortunately, Sherlock most likely wouldn’t be anywhere I could find him until after school. Not that it mattered. I was resolved. Mostly.
    My family ate breakfast in silence, the five of us, Dad crunching his bran while the rest of us slurped oatmeal. None of us made eye contact or even shifted in our seats until Dad was off to work, without a word about his day or ours. I grabbed Sean’s chin and tilted his face up toward the light.
    â€œIs it covered?” he asked.
    I’d practically plastered his face with concealer to cover the bruise from the night before. It was hard to blend it all in with his baby skin, though. “As best I could.”
    â€œEnough to fool the Benz?” Michael asked.
    Sean’s teacher was Miss Benson. She’d been at the grammar school long enough to have taught each of us in her class. Nothing fooled the Benz.
    â€œIf she asks, you say . . .” I let go of Sean’s chin and tookmy dishes to the sink, where Freddie was washing up.
    â€œMy brothers and I were arsing—”
    â€œMucking,” I corrected.
    â€œYeah. Mucking about.”
    Freddie laughed. “Say ‘arsing’ to the Benz. I dare ya.”
    Sean chucked the crust of his toast at Freddie, which would have devolved into a free-for-all dishwater/food fight had I not fired off a glare for each of them. “Quit it and make your lunches or you’ll starve and deserve it.”
    I threw a final glare over my shoulder before I left for school, just for good measure, but I was pretty sure the squeal I heard when I was halfway down the street came from my house.
    Much of my school day was spent rehearsing what I would say to Sherlock when he asked me to be a part of his “investigation.” But nothing I came up with adequately made the point that I wasn’t afraid to play the game, I was merely uninterested. That I had even entertained the idea for a second showed just how that ridiculous Holmes boy had managed to mess with my mind in ways he shouldn’t have been able. Sherlock was trouble. Unexpected. And by the time I got to drama, I’d decided that I didn’t have to come up with any kind of explanation. I hardly knew the boy.
    I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him suddenly appear backstage halfway through my class, but there he was, waiting in the wings, waving at me as I fumbled through my lines. When I didn’t immediately heed his unspoken call, he started pacing the boards, glancing up impatiently at me everythirty seconds or so. At one point, I thought he might actually come out onto the stage to fetch me. Luckily, my scene ended before he could.
    He opened his mouth to speak as I approached, and I held up my hand to stop him. Surprisingly, it worked. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.
    â€œI need to tell you something. It couldn’t wait.”
    â€œIt can wait.” I grabbed his arm and tugged toward the back exit. “It will wait.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock straightened the sleeve of his uniform when I let go. “If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be here. But we must talk to her. Right away. It’s vital.”
    â€œTalk to whom?”
    Sherlock gestured at my dress. “Her. The one you’re replacing.”
    I copied his gesture, exasperated. “She is obviously not here, or I wouldn’t be replacing her today.”
    His countenance fell. “Her name is Patel, yes?”
    â€œSure. Lily Patel. Why? What is so vital about talking to Lily?”
    â€œHer dad,” Sherlock said. “The body in the park was her dad.”
    x x x
    I somehow managed to shoo Sherlock out of the theater