Reed said. His eyes flickered back and forth between Raven and Bodhi.
“The Isla and Matt puzzle pieces,” Raven added.
“We don’t trust them anymore,” Bodhi said. “And we think they might have had something to do with Hutch’s death.”
* “Never lose trust with your subject.” —Peer Counseling Pilot Program Training Guide by Henry Robins, MFT
CHAPTER 13
Name: Cleo Lambert
Session Date: Oct. 4
Session #3
Cleo crossed her motorcycle-booted ankle over her knee and bobbed her foot in the air. She leveled her eyes straight at Devon. Silence. Devon shifted in her seat. Normally she should let the subject start talking, but “normally” also implied that the subject hadn’t given the counselor sincere advice which said counselor had then ignored and then suffered for. Cleo sighed deeply. More silence.
“Okay, you were right,” Devon finally said. “I don’t know what it is, but I totally can’t trust Grant anymore. You’ve got to tell me what you know about him.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, even though she was smiling. “I know everyone thinks I’m a sieve and get off talking shit behind everyone’s backs.” Devon waited for her to continue. Cleo frowned. “Isn’t that where you’re supposed to tell me that I’m wrong, no, everyone really likes me and doesn’t think that about me?”
“Um, is that what you want me to tell you?” Was this a counseling question or a regular person question? Ugh.
“Whatever. No, don’t say anything. I know that’s what people think. It’s totally true. I do get a secret thrill talking behind people’s backs. I love knowing things before someone else does. Usually. But, I saw Grant in Monte Vista last weekend with Eric Hutchins. I guess Eric has been staying at the Four Seasons outside Santa Cruz, but he’s been around here dealing with Hutch family fallout. But, why is he hanging out with Grant, I’m thinking, you know? Kinda weird. And then it gets really weird. I saw Grant use your pen.”
“Wait, my pen? My Monte Blanc pen? I thought you stole it again.”
“No, I gave it back to you. I wouldn’t go back to something I already stole, where’s the fun in that? No, Grant used your pen. I know it was yours. But he used it to sign something, like it was his pen he casually had in his pocket. He wasn’t waving it around or making it a trophy or anything. Kleptos know the difference.” Cleo tucked her short hair behind her ears. It gave Devon a second to catch up. Grant had clearly lied about his relationship with Eric. But why, unless there was something to hide?
“So, if he stole my pen, you don’t think he.…” Devon didn’t want to finish the sentence.
“He’s totally looking at your notes. Guaranteed. Messed up, huh?”
The breath left Devon’s body, and she sat there, empty. Of course, Grant had known which notebook she used for her session notes. Stupid to leave them alone in her dorm room. Behind her chair, in her backpack, a small metal box was scrambling some signal—or something—so she could keep what was said in this room quiet. She had rewritten her notes for Mr. Robins. And it wasn’t enough. Because she was careless, or too trusting, or maybe both, what happened in here was out in the open. And Grant was also probably sharing it all with Eric Hutchins. It made sense. Wouldn’t Eric want to know what was being said about his own brother’s mysterious death? And even worse … she inhaled sharply and felt the blood rush to her cheeks … Grant’s feelings for her must have been a complete lie, as well. The flirting, the late night visits, the compliments; he had manipulated her, and she’d let him.
“Why did you try to warn me?” Devon asked.
“That’s the thing,” Cleo said. “Having the drop on someone is a total power trip. But when I saw Grant something kind of clicked. Like I could use the power for good and actually help people instead of hurt them. And since you’re one of the few around here who actually tries to help people, it seemed fair that someone should help you. I mean, I’m not like turning into a nun or anything.”
Devon didn’t know why, but she wanted to cry then and there. After all her time in these sessions being yelled at, berated, and despised for trying to help—finally, a glimmer of acknowledgement. From Cleo, of all people.
“I really appreciate that. I just feel so horrible. Everything I’ve been trying to protect in