“Dunno,” she said, “but it makes me think Davis really would turn his dad in if he knew where he was.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Someone has to know. He needed help, right? You can’t just disappear.”
“Right, but there’s so many possible accomplices. Pickett has, like, thousands of employees.
And who knows how many people working on that property. I mean, they have a zoologist.”
“It would sort of suck, having all those people around your house all day.
Like, people who aren’t in your family just, like, constantly in your space.”
“Indeed, Holmesy, however does one bear the pain of overenthusiastic servants?”
I laughed, and Daisy clapped her hands and said, “Okay. My to-do list: Research wills. Get police report.
Your to-do list: Fall for Davis, which you’ve already mostly done. Thanks for the ride; time to go pretend I love my sister.”
She grabbed her backpack, climbed out of Harold, and slammed his precious, fragile door behind her.
When I got home, I watched TV with Mom, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Davis looking down at my finger, holding my hand in his.
I have these thoughts that Dr. Karen Singh calls “intrusives,” but the first time she said it, I heard “invasives,” which I like better,
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