Page 78 of The Ruling Class

“Get out of my way, Ms. Kendrick.”

“Ms. Kendrick,” I repeated. “We’re not even on a first-name basis anymore?”

He didn’t reply. I didn’t know how much of his avoiding me was because he was angry at me for being Ivy’s sister, for trusting her, even a little, and how much of it was him being angry at himself for telling me about his father.

“Must we do this?” Henry asked, his voice painfully polite.

“I’ll get out of your way once you’ve listened to what I have to say,” I told him. “Otherwise, we can stay here and stare at each other.”

He glared at me. I offered him a lazy smile in return. He snapped.

“Talk,” he ordered crisply.

“I’ve got a plan for trying to figure out who leaked the story about Pierce.”

Henry’s face didn’t move a muscle, but he couldn’t quite squelch the flicker of interest in his eyes. “I thought the sum total of your plan was to let your sister do her job.”

Now that I knew where Henry’s feelings about Ivy came from, I couldn’t steel myself against them in the same way. Objectively, maybe Ivy had done the Marquette family a favor by making Henry’s father’s death seem like an accident, but I couldn’t expect Henry to beobjectiveabout something like that. He was the one who had to live with the secret. His father wasn’t here. His grandfather wasn’t here.

Ivy was the only one left to blame.

“My sister has been otherwise occupied,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “She doesn’t think this is a lead worth following up on.” A hint of interest sparked in Henry’s eyes. I pushed on. “I do.”

Henry cracked the barest of smiles. “And you have a plan.”

“It’s not really a plan,” I said, “so much as a gamble.”

Someone attempted to open the door to the bathroom, and I leaned back against it harder.

Henry cleared his throat. “Would it be possible to talk about your gamble in a slightly less inappropriate location?”

“If you really want to.” I eased off the door and opened it, ignoring the stare of the boy on the other side. Now it was my turn to arch an eyebrow at Henry.

“After you.”

I texted Bodie that Vivvie and I needed to work on a project after school. To add credence to that story, Henry and I met the reporter at Vivvie’s—or, more specifically, in the lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel, where Vivvie and her aunt were staying until her aunt could find more permanent lodging. Vivvie watched from a nearby coffee shop. Her aunt was with her but had her back to us.

Let’s hope it stays that way, I thought.

I looked at my watch. The reporter from thePostwas supposed to meet us here any minute.

“Tess Kendrick?” A red-haired man with a reddish brown beard approached. His eyes flicked over to Henry, and I saw a spark of recognition.

Good.

“Carson Dweck?” I said. He nodded.

“I hear you need to talk to a reporter for a school project.” The man’s lips curved up slightly. “Hardwicke—very big on projects, aren’t they?”

I wondered if he would have said yes to his honorary niece’s request if I hadn’t gone to Hardwicke. And then I wondered if he would have said yes if my last name hadn’t been Kendrick.

“You wrote the piece on Edmund Pierce,” I said, deciding it wasn’t worth beating around the bush. “The one that said Piercewas a shoo-in for nomination and the president was moving at an unprecedented rate toward seeing that nomination through.” Whatever the man had been expecting me to say, it wasn’t that.

“Kendrick,” he said, turning the name over in his mouth. “As in Ivy Kendrick?”

Like he just figured that out, I thought.

“And you’re Henry Marquette,” the man continued, turning an eagle eye on the boy standing next to me. “My condolences on the loss of your grandfather.”