Spotless by Camilla Monk Read Free Book Online

self-schooled—which
might
have been the reason why I had blossomed into a socially inept adult. She had probably been aware that ten hours of Internet a day were detrimental to my development, but she’d always say that since we relocated so often, it would have been frustrating for me to change schools all the time; better not go at all.
    So, yes, my mom had been weird, maybe even a tiny bit irresponsible at times. Yet, being a free spirit doesn’t make you a criminal. She had raised me as best she could, and with her I had visited many countries and become fluent in several languages. How many kids can say that?
    My hands bunched into fists. I couldn’t accept this. Couldn’t stand the way March’s words were already worming their way inside my head. “This doesn’t make any sense! And I swear to you she didn’t leave me a diamond or anything like that. All I ever received was some cash that had been sleeping in a bank account. I got six thousand dollars and nothing else. They didn’t—” My voice faltered as I recalled this episode. “They didn’t even give me her things. My dad disposed of them while I was still in the hospital, and I had
nothing
left from her.”
    An emotion that looked closely like fake sorrow shadowed March’s features. “Didn’t you ever wonder why he would do that? Erase her like that?”
    A cold, prickling sensation radiated from my spine throughout my body. Of course I had. My father and I weren’t big on drama or personal discussions, though. Months after my relocation to New York, I had timidly brought up the issue and expressed regrets that I had no actual souvenir left from my mother, only memories. Knowing myself though, it probably sounded like I had dropped my toast on the peanut-buttered side or missed an episode of
MythBusters
. I could still remember that lunch at the Russian Tea Room, during which I had stared down at my blinis while my father vaguely apologized, claiming he had no idea I wanted to keep her things, and that no one even knew if I’d ever wake up, back then.
    One thing hadn’t changed after all these years: I was still a champion at looking down and shunning people when I didn’t want to listen to what they had to say. My gaze focused on the tips of my ballet flats, covered in mud and glistening grass blades; I blocked March’s voice, his very existence. What did my father know?
Really know?
    “Island? Island?”
    I felt March’s hand on my shoulder, bursting through my bubble, and looked up to see a line of worry on his brow. “Are you still with me?”
    “I . . . Yes . . . I am. Go on.”
    He nodded. “As I was saying, in 2004, the Board sent her to Pretoria to steal the Ghost Cullinan, but she betrayed them and disappeared with the stone. She fled to Japan, where—”
    He stopped there, perhaps out of some shred of decency. I didn’t need to hear again that my mom had burned inside her car, and that the only reason I was still alive was that a passerby had extracted me from the wreckage that day.
    “Even if any of this was true, I know nothing about that damn stone,” I mumbled.
    “Didn’t she leave any sort of hint? Try to remember.”
    “How would I know? That notary was a good-for-nothing anyway. We never received any paperwork,
nothing
!”
    A spark lit in March’s eyes. “Notary?”
    “Yes, I know he contacted my dad once, months after her death. But we never heard from him again. My dad said he had no way to reach the guy.” I shrugged. “Maybe it was better this way: the estate was negative anyway.”
    “Did your father say that? That your mother’s net worth was negative?”
    “Yes. Look, I was fifteen . . . I don’t really know . . . I dropped the issue, okay? It was just a bunch of bad memories.” I looked away, fighting a mixture of anger and shame. I had given up on my mother’s will so I could forget, be strong like my father and act like she had never existed. Only now that I was confessing it out loud