If he thought it could be done, then he would get his mother away from Dwayne Moss in the space of two heartbeats. But she’s become too dependent on him. “Maybe he’ll appreciate her more. He takes her for granted you know. It doesn’t hurt him one bit to think someone else might be interested in her.”

Carly laughs. “How often do you do it?”

“Every few months or so. Keeps them on their toes and whatnot.”

She gives him a sideways glance, clearly impressed. “And what is on the agenda for this evening, Moss?”

He likes it when she calls him Moss, because ever since she told him that Arden reminded her of “garden” with pink flowers, he’s been feeling slightly emasculated. Moss though? Moss sounds manly enough, he’s decided.

“Tonight we work in real estate.” He motions to the back of his truck and Carly peers through the window separating the cabin from the bed.

“For Rent signs?” she squeaks. Then she laughs. “Oh, this ought to be good.”

“I was thinking of putting them up around a few houses in Hammock Harbor.” Hammock Harbor is Arden’s own neighborhood. They’d know instantly who’d done it, but they wouldn’t have the proof.

No one would ever have the proof.

“Then I was thinking we could put City Hall up for auction. Tape a final notice on their door and everything.”

Carly shakes her head. “Lame. But no matter what we do, we wear gloves this time. And we buy fresh tape from one town over. No trail left behind. And I need something to cover up my nose. It’s a noticeable nose.”

To Arden, everything about her is noticeable. He just didn’t notice it until the night they actually met at the Breeze Mart. “You act like we’re robbing a bank or something.”

“I’m just covering our—my—bases. If Julio found out about—”

“I cannot even describe how tired I am of hearing about what Julio thinks about this and that.” But he knows the conversation is over before it starts. He knows not to press the issue further too. Carly will insist he take her home and then where will he be? Sleepless and bereft of her company. It’s in his best interest to keep her pleased. “We’ll drive over to De Leon Springs and get some latex gloves and tape. Does that make you feel better?”

“What about the signs? Did you already touch the signs without gloves?”

“You must be joking.” No evidence that gets planted will ever carry his fingerprints on them.

“It’s just that you don’t have a healthy fear of getting caught. Your daddy’s the mighty sheriff. You have too many get-out-of-jail-free cards. I don’t. I get caught, I’m screwed.”

She’s already explained to him what getting caught means. She’s busted with Julio, she now has a record, and a record gets her disqualified for all the scholarships she’s nurturing her GPA for. He gets it, he does. But they’re not going to get caught.

They pull into the Dollar Tree in De Leon Springs and purchase a few essentials for tonight’s escapades, plus some candy and soda to keep them wired. As the cashier rings up their purchases, Arden makes a mental list in his head with each item. Tape, check. Gloves, check. Flimsy toy hockey mask, check. Fake mustaches, check. Sharpie marker, check. The whole store is like one big birthday party central with every theme imaginable for the bargain price of one dollar. They split the cost—which always bothers Arden since Carly is so serious about money, or the lack thereof. But these days she seems more flush with cash than he does.

When they’re safely in the truck, Arden pulls out a file folder from the driver’s side door. In it are generically typed foreclosure forms he whipped up in the library at school. He shows them to Carly. She shakes her head. “We’re going to hell for this.”

“You believe in hell? Really, truly?”

“Don’t you?”

Arden grunts. “Isn’t God supposed to be all lovable and stuff? I mean, how fair is hell really? Say you’re a sinner—and we’re all sinners, right?—but say you’re a really bad sinner like a murderer or something and you live for ninety-nine years then you die. You sin for ninety-nine years, but you’re supposed to burn in hell for the rest of eternity for it? What kind of weird justice is that? The punishment doesn’t fit the crime.”

“Well then, where do bad people go?”

“You’re not a bad person, Carly. We’re juking people, not murdering them in their beds.”

“But, for argument’s sake. Where do they go?”

Arden considers. “They just die.”

“And good people?”

He thinks of his sister, Amber. These Southern preachers want him to believe that she’s in hell right now because she committed suicide. Because her life belonged to God and it wasn’t hers to take and all that mess. But Amber was the type of person who wouldn’t kill even the most vicious-looking spider. She’d simply scoop it up with a magazine or newspaper and set it outside. It’s just that Amber was sick. She had real-life chemical imbalances in her head. Imbalances that made her do and say weird things. Would a loving, caring God really put her in hell because she wanted to end that?

Arden doesn’t think so. “But are there really good people? Good people, through and through? Or are we all just varying versions of bad people, some trying harder to be good? In which case, we would all just die. Everyone dies. That’s all I know.”