The Inheritances Game (Jameson Hawthorne)

Karoke

The next day we worked almost all day. We talked to Nan and Zara, played with the numbers, identified the church, which wasn't even in France, let alone in Margaux. We went back to the unused objects in the bag: a steamer, a flashlight, the USB. By mid afternoon, we were stuck in a loop. As if he'd divined the need for something to snap us out of it, Xander texted both mine and Jameson's phone. Jameson held it out for Avery to see as I looked at my own. 

911

"An emergency?" Avery asked. 

"More like a summons," Jameson responded. 

"Come on." We made it as far as the hallway before we ran into Nash, who was leaving Libby's room in the clothes he'd worn the day before, holding a small, wiggling ball of chaos and brown fur. 

"I really hope you didn't try to give that incredibly adorable puppy to my sister," Avery told him. 

"He didn't." Libby padded into the hallway wearing an I EAT MORNING PEOPLE shirt and black pajama pants. "He knows better. That is a Hawthorne dog." Libby reached out to stroke the puppy's ear. "Nash found her in an alley. Some drunk assholes were poking at her with a stick." Knowing Nash as I did, I doubted that had turned out well for the drunk assholes. "He saved her," Libby continued, letting her hand drop. "That's what he does." 

"I don't know, darlin'," Nash said, giving the pup a scratch, his eyes on my sister. "I was in pretty rough shape. Maybe she saved me." I went over and started petting the puppy, Nash smiled handing her to me. The puppy was soft and squirmy, licking my chin before readjusting in my arms.

 "You get Xander's nine-one-one?" Jameson asked his brother. 

"Sure did," Nash drawled. 

"Nine-one-one?" Libby frowned. "Is Xander okay?" 

"He needs us," Nash told Libby, "We each only get one a year. A text like that comes in, it doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. You drop everything and go." 

"Xander just hasn't told us where to go yet," I added. Right on cue, our phones buzzed. A series of texts came through in quick succession. Jameson angled his phone toward me and Avery so that we could see. I was holding the puppy which took two hands. Xander had sent four photographs, each containing a little drawing. The first was a heart with the word CARE written in the middle of it. I scrolled to the second picture and frowned. 

"Is that a monkey riding a bicycle?" Libby moved toward Nash and took his phone from his pocket. There was something intimate about the action—the way he let her, the way she knew he would. "The monkey appears to be saying EEEEEE!" Libby commented Nash looked at the picture. 

"Could be a lemur," he opined. I shook my head and looked at the third picture: Xander had drawn a tree. The fourth picture was an elephant jumping on a pogo stick, also saying EEEEEE! 

Avery looked at Jameson and I. "Do you have any idea what this means?" 

"As previously established, nine-one-one means Xander is calling us in," I said. "By Hawthorne rules, this summons cannot be ignored."

"As for the pictures... work it out for yourself," Jameson finished.

"Tree's an oak, if that helps," Nash told Avery. The puppy barked, wanting attention which I happily gave.

"You've got to be kidding me," Avery announced. 

"What?" Libby asked. 

Jameson smirked. "Hawthornes never kid about karaoke."

Avery's Pov

Five minutes later, we were in the Hawthorne theater. Notto be confused with the Hawthorne movie theater, this one had a stage, a red velvet curtain, stadium and box seating—the whole shebang. Xander stood on the stage, holding a microphone. A screen had been set up behind him, and there must have been a projector somewhere because "911!" danced on the screen. 

"I need this," Xander said into the microphone. "You need this. We all need this. Nash, I've cued up the Taylor Swift for you. Jameson, get ready to break out those dance moves because this stage is calling your name, and we all know that your hips are utterly incapable of falsehood. And as for Grayson..." Xander paused. "Where is Gray?" 

"Grayson Hawthorne skipping out on karaoke?" Libby said. "I'm shocked, I tell you. Shocked." 

"Gray has a voice so deep and smooth that you will shed literal tears as he sings something so old school that you will come to believe he spent the 1950s wearing the most dapper of suits and hanging out with his bestie, Frank Sinatra," Xander swore. He swung his gaze to his brothers. 

"But Gray's not here." Catalina glanced at me "You don't ignore a nine-one-one text," she told me. "No matter what." 

"Where is Grayson?" Nash asked. And that was when I heard it—a sound halfway between a crash and the shattering of wood. 

Jameson jogged out to the hallway. There was another crash. "Music room," he told us.

 Xander jumped off the stage. "My duet will have to wait!" 

"Who were you going to duet with?" Libby asked. 

"Myself!" Xander yelled as he ran for the door, but Nash caught him. 

"Hold on there, Xan. Let Jamie go." Nash looked toward me. "You go, too, kid." I wasn't sure what Nash thought was going on here—or why he seemed so sure that Jameson and I were the ones Grayson needed. "In the meantime," Nash told Xander, "give me the mic." 

Catalina's Pov

The Hawthorne theater pulsed with laughter, cheers, and the off-key but enthusiastic singing of Xander and Libby. Nash even got in on the action, surprising everyone with a couple of heartfelt songs.

I stood at the back, cheering on my friends while the small puppy curled up in my lap, fast asleep. The lively karaoke night unfolded with each performance bringing the night to life. The energy was infectious.

The little puppy in my lap woke up, its ears perking up to the music. As Xander took a bow, I gently picked up the puppy, and together, we joined the others on stage.