The Canary Tree

Chapter Two: The Tree

On her way home, Eliza bumped into several people, knocked over fruit stands, ran through traffic lights, and about anything else that could get you in trouble here. Her mind occupied and her vision blurry, she stumbled up to her room and pulled out her two year old 2006 flip phone
. Going to the first contact on her list, Mala, and clicking the small envelope icon, she would type something warning her friend, then delete it before it sent. She didn't know what was right anymore.
"You have three days time. Three days to plan a murder of my best friend?" Eliza flung her pillow and sent it flying to the other side of the room.
"It's not fair. It's not fair! It's not fair!" She screamed between tears.

After an hour of screaming and yelling, Eliza caught her breath, grabbed her bulky backpack, and headed back outside. "North to The Tree, five steps right, straight until you find the spot." She mumbled, the directions practically seared in her mind by her friend. "What does she mean by 'the spot?'" She shook her head slowly and turned north, easy to find because of the compass she always kept in her backpack.
Once reaching The Tree, also known as The Canary Tree, she sifted her hand around the leaves inside the man-made hole at the bottom of the trunk until she felt a book like surface. Carefully pulling it out, she read:

May 11th, 2008
Hey Eliza, I know it's been a few days since I've updated you. It's not easy coming every day to the tree without getting caught you know, especially after murdering the richest millionaire known to man kind. Don't ask how I did it, because I'm not sure myself. All I know is I need to get out of here. Fast.

Eliza read through the note a few more times, searching for a code of some sort, with no luck. She opened her backpack and pulled a pencil out, then scrawled below Mala's note.

May 12th,
I know you do, but I need you to stay three more days, I need your help with a history project. You know how good I am at those, I'm not. It won't take long, and I can bring some fresh food. You gotta trust me.

It hurt to write the final words, as the last thing Mala should do should be trusting Eliza, even through 15 years of friendship. Everywhere Mala was, Eliza was, even from the time they were born. She wept slightly as she placed the book back and started plotting her schemes.