Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 15
Leander plates another cookie and slides it toward me over the tabletop.
“Don’t mind me while I eat my feelings,” I deadpan, scooping up the snickerdoodle.
“I won’t stop you. I’m done, though. Coach will make the whole team run suicides if he finds out how many of these I ate this weekend.”
“Blame Sykes. He’d be a good patsy.”
“Solid plan, Lambie.”
“Lambie? Really?”
Leander smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, just thought I’d try it out.”
“If I remind you of a wooly farm animal, we’ve got problems.”
Chuckling, Leander takes one of my hands. The pad of his thumb skims over my skin in a caress as soft as silk. “Babe? Lady? Sweets?”
“No, no, and hell to the no.”
“I’ll workshop it and get back to you.” Bringing my hand to his lips, he brushes a kiss over my knuckles. I have to work to keep a straight face under the guy’s ministrations. I’d rather not walk out of the department with a red face and a case of the giggles.
“You do that, Chandler.”
Leander huffs, leaning in, eyes on my mouth. “Wow, we’re bad at pet names.”
Footsteps in the hallway make me straighten. “We should leave it to the professionals.”
“We’ll figure it out. Shall we?” He walks me to my car, floating the idea of catching a movie later. I can’t because I promised my mom we’d have a movie night at home.
“I’m glad you came by.” Leander gifts me a gentle goodbye kiss on the cheek.
“Me too.” I drive home on autopilot while my mind relives my afternoon. Leander’s right; our pet-name game is horrible.
But that’s not what I keep circling back to every few seconds.
After my conversation with McCandles, he’d assured me that he would do his best to solve Gracia’s murder, given the new evidence I’d uncovered. He said I’d helped, but to leave the rest to the professionals.
It’s a good suggestion. Too bad I’m not that great at taking advice, even my own. Besides, I’m not investigating the murder, per se. Just Gracia’s articles in progress.
My phone chimes, but I wait until I’m home to check, because if one of the deputies sees me texting and driving, it will result in a massive ticket.
It’s a video file from Leander.
Hope this helps
Sitting in the driveway, I watch. It’s the video of Gracia going into resort room 207. There’s a splice in the footage, and then the hooded figure knocks, careful to keep his head down so his face isn’t caught on camera. Gracia answers the door wearing something silky and short. My eyes widen as the hooded figure goes inside, and the door closes.
Heart smashing against my ribs, I watch it again. And again. This is Gracia’s mystery man. He has a tattoo on his right hand. It’s blurry in the footage, but I have the sneaking suspicion I’ve seen it before. That I’ve been hurt by the owner’s angry fists.
My dad used to say that if you applied enough pressure to a case, eventually something would give. My hands curl around the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. Applying pressure. Let’s see what gives.
I dial a number I never thought I’d use. Rock answers on the fourth ring. “Hey.”
“It’s me, Valencia.”
He coughs. “Yeah, look, Rique, now’s not a good time.” There’s a woman’s voice among the noise in the background.
“You’re with Janice. I thought you broke up?”
“I’m home. Grannie’s right here. Can we talk at school tomorrow?”
“It needs to be tonight.”
“Fine. I’ll hit you back later.”
I move into the house, grabbing the tub of ice cream and a spoon. Plunking down on the couch, I have mint chip for dinner. Mom is at work, and I don’t feel like cooking or waiting for delivery. My eyes are glued to my phone.
By the time it rings, I have the keys in my hand and am staring at the door, wondering if it would be faster to drive to Rock’s grandma’s house, where he still lives.
“This better be good. You interrupted enchilada night.”
“You still do that?” Grannie Agani’s enchiladas were the best. All that gooey cheese, the spicy sauce, the chunky tomatoes.
“Every week. She’s got me and the littles helping make them, now though. Says making fifty enchiladas is too much for an eighty year old.” He chuckles.
I picture his grandma in her beloved avocado-colored kitchen, stirring the sauce and prepping the cheese and meat she’d stuff into each one. I haven’t had them in seven years, and man if I don’t crave them sometimes.
There is ear-piercing, happy screaming on Rock’s end of the phone, and then it muffles. “The littles causing mayhem again?”
Rock huffs. “Why’d you call?”
Guess he’s not in the mood to chitchat, so I get to the point. “I need your help.”
“With?”
“I saw the footage of Gracia at the resort, and I’m pretty sure I know who she was seeing on the sly.”
There’s a creaking sound on his end, as if he’s lowered his weight onto the side of his old bed. We used to jump on it precisely because it was so squeaky. “What does that have to do with me?”
I brace myself. This is the tricky part. “I’m pretty sure the guy in the video was your brother.”
Rock makes a sound in the back of his throat, whether in derision or surprise I’m not sure. His retort clears it up. “I’m pretty sure if my brother was seeing a dead girl, I’d know about it.”
“Then it won’t hurt to look into it, will it?”
“Not interested. Night, Val.”
“Wait! Listen, I have to do this, and I need you to help me.”
“Again, not interested. See you to--”
“Don’t hang up!” Exhaling, I pace across the living room. I really don’t want to do this. “I still have that video of your guys stealing my car. Help me, and I’ll delete it.” Every word out of my mouth is like a grenade launched at Rock. I’m blowing up any remaining bits of the friendship he and I once had. It’s nothing but ash, poisoning the phone line stretched taut between us. Our shallow puffs of breath blow the remaining bits into the ether.
He is silent so long I pull my phone away from my face to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “I do this, and you delete the video. That’s the deal?”
Shame pushes my shoulders up around my ears. I drag them down. If my dad could see how I’m treating my friend, he’d sit me down for a long lecture on loyalty and kindness and respect. It would suck almost as much as the edge in Rock’s voice.
I can’t back down now that I have a new lead to follow.
Grimacing, I keep talking. “I need some information about Gracia Cuoco, and you’re going to help me get it.”
He agrees, and we hang up. It should please me, making progress, but it doesn’t. If this is a win, why can’t I summon even a ghost of a smile? Shaking out my arms, I go downstairs in search of something to feed my sloshing stomach, wishing for enchiladas.
Rock Almost Gets His Kisser Kicked
This chain link fence is massive. Ridiculously tall. Coils of razor-edged wire line the top edge in an immensely effective attempt to keep people from scaling the fence and tossing themselves over the other side. The u-shaped gate latch is closed, and a bulky chain dangles firmly in place. It’s like Leif doesn’t want anyone coming in through the auto shop’s back door. Jiggling it just to make sure, I step back. Hands on hips, I blow out a breath. Toss a raised chin toward the fence. “I thought you said it would be unlocked.”
Rock thumbs his lower lip, eyes on the barrier’s upper rim. “Usually is.”
“It’s not now. You sure Leif doesn’t know?”
“No.”
“What?” I squawk.
His eyes pierce mine. “I told you he didn’t.”
“Then explain the giant padlock I’m staring at.”
“Getting paranoid that someone is looking over his shoulder. Can’t imagine why.” The sly look he gives makes me snort.
“Can’t fault him there. Never hurts to be cautious.”
“Says the girl who’s about to commit a felony.”
“Isn’t my first. Won’t be the last. Think Leif will report me if he catches us?” I quip, rocking back on my heels to study the barbed wire. There aren’t any tools in my car that will help us get past it. It would be a good idea to carry bolt cutters in the trunk.
“We’ll have to come back another night.” I brush past Rock in the narrow alley, but his hand snakes out, grazing my wrist. My eyes snap to his, mouth open to tell him to get his mitts off. He lets go, and the touch fades from my skin.
“Gimme a sec.” His hand flexes as it drops.
Rock was skeptical when I texted him the day after our call, asking if he could help break into the auto shop. I sent him the video, and he swore it wasn’t his brother. Rock warned me I wouldn’t find anything of interest in Leif’s place. He told me that even if Gracia had been slumming it with Leif, there was no way his brother killed her. Talk about opposite vibes, those two are about as similar as the Easter Bunny and the Grim Reaper.
That was before I heard that at the approximate time of the murder, Leif was in the parking lot of the resort, watching his tricked-out car go up in flames. It was the confirmation I needed that he was there that night, just not where I expected him to be.
Maybe Leif killed her and then set his own car on fire as a diversion. I keep that thought to myself.
“What are you hoping to find in there?” Rock asks, voice a low rumble.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” I say, tugging on the end of my Dutch braid. Wrapping my free hand around my wrist, I rub at the skin there, moving up my arm to smooth away the goosebumps. Breaking into the auto shop is freaking me out more than I’m willing to admit.
Rock shrugs out of his leather jacket and stretches it between two large hands. Taking a few strides back, he jumps up and scales the fence like an Olympic vaulter, draping the leather over the barbed wire and dragging it down toward the top pole of the fence.
“Shi-- there goes your jacket.” I gape, surprised by the agile way Rock vaulted the fence. A closer look reveals metal thorns tearing through the jacket’s shiny faux-satin lining and into the leather.
“Get a move on, Val.” Rock hangs off the opposite side of the chain link. The toes of his shoes dig into the voids in the metal as he points at the crest with a hand.
Outside the alley, cars drive past the garage and surrounding buildings, their headlights illuminating the alley’s mouth for a fraction before gliding past. There’s not a ton of traffic since we’re in the middle of a commercial park where most of the businesses close at 5 PM. It means there aren’t many chances of being spotted. We came tonight because Leif is out partying with friends and tends to go to their grannie’s house afterward to sleep it off. Ergo, the perfect chance to break into the auto shop.
Cold wire digs into my palms as I hoist myself to the top of the fence. Pause to eye the jacket, which surprisingly covers a good amount of the coiled, bloodthirsty wire. Enough for me to cross the summit, at least. With a deep breath, I swing one leg over the fence’s apex. And freeze.
A car draws even with the alley. I wasn’t listening, and it snuck up on us. If it’s Leif or one of his pals returning to the shop, we are completely and utterly screwed.
We’ve gotta hurry, because if they look down the alley and spot Rock and me lined up on the fence like a couple of opossums, we’ll be easy pickings.
Cursing, I try to get a toe hold on the opposite side of the chain link. The sloppy attempt misses. My foot flails and I teeter, hissing as a metal barb bites my thigh.
The car slides past. I let out a whine.
Suddenly Rock is right next to me, holding my weight with a hand wrapped around my bicep. “Geez you’re heavy.” He groans, the veins in his arm straining as I shove the toe of my boot into the fence.
“Shut your trap. Am not.”
He huffs. “Didn’t mean it that way. You’re like a tiny, solid muscle. You been lifting weights?”
“Kick boxing,” I flex my arm, secretly pleased. I’ve been busting my butt in classes three times a week because it’s the only place where kicking people is not only allowed, but encouraged. It’s nice that somebody noticed, even if it’s Rock. Once I have my footing, he eases his hand off. My skin burns from the contact. It’s definitely going to bruise, but it’s not as bad as the cut on my thigh. Damn, I tore my favorite pair of jeans.
I drop to the ground, and rock follows. Stalking closer, smooth like a jungle cat, he catches me rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans. “You’re bleeding.”
I cover the shallow slice with a hand. “It’s a scratch. Not a big deal.” I chuck my chin at the shredded leather in his hulk-sized hands. “Your jacket’s done-for.”
“”S fine.”
“Not sentimental, are you?”
“Not my style. Janice picked it out.” Really looking at the torn coat makes that obvious. It’s busy, with silver zippers and buttons that are too flash for Rock. The Rock I used to know, at least. Who knows what his style is like now, when he’s out of the school uniform. Not that I ever think about him out of uniform. . .
You know what? That train of thought is not healthy or wanted. Shaking it off, I study the alley. The auto shop’s back door is at the other end next to a concrete wall. It’s painted a slick, dull gray that we’d never have been able to climb, even with the pair of dumpsters backed up against it.
Turning to Rock, I grin evilly and clap my hands. “Is she going to kick your butt when she sees it? Can I be there when you tell her?”
“Naw.”
“Killjoy.”
“Come on, Mighty Mouse. Let’s do this.”
I grin, following him deeper into the industrial crevice. Newspaper is taped to the shop door’s sole window, blocking the view inside. Which means that we could be opening this door right into the middle of a pack of Snakes. Yay. Pressing my ear against the metal panel, I listen. Hear nothing. Either the door is killer at muffling sound, or there’s no one inside.
“Here we go.” Rock pulls a key out of his work boot and unlocks the greasy knob. It swings open into silence. The shop is empty. The office, too. Lady luck is smiling down on us this evening. “Where does Leif keep his stuff?”
Rock points to the narrow staircase to the lofted office in the shadowed cathedral of the corrugated metal building. The blinds in the large window are closed, and darkness gathers behind them.
“You were right. No one’s home.”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” Rock grins.
“Who said you were pretty?” I take the stairs two at a time, avoiding the metal banister, because it boasts a solid inch of rust. I’d like to avoid tetanus, if possible. The door at the top is unlocked, and swings open silently under my fingertips. Sweat and gasoline permeate my nose, and I pinch it with a thumb and forefinger.
Rock reaches past me to flip the light switch, illuminating a small, grubby studio apartment. A dated kitchenette takes up the wall to my right. A small dining table doubles as a computer desk. An unmade murphy bed on the opposite wall lies open. The only other door probably leads to the bathroom. I move toward a floating shelf beside the bed, perusing the books. Sports biographies, which surprises me. Not sure what I’m looking for, I take one of them off the shelf and page through it. Slide it back into place.
Rock opens and closes the handful of drawers and cabinets in the kitchenette, pawing through stuff without really seeing any of it. “What are we looking for?”
“I’ll know when I see it.” Skimming around the table, I open the top dresser drawer to a messy pile of briefs, and a purple squeeze tube you couldn’t pay me to touch. “Gross. How about you take this drawer?”
Rock shoots me a look.
“Okay, then.” Taking a pen out of the cup on the table, I use it to nose through Leif’s personal stuff. Nothing interesting, unless I’m counting a couple of salacious magazines. The next two drawers are even less riveting.
Something skids in the bottom drawer when I open it, making my hands itch. Here we go. Moving a pair of overalls aside, I fumble along the back of the drawer. My hand closes around a cell phone. My breath cuts out when I lay eyes on it.
The phone is Gracia’s.
I’d recognize the sparkly yellow case anywhere, and Leif had it tucked into his bottom drawer out of sight.
Holy crap, I might be onto something with my whole Leif killed Gracia theory. Flaming car be damned.
“Yo, who’s up there? Rock?” A male voice slurs from downstairs.
Rock pivots toward the door, a hand scraping through his locks.
Knuckles white around the phone, I ease the drawer closed sliver by sliver. My heart pounds in my head as I stand up painstakingly slowly, sliding the phone into the back of my pants so no one sees it. Hopefully.
“Uh, hey Leif.” Rock waves me over to him, planting himself firmly between me and the exit. “Don’t move,” he mutters, arms held slightly out from his sides. To make himself look bigger? To block me from view, definitely. I don’t argue. If Rock is putting himself between me and his twisted older brother, I’m letting him.
Leif’s heavy footfalls drag up the stairs. He must trip, because there’s a thud and a string of curses. A breathy laugh.
I focus on the texture of the ribbed tee stretched between Rock’s shoulder blades. Inching my feet forward, I close the gap between us until my nose brushes across his spine. Oops. Too close. I don’t back away. Drunk Leif is seconds from laying eyes on his brother, and I do not want to find out what he’ll do if he finds me with him.
I’m so close to Rock his back spans the entire width of my vision, his torso rising and falling on quick breaths. The boy has nice shoulders. Smells decent too.
Leif stumbles in, hand slapping on the door frame. “What’s up, bro?” He halts, swaying on his feet. Gives a slow, lecherous chuckle. “Who’s that? Janice?”
