Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 17
Destin reaches for my calf in a touch that would be gentle and soothing. If I let it.
I’m too far gone. Arching like an apoplectic cat at an unwanted pat, I jump back.
“Woah. Woah.” Holding up his hands, Destin looks at me, weariness in those blue eyes. “Maybe we should take a few days. Calm down. Then we can talk. Yeah?” His gaze shifts between Portia and me, before returning to the water. While we were fighting, the sun has mired itself in the rippling brine until it rests on the surface, barely a sliver of gold. He’s missed his window. It’s too dark to surf.
Portia huffs, arms crossed over her chest. Goosebumps have risen along her bare legs. So the girl does feel the cold. She helps Des gather his gear and stow it in the army green rucksack he uses for everything but school, not looking at me even once.
I sit unmoving, no idea what to say to stop the active volcano of our friendship from spewing more lava that burns all three of us.
Destin pauses with the bag halfway to his shoulder, glancing at me. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car. Let’s take a few days. Cool off. Then we can talk.”
I can’t deal. My mind spinning as I try to figure out how we went from a triangle, an unbroken cord of three strands, to this: those two on the opposite side of an invisible line I wish I could erase, but can’t. The determined line of my jaw makes Destin back off.
Watching my best friends put their arms around each other and walk up the sand toward the parking lot is like being stabbed through the heart with a flaming sword. How did this go so wrong, so fast?
My Boyfriend Is an Idiot
Light flickers across the theater, lighting up the stadium seating in a flash when the actors on screen fire their guns at a fleeing suspect, despite the pedestrians around. Real cops would never take such risky shots. I laugh in disbelief, beyond done pretending that this movie was a good choice.
In the next seat, Leander takes a long drink from his soda. His warm palm, calloused from hours upon hours clutching a football, covers mine. “You might have been right about this movie.”
“It’s terrible.”
“It’s terrible,” he echoes, shifting the full wattage of his attention to me.
“You saw the trailer. How you thought this would be a good movie is beyond me. These people clearly didn’t even talk to anyone in law enforcement when they were writing this. It’s nonsensical.”
Leander’s hand squeezes mine as his grin widens. “You know, the movie might be terrible, but watching you get so wound up might be worth it. You’re hot when you’re mad.”
“My frustration is not for your entertainment,” I scold, turning prickly.
Leander leans in as a green-screened explosion scorches my retinas.
Ignoring him, I scoff at the movie. “They weren’t even trying, were they?”
“No, they weren’t. Hey, Val. Look at me. Please?” His hand skims my shoulder to blanket the nape of my neck. Tearing my eyes away from the train-wreck unfolding on the big screen, I meet his flame blue eyes.
“I’m sorry I said that. About your anger being hot. If my dad heard me say that, he’d lock me in the drunk tank with weird Frank.”
Working out the cranky snarls in my muscles, I relax into his touch. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m not thrilled with you at the moment, but I’m not mad at you.”
Leander gives my neck a tender squeeze. “Your friends still shunning you at lunch?”
“Complete shun.” It’s been a week since Destin and Portia sat with me at our table, and I thought they’d have come back by now. Instead, I sat by myself--again--and choked down the sandwich I made this morning. Since I have no idea where my friends have been eating their lunch, I couldn’t go find them and try to mend the rift that grows between us with every frustrating day that passes.
What’s worse, Janice has been in a truly horrific mood since she and Rock broke up, and made jabs at people every chance she got, until finally another couple broke up loudly and dramatically in the middle of the hallway before fifth period. It gave everyone something else to gossip about for the rest of the day.
I never thought I would, but I feel bad for Janice.
Leander pats my shoulder. “That sucks.”
“This movie sucks.” We both chuckle, earning a glare from an elderly woman a few rows up. “We should go.”
When I try to stand, my boyfriend’s fingers encircle my wrist. The quick movement stops my momentum, and I sink into my seat. “Wait a second. I’m sure we could think of something else to do instead of watching the movie. Go with me on this. It’s dark and quiet, and we’re basically alone in here except for the golden girls up there….” The grin he turns on me makes a spark of heat ignite in my belly and spread through my limbs.
“Leander McCandles. What are you insinuating? I am a lady.” My faux offense pulls his smile wider.
“You’ve got some interesting hobbies for a lady,” he murmurs, easing his mouth closer to mine.
“Duh. Ladies can be detectives, too. Look up Mary Grace Humiston.” My palm rises to rest on his chest, the strong thumping of his heart beneath his sweater.
“I’ll try to remember.” Leander’s nose brushes mine. His kiss is gentle and perfect. I want about fifteen more like it.
“I take it back. Best movie ever.” He swallows my laugh, lighting me up like those birthday candles that spark back to life over and over after being extinguished. We try to be quiet, but my laughter must alert the old ladies up front. One of them stomps out of the theater, muttering angrily.
Embarrassed, I scold Leander, trying to move his hand from my waist. His fingers dig playfully into my shirt.
“You’re asking for it,” I whisper in a break between kisses. Folding all of my fingers down but two, I jab his side. The squeal Leander makes when I connect is worth more dirty looks from the golden girls.
A cold, white beam from a high-powered flashlight blinds me.
“Canoodling in a movie theater now, Valencia? And McCandles junior?” Seeing Deputy Sykes standing in the aisle douses me in frigid water. Folding my hands into my lap, I try to look innocent. Sykes barks a stiff laugh. “Let’s step outside, shall we?” His tone brooks no room for disagreement.
It’s not until we’re out in the wide theater hallway, standing on blue and green confetti carpet that I realize something is wrong. The deputy looks tense, ready for an argument. Red flags start waving in the corners of my mind as he gestures toward the side exit. Shooting a concerned look at Leander, I follow. My boyfriend slips his fingers between mine, holding on.
Sirens tear through the otherwise peaceful evening as we hit the parking lot behind the theater. Crisp fall air encroaches over the collar of my turtleneck, snaking icy fingers down my spine.
“What’s going on? Last I checked, kissing in movie theaters wasn’t an arrestable offense,” Leander asks.
Sykes breathes out through his nose. He’s gearing up to deliver what is likely to be terrible news.
My gut drops wide open as my anticipation sours.
“Setting aside the fact that hooking up in a theater is in poor taste,” the deputy says, leveling a reproachful look at us, “that’s not why I’m here. We’ve already been through the house, and it doesn’t look like much was taken, but it’s a huge mess. We’ve called a hotel to arrange for a room for you tonight, so I’ll take you to get some clothes before I drive you over there.”
“Way to bury the lede, Sykes.” Leander pulls me into his side.
“Wait, someone broke into my house?” I screech. Dread widens in my stomach like a thread unspooling. “You have to take me home right now. I have to see if they took anything. What if they went through my dresser, or my bathroom? My dad’s office, is it okay? Did they find the safe? Did they break into it?”
Gracia’s phone was in my dad’s safe. It’s all of the evidence I have on Leif, and I left it. If someone got into Dad’s safe, if they took it…
Sykes adjusts his hands where they rest on his bulky utility belt. “They didn’t find it. It’s intact.”
“You knew about the safe?” I goggle at the man, surprised. My dad and Sykes always got along, but it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. Co-workers and acquaintances. The fact that this man knew about the safe and I didn’t--it rankles.
The deputy nods. “I helped him install it. Used to work in drywall before I applied at the department. Took us an entire weekend. I think you were at your friend’s house. Gus’s granddaughter…”
I thought our family didn’t have secrets from each other. I thought my dad didn’t keep secrets unless he was required to for his job. My whole life, I believed my dad never lied to me. But in the past couple months, I find out he did. Often. The truth of it slices through my chest, leaving behind a deep burn.
It’s obvious from Sykes’s sheepish expression that he’s beginning to realize I didn’t know any of this, and maybe he should stop talking. Clamping his mustachioed mouth shut, he gestures toward the street where a squad car is parked. “If you’re ready, I’ll take you by the house to get your things. Your mom is already there. Someone agreed to come in and cover her shift at the dispatch.”
“You want me to come?” Leander asks, watching me like I’m the only person in this parking lot. Sykes might as well be invisible, the way this boy is gazing at me.
“Yeah. Yes. Sure.”
Deciding something, Leander pivots toward the deputy. “Okay if I drive her?”
Sykes puffs up to disagree, but something in my expression makes him relent.
Leander’s truck smells like French fries and electrolyte drinks. Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind it, but the ball of nerves crushing every other sensation makes my stomach turn. My eyes are glued to Sykes’s patrol car as he escorts us onto the street.
“What has you so wigged out about the safe?” Leander drives with ease, as if we aren’t in a hurry to reach my burglarized house. The traffic light turns red. The patrol car slows to a stop, and Leander coasts the truck up to its bumper. “You heard him say the thieves didn’t find it, right?”
My hands grip the seat belt for something to hold on to. “It’s hard to explain. Actually, no it’s not. My dad had a safe installed in his office when I wasn’t home, and he hid it behind a giant metal filing cabinet so I wouldn’t know it was there. It feels like he kept this big, dirty secret from me, and I can’t understand why.”
Leander glances at me as we pass the diner. “How did you find it then?”
I yank on the collar of my turtleneck. I never told him that part. “I, uh, might have found it when I snooped through his office. There was this bump in the carpet near the files, and Porsh and Des helped me move it. And there it was.”
“And you broke into it.”
“I might have figured out the combination and taken a peek.”
The surprised bark of Leander’s laugh grates on my wrought nerves. “You wonder why your dad didn’t tell you about it even though you break in the minute you find it?”
“It took me a couple weeks,” I murmur, getting more annoyed.
“Oh, a couple weeks. That’s a lot better.” My boyfriend drums on the steering wheel, oblivious to how closely he’s dancing to the edge of my tolerance. “That’s probably why he didn’t tell you. You couldn’t leave it alone. I bet it ate at you until you got inside. Even as kids, if you were curious about something you couldn’t let it drop. I remember one time you overheard Gus talking about a birthday surprise for his granddaughter, and when he wouldn’t tell you what it was, you followed him and saw him putting that giant glittery unicorn in his trunk. And what did you do?”
“I told Portia,” I grumble, reaching for the AC. It’s too hot in the truck.
His distinctly smug look makes me squirm. “What would you do if you found a secret safe in your dad’s home office? Are you telling me you’d leave it alone?”
Leander fluffs his hair one-handed, thinking. “My dad doesn’t keep stuff like that from me. If he had one, he’d tell me, along with a warning to leave it be. I trust him.”
The easy confidence Leander has in his dad chops through the already fractured image I have of mine, leaving it in tatters. Leander’s blunt assessment digs into the fear that has grown in my chest with each passing day since I found my dad’s name on the hotel reservation list. There were things my dad didn’t tell me. Was it because he was trying to protect me, or because it was need-to-know information that I didn’t need? Or was it because he was conflicted about what he was doing?
“So it’s my fault he didn’t tell me? Because he knew I would butt in?”
Leander hesitates, cutting another glance at me. “No, that’s not… Look, your dad… he obviously had some secrets he didn’t want anyone knowing. He was reserving a room for an eighteen year old girl to meet her secret boyfriend at a hotel. Why would he do that? Even if she was his informant, why the hotel room? Why not a conference room? You have to admit that sounds shady.”
There’s a stabbing pain, deep in my chest. I didn’t know my dad as well as I thought I did. In all of my life, it never occurred to me that he would do something so morally gray. In pursuit of justice, no less. Doubts in my heart expand like sponges hitting water, soaking up all of those corrosive thoughts. Leaving no room for justification.
My tongue goes dry. I roll the window down and stick my head out. Maybe the freezing air on my cheeks will make my gut stop churning.
The truck eases to a stop, snatching away the reprieve of the wind in my hair. I swear we’re hitting every single red on the way to the house.
By the time I gather the strength to look at Leander, stinging tears are tracking down my face. When did I start crying? My voice is a ghost, transparent with wilted edges. Behind my ribs, my heart shrinks into itself. This is a no-win scenario. No matter how Leander answers this, we’re already broken. “You thought he did it, didn’t you?”
Leander’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, strangling the rubber. “At first, but after we started looking into it… No. There wasn’t any evidence he’d hurt her. Your dad… he did some questionable shit, though. And he must have known it wasn’t cool. Why else would he reserve a room under a fake name like that?”
Buzzing noise fills my head, like a blender turned up to its most powerful, crushing speed. I plummet into the eye of the storm.
The truck jostles over a pothole. Leander rests a hand on the seat between us, almost as if he thought about reaching for me but stopped himself. Exhaling loudly, he puts the final nails in the coffin of our relationship. “After it happened, my dad brought all his files home one night. I remember coming in from somewhere, I don’t know, and he had it all laid out on the dining room table. He let me look through it some. I thought it was weird that he told the dispatch he was heading to the crime scene, and he never showed up. No one saw him again after that. Doesn’t it make you wonder why?”
Of course I wonder why. It’s the question that has loomed at my back every second of every day since the morning I woke up and realized I’d lost a good friend and a parent while I was sleeping.
I swipe at my cheeks, but the tears don’t stop. “If you were so sure he was guilty of something, why did you agree to help me?”
Leander lets go of the wheel, dragging both hands through his hair. His knees steer the truck. “Val, you gotta understand. I liked you. A lot. And I just wanted to help, no matter what happened. And you did it. You proved he didn’t kill Gracia.”
“Unlike your dad.”
Leander flinches, eyes hardening.
Pain sears up my spine, and I can’t keep it inside. A scream bursts between my lips and fills the cab. Flinging off the seatbelt, I tear the door open. We’re not going that fast, I reason.
“Don’t--” Leander yells, but I can’t stay. Not when it feels like my skin is about to erupt, burning from the inside.
I stumble out of the rolling truck, praying I can hold it together long enough to get away before Leander sees the flames consume me. “This is over, Leander McCandles. Don’t follow me.”
I drag my shaking frame to Sykes’s patrol car and collapse inside. Arms crossed tightly over my chest to protect myself. “Take me home, Deputy. Leander’s not coming.”
Playing Chicken
Neighbors clump together on the sidewalk, peering at the buzz of activity emanating from my house. The interim sheriff has the entire department camped out on our front lawn, their uniforms forming a khaki wall blocking the front door. Sykes pulls to a stop at the curb. McCandles looks up from their scrum to meet my eyes. Dismissing his staff, my dad’s replacement strides to the patrol car and waits for me to climb out.
“Valencia!” My mom runs out of the pack of khaki-clad bodies and tugs me into her arms. “I’m so glad you weren’t home,” she says, squeezing me tight. I press closer, holding on with everything I’ve got left.
“Me, too.”
She looks me over carefully, searching for something. She must see my red eyes and blotchy cheeks, because she hugs me again. I shudder against her, and her hand rubs up and down my spine. “It’s okay. It’s just stuff. We can replace it.”
My mom leads me up the walk to the house. Several of the deputies part so we can enter. The damage inside steals my breath.
Shards of pottery from a broken bowl crunch under the soles of our shoes. Loose change spilled from a jar on the console table gleams in the light. Nothing was left untouched.
I never understood how deeply violating it would feel, knowing someone had pawed through my things. But in this moment, standing in the entryway to my own home and surveying the devastation, I feel exposed.
“Tread carefully,” Mom warns as I creep further into the mess. The door to my dad’s office is splintered as if someone kicked it, hard, several times. I slink past the damaged door, and my mom tiptoes at my heels. The filing cabinet drawers have been wrenched open with brutal force. Papers litter the floor in a heedless mess that obscures the carpet. Desk drawers hang open, sticky notes and paper clips dumped on the floor. I wade to where the safe is hidden behind the right-most cabinet. My fingers skim the top of the cold metal.
