Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 22
Janice actually smiles at the woman. “That’s so kind of you to say.”
Rubbing my hand over my eyes, I cross the room to where my no-longer least favorite person stands. Rubbing my goosebump-covered arms, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Do not make a big deal out of this, but I’m going to hug you now.”
“Wha--” My brain short-circuits as Janice’s arms come around me. She pulls me in and squeezes. She heard about Leif’s failed attempt to kill me and has come to finish the job. That’s the only explanation I can come up with on the fly. I thought we were getting along so well.
Janice lets go quickly, shoving me away from her. “I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive,” she says. “I’ve seen Leif when he gets mad. That guy has a temper on him. Like, wow.”
“You’re not kidding,” I reply, stunned. Janice just hugged me. “You haven’t answered my question.”
Janice runs her fingers through to the end of a pristine ponytail and brushes the ends under her chin. “I might feel a little responsible for what happened to you. If I hadn’t egged you into investigating, you wouldn’t have nearly gotten yourself killed.”
“I can’t tell if that’s an apology or an insult.”
Janice’s eyebrows arch. “Anyway, now that I’ve seen you alive, when can I expect the exclusive article you promised me?”
The sheer gall in her tone makes me laugh. “Hang with us for a while. We’re watching Portia’s favorite movie.”
I expect her to laugh in my face, but Janice plops down in the middle of the sofa. Portia reclaims her seat cuddled up to Destin, her mouth gaping as she catches my eye. What is happening? She mouths.
Hell if I know, I mouth back.
I go into the kitchen and make four hot cocoas. Mom adds those tiny marshmallows to the top, winking at me. I blame a sudden rush of nostalgia for throwing myself at her back and holding on tight.
My mom pats my clenched hands, turning to look at me over her shoulder. “You okay?” she whispers.
Holding on tight, I nod. “I’m glad your friends came over to chat. It’s been a long time since you all hung out.”
“It has,” my mom says slowly. Gently untwisting my arms from her middle, Mom turns toward me. Cupping my cheek in one warm hand, she meets my eyes. “I love you,” she says.
Channeling one of my dad’s favorite movie characters, I grin. “I know.” Scooping up the mugs of cocoa, I dole them out to my friends. Plus Janice. Then I snuggle down in my blanket and take a sip, slurping up the marshmallows first. If this is my new normal, I could get used to it.
Janice Catapults the Crap
In the morning, I roll out of bed late for first period and trip over my comforter. Portia, Destin, Janice, and the moms stayed at our house late before they packed up and went home. I didn’t let them leave without prompting my mom to make a plan to see them again. They’re going out to dinner one night next week.
A glance at the clock on my phone makes me yelp. I am so late. I holler at Mom, who calls back from the kitchen that I’m not going to school today, and the breakfast is about ready.
Not going to argue with that, because I didn’t get much sleep--I’m far too fraught after spending the entire night replaying Rock’s face as he was loaded into Deputy Sykes’s patrol car and trying not to cry about it. Or fume. Or cry and fume.
Nobody needs a touchy Val in class.
My phone dings. Portia stayed home too, and wants to know if I can come hang out. Gus is there, which seals the deal for my mom. After some truly fantastic blueberry waffles, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and drive across town.
Portia lets me in, still in rose print flannel pajamas, hair in a single long braid down her back. Gus is at the counter in the kitchen, working on a big, steaming bowl of cream of wheat. I greet the old man with a side hug, and then Portia leads me into the living room where she’s already constructed a nest of blankets and pillows. We climb inside and snuggle down. She cackles when I admit I could fall asleep.
She turns on a reality show about a Shakespeare troupe preparing for a play in a huge park and we laugh at the behind-stage drama. “I wish Destin was here,” Portia whines when one of the on-screen couples canoodles in the costume rack.
“Sorry,” I mutter, similarly transfixed by the duo on the screen. Their foreheads are pressed together as they whisper--just like the moment I shared with a certain Agani boy before his actions ripped us apart. Phantom heat from Rock’s brow touching mine makes me pull the blanket up over my head. Rock is probably going to jail, and my insides are tied up in knots over it.
“Why are we hiding?” Portia laughs as the blanket lifts and she ducks inside my dark, humid little cave. Sighing at my pathetic expression, she looks down at her phone. Destin is at school, texting us every few minutes. All of Hacienda already knows what happened last night. Our classmates have begun posturing--they knew Leif was the murderer all along. Their virtue signaling about how Sheriff Lamb never could have hurt Gracia is plastered over social media.
My phone has been chirping non-stop since I strolled up Portia’s front walk. Turns out I have more friends and well-wishers than I know what to do with. Not a single one asked how I was doing after my dad disappeared. Anger and disappointment flare under my chin. I could go off on everyone who treated me like crap. I could. But I decide to let go of the churning emotions, instead. Over the past months, all that anger and hurt have done is make me miserable. I choose to forgive them, not because they deserve it, but for me. Carrying all of that baggage would only hurt me.
The newest message is from Janice, letting me know she’s looking through the computers in the newspaper room to see if she can find the rest of Gracia’s research. I doubt she’ll find it. That girl must have kept everything sequestered on her phone, which is in department custody, as it should have been the second I found it.
My phone goes off. Janice.
Something is bugging me
Who took the video of Leif and
Rock dumping the body?
Truth is, the murky origins of the video that incriminated both Leif and Rock didn’t matter at the time. I was too busy trying not to drown, and, later, reinforcing my decision to turn both of the Agani brothers over to Sheriff McCandles, despite the fact that doing it carved indelible marks in my heart. That fickle organ hums in my chest, and I put a hand over it as if the added weight will mend it.
I’m incredibly glad I’m not in class. I’ll have to go back eventually, and it might be satisfying to walk the halls without being a pariah, but I don’t have the energy to be a magnanimous former black sheep today. Nor do I have the gusto to ponder the advent of the video. If Leif had someone record it for posterity, that’s on him.
Alternatively, if someone saw the Agani boys disposing of Gracia’s body, why didn’t they come forward when the Cuoco family pleaded for any and all information? There’s a reward for thousands of dollars waiting to be claimed, for pizza’s sake.
Portia taps my knee. “Hey, why do you look like you who just discovered a hole in your favorite pair of socks?”
I meet Portia’s eyes, and the old pull toward minimizing pain rears its ugly head. But that’s why we fought in the first place, and if I want to be a better friend, I have to beat back that impulse. Not only when I’m hurting, but when she and Destin are, too. Swallowing, I open my mouth. “Can’t stop thinking about Rock. I know I shouldn’t feel bad for the guy, but I feel bad for the guy. He used to be my best friend, once upon a time. I just, I wish I knew he was gonna be okay.”
Portia frowns, laying her head on my shoulder. “I get that, but Rock made his choices. Nobody forced him to help Leif dump Gracia’s body. And nobody made him come after you last night.”
“If he hadn’t, I’d be dead.” The words hit with finality. I’m so worn down that my eyes well up.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry. Here, look at these photos of Destin wearing a Renn costume and trying to joust. He’s so terrible at it, it’ll cheer you up. And doesn’t Bert look so cute in that jester hat? Look through those, and I’ll get us more snacks.” Handing me her phone, Portia extricates herself from the blanket mountain we’ve erected on her parents’ sectional.
Okay, Bert in a jester hat is pretty cute. And so is Bert eating bites of Destin’s turkey leg. And drooling on Queen Elizabeth I. My lips curve up in a feeble smile. I scroll and scroll, realizing that she and Destin have spent a lot of time together without me lately. Which, fair. I’ve been pretty single-mindedly dedicated to solving Gracia’s murder and my dad’s disappearance. And there were the couple of weeks when we were estranged thanks to our poor communication skills.
I navigate to Portia’s albums, because she usually organizes them based on the change of the seasons, and look for the one that encompasses last spring. Looking for comfort in images she captured hen Gracia was still alive and spending a lot of her time with us.
Janice, again.
I found something
You know that video of L and R dumping the body?
I just found a copy on Portia’s computer
It’s dated six months ago
buried in a file named Macbeth
My eyes drop to Portia’s phone, to an untitled album holding a single file. Uncrossing my legs and sitting up, I tap. All the breath in my chest hardens to concrete.
Keeping Pace
A stretch of asphalt I’ve visited too many times. The graffiti-plastered bridge. A vintage car that has since gone MIA. Two brothers hauling a rolled-up carpet out of a trunk. The macabre vision of a girl’s broken body abandoned in the shifting shadows.
Portia was there the night Leif and Rock abandoned Gracia’s body under that bridge. Which means she has known the entire time that they were responsible for the dead girl’s demise. Every single day, she has known that my dad was innocent, and she didn’t say a single word. Not to me, and not to Sheriff McCandles.
Why would she do that?
Taking deep breaths through the tiny, pinched straw of my windpipe, I clamber out of the blanket nest. Every move is a battle. My mind and body are scrambling. I can’t jump to conclusions like I usually do.
Portia is one of my best friends, and there has to be a reason she has this video. There must be a reason it looks like she was the one who took it in the first place.
In all the time I spent investigating, I’ve been relieved that Destin was with Portia until late that night because it gave him an alibi. There was no way D was involved in Gracia’s murder. Portia’s testimony was proof. But there is no chance that Destin was with her when she shot this video. Destin never could have--or would have--kept a critical piece of evidence to himself. He answered all of my questions when I asked, despite how painful it was for him to relive that night.
Portia comes in from the kitchen carting a tray of steaming mugs and two huge bowls of popcorn, but she stops when she catches me standing on the couch, my feet twisted in blanket hell. Silently, she absorbs the shades of confusion that have overtaken my face. White fingers tighten on the tray. “What happened?”
Wordlessly, I hold out her phone, and play the video.
The concern melts off her face as Portia watches it unspool. Her eyes skirt toward the kitchen, where Gus turns a page of his newspaper. Then back to me. “What are you thinking right now? Should I be worried?”
I jump down and stalk toward her. My mind is simmering. “Should you be worried? You took this video, didn’t you?”
Portia gives a hesitant nod. I wait for her to give me a reason, an excuse, anything. She doesn’t.
“Are you kidding me? You knew my dad didn’t kill Gracia. You had the proof on your phone this whole time! And you kept it to yourself. You lied to my face. I can’t believe you would do that, to me, or to Destin. What were you thinking? Why the hell would you hide something like this? If McCandles had seen this he’d have arrested them months ago, and this whole thing would be over. I wouldn’t be a freaking outcast. My dad’s name wouldn’t be practically a curse word. I can’t believe-- I need you to explain to me why you--”
“Friendship is constant, save in affairs of love!” Portia confesses, cutting off my quickly snowballing onslaught of shouting. The mugs rattle on the tray as she drops it on the coffee table. A wave of hot cocoa breaches the rim of one of the mugs and dribbles toward a popcorn bowl. Portia’s entire body is vibrating. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she levels a pleading gaze at me.
My guts clench. My instincts are screaming. Nothing good can come from that look.
Paper rustles as Gus sets today’s bulletin on the counter, gingerly sliding off the stool and resting against the wall at Portia’s back.
She gulps in air, gathering herself. Her gaze is bright. “I was at the casino one night last spring, working at the smoothie hut, and I saw Gracia. When I called out, she turned, and that’s when I realized she wasn’t alone. She was with him. Leif Agani. I didn’t recognize him until later. All I remember about him was the Agani Auto trucker cap he was wearing. That’s how I found out who he was. Later, she came back through the lobby, and I asked her about him. She told me she was writing a story for the Herald, but I could tell she was lying. She wouldn’t look me in the face, you know? And Gracia was such an eye-contact person. That’s how I knew. So I spent more time at the casino, to see if I could catch them together again. A couple weeks later, I did. I realized they were meeting up on Tuesdays, which is random, but that’s what it was. I saw them kissing, Val. She was cheating on Destin with that criminal.” The snarl in her voice takes me aback. I have never heard Portia speak with such vehemence hurling from her lips. Not even when Channing Tatum played King Lear on TV and skipped a crucial line.
Behind my ribs, my heart picks up speed, matching stride with Portia’s pacing.
Gus is quiet, monitoring his granddaughter. The old man appears as a calm, empty slate. His nonchalance makes me uneasy. This is Gus I’m looking at: the department’s honorary grandpa. Portia’s grandpa. He doesn’t look like he’s hearing any of this for the first time, like he’s just now discovering the depths of his granddaughter’s deceit.
Blinking, I focus on Portia. “She was, you’re right, but that’s no reason to hide her killer’s identity from the police. From me. My dad could have been exonerated months ago if you hadn’t hidden your damn video. You’re telling me all this stuff about how you caught Gracia with Leif, but you still haven’t told me why you didn’t tell anyone. I need to know why, Porsh.”
Her teeth clench in her jaw, her hands ball into fists. She reins in her words to a low growl from the near shout she was firing a minute ago. “I did it for Destin.”
I don’t understand, until I do, because I’ve already been given this part of the story. My pulse picks up speed. “You caught her cheating on Des with that scuz bucket, but you knew he wouldn’t believe you if you told him. You saw how in love he was with her. What did you do? You, you lured him there by dangling a free smoothie in front of him—he couldn’t resist.”
“I knew those two cheaters would show up, and when they did, he’d finally realize he was too good for her.”
I splutter. “I mean, yeah, but seriously?”
Portia crosses her arms defensively. “He put together in a single glance what she was doing. I didn’t even have to say anything.”
“And you let him stomp over there and confront her?”
“Have you ever tried to drag him anywhere? He’s nothing but lean muscle. Besides, he deserved to hear it from her, Val.”
The heels of my hands dig into my eye sockets. “So, so you brought him here and watched movies until he fell asleep.”
“He needed a place to cool off, lick his wounds.” A pause. Portia’s brittle, tortured laugh breaks into my careening thoughts. “I thought it was my chance to tell him how I felt, but he was disconsolate. He kept blabbing about how great Gracia was and how much he would miss her, and why would she do that to him? After a couple of hours, I realized that even catching her in the act wasn’t enough to make Destin forget her. It made me so, so angry. After everything I had done to show him the truth, he still wanted her. I couldn’t abide it.”
Dread blooms to life in my abdomen, growing larger and larger until it fills every space inside me, straining from my toes to my fingertips. My stomach roils. I might have to throw up.
Portia keeps talking, keeps pacing, as my hands cup my belly. “Gramps has trouble sleeping, did you know that? His body gets sore if he stays in one position for too long, so he takes a pill to help. I got so tired of hearing Destin cry about his trashy girlfriend I went into the bathroom, and I took one of Gramps’s pills, and I put it in Destin’s drink. It took so long to dissolve I assumed he’d see it, but he was upset. You should have heard him, Val. It would have broken your heart like it broke mine.”
My eyes cut to my soda glass sitting on the side table, dripping with condensation. It’s almost completely empty but for the slowly melting ice chips at the bottom.
Portia’s braid swishes from side to side as she spins toward me. “So I waited until he fell asleep, and then I went back to the casino. I knew which room Gracia and Leif were using to get freaky--privilege of having the manager for a dad and a grandpa for a head of security--but I didn’t want to mess with Leif. His dad had just been arrested for having all those drugs in his car. I took a lighter from some guy at the craps table, and I set Leif’s car on fire to get him out of the hotel. He deserved it, anyway, for being such a sleazebag. Once the car started smoking, I hid behind a van until Leif came tearing out of the building. He was yelling and cursing. Someone had already called the fire department, so I didn’t have much time.
“I went upstairs to room 207 and knocked. Gracia opened it. She figured I was Leif. That I’d forgotten my key. She was naked, Val. It was such a shock, seeing her like that. Knowing what she’d been doing in that room. I lost it. I screamed at her, and pushed her as hard as I could. She fell and hit her head on the corner of the dresser, but I was so mad I couldn’t think. I wanted her to explain why she was such a terrible girlfriend, and how Destin could possibly love her after what she did. But her eyes were closed, and she wasn’t moving. That’s when I saw the blood. There was so much of it, pooling behind her head. I panicked. I called Gramps, and he came up as quick as he could. He took one look at the body and got to work. I was completely panicked, but he knew exactly what to do. I didn’t realize it until later, that he saved me, but he did. Good old Gramps.” The anemic giggle Portia gives is like a crossbow bolt through the boob.
