Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 24
I’m too overwhelmed to say much to the lawman beyond a simple, “Thanks.”
The sheriff lifts his radio to update the rest of the department. My mom is on the other end of the line, and he assures her I am safe and in hand. She insists on talking to me, and I spend a few minutes convincing her that I am truly alive and breathing. “Destin saved me,” I say in explanation. Destin’s face goes red when my mom thanks him profusely through the staticky radio’s speaker.
Deputy Kelley’s warm hands herd us away from the water’s edge. “Let’s get you home.”
Halting, I turn to where McCandles is standing, one hand on his hip as he barks updates into his radio. “Sheriff,” I grit out, and wait until the squawking stops and he meets my eyes. “My dad is down there. Gus told me before he pushed me in.”
Sheriff McCandles wipes a hand down his mouth, his eyes shifting from mine to take in the churning waters. “We’ll have a diver out as soon as it’s light.”
As Kelley leads Destin and me down the sandy ramp to her vehicle, I stick one hand out between the scratchy edges of the blanket and find Destin’s. He twines our fingers and holds on tight.
Pouring One Out for Agatha Christie
Cold seeps through my black tights as the autumn wind buffets my thick wool sheath dress. My booted feet adjust in the dirt as I lean against my car, arms crossed over my leather jacket. I glance down at the phone clutched in one hand.
McCandles said noon, and it’s two minutes ‘til. Assuming no one else is coming.
It’s been a week since I almost drowned in a levy. Since Portia and Gus were arrested. I had to do some sweet talking to get my mom to let me drive out here alone, but she relented when I told her I had to do this so I could sleep at night.
Across the street, a half-empty parking lot is surrounded by an overcompensating chain-link fence with a barbed wire collar. The severe gray building has rows of tiny windows like gills in the cement block skin.
It’s a far cry from the scenery of this morning. A church with a flower-adorned coffin at its head. A trip to the cemetery to observe my father’s body being lowered into the ground. Quiet sobs as my mom clung to my elbow, her eyes red and swollen, but present.
My own nose is probably still red. I’ve been mourning for months without realizing that’s what I was doing. All of the little things of my dad’s I clung to--his office, the Corvette, even the smell of his cologne--were ways to remember him. Because way down deep where I refused to look, I knew he was gone. Death was the only power capable of keeping my dad from coming home to us. I was just too stubborn to admit it.
Now, Mom and I know for sure, and we can begin to live with the surety that the man we loved died in search of truth. He wasn’t perfect, but he was trying to do good. There was enough research on Gracia’s phone to make a couple more arrests in relation to drug dealing at the resort. Her death, and my dad’s, meant something. It helps a little.
Wiping my nose and stuffing the tissue in a pocket, I watch the glass double doors and wait. Seconds tick by, lost to the passing of time.
12:02
12:05
By 12:15 I’m antsy, adjusting my lean against the side of my Corvette. Dad always told me it would be mine someday, I didn’t think it would be so soon. I’m keeping her running for you, Dad. Even figured out how to change the oil myself, like you showed me.
It didn’t take the divers long to find a body, degraded by months of submersion in the aqueduct’s ever-flowing water. The height and teeth seemed like a match. The rusted badge they recovered in the carved-out ribcage confirmed it. My dad had been found.
I will never forget the devastated wail my mom made when McCandles delivered the news, as gently as he could.
From behind the prison’s bars, Gus made a full confession. Disclosed to the sheriff all of the events in graphic, damning detail. From Portia’s arson to her argument with Gracia to the accidental death. The blackmail and threats Gus delivered to the Agani brothers that compelled them to act on his orders. Their forced complicity in his plan to shield Portia from the consequences of her crime of passion.
The department launched an investigation into Gus’s claims that someone in the prison would harm Dino Agani if his boys didn’t cooperate. Internal Affairs declared the threats to be unsubstantiated. Not one of the prison staff or inmates appeared to have such a villainous connection to Gus. The old man had done everything he could to protect his granddaughter, from murder and hiding evidence to lying and coercion.
All of Gus’s scheming meant that while Leif Agani was guilty of possession and distribution of illegal substances, assault, and attempted murder.
Movement behind the prison’s front windows catches my attention. The doors swing open and a solid figure in dark wash jeans and a burgundy tee emerges into the sunlight.
Rock Agani, exonerated of all charges and released from prison. Rock bargained with the DA, and they’re letting him go in exchange for his testimony against his brother and other members of the Snakes. I would not have wanted to be Leif’s lawyer when he delivered the news.
Behind my eyes, the image of Rock handcuffed to the top curve of the pool ladder hits hard. I thought he’d betrayed me, so I did what I had to do. Only, when Gus confessed, he mentioned that Portia had known I was getting close to the truth, and she sent Leif to the school that day to slow me down.
I’d been betrayed, but not by Rock.
Straightening, I drop my hands to my sides. Wait as Rock ambles across the parking lot, dark eyes locked on me. He walks with purpose, stepping over the low concrete barriers without dropping his gaze. Those keen eyes make me feel exposed, as if he’s peeling back all of my layers and examining my very core.
My body goes clammy, but I refuse to break the connection. I owe him my honesty, and he owes me the same.
Rock crosses the deserted street without stopping. Nobody comes out this way unless they have to. Suddenly, I wonder how many times he came to visit his dad before he found himself incarcerated within the very same walls.
“What are you doing here, Valencia?” The words, flat and emotionless, catch me off guard. I expected him to be angry. Rightfully so. But this toneless murmur? It’s worse.
My eyes drop to my shoes. “I figured you could use a ride.”
Rock looks past my shoulder toward home. “No, thanks.”
My throat goes dry at the hard-earned dismissal, and I glance up at him. “It’s miles back to town. Do you even have a phone to call a ride?”
His mouth pinches. “I’ll figure something out.”
I shuffle my feet, my shoes awash with road dust. “Don’t be stubborn. Let me give you a lift to the shop. Or your grandma’s house. She’ll be thrilled to see you.”
Rock’s recently-buzzed head dips, and hands shove into his pockets. Sighing, he looks back at me, pain evident in his dark eyes. “You thought I helped my brother murder a girl and cover it up. What am I supposed to do with that, Valencia?”
My chin quivers. “Rock, I’m so sorry, but can you blame me? There was a video. It was pretty damning proof.”
“You could have asked.”
I cross my arms. “I did, and you lied to me. You told me Leif had nothing to do with it.”
His eyes drop to the ground. “I never said that,” he grinds out.
“You did!” My arms tighten around my torso. This reunion is not going the way I pictured it.
Rock’s ears flush. “No, I didn’t. I said he didn’t kill her, which was true.”
My mouth gapes as I think back over the conversations we had while I twisted Rock’s arm to help investigate. He is right. He never claimed Leif was guiltless. I was simply too blinded by my desperation to prove my dad’s innocence to hear what Rock was actually saying.
“You could have told me what really happened,” I whisper. “I would have believed you.”
A rough hand scrubs over the short strands of his hair. “That’s not what happened the last time someone made you doubt me. All it took was your dad warning you one time, and you completely cut me off. You were my best friend, and you ditched me.”
A hawk soars overhead, gliding out over the fallow fields in search of prey. My eyes follow its flight path until it’s too small to see. I speak without looking at Rock. “You could have come to my house to play. You were still welcome.”
He gives a slow head shake. “And have your dad watching me like that hawk, every minute I was there? No thanks.”
I spin on him, my words turning pleading. “He didn’t blame you. You have to know that. It’s not your fault your dad and brother are criminals.”
His eyes hold mine for a beat. “That’s the thing. You think you can separate the way you see me from how you see them, but you freaking handcuffed me to a pool ladder. You saw one ten second video, and it erased every good thing you ever knew about me.”
My teeth dig into my lower lip. “That’s not fair.”
He shifts his gaze to the empty road stretching from under our soles all the way back to the hazy outline of town in the distance. Rock turns away, giving me his rigid back, and walks away. He drops a parting shot over a slumped shoulder. “Life’s not fair.”
“Rock, please. I’m sorry.” I don’t want to lose him too.
The hawk’s far-off screech is the only reply.
It’s too late. I’ve already lost him.
“Me too.” Two words, so faint I’m not positive they were really spoken.
There’s one more thing I have to know. “What did Leif do with the Bronco?”
Rock’s shoulders tighten and flex. His answer is a whisper on the autumn breeze. “I wasn’t there when that old guy brought it in, but Leif chopped it for parts and bought his bike.”
I suck in a breath.
“Goodbye, Velvet.”
Watching his receding figure, my stare goes blurry. I’ve lost so much, it’s almost overwhelming. Which is why I’m doubly thankful for everyone I have left. My mom and everyone at the department. Destin and Bert.
I swipe at my eyes, determined not to cry standing on the side of the road.
My phone breaks me out of my pity party.
I’m craving a smoothie
Meet me at the resort
When I walk into the resort food court, Janice is sitting on a stool at the smoothie hut, drinking a giant, hot pink drink in a glass with two tiny paper umbrellas. Destin is on the stool beside her, his hand wrapped around a green concoction. Bert leans against his stool’s legs.
It’s good to see Destin out and about. Discovering that Portia killed Gracia has been intensely painful and confusing for him. In the past couple weeks, Des and I have spent most of our free time holed up in his room, watching skateboarding videos and eating Sriracha-flavored chips.
I had no idea that he and Janice were talking, much less hanging out, but I can’t stop the smile when I lay eyes on them.
Kicking out the free stool on her opposite side, Janice takes a long pull from the pink drink. “I didn’t know what you would want, so I didn’t order you anything.”
The guy working behind the counter stares at Janice from under his hair net, freckles standing out on his fair skin. Someone is smitten.
Smirking, I take the offered stool. “Hi, Brad. Can I get a pineapple party?”
The smoothie guy with the Brad nametag blinks, tears his eyes away from Janice--who is chuckling around her straw--and looks at me. “Uh, yeah. Pineapple. Yeah.” He goes to prepare my drink, and I make eyes at Janice.
“New boyfriend?” I whisper under the buzz of the blender.
Janice’s ponytail swishes around her shoulders. “He wishes. How was Rock? Did he look okay?”
After I found out from Sheriff McCandles when Rock was being released, I asked Janice if she wanted to come with me to pick him up. She and Rock have been a thing for a long time. I was secretly relieved when she declined. I needed to see him without an audience, in case our conversation went exactly like it did.
“He looks different without hair, but he looked okay.”
“Why didn’t he come with you? He likes smoothies.”
“Who doesn’t?”
The smoothie guy hands me a bright yellow drink.
A pack of rowdy teens comes in the front door, a sea of blue and silver Valley High letterman jackets. I focus on my smoothie. “I don’t get any umbrellas?”
Smoothie guy goes beat red. “Sorry. Here.” The lone umbrella he forks over is bent. I stare at Janice’s drink and her two pristine umbrellas. She and I both bust up laughing. Even Destin huffs a little. Bert’s happy tail thumps against the floor.
“What’s so funny?” Leander is standing a few feet away when I spin on the stool.
I haven’t seen him in person since Gus tried to drown me in the aqueduct, but I did get a couple of messages from him asking if I was okay. I thought when I saw him again, it might hurt, seeing another person I had lost. I watch his small smile. Strangely, the pang of longing doesn’t come.
Leander comes closer, leaning an elbow on the counter beside me. “It’s nice to see you.”
I angle my body toward him, wishing Janice wasn’t right behind me, observing. I can see her outline reflected in my smoothie glass. “You too. Congrats on the win last Friday. The article I read said you owned the other team.”
“It was pretty great.” Leander’s eyes meet mine, and his grin softens. “You’re really okay, after everything?”
I smile back. “I really am okay.”
“Cool. See you around?”
I agree, and he leaves, backing away a few steps. “Hey, uh, Destin, you up for a round of zombie killing?”
Destin bobs his head and hops off his stool. “See you in a bit?” he asks me. I nod, and he and Leander head toward the arcade, answering the hooting calls from the rest of the jocks in the arcade.
“Your ex is hella fine,” Janice says, twirling a paper umbrella between her fingers. “Ugh, I miss Rock.”
I laugh nervously. “You think you’ll get back together?”
Janice gives me a once over, sizing me up. “No, that’s over. We were more invested in the idea of each other than who we really were. It was just easier to stay together after our dads got put away. You know?”
Over Janice’s shoulder, I can see Leander and Destin playing a shooter game in the arcade. I am certainly familiar with the idea of liking my own ideal of a person more than the reality. The whole time I was with Leander, I saw him as the cool boy I grew up with. I didn’t try very hard to get to know him as he is now, and I certainly didn’t share much of myself. That wasn’t fair to either of us. Even if we hadn’t fought over my dad, we wouldn’t have lasted.
“Yeah, I know.”
People aren’t perfect. They don’t fit neatly into one of two categories: unimpeachable or the blackest hearted. I tried to shove everyone into a tiny black or white box, and my assumptions bit me in the butt. The people around me grew and made choices that defied my mental boxes.
In a sick and twisted way, Gus was protecting his only granddaughter. My father was trying to excise crime from our town by leaning too heavily on a teenage girl caught in the middle. Gracia went in search of a story and found a tainted love.
And Rock? I saw him as the little boy I used to play with rather than the complex guy he has become. Caught between family and the law. Used as a tool by someone with more to lose.
Can’t put some people in a box and expect them to meet all of my expectations. Because people change. They’re capable of surprising you.
“I’ve been thinking,” Janice says.
“Dangerous.” I hated her, but it turns out, she’s not pure evil when she’s not accusing you of murder.
Janice grins around her smoothie straw. “You would make a pretty good reporter, and I can’t seem to hang onto someone with a nose for local news. You interested?”
I grin, too. “I might be. Plus, I have an in with the sheriff.” McCandles is going to love it when he finds out I’m not done investigating.
Take me to book two!
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Acknowledgements
Writing a book sounds like a solitary endeavour, but it isn’t. Yes, I come up with the plot and characters. I type the words, edit them, and rewrite where necessary. But I have a whole lot of help on the way.
Thank you to Christina Kobel, Sarah Lusby, and Magdalena Pineros for reading early drafts of this story and gently telling me it needed work. Without their help, I never would have been able to work out the plot of this book. It’s thanks to them I was able to write the beginning of Valencia’s story and be proud of how it turned out.
Thank you to Autumn Krause for encouraging me and cheering me on when I struggled with titles. Titles are the worst. And thanks for the many hours of companionable work at the coffee shop.
Thanks to Pilgrim’s Coffee for letting me camp out at one of the tables each Fridays and pour my heart and soul into my laptop.
Thanks to Christina Kobel, again, for being a fantastic editor and reading Good Girl, Dead Girl three times! Seriously, I owe you a very fancy dinner after this.
Thank you to my parents, who encouraged me to chase my dream of being a writer, and who cheer me on with each release. And thanks, Dad, for sending me photos if you find errors. It helps.
Thank you to my street team who helped spread the word about this book, and who were excited about it with me. I cannot say how much it means to me that they were as excited about Valencia as I am. Their friendship and support are immeasurable to me, and I am so incredibly grateful.
