Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 8
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I’m a sheriff’s son. What do you think?”
Groaning, I spill the story. My visit to Agani Auto that resulted in my car being delivered to my home in the dead of night by Rock. We hadn’t spoken a word as he handed over the keys. I watched him walk away down the sidewalk, shoulders rounded.
I don’t tell Leander that I promised Rock I wouldn’t call the sheriff to report the theft. His cronies didn’t put so much as a scrape on the car, and I don’t want to burn the rickety bridge between Rock and me if I don’t have to.
Leander is pissed. “Are you insane? They could have seriously hurt you. You have to report it to my dad.”
My hackles rise. “No! I won’t. And I’m asking you not to, either. I’m fine. The car is fine. No harm, no foul.”
He glares at me, nostrils flared. “Fine, but if anything else happens, I’m going straight to my dad.”
“I can work with that.”
Leander pulls into the lot behind the diner. Throws it into park and unbuckles his belt. Takes a few slow breaths. “Of course I remember Caruthers and the evidence locker,” he murmurs. “I got in big trouble because I just had to see what a flame thrower looked like.”
“That thing was huge,” I say. The change in topic thaws my nerves. “It was awesome.”
“It totally was.” A smile peeks around his mouth. Maybe we’ll be able to salvage this date, after all.
Leander comes around the truck and opens the door for me. “After you.”
Inside, a hostess grins at him, but her expression sours when her eyes land on me. “Mr. McCandles, Miss Lamb. Right this way.”
Leander misses her annoyance, hanging back so I can follow the hostess. She leads us to a booth at the back of the long space. It’s got a Reserved sign in the center of the table. A taper candle glows in a red-glass candelabra, making my eyes grow round. The hostess waits for us to slide into the booth before handing over menus. Her eyes are sharp on me as she leaves, giving us time to decide on our orders.
On the table is a tall, thin vase by the candle. It’s empty. “Is that for my rose?” I slide the bloom into the narrow glass. The candle’s flickering flame makes it glow. “You did this? For me?”
Leander nods, sweetly smug. His preparations for this date are doing funny things to my stomach. He drapes an arm over the back of the seat behind my shoulders. “Stacey the hostess helped, but yeah.”
Happiness curls in my stomach. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
His thumb brushes the back of my arm. “That’s the goal.”
We both order a burger, fries, and follow it up with root beer floats. Conversation flows from favorite movies to bands to sports, with Leander doing most of the talking about that last topic. He’s so enthusiastic, I don’t mind listening.
“So, I’m out on a date with you. How many files does it get me?” I follow up the cheeky joke with a wink, and Leander laughs.
“Oh, it’s like that, huh?”
“At least I’m honest.”
Leander’s shine dims. “True. If you tell me what you’re interested in, I’ll see what I can do.”
Suddenly, I don’t feel so great about my joke. “Hey, I didn’t mean… I wasn’t serious. I didn’t come out with you for that.”
Leander doesn't even blink. Doesn’t pull his gaze from mine. “I know, but if you ever need something, I hope you’ll ask me. You will, right, Valencia? I’m kind of a big deal.”
I nod, bowled over by the earnestness behind the bravado.
Leander takes a thoughtful bite of his foamy, brown and white swirled dessert and studies my face. Feeling self-conscious, I use a napkin to wipe my mouth. “Do I have ketchup on me or something?”
He huffs a shake of his head. “If I’d known taking you out would be this awesome, I would have brought you a case file years ago. I had a huge crush on you back then. Could you tell?”
I almost spit out my root beer. One year at an awards banquet, I’d hidden under the tables until my mom had been frantic looking for me, but Leander had lifted the table cloth to reveal me crouched with a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie in my mouth. He had a crush on me then? My skin tingles in the places where his form hovers nearest mine.
“I liked you too,” I admit. “You were a really cute kid.”
Leander scoots in, closing the distance between us, and his arm stretched along the back of the booth brushes my neck. “Were, huh? Do you still think I’m cute?”
I make a show of looking him over. “Naw.”
“Liar, liar.” His hand cups my shoulder, drawing me in until there’s nothing but a breath between us. The diner sounds around us dim as my focus narrows to Leander’s mouth. “What are you looking at?”
“You’ve got ice cream all over your face.” My words come out breathier than I’d like.
His eyes sparkle. “No, I don’t. Valencia?”
I give him a slow nod.
The diner door slams, making the glass windows wobble. I jerk back, the moment shattered.
Making space between us, Leander takes another spoonful of his root beer float.
Annoyance and disappointment flare in my chest, but I might as well get to something I’ve been thinking about since my unpleasant visit to Agani Auto. Futzing with the napkin in my lap, I lean into his shoulder. “There is one thing you could get for me, if you can.”
His head bobs as he eats.
“Do you think you could get me the file on the car thefts?”
Leander swallows a bite of vanilla ice cream. Eyes me. “I can try.”
I thank him with a bright smile, despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach. My visit to Agani Auto could have gone so much worse, if it weren’t for Rock.
Wiping his hands, my date slides out of the booth. Tosses a “Be right back,” over his shoulder as he goes toward the bathrooms.
I take another sip of my root beer float, my gaze following the haze of customers through the diner’s long body. In the next booth, a fanged toddler grins at me. I feign a smile as my focus travels to the entrance. All fades as my eyes land on the person who entered with a bang.
Rock Agani, propped by an elbow on the hostess station. Looking murderous.
My chest seizes. It’s only been a few days since the standoff at the auto shop, but I wagered I’d have more time to snoop before he got tired of me holding the video over his head.
Guess I was wrong.
Pushing out of the booth, I glance down to make sure my dress isn’t crumby. When I look up, realization hits. All of that hostility, the obvious tension along Rock’s frame isn’t aimed at me. His eye lasers are homed in on Leander’s retreating back.
I take an uncertain step closer. Rock catches the movement, attention shifting to me. A muscle in his throat tics, but the aggression dissipates as Rock saunters through the diner. By the time he stops at my booth, his features are silken. A single knuckle raps on the tabletop as he looks between the back hallway, and me.
“McCandles Junior? Really?” Taking in the prettily dressed table, he grunts. I protest when he plucks my rose out of the vase and lifts it to his nose.
Someone jostles past, bumping Rock, who drops the rose to the floor. His “Oops” is so disingenuous it should be in the dictionary next to the word fake. My pristine white rose is smashed as the toddler careens away from her mother, giggling wildly. White petals smeared with grime trail behind tiny feet.
I glare at Rock.
“Sorry,” he says, smirking.
“That was my rose, you bumbling elephant.”
“You calling me a mindless pack animal?”
Crossing my arms, I slump into the booth. “I take it back. Elephants are too smart for you.”
“Pricked my finger, if it makes you feel better.” He holds out a hand, palm up, so I can see the reddened line along his pointer. It does help. Petty, thy name is Valencia.
“The only thing that would make me feel better right now is dumping my rootbeer float over your smug face. Hold still.” Swiping up a napkin, I move to wrap it around Rock’s finger.
Rock drops his arms to his sides. “Try it.”
Annoyed, I crumble the napkin. “Fine. Get an infection for all I care.”
His eyes roll skyward. “I didn’t come here to spar with you.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Taking the napkin from between my fingers, he wraps it around the cut. Mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Thanks.”
I ignore it. “If you’re not here to needle me, then why are you here?”
A waitress passes us with laden arms, and hands out entrees and frosty glasses to the booth kitty corner to the one I’m in. A blond girl with a scarred cheek feeds a fry to a guy with black French braids. Next to them, the girl’s twin lays her head on the shoulder of a curly-haired, glasses-wearing boy.
The waitress glares at me behind Rock’s back. I shrink lower into the booth. Without Leander as a buffer, that glare smarts more than I’d like.
Tucking his injured finger into his pocket, Rock glances over his shoulder at the waitress as she walks by. “Maybe I wanted a milkshake.”
“And you came all the way over here to bug me and exterminate my rose why?”
Rock exhales. “If it means so much to you I can get another one. I bet Mrs. McCandles has plenty more in her garden where that one came from.” His chin falls to where the once perfect rose lies flattened on the floor.
My teeth grit. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“Please. If a guy wants to impress a girl, he puts in the work. Clipping one of mommy’s flowers costs him nothing.”
I scoff, annoyed on my date’s behalf. “Sage advice from someone dating Janice. Relationships should be easy. Not torture.”
A single finger points at my mouth. “Don’t talk about her. I came in to let you know I told the guys I sold the Corvette. Don’t drive it around town for a while.”
My hackles rise. “I’ll drive it if I want to. Where’d you get the money?”
Rock tugs on his curls with one hand. “Why you gotta be so stubborn, Valencia?”
“Proud of it. Can you go now? Leander will be back any minute.”
Rock tilts his head, a hard glint in his eyes. “And you don’t want him to see you talking to someone so much better looking?”
I roll my eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck in my frontal lobe. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.” Sizing up Rock, it’s hard to even compare him to Leander. Where Leander is honey-blond hair and dreamy eyes, Rock’s locks are burned umber. Eyes a deep-set russet brown. Leander’s body is lean and muscled from football while Rock’s frame is solid and immovable like a ship’s anchor. “Seriously, go away.”
A group of rowdy kids sweep past him. He taps a fingertip on the table. “I’ll go when you tell me what you want from me.”
I knew this was about the video. I have leverage, and it’s killing him slowly. “Now is not a good time.”
“I can wait.” Rock makes like he’s going to sit in the booth, but I squawk in protest. I can’t have him camping out in this booth set for two. Leander will be back any second, and while I wouldn’t mind watching these two posturing--mostly because I’d like to see Rock taken down a peg after he crushed my rose--I don’t want them jockeying for me. Not that Rock would do it for me. And Leander… I’m not sure what he’ll do, but I don’t want to find out. I like him. A lot.
Scrambling out of the booth, I attempt to drag Rock up by the elbow. As I suspected, he’s immovable. My shoves pester him, like a squall buffeting a sailboat, but his anchor holds fast to the sea floor. He doesn’t budge even when I pull on the collar of his age-softened jacket. “Shh. Keep it down. I don’t know yet, okay? I’ll tell you when I do. God, you’re heavy.”
He brushes my hands away, legs splaying under the table. “No, you’re a twig. How long does it take your boy in the bathroom anyway? What’s he doing, trying to recite the alphabet backwards?”
A memory hits like a flick to the forehead: Rock and me shaking with laughter as we tried to recite from Z. Neither of us got very far. We were geniuses at nine.
He’s got a point, and I have to get him away from the booth. “Leave, Agani. Don’t make me get Sting out of my purse.” Again I shove at Rock, who finally deigns to stand.
“The guys were bitching about that after you left. One of them had to go to the ER to get his nose looked at.”
I plant my hands on the tabletop, pleased. “Maybe he’ll ask nicely next time he wants to dance.”
“You get a new can of that stuff?”
“No, I like to wander around town without any way to defend myself.”
Rock snorts, a comment lobbed over his shoulder like a grenade. “You already proved that’s true.”
“Shut up. Seriously.” I prod him again.
“Why you gotta be so mean?” His laughter at the ineffectual pressing of my hands on his back makes frustration rise.
“Long time no see, Rock.” We both freeze at Leander’s stiff tone. My face heats.
Rock and I swivel to face my date. I smooth the nap of my velvet dress. Rock’s smile morphs from amused to cocky. If that isn’t a giant, neon warning sign of bad juju ahead, I’ll dress in Portia’s Ren faire clothes and join a wench circle.
“Leave,” I mouth to Rock, but his smirk only grows. I grin too widely at Leander. “Hey. Rock was just leaving.”
Rock bumps my shoulder as he leans past me toward the table. “Valencia offered me a taste of her root beer float, and I couldn’t resist.” I watch in horror as Rock scoops up my glass and drains what’s left of the creamy treat into his big, fat mouth. My entire body flares. I’m so angry at him for interrupting my date that I’m vibrating with it.
Leander watches, stone faced.
Rock laughs. “Delicious. Later, Valencia. McCandles Junior.”
Leander stares until Rock leaves the diner, the door swinging closed with a clang. He waits for me to sit before he does. Like an actual gentleman, unlike someone else who shall remain nameless but whose name rhymes with block. He scoots toward where I’m seated at the center of the booth, but the spark we shared for most of the evening is gone, doused by Rock’s idiotic posturing.
“You’re friends with Agani?” Leander asks, stealing a cold fry from my plate. Grimacing, he tosses the half-eaten stub on his own plate. “That was not good.”
I’m still flustered by Rock’s interruption. “No. He’s an ass. He was asking about a homework assignment.”
Leander’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t call me on the lie. His gaze skims over the empty bud vase and finds the trampled rose on the floor. I try to apologize, but he shakes his head.
Something Rock said niggles. “Where’d you get my rose? I didn’t know the flower shop sold singles.”
Leander blushes. “I, um, cut it from my mom’s garden. She has probably fifty rose bushes in our backyard, and I thought you’d like it.”
Rock was right, curse him. But it doesn’t mean Leander didn’t put any thought into it. He clearly did. The table looks really pretty. I hold up the wilted stem, frowning. “It fell. On the ground. It was the toddler’s fault.” I point to where the little girl’s mom is carrying her wailing offspring out the door.
Leander nods.
We finish out our date, and Leander drives me home, but nothing I say recaptures the easy repartee we had before Rock stuck his big feet in the middle of everything and stomped on it.
Freaking Rock Agani.
Frenemies with Benefits
I miss Dad’s Corvette. The interior smells like him. It’s got his radio stations pre-set, and a pack of his favorite gum lives in the cup holder. I ache for those little things that bring happy memories of him to the surface.
Now that I’ve been forbidden from driving it by my mom--and Rock--the Dad-shaped cookie cutter in my chest is expanding. Taking up more room. A black hole in space sucking in everything around it. Which is why I am not in a hurry to climb into Mom’s car and drive home after school on Wednesday.
Instead, I hoof it across campus to the journalism room, hoping to catch the editor of St. Vivian’s student newspaper, the Herald. Gracia had been on the newspaper staff since freshman year, so I want to ask about the stories she was working on before she died. The murder file hasn’t given me many leads. No wonder McCandles hasn’t solved it. The newspaper is my next idea.
My feet pound the sidewalk as I wind between brick buildings toward the newspaper office. What if Gracia was dug up something that got her in trouble? It’s unlikely, but possible. People our age have gotten caught in ugly stories in the past. If she found herself in hot water, that might explain her connection to my Dad.
My guess is Gracia was researching a topic that required knowledge of law, or something my dad would know about. Maybe she needed advice. It’s the only angle I can come up with that tracks with her being a special friend of his. It explains the tear-stained conversation in his Bronco better than any of the other sordid reasons I’ve conjured in the dead of night.
Maybe she uncovered some bad crap, and Dad had to leave in a hurry to investigate.
My dad used to say that ninety percent of detective work was following your gut, so that’s what I’m doing. Beating my fingers against my thigh as I walk, I try to remember who the editor in chief is this year. Portia has written several event reviews for them, but I forgot to ask her.
People crowd the open-air walkways, talking and messing around. A soccer ball whizzes by, chased by a horde of rowdy guys. The popular kids, minus Janice, are in the quad, congregating around a picnic table. The girls are on one side looking at something on their phones. A burst of cackling makes me hurry past. No good can come of that. And I don’t want to be around when Janice gets back from wherever she’s lurking.
Through the office’s propped open door, the entire staff is sitting at a long table. They talk animatedly. Their discussion looks intense. I’m about to duck out of sight when one of them catches my eye. “We’re in the middle of something. Do you need help?”
