Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 9
“I can wait.” Postponing driving home even more sounds good. I’ll park my butt on a bench and work on assignments while I wait for the staff to finish.
“It’ll be an hour or so,” the girl says. “If you tell me why you’re here, we can get it taken care of, and we get back to work.”
I hesitate as my attention skims over the newspaper crew, all of whom are staring. Several aim dirty looks at me. Ah, yes, more of my fans. On second thought, maybe I should get this over with and get out of here. Remembering the scathing articles one of them wrote about the Gracia Cuoco thing after the department announcement, and the photo, brings anger rising up in my chest. No way am I going to spill in front of these people. They’d turn everything I say into another crap article in a heartbeat. “I need to speak to the editor.”
The girl turns to look toward the other end of the table. A tall girl with a sleek black ponytail stands, her nails clicking sharply.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
Janice marches to the door, her mouth turned up in the best imitation of the Grinch I’ve ever seen. Her posture is rigid and closed, hands on hips. “What do you want? I’m busy.”
I choke on my tongue. Janice is the editor of the paper this year? My blood rushes into a vortex, tearing at anything and everything inside me until I think I’m going to be sick. There is no way Janice will help me with my investigation. She thinks my dad killed Gracia.
Exhaling releases some of the tension wrapped around my bones. She may think I’m the daughter of a no-good, dirty, rotten, scoundrel, but that’s why I’m doing this. Maybe, if I show my cards, I’ll get some information in return. Janice wants justice for Gracia, and if I succeed, she’ll get it. I’ve got my frenemy’s attention, so I dive in. “I’m looking into Gracia’s death. I was wondering if you could tell me what articles she was working on when she died.”
Janice’s eyebrows lift until they’re invisible under her perfectly curled bangs. “I could.”
“But you won’t.”
Her arms crossed over the crisp white blouse make her look even more skeptical than her appraising gaze. “Why should I? You’re wasting your time, investigating Gracia’s murder. It’s pretty evident what happened.”
I bristle, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Janice’s claws are out; time for mine to make an appearance. “There wasn’t any evidence tying my dad to her murder, and if you were a good journalist, you’d know that.”
She pushes off the doorframe. “We’re done here.”
I groan, frustrated. We may be diametrically opposed, but we have the same goal. Solve for the question of who killed Gracia. There has to be a way for us to share what we know without throwing verbal punches like we’re locked in a cage match. “Wait.”
Janice looks down her nose at me.
For better or worse, I need her help. I have to give her something. Set this conversation back on a productive track instead of a hostile one. “I’m… defensive about my dad.”
She quirks an eyebrow.
“He was the sheriff for fifteen years. And the things they say about him--they’re not flattering.”
Janice sighs dramatically. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Which is why I’m looking into it. I know he wasn’t involved, and I need to prove it. Maybe there’s no tie between Gracia’s death and the articles she was working on, but maybe there is. I need the chance to look.”
Janice scrutinizes my expression. I don’t know what she sees that tips her over to my side, but she nods. She discloses a couple of the articles Gracia was working on before she was killed. The last one was a piece on the new resort and casino and its effect on the job landscape in Hacienda. The same resort where she was photographed with my dad.
It’s not easy to thank Janice, but I manage to scrape the words off my tongue. My brain is going a mile a minute as I spin to leave. Janice has given me new information to work through, and I need to--
Janice stops me with a firm hand on my arm. “That’s not all.”
A tremor goes through me at the pinch of her nails against my skin. Whatever she is about to utter will be poisonous. “Gracia had a secret lover. She showed me some of their texts. I assumed it was your dad.”
My body recoils. Anger bubbles up, but I grit my teeth against it. If Janice has some messages from Gracia that are relevant to my investigation, I need to see them. Huffing, I offer a hand. “Show me?”
Janice taps her phone in her palm. “I don’t know. You might not be objective about this. You’re too emotionally involved.”
“She was your best friend,” I spit. “You’re emotionally involved, too, or you wouldn’t have plastered that photo all over everything.”
Tilting her shining ebony head to one side, she pretends to debate it. We both know she’s going to reveal the messages after she’s done torturing me. “Okay, I’m convinced. Here. See, a couple months before she... Well. She was acting weird. Possessive of her phone. Like she had secrets. That kind of thing, which was strange because she never kept anything from me.”
I gesture for her to get to the good part.
“She was dating your friend, but I got the feeling that she was texting someone else, so I asked her. Gracia was private with her love life, unlike me, but finally she caved and admitted she met an older guy. See?”
I take her offered phone and read through screenshots of messages. Janice cajoled until Gracia admitted she met someone and had been seeing him every week. Gracia’s texts were vague, only saying she met him at the new resort and casino, that he was older, and she asked Janice not to tell anyone.
My frown deepens with every word. Gracia was cheating on Destin. With someone older. On Tuesday evenings. My teeth bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. My dad was usually out on patrol on those nights. He took shifts driving through the community like a guard dog watching over its slumbering denizens.
“This doesn’t prove she was seeing my dad,” I blurt. I’ve been silent for too long.
Janice is watching with avid focus. “No? Then how do you explain the photo?”
I close my eyes, unable to stop the image from forming. The two of them in my dad’s vehicle, parked in front of the new resort.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I thought you were smart, but if you’re just going to ignore the evidence I’m handing you on a silver platter, maybe you aren’t.”
“I wouldn’t describe plastering a grainy photo all over the internet in such genteel terms.”
Janice crosses her arms. “I’m a journalist. It’s my job to spread news. When someone sends me a juicy photo like that, I share it. Gracia deserves justice. Plus, unlike someone I know, I don’t toss out good friends like garbage. Yeah, I know what happened with you and Rock. He tells me everything.”
“Leave Rock out of this.”
I sense the end of cooperation between Janice and me. Wondering what Rock sees in her. She’s beautiful, but her personality is yuck.
I was ten when my dad sat me down and told me I couldn’t go over to Rock’s house anymore. The next time I invited Rock to my house, he’d run away. It wasn’t until much later that I realized Dad’s warning was warranted. Rock’s dad, Dino Agani, was likely the leader of the Snakes.
Janice and I are silent for a beat, scowling at each other. I should go, before we cross verbal swords again.
Janice’s hand closes around the office doorknob. “If you’re still convinced that your dad wouldn’t get involved with her, have you considered what Destin might do if he found out Gracia was cheating on him?”
My palms go sweaty at the thought of Destin discovering the girl he loved was stepping out on him. He would have been devastated, but there is a zero percent chance he hurt her. Destin is the human equivalent of a golden retriever. He’s loyal, steady. A fluffy golden ball of care made human. “Just because they were dating doesn’t make him guilty.”
That immaculate eyebrow arches again. “If you knew the statistics, he’d have been your first stop.”
I know the statistics. My dad made sure of that. “If you knew Destin, you’d realize how ridiculous you sound.”
Janice cracks the door open. “Have it your way, but if you uncover what really happened to Gracia, and your dad, you call me. The Herald will print it and set the record straight. We got a deal?”
I hesitate. Do I want the paper telling this story? I could walk away right now, renege on the fragile quid pro quo I struck with Janice.
“Remember, you wouldn’t have a clue if I hadn’t just told you what she was working on. The way I see it, you owe me.”
Janice stares me down. Wow, this girl plays hard ball. I admire a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it. I stick out a hand to shake on it. “You’ve got a deal.”
I head to my car, too preoccupied with everything Janice told me to be bothered by the fact that the interior smells like Mom’s floral perfume instead of Dad’s musky cologne. The drive home is a blur, my body on autopilot.
Gracia was dating an older guy, but it couldn’t have been my dad. I stand by my assessment of him. He wouldn’t cheat on my mom, especially not with one of my friends. A girl thirty years younger than him. What if the guy she was secretly dating hurt her to keep her quiet? Or what if Destin found out, and they fought? Could there have been an accident? The idea of it makes my stomach shrivel up. Neither my dad or Destin are capable of murdering someone, so there has to be another thread I can follow.
Before she died, Gracia was looking into the resort. What if she stumbled on something unsavory about the place, and someone silenced her for it? That would be huge, and it would make total sense for her to confide in my dad. She may have asked him for help. She could have approached him one of the times the four of us were hanging out at my house after school.
I haven’t heard about anything suspicious happening at the resort, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t. With that many tourists in one place, there are bound to be shenanigans.
Chewing on my lip, I think back through my dad’s files. I’m positive I haven’t found one that touches on any incidents at the resort. Looks like it’s going to be another late night of digging. Because now that I have direction, for the first time, I know what to look for.
One Door Opens and
Another Slams
Portia whines, hanging upside down off the couch in my dad’s office. Her hair cascades to the carpet in a russet curtain. “Why is this taking so long? We could be drooling over King Ferdinand right now.”
“No offense, Porsh, but are you sure you want to watch it? The reviews aren’t great.” Destin rolls his skateboard back and forth over the carpet with a foot, his head thrown back on the couch cushion next to her. Bert is sprawled next to him, feet in the air as he snores.
Portia ruffles her hand in the air. “Don’t worry, you’ll like this one. There’s synchronized swimming and your favorite Shakespearean character trope--the fool.”
Destin gives her an uneasy smile.
I’m poring over Dad’s files. Again. And getting nowhere.
Subtle changes have been wrought on the office since I’ve been spending time here. Textbooks stacked on the desk. An old-fashioned green-glass library lamp has shifted position. The novel I’m reading is wedged between the two plush chairs that sit facing the desk. The filing cabinets have been tampered with, but thankfully Mom hasn’t decided to confront the emotions keeping her out of this place.
“I should probably do some cleanup so my mom doesn’t figure out I’ve been spending my nights snooping, right?”
“You really think it would bother her? You’re trying to get closer to your dad. She can’t be mad about that.” Destin runs a hand over Bert’s furry tummy, and the dog kicks in his sleep. He doesn’t know that I’m looking for connections between my dad and Gracia. For points where my dad’s job could have overlapped with her journalistic pursuits. I haven’t found a single scrap that links them.
Portia shoots me a look that loses its power since she’s upside down. She doesn’t know what I’m doing, but she must have noticed my caginess.
“I can’t tell her yet. She’s… not ready to talk about him. Okay?”
Destin meets my eyes. His expression grows serious. “Maybe we should stop coming in here.”
My gut tightens. “There’s something about seeing his handwriting, and all of the lives he’s helped as the sheriff. See, this file is about a lady who finally pressed charges against an abusive ex when my dad made her feel safe enough. He worked on her for almost a year before she trusted him. That kind of thing--he did it all the time. Being sheriff was never only his job. He cares about people. He wants everyone in town to be safe and whole. That’s the only way I know to explain it.”
Every word I say is true. My dad is one of the good ones. A good dad. A good officer.
Destin’s nod indicates he understands.
My mom’s not working tonight. Instead, she went out with a couple of friends for the first time since Dad went missing. I don’t know if I’m glad she went because it means she’s finally pulling out of the weird auto-pilot she’s been in for the past six months, or nervous about what that suggests. The acid in my stomach bubbles, and I press a hand over my abdomen to quiet my tummy.
Ugh, not thinking about that anymore.
Dim lamplight transforms the room from an office into a cozy cubby. Destin’s peach-blond hair looks burnished in the warm glow. I didn’t want to risk turning more lights on, in case Mom gets home earlier than I anticipate and sees the light through the closed blinds in the window.
Frustrated and tired, I shove the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet closed. I still haven’t found any trace of Gracia’s name. Or anything that looks even tangentially related to something fishy involving the resort and casino.
This investigation is going nowhere.
Dropping my forehead against the cool metal cabinet, my eyes fall to where my bare toes dig into the carpet.
Huh. That’s odd.
The filing cabinet is flush with the wall, but there’s a small roll in the carpet along the baseboard that got pulled up somehow. I don’t know how that would have happened. Unless the cabinet had been moved. I can’t remember a time when my dad rearranged anything in this office. It has looked exactly the same all my life. When my mom convinced him to repaint the walls a few years ago, he chose the exact same moody navy. So why would the carpet be pulled up under the filing cabinet?
The cabinet has to weigh two tons. It doesn’t even sway when I shove it. “Hey guys, help me move this thing, will you?”
It takes Portia, Destin, and I working every inch of muscle to get the cabinet moving. Our huffing and puffing creates just enough momentum to slide it away from the wall. There’s something back there.
“Come on,” I growl, heaving, arms straining. The cabinet encroaches a few more inches into the room, leaving the wall unprotected. My mouth drops open as I stare at the now-visible space behind it.
“Did you know there was a safe back here?” Destin asks, attention swinging between me and the heavy-duty locker mounted in the drywall.
“No, I definitely did not.”
Portia clicks her tongue. “I wonder what’s inside it?”
“Maybe contraband he didn’t want our little hooligan getting into?” Destin grabs me around the neck and digs his knuckles into the top of my head.
“Gah! Get off me. I said no more noogies.” Shoving Destin’s arm away, I inch closer to the safe. Electricity courses under my skin. The clues I need are inside, I can feel it. Certainty steadies my hands as I draw near.
Destin’s chuckling dies out when I touch the locking mechanism. It’s an old-fashioned dial safe, in impeccably good shape. The paint and components are immaculate, probably because it was sheltered by the filing cabinet all this time. There’s a layer of dust along the very top of the metal where it sits nested in the wall, but that’s it.
“Are you gonna open it?” Portia asks, crowding in between Des and I to get a better look.
“It’s locked.” I don’t have to try the handle to know I’m right. My dad wa--is smart. He always follows the department guidelines to keep himself, his co-workers, and every citizen in Hacienda as safe as possible. If there are items or files he is keeping in this secret spot, for any reason, he’d never be careless enough to leave it unlocked.
“You wanna try anyway?” Destin asks.
“Obviously.” Anxious fluttering fills my torso. The handle is cold under my fingers, and it doesn’t budge. Yep, locked tight. Who knows what the combination would be. My dad would pick completely random numbers that don’t have any connection to family birthdays, anniversaries, addresses, or any other inane bits of information people use to pick passwords and combinations. He also wouldn’t have written it down and left it for anyone to find.
I tap at the pristine metal with a fist-full of knuckles, wishing Dad weren’t such a stickler for privacy and security. I am not getting into this safe.
All three of us jump when a key slots into the front door.
Destin’s eyes go wide. “Quick, let’s put it back! Your mom likes me and I want to keep it that way.”
The deadbolt clicks, My heart jogs.
“Help me!” I beg, shoving at the cabinet. It doesn’t budge.
Portia throws her weight into it beside me, but the obstinate block of metal doesn’t budge. “Come on, move!”
Destin mutters something about brute force, his fingers flexing with effort.
The cabinet gives an inch. Another. Gaining momentum, the monolith slides back into place as the front door opens. The wood floor creaks as Mom comes inside. Keys jostle as she drops them in the bowl.
My blood gallops in my veins. It won’t be good when she finds us. My mom isn’t much of a yeller, but she has a master-level disappointed face. When I was a kid, all she had to do was flash it my way and I’d instantly regret whatever I was up to. Didn’t always stop me. I was a stubborn, headstrong kid. Still am.
“Daniel?” The mixture of hope and unbridled pain in her voice when she says my dad’s name guts me from throat to belly. Mom must see the light streaming from Dad’s unlocked, gaping office door.
