Four Letter Word, page 14
Maybe that’s just how Italians are?
Izzy thought back to a scene from A Room with a View, where Lucy faints after witnessing an argument between two Italians escalate to a stabbing incident. Not that an old British movie based on an even older British book was the litmus test for all Italians in the twenty-first century, but it was her only frame of reference, and as such, Alberto’s violent outburst might not have been so out of character if it had happened in Florence instead of Eureka.
Holy shit, she sounded like one of those interviewees on Murder Will Speak who had been the girlfriend or coworker or roommate of a serial killer, talking about how he was basically normal except for the fact that he wet the bed once a week. Or he was obsessed with lighting fires in the backyard. Or, to complete the Macdonald Triad, neighborhood pets seemed to disappear after he moved in. As if these were just slightly outlandish behaviors instead of clear signs of a dangerous and psychopathic mind. Was she actually trying to justify Alberto’s violence?
She eased Jake’s pickup to a stop in front of her house and cut the engine, finally daring to break the silence. “Are you okay?”
“Sì, sì,” Alberto said. He rubbed his palm over the knuckles on his left hand, which were raw and bloody, either from his own blood or from Hunter’—she wasn’t sure. “Imma sorry if I embarrass you.”
That’s what he’s sorry about? “I’m not embarrassed. I’m worried about Hunter.”
Alberto shrugged. “He will be fine.”
“And Peyton?”
“Ah, the Peyton.” He sighed, shaking his head. “She should feel-a much guilt.”
“Why should she feel guilty?” You’re the one who beat the shit out of her boyfriend.
“Because she flirt with me. She take-a the bracelet from me.” He shrugged again. “She want-a the Hunter to be jealous.”
Which probably wasn’t entirely untrue, but it still made Izzy uncomfortable that Alberto took no responsibility for what had happened. He viciously attacked someone at a party, and if Jake hadn’t been there to break it up, who knows what would have happened. Shouldn’t that give him pause?
“I hope Hunter doesn’t file charges,” she said with a sigh, hoping that might impart the gravity of the situation. “With the police.”
“He no do that,” Alberto said with a curt shake of his head. “He no want people to know.”
Izzy opened the door and climbed down. “His dad might feel otherwise.” She imagined Mike’s rage after getting a look at his son’s face. He’d be on the phone to Eureka PD in seconds.
The house was brightly lit as she and Alberto approached the front door, unlocked per usual, but it was deathly quiet when they stepped inside.
“Hello?” Izzy called out. The metric ticks from a half-dozen clocks were her only response. “Anyone home?”
“Finally!” Footsteps pounded down the stairs as Parker double-timed his way to the ground floor. “Don’t you check your phone?”
“Okay, Zoomer,” she said, fishing her phone from the pocket of her vest. There was no reason to check your phone when there was no one who’d message you. But she immediately saw that she’d been wrong. She’d missed a dozen phone calls and even more texts, all from her mom.
“What happened?” she said, a cold chill making her fingers tingle. She could sense their mom’s panic without listening to or reading any of the messages. Images of wine and pill bottles flashed into her mind. “Is Mom okay?”
“She’s fine,” Parker said, “but—”
“Dad?”
“Dad’s working,” Parker said, twisting his lips. “I guess.”
“He’s not in his workshop?”
Parker arched a brow, staring at her as if she’d just made the stupidest comment of the year. “Um, no.”
“Then where’s Mom?”
Parker sighed. “She’s with Riley. At the police station.”
“What?” Izzy cried. Whatever she’d been expecting, this wasn’t it.
“The police?” Alberto said, almost at the same time.
“Yeah, they wanted to ask him some questions, and mom insisted on going with him.”
Why would anyone want to ask Riley questions, least of all the police? “Why?”
“It’s about his girlfriend. The bartender…” He snapped his fingers, grasping for her name.
“Kylie,” Izzy said.
“Yeah.” Parker took a deep breath. “She’s dead.”
IT WAS ALMOST DAWN. NOT THAT IZZY COULD TELL FROM THE dark sky outside her dormer window. Heavy clouds crowded upon each other, stretching as far as the horizon, a warning that the Storm of the Century was almost upon them, and the only reason Izzy knew it was five o’clock in the morning was because the grandfather clock in the corner of her room told her so.
Izzy hadn’t slept. She sat up with Parker in the living room until well after two while he binged the new season of Only Murders in the Building. A questionable decision, given the news of Kylie’s death, but Parker was a scientist, and his left-leaning brain had always compartmentalized emotions in a way Izzy envied. Nothing to be afraid of if you kept your feelings at arm’s length.
Alberto had discreetly excused himself to bed soon after they’d gotten home while Parker filled Izzy in on what he knew. Which wasn’t much. He’d been downstairs helping their mom clean up from dinner while Riley packed upstairs. The knock at their door had been sharp and unapologetic, as were the three officers who stood on the porch when Parker answered.
Riley was wanted for questioning in regard to the death of Kylie Fernández, whose body had been discovered earlier that evening. He wasn’t being arrested or charged with anything, but he needed to accompany the officers to the station, they told him, whereupon they handcuffed him “for his safety and theirs” and led him out to a waiting squad car.
Izzy’s mom had shifted into Mama Bear mode, peppering the officers with questions as she followed them outside. Because Riley wasn’t a minor anymore, she wasn’t allowed to accompany him in the squad car, so she’d hopped in the minivan and raced off behind them.
The texts and voicemails her mom had sent over the next hour had confirmed both what Parker knew and what Izzy suspected—that Riley was being questioned, not arrested; that her mom’s mood was manic; and that Kylie’s death was being investigated as a homicide.
Izzy’s mind immediately flew to Greg Loomis, Kylie’s ex who had threatened her at Woodley’s. He seemed like the right brand of entitled, emasculated white dude who would murder his ex-girlfriend simply because she refused to get back together with him, and she hoped that the police were questioning him as well. Definitely a better suspect than her sex-obsessed yet slightly prissy brother.
She told her mom as much during one of their thirteen conversations over the next few hours. Parker’s phone never so much as lit up from a text.
“Greg Loomis,” her mom had repeated slowly, as if she was writing down the name with pen and paper.
“Yeah, he’s a fisherman, I think,” Izzy said. “Alberto, Pey, and I saw him threaten Kylie at work.”
“How’s Alberto?” her mom asked, ignoring the rest. “I hope he’s not disturbed by all the police activity.”
“No.” But he will be if Hunter’s dad presses charges.
“Good.” She let out a slow breath, then launched into a fast-paced monologue. “I’m going to make your father call Bob Hanneman. He does real estate law, but it’s better than nothing, and since they’re old high school buddies, I’m hoping he’ll be cheap. Or free.”
“Where is Dad?”
“I don’t know!” her mom had snapped, more viciously than the question warranted.
Parker’s reaction to the same question made it seem as if no one in the family actually believed their dad was working at eleven o’clock on a Friday night.
“Mr. Hanneman will protect Riley,” Izzy had said, calm and confident. She actually had no idea if her dad’s friend was a capable attorney or not, but it was what her mom needed to hear. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course!”
Her mom had sighed. “I can’t imagine what the neighbors must think, seeing my Ri led away in handcuffs.”
“Insider trading,” Izzy had joked, forcing a laugh. A snort from the other end of the line meant that her attempt at levity had worked. She doubled down. “Or maybe jaywalking. I hear they’re cracking down on—”
“Your dad’s here,” her mom had interrupted, sounding more annoyed than relieved. “I’ll call you back.”
Izzy hadn’t heard another word for an hour.
Well, not from her parents, at least. She had gotten a few texts.
From Jake.
Home from ER. Hunter needed eighteen stitches.
Peyton’s sleeping it off.
How are you?
They were the first texts he’d sent her in weeks, and she was actually relieved to have someone to talk to while Parker binged Hulu.
Riley’s at the police station for questioning.
A girl he dated was found murdered.
Jake’s response had come immediately.
Are you there alone? I’m walking over.
Which could have seemed creepy but actually felt kind of sweet. Something Peyton would have done. Once.
Parker’s here.
She almost added “And Alberto” but decided against it because of their standoff. The next reply came slowly, as if Jake had typed, deleted, and retyped it several times before he settled on a single word.
Good.
Another pause.
Want to make sure you’re OK.
She wasn’t. But that wasn’t exactly new.
I will be.
She thought about texting him back to prolong the conversation but wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, she followed Parker upstairs and tried to sleep, with no luck. She just lay there, listening for any sound that might be her parents and her brother coming home. Finally, just after five o’clock, she heard the front door open.
Izzy raced down to the second floor and found her dad trudging up the stairs. He looked exhausted. Not just from the day but from life. He couldn’t meet her eyes when he passed her on the landing.
“Were you at the station? Did you see him? Did you get a lawyer? Are they coming home?” Izzy asked, not even pausing for a breath between questions. She was desperate for information, even though she suspected her mom would be the first to have any.
“Yes. No. Yes. And eventually.” Her dad yawned, as if it were just a normal day. “I’m tired, Izzy. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“Um, sure.”
He kept his eyes glued to the carpet runner as he skulked to his room.
It was another hour before Izzy heard the front door creak open again.
“Mom!” Izzy cried as she swung around the artichoke at full speed on her way downstairs. The old wood newel groaned under the stress.
“Slow down, Izzy,” her mom scolded in a weary voice. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re going to snap that thing in half one of these days? Fall downstairs and break your neck?”
Izzy threw her arms around her mom’s neck and squeezed. “About a million times.”
Behind them, a red-eyed Riley sank into the sofa, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His fingers trembled as he sucked in a ragged breath. It was the first time she’d ever seen his unflinching self-confidence crumble.
“Ri, are you okay?”
“No,” he said honestly. He looked up at her, then swallowed twice. “No, I’m not okay.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t believe it,” he shook his head, voice quavering. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Your brother’s not being charged with anything in the death of that woman,” her mom said.
“Fuck, Mom!” Riley exploded. “Her name was Kylie, and I cared about her and now she’s dead and they think I might have…”
For the first time in Izzy’s life, her mom let the use of a four-letter word go unchecked in her home. “They think nothing of the sort.” She sat down beside him on the sofa and scratched his back, just as she’d done when they were children. “If they did, you’d be in jail right now.”
Izzy had listened to enough murder podcasts to know that just because they let her brother go didn’t mean they’d crossed him off the suspect list, but it was a good sign.
“Besides,” her mom continued, “once they pick up that Greg Loomis, I’m sure it will be case closed.”
“You told the police about what happened at Woodley’s?” Izzy asked. She wasn’t sure which image from that afternoon haunted her more: the wild look in Greg’s eyes when he confronted Kylie or the cold one in Alberto’s as he stepped on Greg’s throat.
Her mom nodded. “He was already on their list, but they were having trouble tracking him down.”
“He’d better hope the cops find him before I do,” Riley said.
Izzy lowered her chin to hide a smirk. While she appreciated the emotion behind the threat, Riley would be no match for the burly Greg in a fight. If Riley even knew how to fight. Which she was pretty sure he didn’t.
“Did they tell you what happened?” Izzy asked, changing the subject.
Riley shook his head. “They only asked questions. Where I’d been. When I’d seen her last. Over and over.”
“You told them how she’d dumped you?” Izzy asked. He flinched at her characterization of his last interaction with the victim, and Izzy immediately regretted her choice of words. “I mean, canceled your date?”
Riley nodded. “Showed them the texts. They seemed really confused. And I’m not sure if that made me look better or worse.”
“It made you look truthful,” Izzy’s mom said. “And that can only be a good thing.”
Riley didn’t look so sure. “I hope so.”
He yawned, wide but silent, which triggered the same reaction in Izzy. Their mom jumped to her feet, her energy unaffected by a sleepless night.
“Riley, I’m going to make you some tea. Izzy,” she pointed to the stairs, “get some sleep.”
Izzy wasn’t about to argue. She didn’t want to answer questions about the bonfire.
As she started up the stairs to the second floor, Izzy heard a creak on the floorboard above. It was a creak she knew well, the top step of the staircase, the one she’d learned to avoid by swinging around the newel post. She thought maybe Parker or her dad was coming down to check on Riley, but as she ascended, she caught movement from the corner of her eye.
Then the door to Alberto’s room gently clicked.
THE HOUSE WAS QUIET AGAIN WHEN IZZY WOKE UP. NOT THE pregnant, uncomfortable silence of last night, when all the lights had been on with only Parker home, but the serene midday stillness of an empty house. No creaking floorboards, no muffled voices drifting up through the vents, nothing.
She wanted to roll over and bask in the glorious solitude, but a buzz from her phone reminded her that real-life shit had gone down with both her family and her friends last night, and sticking her head in the sand was not going to be an option. She picked up her phone and found a slew of texts.
The first two were from her mom: one to let Izzy know that her dad was taking Riley to meet with Bob Hanneman, with Parker tagging along for moral support, the second to say she was driving Alberto to urgent care to get his hand looked at after his fall on the beach last night.
Fall on the beach. Okay, that was a lie she could live with. Sorta. She didn’t need her mom knowing that the guy living under their roof had an explosive temper.
At least not yet.
The next texts were from Jake, to say that he’d walked over to get his truck with his spare key and had checked in on her, but her brother had said she was still asleep. Izzy’s smile surprised her. I guess I’m not angry at him anymore.
The most recent message was from Peyton, a tearful frownie face followed by two words:
I’m sorry.
Izzy wasn’t sure how to respond, so she simply sent a heart in return and tucked her phone into the pocket of her pajamas. They could all wait for actual responses while Izzy took advantage of an empty house to make herself some lunch and eat in exquisite quiet.
She was only two bites into a microwaved slab of her mom’s chicken enchilada casserole when the doorbell rang.
Normally, Izzy would have played possum. Odds were good it was a delivery that would simply be left at the door. Besides, girls who opened the door to strangers while they were home alone became victims profiled on Murder Will Speak.
But what if it was Jake? He might be worried since she hadn’t texted back and have driven over to check on her again. Her heart rate quickened as she hurried through the dining room to the front door.
The bell was just ringing for the second time when she peeked around the lace curtains that covered the stained-glass window beside the door. Standing on the front porch were the two representatives from the Exchange Programs division of the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs.
Shit. Had they heard that Riley had been questioned in regard to a murder? Probably. And now they were coming to remove Alberto from their home.
Would that really be so bad?
Izzy couldn’t say that it would be. Without waiting to think it through, she unbolted the door and swung it wide.
“Can I help you?” she said, trying to sound as if she had no clue what was going on.
Instead of launching into a litany of hosting regulations that the Bell family had violated, Loretta reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and removed a thin billfold, flipping it open just like they did on TV.
“Miss Bell, my name is Agent Loretta Michaels.”
Agent? “From the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs,” Izzy said. She didn’t even look at the ID.
“Not that bureau,” Agent Michaels said with a wry smile. “This is my partner, Agent Stolberg.”
Izzy blinked at Agent Michaels’s billfold, which clearly read “Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
