Dead Girls Don't Lie Page 14

  “Once you’ve finished that paperwork you can dust my shelves. I have a meeting with the sheriff in about twenty minutes.”

  I turn back to the files, trying to keep my mind off the one I saw in the drawer. I would never look at Dad’s confidential files. Before. I’ve done a lot of things in the last couple of weeks that I didn’t think I’d ever do, a lot of things that would shock my dad.

  I keep thinking about the file and the key while I work.

  Finally Dad stands up. “The meeting should only be about an hour, and then we can head home for lunch.”

  As soon as he’s gone, I open the drawer and take out the key ring, rolling it between my fingers and contemplating what I should do. I’m not even sure I want to see what’s in there. The rumors are that Skyler’s mom had an affair and left his dad and the rest of the family when Skyler was really young. Maybe they’re divorce papers.

  I guess I wouldn’t want Skyler poking around in my family’s business, not that there’s much excitement there, but maybe there’s something in the file that will help me help him.

  I put the key into the file cabinet and it turns with a little click. The Cross file has CONFIDENTIAL across the top, just like the other files. I reach for it, but as I glance over my shoulder I pull another file out instead. This one says: CHANDLER and LEGAL COUNSEL.

  I lean over to put it back in the file, picking up a couple of words: football hazing rituals, cutting, plausible deniability, lack of evidence. Coach Chandler is the football coach and was my geometry teacher last year. I remember hearing about this. It was a few years ago, some kid accused the football team of some kind of hazing and brought a lawsuit against the school and the coach, but nothing ever came of it. Dad helped Coach Chandler out because he couldn’t afford a lawyer.

  I look at the file again. This time the word “cutting” stands out. I think about the pictures I saw in Skyler’s darkroom, or maybe it’s Evan’s darkroom and they’re Evan’s pictures. It looks like the hazing ritual is still going on. I contemplate taking the file, maybe even telling Dad about the pictures I found, but then I’d have to admit to Skyler and Dad that I was snooping. Also, crossing the football team would be social suicide for school next year. Besides, as sadistic as it is, the boys in the pictures looked like they were okay with what they were doing.

  I shove the file back into the drawer and listen for footsteps as I pull the Cross family file out and set it on the floor in front of me. I take a breath and open it. The first page is a letter to my dad.

  Mr. Draper,

  I’m writing to ask for your help so I can get my son back. I made a lot of mistakes, I know that, but I can’t leave Skyler with his dad. Wayne’s older boys seem to be happy with the situation, but Skyler is a sensitive boy who needs someone who understands him.

  Wayne is trying to have the state declare me an unfit parent so I can never see my son again. I know I shouldn’t have left the way I did, and I know what the doctors or my ex-husband may have told you about my illness, but I’m doing much better. I’m taking my medications. I’m working as a housekeeper and making extra money on the side doing portraits. I have a little apartment and I know I can take care of him. Please, I’ll do anything to get him back.

  Sincerely,

  Megan Dial (Ellen Cross)

  Underneath there’s a copy of the letter Dad sent back to Skyler’s mom.

  Dear Mrs. Cross,

  I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well. I hope your condition continues to improve and that you have success with your photography. However, I cannot in good faith get involved in this case. I’m not well acquainted with you or your circumstances. As far as your mental health is concerned, I’m not a physician and therefore I have to leave that to their evaluations.

  Know that your son is doing well and seems happy. I will keep an eye on him, and if his circumstances change I’ll do my best to make sure he’s taken care of.

  I wish you the best,

  Travis Draper

  My heart hurts for Skyler’s mom, and for Skyler. I wonder if he even knows she was trying to get him back. I didn’t realize until now that Eric and Evan had a different mom than Skyler, but it makes sense. Skyler is smaller and his hair is darker than his brothers’. Knowing what I saw of Mr. Cross, I wonder if Dad should have gotten involved.

  The next page in the file is another letter to Dad, this time from an attorney.

  Mr. Draper,

  I am writing to you because we found correspondence between you and Megan Dial in her personal papers. We regret to inform you that Ms. Dial took her own life on the 6th of this month.

  The late Ms. Dial’s will leaves a large sum of money from a family trust to her son, Skyler Cross, with explicit instructions that the money not go to her ex-husband. As the attorney settling her estate, I’m endeavoring to transfer the trust fund for her son through a Mr. Ortiz, a friend of Ms. Dial’s who lives in the area, but I have met with some resistance from Ms. Dial’s ex-husband. I was hoping you could assist me with this. Please contact my office at your earliest convenience.

  I’ve also been entrusted with a brief note that the late Ms. Dial left for her son. I’ve enclosed a copy of the note. Perhaps you can decide the best time and method for getting it to him.

  Sincerely,

  Jason B. Kirk,

  Attorney at Law

  It’s all pretty terrible. I glance through the letter again and the name Ortiz stands out, the same last name as the man who was arrested for Rachel’s murder? It’s probably just a coincidence. Ortiz is a common enough last name, but then again—

  I reach for the last page in the file, the note from Skyler’s mom to him, but the door to Dad’s office opens. I shove the papers into the folder and stuff the file back into the drawer, but when I slam it shut the lock catches and it bounces back. I’m stuck on the floor with the drawer open and the file half hanging out. I turn to face Dad, trying to form some explanation. Instead, I see Skyler.

  I stand up quickly to block the file from his view. “Skyler, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you. You didn’t answer the phone at your house, so I figured you might be with your dad.” He moves across the room and wraps his arms around me, leaning over my shoulder toward the file cabinet. “What are you working on?”

  I step back from him fast to cover the open drawer. “You can’t be here. I can’t see you.”

  He looks hurt. “Why not?”

  “I’m grounded. Someone from church saw us leaving together.”

  “Ouch, sorry.” He looks miserable. “How long you in for?”

  “A week. At least.” I’m trying to keep an eye on Dad’s office door, listening for footsteps and trying to keep my body in front of the file cabinet so Skyler won’t know I’ve been digging into his family’s business. “So you’d better go.”

  Instead of leaving, Skyler steps forward and brushes a stray piece of hair out of my face. “A whole week? I’m not sure I can live that long without you.”

  I step back again, banging my ankle, the sore one, on the corner of the open file cabinet. I bite my lip. “Sorry. But it’ll be longer if my dad catches you here.”

  “Where is he now?” Skyler closes the distance between us again; now I’m trapped between him and the open drawer. He looks over my shoulder again.

  I move to block his view. “At a meeting with Eric, at his office.”

  “How long is the meeting?” Skyler looks around the office, but he doesn’t move away from me.

  I chew on my lip and glance at the clock. “Not long enough.” Then I bite down hard, what a dumb thing to say. Not long enough for what?

  He grins. “I guess I can’t take you out to lunch then.” He reaches for my braid, lying on my shoulder, and rolls it between his fingers.

  My face is on fire; I can’t look him in the eye. “Nope.”

  He puts his face so close to mine I can taste his breath. “And kissing you right now would probably be a bad idea.”
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  I’m having a hard time breathing, either because I’m scared of getting caught or because I do want him to kiss me. “Definitely a bad idea.” Even as I say it, I lean closer to him.

  He pulls away, drops the end of my braid, and leaves me hanging. “I guess I’ll just go then.” He turns toward the door. I fight the urge to follow him and make him finish what he started, at least kiss me good-bye. He sets a white box on top of the files I was working on. “I’ll leave this here for you. Kind of a ‘sorry my family is weird’ and ‘thank you for saving my life’ gift.” He looks over his shoulder, giving me the same grin that I’ve seen on Evan. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  It takes me a second to compose myself after he leaves. When I hear his feet on the stairs, I bend over and straighten the files in the drawer. The note from Skyler’s mom is still poking up. I listen for footsteps again and pull it out.

  There are only four lines on the paper, written in the same loopy scrawl I saw on the picture in the darkroom, but the handwriting looks more shaky:

  Good-bye, angel.

  Don’t give in to the demons.

  I’m sorry for everything.

  I love you.

  The second line is chilling. It makes me think of what the letter said about Skyler’s mom being mentally ill. She must have been slipping out of reality when she wrote the note. I wonder if Skyler has ever seen it.

  I push the files all the way in and lock the drawer, but I stay on the floor for a while, thinking about how hard things have been for Skyler. His dad is obviously a jerk and his mom killed herself. Maybe that’s why he was alone so much at school.

  I stand up, looking at the box he left. I cross the room and pick it up. Then I sit down in Dad’s big chair and slide my finger along the taped side, my heart dancing with anticipation, listening for any sign that Dad is coming back from his meeting. A little afraid of what I’ll find, I open the box. Inside is a phone. A nice phone. A really nice phone. One with Internet access, like Rachel’s phone. I pick it up and hold it in my hand in disbelief. The hand-me-down, ancient cell the FBI guy took from me was nothing like this. My stomach twists with a sort of embarrassed guilt, the kind you get when someone gives you something that you know you can never pay them back for. Almost like Skyler can read my thoughts, the phone buzzes.

  Ur welcome. Call me l8tr

  Before I can figure out what to say back, the doorknob twists again. I slide the box into the recycling bin under the table and slip Skyler’s present into my pocket.

  Chapter 18

  Dad walks in; behind him are three men. “Did you finish the filing, Jaycee?” he says without introducing his guests to me.

  “Yes.” I study the men who are with him, trying not to stare. They hover in the doorway. I’m sure they’re migrants, they’re all in worn jeans and stained long-sleeved shirts, holding their hats, looking nervous and out of place next to Dad’s white shirt and tie.

  “Good, thank you. I need you to go home now, so I can help these gentlemen,” he says.

  “Do you want me to get you some food?” I ask, but he’s already at his desk, looking distracted.

  “No. I’ll get something later. Go ahead and take the truck. I’ll grab something in town and walk home when I’m done here.” He motions for the men to come in.

  “Okay,” I say, trying not to look too eager.

  “Straight home, Jaycee,” he reminds me.

  “Sure, Dad.” I answer easily enough, but inside I’m shaking. This was exactly what I was hoping for, freedom from Dad and access to the truck. I cover the phone in my pocket with my hand as I squeeze by the men on my way out.

  I’m almost out the door when he stops me again. “Jaycee, there’s a town meeting tonight. That FBI agent and Sheriff Cross are going to talk about gangs and what the community can do to stop them. I think I should be there. If you want to come,” he hesitates, and I see his inner struggle to shelter me from everything, “I think it might be a good idea if you came too.”

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll go.” I feel a little surge of triumph mixed with fear. I know it’s a big leap for him to let me go to the meeting, like he’s finally letting me see that there are bad things in the world. It almost makes me feel guilty for what I’m about to do.

  I start out heading home, but once I’m out of sight of Dad’s office I go around the corner toward the park. One of the pictures of me and Rachel was taken at the Sweetheart Log. I might as well start there.

  It’s too hot for anyone to be playing outside, so the park is pretty much deserted. I go to the tree, kneel beside it, and scan the letters that are carved there.

  I look for Rachel’s name, and then my name, then our initials. The carvings blur together, and I can’t find anything. I sit down and take the paper out of my pocket. I position myself exactly where the two of us were sitting on the log, but I still can’t see anything.

  I look from the picture to the log, but nothing comes. Hot and frustrated, I think about heading home, but then the bells at the Catholic church chime one o’clock. The picture of Rachel and the group at the baptism was taken there. Father Joseph might know who was in the picture.

  The sanctuary is empty. The candles in the front aren’t lit, but it still smells like burned incense. I’ve been here with Rachel a few times, so I know Father Joseph’s office is through a door behind the pulpit. I go to it quick, before I lose my courage.

  When I knock he calls, “Just a minute.”

  While I wait, I pull out the collage. Rachel was standing almost where I am now, on the other side of the podium, with a big group. The woman in the middle is holding a baby wearing a long white gown. As the door opens I fold the paper so only the picture from the baptism shows. I stand forever, watching the clock tick by precious minutes. I’m not sure what Dad will do if he finds out I didn’t go straight home.

  Finally Father Joseph comes out of the office. “Why, hello, Jaycee.” He looks surprised to see me. He’s older than my dad, with a large bald patch down the middle of his round head, pleasantly plump wrinkles across his tan face, and a surprisingly small body. “What can I do for you?”

  I show him the picture. “I was hoping you could tell me who these people are.”

  He takes the paper from my hand. “What is this for?”

  I prepared myself for this one, even rehearsed the lie while I was waiting. “I was thinking about putting a scrap-book together for Araceli.”

  He pats my shoulder. “That’s a nice idea.” He peers back over the picture. “The baby’s name is Esme. They named her after her grandmother, Esmeralda. The boys are the baby’s cousins: Beto Ramos, Eduardo Perez, and Manuel Romero. The woman in the back …”

  I don’t hear anything else he says. I’m stuck on one name, Manuel Romero, the boy that died in the old house. Rachel met him, at least once. I can’t think of a delicate way to say it so I just jump in. “Did Rachel know him?”

  “Who?” Father Joseph looks startled.

  “Manuel Romero, the boy in the picture, did Rachel know him. Were they friends or … something?”

  He shakes his head. “I couldn’t say if she knew him. He wasn’t here very long before …” He sighs. “Manuel was in some trouble in California before he came here, gangs I guess. His uncle had hoped to straighten him out.” He rubs the silver hairs left on top of his head. “Why do you ask?”

  I look at the worn wooden floor. “I just think it would be ironic if … if they were somehow connected.”

  “That would be a sad irony indeed.” His usually smiling wrinkles droop across his face. “It’s always sad for me to see young people heading down the wrong—”

  “Do you think his family would be okay if I went to visit them? To find out some things … for the scrapbook,” I add quickly.

  A strange look crosses his face. “They don’t live here anymore. They moved soon after he died. I don’t know where they went. Sorry, I’m not very much help.”

  “No. That’s okay,” I say. I wi
sh I could talk to Manny’s family, but it sounds like that’s impossible. “I need to get home. Thank you anyway.”

  He grips my hand. “I hope you’re doing okay.” His pale-brown eyes meet mine. “This is such a hard thing for you young people.” I nod but can’t answer him around the lump in my throat that his kindness brings out. “Give your father my best,” he says and releases me.

  I nod again.

  Once I’m back in Dad’s truck I make a quick decision. I know I’m pushing it, but now that I know what I’m looking for I need to go back to the Sweetheart Log.

  I go over it again, looking for the initials RS and MR, but I can’t find them. Finally I step back, hold the picture up, and compare the log to what I see in front of me. The image is small, but I can make it out. The letters—their initials—are there, carved just below Rachel’s leg in the picture. I go back to the log and look at that spot again, but they aren’t there now. A big chunk of the log is missing where they should be. There are a lot of initials on the log that have been crossed out or carved over, but this one looks like it has been gouged out.

  The message is clear. Manuel and Rachel did have something going on, and someone wasn’t very happy about it.

  Chapter 19

  The tiny town hall is packed with people, all talking at once. Eric is at the front. He’s talking to Agent Herrera, who’s half paying attention and half scanning the crowd. Dad leads me to a seat near the front of the room, next to Claire and her mom. I wish it was in the back, because Agent Herrera picks me out immediately. I avoid his gaze and try to make myself smaller as Eric calls for quiet.

  “Thank you for coming,” he says when the room has quieted to a buzz. “I know this is a busy time of year for all of you, so we will try to keep this meeting as brief and as informative as possible. First, I would like to assure all of you that we are working closely with federal authorities to insure the safety of—”

  “What about the man you arrested?” The question comes from the back of the room. Without turning I recognize Mrs. O’Dell’s voice. “The man who had the gun.”