Dead Girls Don't Lie Page 6

  Rachel had the front bedroom because Araceli works nights and it was easier for her to sleep in the back of the house. I expected a bullet hole, or maybe two, but the front of the house is peppered with them. Rachel’s bedroom window is shattered. The leftover bits of glass line the frame like jagged, gaping fangs. The window is covered by a quilt, tacked on the inside. I wonder what I would find if I went inside Rachel’s bedroom.

  Dad reaches for the door handle and rests his hand there without opening the door. “I’m sorry. I would have never brought you here if I’d known it looked like this.”

  I should have told Dad I was still sick. I don’t want to face Rachel’s mom, or go to a house Rachel will never come back to, but my conscience got to me, so I said I would come. After everything, visiting Rachel’s mom felt like the least I could do.

  I’m half a breath away from asking him to take me home when the front door opens and a man in a dark suit comes out, followed by Rachel’s mom. For the first time I notice the blue car parked in front, too clean to have spent much time in Lake Ridge. Araceli looks small, alone, and lost. She’s wrapping what looks like a dish towel around and around her hand. Dad opens the door and climbs out. He stands between my door and Araceli’s porch, like he’s trying to be a human shield between me and the awfulness. At the same time I know he’s waiting for me to get out. I force myself to open the door. When I reach him, Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders and we walk toward the house.

  We’re almost up the stairs before the man on the porch turns. “It looks like you have visitors, Ms. Sanchez.” His eyes fall on us only for a second, but in that second I can feel him measuring our guilt and innocence, like someone who does that kind of thing on a daily basis.

  “Jaycee, Travis.” Araceli says our names with a mixture of shock and relief. “I’m so glad you came.”

  Dad steps forward, and since his arm is still around me, so do I. He kind of herds me up the steps to the front porch and toward the door. I keep my eyes on Rachel’s mom, the only thing about this place that feels familiar anymore.

  “This is Rachel’s best friend, Jaycee Draper,” Araceli says. The title makes my stomach twist around itself. As soon as I’m within reach she pulls me toward her, the way she did at the funeral. For a second I don’t think she’s going to let me go, but as soon as she does, I want to bury my face into her chest again, anything to avoid the hard black eyes of the man standing next to her.

  “Rachel’s best friend.” The man repeats it slowly, like being Rachel’s friend makes me a criminal.

  “Since kindergarten,” Dad says, pulling me away from both of them. He reaches his hand to Rachel’s mom. “Araceli, I want to extend my deepest sympathies.” I’ve never heard Dad talk to Rachel’s mom so formally, but when he extends his hand Araceli takes it as if he were keeping her from falling into a bottomless pit.

  “If you’re Rachel’s friend, maybe you could answer some questions for me.” If the man speaking has a complete face, I can’t tell. All I can see are his eyes drilling into me.

  “We haven’t been friends for a while,” I blurt out. To the left of the dark eyes, the pain lines on Araceli’s face deepen. I feel the weight of my disloyalty, but it feels like an association with Rachel spells guilt to the eyes in front of me. “I mean for a few months. We stopped hanging out about six months ago.”

  “Oh? Why?” His stance stays stiff, and his eyes don’t leave mine.

  I lick my lips, but I can’t find an answer that would satisfy his accusation.

  “Rachel and Jaycee just took different paths,” Dad intervenes. “You know how teenagers are.”

  “That’s all it was? No fight or anything?” The man directs his question back at me.

  “No.” I say it slowly, positive he’s not interested in a fight between two teenage girls over a guy.

  “Well, Jaycee. That being said, I still have a few questions I’d like you to answer.” The dark eyes find me again, shrinking behind Dad.

  “And you are?” Dad’s voice holds a challenge that I’ve only heard a couple of times, when I watched him in court.

  “Special Agent Herrera.” The man reaches inside his coat and pulls out a badge. “I’m part of the Spokane Violent Crime and Gang Task Force. Through the FBI.” FBI? My heart stops. “I specialize in drug- and gang-related crimes.” He slides the badge back in his pocket. “When was your last communication with Rachel?” I swallow hard. I can feel him weighing my expression, my breaths; my every move. “Her last phone call, or text?”

  I’m suddenly confused. Does the video message I saw this afternoon count? It was from Rachel, but not directly. She told me not to talk to the cops, begged me. In spite of everything I’ve been taught about telling the truth, I’m not sure what’s right anymore. I start small. “She tried to call me a few nights ago.”

  He flips open a little notebook. “When exactly?”

  I want to look away, but I don’t dare. “Friday.”

  His eyes flash with surprise, and I hear Dad and Araceli both draw a breath. “The night she was murdered?”

  I flinch. “Yes.”

  He writes something down. “Approximately what time was the first call?”

  “Late. I’m not sure when.” I glance up at Dad, wondering if Detective Herrera is going to ask me where I was when Rachel tried to call me, knowing I can’t lie to him.

  “I see. And did you have a conversation with her that night?”

  “No. My phone was off. I didn’t see that she had called until later,” I say. His eyes are still boring into me so I include, “But she sent me a text.”

  Dad and Araceli exchange shocked looks.

  Agent Herrera stays steady. “And what did the text say?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t read it. I deleted it.” The lie and the truth come out with one breath. If I don’t admit what it said, I’m not responsible. Phone records can be traced. I’m sure Detective Herrera can find out what the text said without me.

  “Oh?” Special Agent Herrera says.

  Araceli looks shocked, hurt, and confused. She turns to me. “Jaycee, I don’t understand. A text? Rachel didn’t have a cell phone.”

  Now it’s my turn to look shocked. Somehow I didn’t think that Rachel would have kept the phone a secret from her mom this whole time.

  But Agent Herrera is nodding. “You aren’t the first of Rachel’s friends to tell me about her having a phone. But the other person couldn’t tell me where she’d gotten it. Can you?”

  I swallow, look from Araceli’s hurt face to my father’s disappointed one. “She said her dad sent it to her. That he was paying for it.”

  Araceli’s eyes widen. “No. No. She has no contact with her father. He wouldn’t have given her a phone.”

  “But it seems she did have a phone.” Agent Herarra writes something down. “Perhaps of unknown origin.” He turns to me. “How long would you say she had this phone?”

  “Almost a year.” I look up at Dad for help. “She showed it to me last summer. I didn’t know she hadn’t told her mom about it.”

  “Do you have any idea where that phone is now?” Agent Herrera’s eyes are measuring me even more closely than they were before.

  “No. I thought … I mean, she had to have had it with her. The text came the night she died.” I’m floundering again, not sure what the truth is.

  “So I assume you have the number?” Agent Herrera holds his little notebook, poised and ready to write.

  “It’s in my phone,” I answer, “but I don’t have it. My dad …”

  “I’ve got it right here.” Dad pulls my phone out of his pocket. I don’t know why he brought it with him; maybe he was planning to give it back to me.

  “I’m going to need to take that as evidence.” Detective Herrera reaches for my phone and Dad passes it to him. I feel like he’s handing over my life to a complete stranger. I’m suddenly very grateful I deleted everything, including the text I sent to Eduardo. But I’m not sure how cell p
hones work. Can Detective Herrera see what I’ve deleted? Can he tell I got a video message I didn’t tell him about? And what if I get another text from Eduardo? He turns the phone on and goes to my contact list. “I assume the number is listed here.”

  I nod. “Under Ray.” When my dad gave me the phone as a surprise the day I started high school, Rachel’s number was the first one I put in. I’ve gone to delete it a hundred times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  He writes down the number and then seals my phone in a plastic bag from his pocket. “Now, back to the text message you got the night she died. Why did you delete it?” The question comes from Agent Herrera, but I can feel it coming from all sides.

  I stare at the graffiti under my feet, a hollow eye. “Rachel was into some bad things. I didn’t want anyone to see it.” I can’t face Dad or Araceli, and if I look at Agent Herrera he’ll know I’m not telling all of the truth.

  “Bad things?” He leans toward me. “Like what?”

  I step back. “I don’t know. I just heard rumors.” He’s still breathing down my neck. “And they found drugs in her locker.” Araceli takes in a wavering breath. I hate that I brought that up in front of her. I whisper, “I’m sorry,” as Dad grips my arm.

  “Anything you have firsthand knowledge of?” Agent Herrera seems to fill the entire porch. I can’t escape his eyes.

  I think about telling him everything, about the text, about the old house; maybe if I tell him, this could all be over. I wonder what the penalty is for withholding evidence. I wonder if the police could really protect me. But I promised Rachel I wouldn’t.

  He’s already moved to the next thing. “Could you tell me anything about who Rachel has been associating with lately, or what she might have been doing?”

  Eduardo’s face comes into my brain, but I can only form one word. “No.”

  “I see.” He steps back and I breathe again. “I’ll check the phone records and see if we can retrieve the contents of the text, but usually the phone company only keeps that data for twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” I wonder if that includes the other text I received today, if he’ll search through all my texts, including the video message and the one I sent Eduardo. Agent Herrera writes something down. “Ms. Sanchez was telling me that Rachel sometimes kept a journal, but the journal hasn’t been seen since Rachel died. Do you know anything about it?”

  I lick my lips, but can’t think of anything incriminating about telling the truth. As long as I’ve known Rachel she’s had some kind of journal. “Yes.”

  “So you’re saying you know where it is,” Agent Herrera says eagerly.

  “No, I’m saying I know about it.” The graffiti moves in red swirls around my feet, making me dizzy. I lean against Dad for support.

  “You don’t have any idea where it might be now?” Agent Herrera’s eyes glitter, like some kind of bug, or a spider, moving in for the kill.

  “No,” I answer firmly. My face is getting hot like I’m about to throw up again, or pass out. I close my eyes.

  When I open my eyes Detective Herrera is holding a business card. He reaches it toward me, but Dad intercepts it. “If you remember anything you think might be important to the case, please give me a call.” He turns to Araceli with a stone-cold look. “I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll do whatever we can to find out who did this.” His speech sounds canned, like he’s said those words without hope a thousand times. The way he looks at Araceli, without any real sympathy, makes me dislike him even more.

  “Who’s responsible for all this?” Dad indicates the porch with a sweep of his hand. “Who do we need to talk to in order to get this cleaned up?”

  Agent Herrera shakes his head. “We’re done gathering evidence. As far as what’s left, that’s the homeowner’s responsibility.”

  I can see the sides of Dad’s jaw working, like he wants to say something, but he just nods.

  “I’ll be in touch.” Detective Herrera’s monotone voice makes me think he’s pretty much done with this case.

  “What about my phone?” My voice sounds small and selfish. It was just a hand-me-down, Dad’s old phone, but it’s been my social link to everyone for the last year, and even though I deleted the text, it was my last link to Rachel.

  “We’ll send it to you when we’re finished with it,” Agent Herrera says briskly.

  He nods to Dad and then leaves us standing on the porch. We all watch him climb into his car and drive away. When he’s gone, Dad reaches for Araceli’s arm. He looks down at her. “I’m sorry for this. Why don’t you come stay at our house for a couple of days, and I can get some people together to help you clean this up.”

  Araceli shakes him off, drawing herself into a stance I know too well. Rachel and Araceli have always been independent. “I’m leaving for work in an hour. The boy from the construction company said they would be here to replace the window tomorrow morning. I’ll take care of the rest when I can.”

  We stand in silence for a few minutes. Araceli doesn’t invite us in. Finally Dad says, “We’ll let you go, but please call us anytime, day or night, if you need anything.”

  Araceli looks at me with an expression that feels cold for the first time ever. She can’t forgive me for deleting Rachel’s last words. “Thank you very much, but I have friends I can go to if I need help.”

  The way she says “friends” cuts through me, like she’s implying that Dad and I aren’t her friends anymore, when once we were more like family.

  Dad reaches for her hand. “Again, I’m so sorry. Rachel will be missed by all of us.”

  Araceli pulls away and nods. She doesn’t look at me again before she closes the door.

  Chapter 9

  “We really appreciate Jaycee coming today.” Dawn, the head of the church children’s program, is talking to Dad at the door. “She’s so good with the kids.”

  I can’t hear Dad’s response over the noise the kids are making while they paint animals from Noah’s ark. I’ve been helping with Vacation Bible School since I was thirteen. I love being around little kids, but because of everything, this is the first time I’ve made it this summer. I feel guilty that the only reason I came today was so I could be close enough to the school to meet Eduardo at ten. I couldn’t exactly tell Dad about that. I just have to figure out an excuse to leave the class for a few minutes. I hope it’s only a few minutes. I’m not sure what Eduardo has to say to me.

  “And she’s turning into such a pretty girl—the big brown eyes, the auburn hair,” Dawn says.

  I turn on the faucet to rinse out the paintbrushes and look in the mirror. I wonder if Dawn is right about my being pretty. The skinny girl who looks back at me doesn’t look any different to me. My hair isn’t auburn, just plain reddish-brown, my face is pale and plain, and while I’m not quite a size zilch in bras anymore, my body doesn’t compare to Taylor’s or Claire’s, and not even close to Rachel’s. I’m sure Dawn is only being nice.

  Dawn continues. “I’m glad she felt good enough to come today. I’m sure she’s heartbroken over what happened to Rachel. Those girls were quite a pair. It’s so sad the path Rachel chose, so unexpected.”

  “Yes, it was,” Dad says. I can hear the sadness in his voice.

  “Cee Cee.” One of the little girls, Nicki, tugs on my elbow. “I made a picture for you.”

  I bend down and accept the picture, either a short-necked giraffe or a horse with blue spots. “It’s beautiful.” Nicki’s face glows, and my heart swells as I give her a hug, wishing some of her innocence could rub off on me.

  “Was that my dad?” I ask Dawn after I’m done hanging up Nicki’s picture.

  “Yes, it was. He didn’t want to disturb your art class, but he said he wanted to check in and see if you’re feeling okay.”

  “Oh.” More like he was checking up on me. Dad’s always been overprotective, but it’s gotten worse since Rachel died.

  Being with the little kids keeps me busy and keeps my mind off everything else, at least mo
stly. I still glance at the clock every few minutes, wondering what Eduardo wants to talk to me about and whether I dare meet him.

  It’s not even 9:45 when I see Dawn standing by the window, looking out toward the field behind the grade school where I set up a soccer game. Some guy is kicking the soccer balls we left in a pile next to the portable net. He slams it into the goal so hard that the cheap net is about to collapse in on itself. “Who is that boy? He’s going to destroy that net,” she says. The boy turns and I recognize Eduardo.

  I hesitate and consider hiding out in the church, but I said I’d meet him. “I’ll go talk to him.”

  “Are you sure?” Dawn says. “I mean, he looks like he could be dangerous.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, and try to laugh to cover my shaking voice. “As long as you’re okay being alone with the minions.” Instead of waiting for her answer I head for the door, afraid that if I don’t go now I’ll lose my nerve.

  I walk outside and cross the street to the school. “Hey,” I call. The soccer ball slams into the net and the post leans closer to the ground. “Hey!” I yell louder, running toward the goal as a second soccer ball makes the other post tip over. “You’re going to ruin that.” The third soccer ball shoots toward me. It surprises me, but I manage to block it with my foot and send it back toward Eduardo. When it hits his foot, he looks shocked that I was able to return it. Maybe even a little impressed. When I was a little kid Rachel and I played soccer together. I haven’t played for years, but I’ve been practicing behind the house, where no one can see me.

  “What are you doing?” I demand in a voice that’s braver than I feel.

  He catches the ball with his foot and launches it straight up, then catches it smoothly. “You said you would meet me.”

  I glance over my shoulder at the big window where Dawn is still watching us. I walk closer so I don’t have to yell. “Yeah, in fifteen minutes. I’m kind of busy right now.”