Veronica Mars

by Rob Thomas

  “Sure!” Her voice was immediately up a half octave from usual, with a buoyant, eager tone. She opened the car door and stepped out on her towering wedges, looking around wide-eyed. “This is so ah-MA-zing. Is this, like, a movie star’s mansion or something? Oh. My. Gosh. Tell me it’s Robert Pattinson’s, because if it is I think I might die. No, wait, don’t tell me.”

  The guard was a hulking man with buzzed hair and a squashed-looking nose. The buttons on his aloha shirt strained to contain his bulk. If he hadn’t looked so exhausted, he might have been terrifying. His expression—long-suffering but patient—didn’t move as he listened to her prattle.

  One of the guards back by the gatehouse muttered something in Spanish she couldn’t quite hear, his eyes traveling over her. The others laughed. Veronica waited, her eyes ingénue wide. All of them were packing heat—she could see the telltale bulges of their holsters under their clothes, the way they all angled their bodies gun side away. She felt a prick of unease in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t brought her Taser, a staple when she was on a job; after her drive-by earlier, she’d anticipated being searched. More than the thin, flimsy cotton dress that barely covered her torso, its absence made her feel strangely naked.

  “So is there like some kind of cover charge? Do I have to buy a cup, or …” She trailed off, cocking her head at the guard. He was watching her with an unmoving expression, almost as if waiting out her monologue. On the other side of the car, Wallace gave her a nervous glance over the hood, his arms held stiffly out while another guard patted him down.

  The two guards looked at each other. The one patting down Veronica took her keys right out of her hand and gave her a small red ticket.

  “Okay, ma’am, here’s your claim ticket for the car. When you’re ready to get out of here just bring it back, we’ll get it for you.”

  Veronica staggered to Wallace’s side and looped her arm through his. “Thanks so much, guys! Come on, Wallace, let’s party!” She let out a wild whoop, tugging him along up the drive.

  He looked behind them. “Man, these guys are organized.”

  Organized, and armed. Her nerves felt white-hot and electric as they walked up the driveway. A full moon had come up over the bluffs and cast deep shadows across the lawn.

  The house itself was lit like a beacon, every window shining in the darkness. It was a sprawling modern structure of slate and glass, set right on the beach. She passed a few clusters of stray partygoers on her way to the door. A girl in a grass skirt and faux coconut-shell bikini top staggered across the lawn after her friend, yelling, “Come on, Heather, don’t be like that!” Her coconuts had gotten knocked askew, but she seemed to be too drunk to realize she was flashing half the party.

  The closer they got to the house, the more kids there were, laughing and sharing bottles of tequila, or passed out under palm trees. They stopped to make sure one boy, facedown in the grass, was still breathing, then rolled him on his side and left him there.

  “Another sacrifice to the party gods,” Veronica muttered.

  At the porch they paused. She checked her watch. It was just after ten. “All right, time to go in. We’ll cover more ground if we split up, but let’s meet out front in, say, two hours. Text me if anything gets crazy, though, all right?”

  “Sure, sure.” He watched a couple of girls in Uggs and bikinis tumble out the door, laughing hysterically. He shook his head. “You know, I remember the girls being my own age at spring break. I don’t want to be the creepy old guy. Remember Lucky Dohanic? ‘Where’s the party this weekend, guys?’ ”

  “Just relax.” She smiled, straightening his collar. “Try to have a little fun. And keep your eyes peeled for anything weird.”

  They pushed through the wide oak doors.

  The entryway was a marble cavern, a crush of bared limbs and gyrating hips filling the space from wall to wall. Instantly, the mingled smell of boozy sweat and a hundred pungent colognes assaulted Veronica’s nostrils. Girls in grass skirts and bikini tops pressed up against bare-chested boys in open aloha shirts. From the second-floor landing a DJ draped in koa bead necklaces played exotica lounge music, remixed with a heavy bass. A sudden spray of liquid flecked her exposed skin as someone popped a cork and dumped champagne over the crowd. A cheer went up.

  She glanced at Wallace one last time. He shrugged, then joined in the cheering, throwing his hands over his head and pushing into the crowd.

  Veronica turned and staggered toward the hallway as if drunk. She marked three surveillance cameras in the upper angles of the room, aimed down at the crowd.

  Wonder if those come standard with all Sun and Surf’s rental homes, or if they’re special for this one?

  The house was mind-blowingly lavish, even for Neptune. She passed through a music room painted in an eye-burning crimson. Guitars hung off the walls—Fenders and Gibsons and Yamahas, in a dozen glossy shades of wood and polymer. A muscular boy in Bermuda shorts played Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” on a gleaming grand piano. A few doors down was a billiard room, cigar smoke hovering over the red felt tables as a crowd gathered to watch a long-limbed girl in tight jeans and a lei aim her shot. Then there was a small theater where Spring Breakers was showing. Popcorn and empty bottles covered the floor, and beneath the sound of the movie she could make out low moans from amorous couples.

  Tiki torches burned on the back terrace. A luau-style spread was laid out across several buffet tables, including a whole pig with an apple in its mouth. A short flight of stairs led down to an infinity-edge pool, choked with naked and half-naked coeds. She watched as a boy with flapping blond dreadlocks did a cannonball into the middle of a group of girls. In the Jacuzzi, the traditional “Gone Wild” activities were already commencing. Bikini tops were strewn across the slate stones like so many dead fish.

  All right, Veronica. Time to schmooze.

  She got in line for the keg and filled a red Solo cup, knowing she’d stick out without a drink. Then she staggered a few lopsided steps right into the middle of a group of kids.

  “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” She gripped the arm of broad-shouldered guy wearing, of all things, a woman’s muumuu and a Hawaiian straw hat. He steadied her, grinning up at his friends.

  “Hey, no problem. You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said, slurring a little. “I’ve had so much to drink!”

  “Me too!” He lifted one fist to the sky. “Spring break!”

  It was like some kind of hunting call. All over the patio people stopped to lift their plastic cups or jump as high as they could and yell “Spring break!” in response. She giggled and held up her own cup, a half second too late. “Yeah, spring break!” she shouted, leaning against the guy in the muumuu.

  “So what’s your name?” he asked.

  “I’m Amber.” She beamed.

  The guy in the muumuu couldn’t seem to track her very well—he was almost as drunk as she was pretending to be. “Where you from, Amber?”

  “I’m down from UNLV,” she chirped.

  “UNLV?” he boomed. “Hey, Trang. Trang! You said you’re from UNLV, right? Do you know Amber?”

  Trang, who’d done his hair in a Hawaiian Elvis pompadour and wore a crushed carnation lei, stared at her with red-veined eyes, swaying slightly on his feet. “Huh?”

  “It’s such a big school,” Veronica cooed. “What’s your major, Trang?”

  “Undeclared,” he mumbled. “Maybe econ.”

  “Oh, I’m in the history department.” She stared around the little group, her hand still on the first guy’s arm. “This is so cray. I’ve never seen a house this big in my life. Whose party is this anyway?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Guy down at the boardwalk invited me,” said Trang. “After I gave him some E.”

  “Yeah, I got the nod after the rap battle,” said a skinny boy with plastic-framed glasses and a yachting cap. “Some kid with dreadlocks said I should come, that he liked my rhymes.”

  “So
none of you know the host?” Veronica stared around the circle. “You just heard about it?”

  “Yup,” said the guy in the muumuu. “It’s just, like, whoever throws the party sends a dude around looking for cool people. And if you’re cool enough to be noticed, you get in.”

  “So awesome!” Veronica chirped. “But oh my gosh, you guys, did you hear about the girl who went missing last week? Someone in the pool room just told me she disappeared from this house. Isn’t that scary?”

  “Someone went missing?” The guy in the yachting cap looked startled. “I didn’t hear that.”

  “Yeah, dude, her picture’s on that billboard over by the Cabo Cantina? She’s dead sexy,” said the guy in the muumuu.

  “She was at this party last Monday, and no one saw her after that,” Veronica chimed in. “None of you guys were here that night, were you?” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “So scary!”

  “Shit, no. Last Monday I was popping Adderall and studying statistics all night.” He snorted. “Our spring break didn’t start till Monday.”

  The feedback of a microphone interrupted their conversation. They all looked up to see a crowd gathered around a small dais on the lower deck, just to the left of the amoeba-shaped pool. A short, portly guy in a fedora and Hawaiian shirt stood on the dais. For a moment Veronica couldn’t make out what he was saying over the crowd’s catcalling. He held up his arms in a placating gesture, and the crowd noise died down.

  “All right all right all right!” he shouted, pacing the length of the riser. “Let me hear you make some noise!”

  Another cheer went up from the crowd. The guy grinned, pumping his fist in the air. “Spring break!”

  “Spring break!” The call went up again, echoing up and down the terrace. “Spring break!”

  “All right, we got a special treat for you all tonight. We’ve got five lovely ladies who are just dying to show you the tan lines they’ve gotten this week. And folks, you know how small some of these suits are.” A round of hoots sounded from the crowd. “But first, let me introduce the judge. Here he is, your host tonight, Rico! Everyone give him a round of applause. Come on, now!”

  The crowd screamed. Veronica stared. The man who’d just stepped on the dais was sharply handsome, with deep olive skin, dark hair, and a line of stubble along his jaw. He wore a pair of Bermuda shorts, and a lei draped across his sculpted chest.

  It was the mystery guy from Hayley’s pictures—the guy she’d been hanging all over the night she’d disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Veronica gripped the balustrade, staring at Rico. He grinned and waved at the crowd, his face lit up by the flickering tiki torches at each end of the stage.

  Host of the party? He was young, college aged. Veronica had known plenty of superrich teenagers, so it wasn’t a stretch that Rico was rolling deep enough to rent the place. But according to Mac’s research, no one was renting. And there was no way this was an illicit squat—security was too tight, and apparently there were parties every night. Someone would have noticed by now. Did he own the rental company? Did his parents?

  Up on the stage, Rico fanned ten crisp bills out with a snapping motion. He took the microphone from the emcee, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Just to show how dedicated we are to finding the best tan in Neptune, we’ve got a thousand bucks for our winner tonight. How do you like that?”

  The crowd roared its approval. Rico gave the microphone back to the guy in the fedora and sat back in his chair like a spoiled prince on a throne.

  The emcee paced back to center stage. “And now, if y’all are ready for it, we’re gonna start the show. First up is Aurora, from Tucson, Arizona. Aurora, why don’t you show these people what you’ve got?”

  An auburn-haired girl in a leopard-print bikini leapt lightly up on the dais and shouted a hello into the mic. Some burlesque-style music started up over invisible speakers, and she gyrated on stage, spinning in a slow circle. When her back was to the crowd, she shook her hips, looked over her shoulder, and suggestively pulled the waistband of her suit down, flashing her tanned backside at the audience. Then she untied her halter and spun back around, making the straps dance against her breasts. Tantalizingly, she lowered the triangles of her bikini top, revealing a pale patch of skin underneath. Rico whistled appreciatively and the crowd went wild.

  “Take it off!”

  “More!”

  “Flash!”

  “My cousin thinks he’s a ladies’ man.”

  The voice was deep and soft, close to Veronica’s ear. She gave a little start and looked up into dark brown eyes, flecked through with greenish gold. The man was about twenty-six or twenty-seven, with dark, curly hair and broad, chiseled cheekbones. Unlike the other guys, dressed in loud floral shirts and flip-flops, he wore a perfectly tailored gray suit, no tie, and black loafers. Around his neck was a single lei made of purple and white orchids.

  “Your cousin?” She smiled, cocking her head a little. From the suit, the smirk, the casual contempt for Rico’s antics, she knew the drunken debutante voice wouldn’t work with this guy.

  “Rico.” He nodded down toward the stage, where Rico was on his feet now and dancing with the tan-line contestant. “Like a kid in a candy store.”

  “You don’t approve?” she asked. She angled her body slightly toward him. Her heart beat fast, but she kept her movements composed.

  “Oh, I don’t mind at all. I love a good party as much as anyone. But Rico likes to play games, to make it a sport.”

  “And what do you like?”

  “I just like to get what I want.”

  The way his eyes moved over her left no mystery as to what that was.

  “I’m Eduardo,” he said.

  “I’m Amber.” She glanced around the terrace, gesturing. “Is this your place? It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “What’s not to love?” She lifted her cup, then pretended to take a sip. “So what do you do, Eduardo? Besides throw amazing parties?”

  “I’m a student myself. I’m doing my MBA at Hearst.”

  “Your MBA?” She laughed. “What do you need an MBA for? You already have everything an MBA could want.”

  He laughed too. “This? This is all inherited. I have to be able to stand on my own feet, to do my part. Otherwise it will all be wasted.”

  “That’s … that’s an interesting outlook.” She frowned slightly. Not one she would have expected from someone who threw a high-end carnival every night of spring break.

  “Family is important. This is how I honor mine.”

  Below, a fresh contestant was entertaining the audience with the stark white lines under her string bikini.

  “What’s your family’s business?”

  “Real estate, mostly. Some investments and the like.” He waved his hand as if this was all too dull to speak of. “Tell me, Amber, would you be interested in walking down the beach with me? It’s lovely this time of night—and we can speak a little more privately there than we can here.” He drew closer to her. She could smell notes of sandalwood on his skin, as clean and expensive as everything else he wore.

  Veronica smiled, calculating. Eduardo struck her as the type who might try even harder to get what he wanted if there was an obstacle in his way. “I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that.”

  Eduardo looked around as if expecting to see this alleged boyfriend. “Oh, is he here with you? I didn’t notice.”

  “He’s inside, dancing,” she said. “I came out to get some air.”

  Eduardo leaned closer, his breath warm on her neck. “You know, it’s spring break. You’re supposed to break the rules on spring break. And in my opinion, any man who’d pick a sweaty dance floor over your company probably doesn’t deserve your attention.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And it’s Rico who thinks he’s a ladies’ man?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Below, on the dais, the women wer
e lining up for the finale, posing like beauty pageant contestants. One suddenly whipped her halter off and shimmied, to the raucous approval of the audience.

  From the depths of her bag, Veronica heard her phone chime.

  “I’m so sorry, I have to check this,” she said, rummaging in her purse.

  “Of course,” he murmured. She turned her back and took a few steps away, opening the message.

  It was from Mac.

  URGENT. House belongs to Federico Gutiérrez Ortega and Eduardo Gutiérrez Costillo. Both students at Hearst. Both heirs to a Mexican drug cartel.

  For a moment the shrieks and giggles around her seemed to mute, the colors to fade. She stared down at the phone.

  Rico and Eduardo weren’t just college playboys. They were cartel royalty.

  “Amber? Is everything okay?”

  All at once the world came rushing back. She looked up to see Eduardo, who’d moved in next to her arm. His eyes flitted down to her phone. She locked it and shoved it back into her bag.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Eduardo, I have to run. Something’s come up.”

  He leveled his dark hazel eyes on her face. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope everything’s okay?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She smiled at him, her pulse throbbing in her temples. Cocaine conspiracy. Human trafficking. Extortion. Kidnapping. Murder. The words streaked through her mind. “Thank you for the party, Eduardo. It’s been really fun.”

  She felt his hands close on hers again. His fingers were cool and slightly moist. He lifted her hand to his lips.

  “I hope we meet again,” he murmured.

  Down below, Rico Gutiérrez Ortega danced with the girls on the stage. She gently retracted her hand from Eduardo’s, then turned and half stumbled back through the double doors.

  Wallace. She had to find Wallace. She called him, hands shaking, as she pressed her way through the crowd surrounding the snack-strewn kitchen island. The phone rang a few times and then went to voice mail. The party was probably loud enough that he couldn’t hear it.

  Where are you? she texted. She didn’t wait for him to reply but started down the hallway in search of him. The crowd had gotten denser, more frenzied over the course of the night, and at five foot two she was at a disadvantage for seeing through it. She stood on her tiptoes, straining to see.