Veronica Mars

by Rob Thomas

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t try to hide them. She wanted to look as defenseless, as nonthreatening, as possible. “Don’t you remember me? We talked the other night, down by the pool. We were going to take a walk on the beach, but I was here with my boyfriend. I came back tonight to find you. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

  “You think I’m some kind of idiot?” he spat. “I want to know who you’re working for!”

  She glanced over at Willie and Rico. She didn’t know what she was hoping to see in their faces—sympathy, maybe, or even exasperation. Instead, Willie was looking studiously away, his twitching rabbit eyes darting around the edges of the room, as if he were politely trying not to notice the way Eduardo was twisting her arm. Rico, on the other hand, grinned foolishly. He looked like he thought he was in for a treat.

  “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. Her vision blurred for a moment, and a tear cut down the side of her cheek. She held very still, trying to keep her focus steady. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Please, just let me go, and I’ll go back down to the party. I won’t bother you. I’ll leave, if you want, and never come back.”

  “Hey, man, that seems fair.” Willie shifted his weight. “She didn’t hurt anything. Let’s just take her back out front and leave her alone.”

  “Get lost, Willie.” It was Rico who spoke this time, his voice soft and slow. “We need some privacy.”

  Willie licked his lips. She caught a whiff of sweat and patchouli as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Sure, Rico. Sure, I’ll just … I’ll head back to the party, okay?” He edged toward the door, slowly at first, as if he couldn’t quite get his speed up. Then he disappeared down the hall. Veronica could hear a distant door open and close. And just like that, she was alone with the Gutiérrez cousins.

  Rico turned to shut the library’s double doors with a soft click. Eduardo stood stone still, his eyes boring into hers, his grip tight.

  “I’m not sure what I did wrong,” Veronica said feebly. “The door was open. I just came in and looked around.”

  “The door wasn’t open, mamí.” All of a sudden he let go of her. She staggered a few feet back, rubbing her arm, as a wolfish smile spread over his face. It was a lot like the smile he’d given her just the night before, on the terrace. Both times she felt hunted, but this time, she felt teeth.

  “The door wasn’t open, and we both know it. So why don’t we cut the shit?” He shouted the last word and swept an armful of books off the shelf as he passed, sending them crashing to the floor. Rico walked around the other side, flanking her with an expression of stupid amusement.

  She took a step backward and felt one of the bookshelves pressing against her spine. Rico laughed, stopping a short distance away from her. She felt around behind her for something, anything, that she could use as a weapon, but there were only books.

  “Who … sent … you?” Eduardo’s voice had escalated to a furious scream. He lunged toward her, his lips pulled back in a snarl. She flinched away from him, stumbling over a fallen book.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she cried. She looked from one to the other, truly confused. Did they know she was a PI? Did they think she was a cop?

  “She’s not gonna make it easy, Eddie,” Rico said thickly. He grinned at her. “But she’s gonna make it fun.”

  When she looked at Eduardo, he was reaching behind his back, fumbling at something she couldn’t see. A moment later her heart stuttered painfully in her chest.

  He had a knife.

  “Who are you with? The Sonoras? The Zetas?” Eduardo turned the blade back and forth, the firelight running along the steel in bright and shifting patterns. It was a Bowie knife, six inches long, and he held it up in a ready stance. “Los Caballeros Templarios?”

  She gaped at him, her brain on fire. He thought she was an assassin? Someone from a rival cartel? That was insane. Certifiably, beyond a doubt insane. But he was deadly serious. A tight, panicked feeling was starting to close in on Veronica’s chest, pressing down on her lungs, on her heart.

  “I’m not with anyone,” she whispered. She mentally took the measurements of the room around her. Rico and Eduardo flanked her, each a few feet away. Behind her were the bookshelves; in front of her, a low chaise longue she might be able to launch herself across. But how fast is he with that knife? He held it like he’d used it before. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to make it to the door.

  “That’s what they all say,” Rico said. He grinned, and she thought she saw a mischievous gleam in his eye. He doesn’t think I’m in a cartel, she realized. He’s just egging Eduardo on—because he thinks it’s funny. The thought didn’t make her feel any better.

  “We know your people’ve been in town for a while now.” Eduardo’s pupils were so wide she could see the room reflected in their depths. He wiped his nose quickly with the back of his left hand. “Watching, waiting for an opportunity. Looking for your chance to send a message to El Oso.”

  Veronica wondered distantly if this was what had happened to Hayley. To Aurora. If, instead of discovering something, they’d simply been on the receiving end of Eduardo’s paranoia and Rico’s thirst for blood. She took a step sideways and bumped into a heavy pedestal with a musty dictionary perched on top. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Stop. Lying.” Eduardo’s voice rose, a ragged cry of rage. She saw his legs tense in the split second before he sprang at her, and she took her one desperate chance, throwing her body at the chaise longue in the hopes she could scramble over it. But a fist closed in her hair. She was jerked backward against someone’s hard, heaving chest. The knife flashed against her throat.

  “Tell me who sent you.” Eduardo’s breath was hot against her cheek.

  “No one!” Her scalp burned. She writhed in his grip, struggling to twist out of his grasp, but he had her pinned.

  She felt the edge of the blade pressing into her flesh. A thin ribbon of blood trickled down her throat. “Tell me!”

  She didn’t answer. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain.

  Then an explosion of noise blasted through the room.

  The French doors burst. A group of girls poured through, laughing and jostling. At the head of the crowd was Willie Murphy, looking like he was leading a marching band as he gestured for the crowd to follow him. Absurdly, bringing up the rear was Dick Casablancas, plastic cup in hand. The sound of music drifted down the hallway and filled the room.

  “This way, ladies—there’s more Cristal in here!” Willie opened a bottle of champagne with a loud pop. Behind him the group cheered. He gestured at a buxom black-haired girl in a bright pink bikini. “Rico, man, look who I found. Selena here is totes down with our Taco Bell plan, brah!”

  Eduardo’s grip on her loosened, the knife flashing away out of sight of the crowd. The moment she was free, Veronica staggered toward Dick. “Dick, baby, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  He tried to take an instinctive step backward as she advanced, but she was already flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her. She showered him with kisses, and as she leaned up to plant one firmly on his lips, she caught a glimpse of his sea-blue eyes, frozen wide in a kind of mesmerized horror.

  But Eduardo wasn’t even looking at her and Dick. He had eyes for no one but Willie.

  For just a moment, she caught sight of Willie’s face. His complexion was like curdled milk, his eyes wide and darting. His hands trembled so bad he could barely pour the champagne.

  He looked almost as scared as Veronica felt.

  A few of the bodyguards burst in, looking abashed, trying—and failing—to herd everyone back down the hall to the main floor. Girls climbed up on the antique chairs, gyrating their hips to the music pouring in from the other room. An inflatable beach ball had manifested from somewhere and floated through the room from fist to fist. Rico was already chatting up a little cluster of girls, easily distract
ed from bloodshed to booty.

  Then another kind of noise filled the hallway.

  “Attention. Attention. Evacuate the premises immediately. This is an order. I repeat: this is an order.”

  Bullhorns. Mechanical, blaring voices.

  Cops.

  All hell broke loose. At once the spring breakers flew into motion, some running straight for the door, some rooted to the spot in confusion and fear. Dick released Veronica, looking baffled. She saw Eduardo stepping back with his hands up and a resigned expression on his face. Rico scowled, annoyed, as the little group of girls scattered.

  Willie Murphy, though, reacted with the knee-jerk panic of a man who’d been hunted half his life. He ran toward the door in blind terror. He sidestepped a brutish-looking deputy in khaki only to be headed off by another, this one with a baton swinging in his fist. Then he scrambled backward, eyes rolling like a cornered animal. Veronica saw the familiar white flash of a Taser, and Willie hit the ground hard.

  Suddenly Lamb was there, bullhorn in hand. His voice screeched painfully through the room, echoing off the glossy furniture. Several of the remaining spring breakers covered their ears, cringing.

  “Clear this room. Clear it out, people, this is your last warning or we’ll bring in the tear gas. Out to the front lawn where our friendly officers will meet and process you. Go on.”

  A few feet away, one of the officers was getting Murphy’s wrists in cuffs.

  “Willie Murphy, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  Lamb took the bullhorn away from his lips, leaning in to talk to Eduardo, who nodded slowly at whatever he said. A surge of anger propelled Veronica forward, her eyes blazing. Lamb’s eyes narrowed when he saw her.

  “Mars. Going in guns blazing as usual, I see. You should have let us handle this.”

  She jabbed an index finger toward Eduardo. “This asshole had a knife to my throat, Lamb. I want to press charges.”

  Lamb glanced at Eduardo, then put a firm hand on her back to propel her out the door. “Come on, Mars, this has been a crazy night for you. Let’s not say anything we’ll regret later.”

  She shook him off. “Are you kidding me? He assaulted me. He drew blood. Do your fucking job for once and arrest him!”

  Eduardo quickly stepped forward, giving Lamb an abashed look. “Sheriff, I did do as this girl said. Mars, you said her name was? I overreacted. I found her in my private rooms and thought she was an intruder. I did not know she was a friend of yours.”

  Veronica’s mouth fell open. But Lamb just smirked.

  “I told you not to go sneaking around peoples’ houses, buttercup. Hell, I could actually take you in for trespassing right now, you know that?”

  “There’s no need for that,” said Eduardo benevolently. “It was an honest mistake.” He gave a little bow toward Veronica, a mocking smile playing at the edges of his lips.

  She stared at the two of them, standing close together now, talking in low voices about Willie Murphy. Willie Murphy, the low-hanging fruit that would be enough to get the press off Lamb’s back without requiring any real police work—and without requiring him to piss off the cartel.

  Then she swallowed it. The rage, the fear—it went down hard. It made a knot in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t speak but let an officer lead her out the door and down the stairs, toward the clean, cool air outside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Look, I’m telling you, I’m fine. I don’t need a sedative.”

  It was almost three in the morning, and Veronica sat at the edge of the hospital bed, a plaid blanket tucked around her shoulders. She wore a set of light blue scrubs, three sizes too big—she’d still been in her bikini when she’d arrived at the ER waiting room an hour and a half ago, shivering and exposed. Now she held up her hands to ward off the tiny Dixie cup the nurse was trying to hand her and accidentally knocked it to the floor. Two blue pills scattered across the scuffed linoleum.

  The nurse, a short, plump man with a buzz cut and glasses perched on the edge of his nose, gave her a stern what-did-I-tell-you look before stooping to scoop them back up. “You don’t, huh? Except for the fact that you’re shaking like a leaf.”

  Back at the mansion, the EMTs had taken one look at her neck and insisted on taking her straight to Neptune General. Once the doctor had swabbed the blood away, the cut turned out to be shallow, only about three centimeters long, but they’d had her lie still for a while so they could monitor any possible shock.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “My friend’s on his way to pick me up. I’ll be okay then.”

  On the other side of the thin cotton curtain around her bed, she heard the sound of someone violently puking into a bin. The ER was full of gray-faced undergraduates, most of them with alcohol poisoning. The nurse sighed heavily, gave her one last argumentative look, and turned to go and check on her neighbor. Veronica pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, relieved to be alone.

  The nurse was right—it wasn’t just the chill air that made her shiver. All the adrenaline of the last few hours had curdled in her blood, leaving her weak limbed and nauseated. Her arm ached where Eduardo had grabbed her, and a half dozen dull, throbbing pains were blooming across her body from the struggle. And then there was the thin line across her throat, still burning from the touch of that blade. Superficial as the wound was, she felt it most of all.

  But she didn’t want to take any pills that would make her slow or stupid—not yet. Not while she might still have to think on her feet.

  The curtain fluttered open. A second nurse put her head through. “Miss Mars? Your friend’s arrived. He’s in the waiting room whenever you’re ready to go.”

  She jumped off the bed. “Okay. Thank you.”

  Wallace stood in the lime-green waiting room wearing a pair of baggy sweats and a T-shirt. Her call had obviously woken him up; he was sleep rumpled, but his warm brown eyes were alert. He was pretending to read a poster about proper hand washing when she came in the room, but he looked up with a gentle, concerned expression, taking in her scrubs, her tangled hair, and the dark red scratch on her neck.

  She paused in the doorway. Then, all at once, her lip started to shudder, and she burst into tears.

  It was a sudden storm, coming on without warning and gone almost as soon as it’d started. Wallace pulled her against his side in a rough hug and didn’t speak. They stood there for a few minutes, him patting her shaking shoulder. Finally, she wiped her eyes frantically, embarrassed, unable to speak. Then she laughed shakily.

  “Let’s get out of here, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.” He squeezed her shoulder and then let go.

  The streets were still busy, even at 3:00 a.m. Most of the bars kept extended hours during spring break, and they passed a few, fluttering with light. An ambulance streaked in the opposite direction, back toward the hospital. She leaned her head back against the seat and looked over at Wallace.

  “Thanks for coming to get me,” she said. “Dad’s not cleared to drive yet.”

  “It’s no problem,” Wallace said. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

  She watched his knuckles tighten around the steering wheel as she told him about the night—how she’d gone back to the party to find Willie Murphy, how she’d gotten caught sneaking around the upstairs rooms. How the cousins had closed in on her—only to be interrupted by Murphy himself, leading an impromptu parade through the library.

  “You know, you didn’t have to go back in there alone.” She could hear a hint of restrained anger in his voice. “I would’ve gone with you.”

  She gave a sad smile. “No, you would have tried to talk me out of it. Probably with good reason.” Her hand flew up to her throat. “But I had to find Murphy, Wallace. I had to take the chance.”

>   “You always do, don’t you?” He glanced at her, then looked quickly back to the road. “Look, I’m not mad, Veronica. I’m just worried that someday the unstoppable force is gonna meet the immovable object.”

  “Wait, which one am I?” she joked. “No, don’t answer that.”

  He snorted. “So you found this Murphy guy. Do you think he did it? Took the girls?”

  She stared out at the world rolling away outside her window. “I don’t know anymore. I went in thinking Willie Murphy was the one behind the disappearances. But you should have seen the guy’s face when Eduardo grabbed me—he was terrified. And he waltzed back in with Dick and those girls and probably saved my life.”

  “Yeah, but he had that necklace, right?” Wallace glanced at her, his fingers drumming along the steering wheel. “He had to be involved somehow.”

  He was right. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t fit. Willie Murphy didn’t look like a guy who could handle violence, much less one who liked it. And he’d come back—scared as he was, he’d come back, because it was the only way he knew to keep Eduardo from killing her.

  “Maybe Murphy’s just their cleanup crew,” she said, thinking out loud. “Maybe Eduardo or Rico—or both of them—killed Hayley and Aurora, either because the girls found out something they shouldn’t have or because the guys just like killing. Or maybe Eduardo assumes anyone who’s caught sneaking around the house is an assassin. He’s pretty jumpy. Then they call in Murphy to clean up, dispose of the bodies. And Murphy saw the necklace and just couldn’t help himself.” She rubbed her forehead. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Lamb’s going to hang him out to dry. Willie Murphy is the definition of low-hanging fruit. He’s got a record, and he looks sketchy as hell.”

  Wallace was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke. “So you think the girls are dead?”