by M. G. Reyes
BALCONY, MEMORIAL DAY, AFTERNOON
Candace looked up wearily from her homework. “Hey, is someone gonna get the phone?”
It was lunchtime on the Monday after the benefit at Hearst Academy. Everyone was relaxing at the house except John-Michael and Grace, who’d taken off to San Francisco in John-Michael’s Benz.
Utterly distracted by what she’d just heard on her cell, Maya ignored Candace as well as the house phone.
Candace was stretched on the gray sofa, flipping through the pages of Variety with one eye on the TV, totally uninterested in picking up the call. Dozing on the futon sofa, Paolo stirred. He looked around hopefully for Maya. Before he could object, Maya withdrew hurriedly. She stepped outside the front door and climbed the stairs to the balcony. Then she took out her own cell phone and continued to listen.
Maya’s cell was still connected to Grace’s phone. She could hear, very clearly, John-Michael’s end of the conversation with Paolo, who had just picked up the call on the house phone. John-Michael was laughing about driving his car off a cliff on the Pacific Coast Highway, but Paolo didn’t seem to find it funny. Not at all. From what Maya could tell from John-Michael’s end of the conversation, Paolo was appalled.
It wasn’t in the same category of shock as Maya’s own reaction when she’d heard Grace gasping aloud, the explosion, and then the terrified yelling—presumably Grace and whoever else saw it happen. It had seemed like an age before she’d heard Grace’s voice again. Maya had waited, scarcely daring to breathe as all hell broke loose on the other end of the call.
For at least two minutes, Maya had assumed that John-Michael was dead.
Grace hadn’t heard Maya’s desperate pleading into the phone. She’d forgotten that the call was still in progress. She must have pocketed the phone, still connected to Maya’s.
And now Maya could do nothing but listen in silence to Grace and John-Michael, presumably until the battery of Grace’s cell phone ran out.
“Is Paolo coming to get us?” Grace asked.
John-Michael gave an audible chuckle. “Yeah. He was all, like, ‘Man, have you gone nuts?’”
“What’d I tell you?”
“He’d understand. They all would. If they knew what happened with my dad.”
Maya was seized with curiosity. There was an actual reason for John-Michael trashing that beautiful Mercedes-Benz? She moved from the edge of the balcony where she’d been staring into the flat line of the ocean, and settled into one of the rattan easy chairs.
This conversation sounded way too good to miss. And since it hadn’t even happened in the house, technically, Maya felt under zero obligation to report it to Dana Alexander. She was already fencing off as much as she dared. So long as the woman got some kind of information about the housemates, and some of it at least was verifiable, their agreement was valid—in Maya’s eyes.
Anyway—how exactly was Dana Alexander going to know what might be going on in the house, apart from what Maya was telling her? Unless one of the other housemates was also a spy . . . ?
It was a chilling idea. For a few seconds it broke right across Maya’s thoughts. After a moment or two she dismissed it as crazy paranoia. Surely Alexander wouldn’t go that far? Whatever problem the woman had with Lucy and Grace, it couldn’t be so serious that she needed a backup spy.
When Maya finally tuned back into the phone conversation, it seemed that John-Michael and Grace had moved on from talking about John-Michael’s car.
“Oh,” Grace was saying, “I know why Lucy didn’t want us to know about Jelly and Pie. And it wasn’t just because the show blew chunks.”
John-Michael replied, “Really? Huh, I kinda liked it, but then I have a high tolerance for cheesy TV. I thought the aunt character was pretty cool. And Lucy was way cute.”
“You actually watched it?”
“I wasn’t a fanboy, if that’s what you mean. But yeah, I used to leave the channel if it was on. And when I met Lucy at rock camp and realized that she was Charlie, yeah, I admit it, I was kind of psyched.”
“Uh-huh.” Then Grace became strangely silent.
“So,” John-Michael said, “you think it was because of the rehab?”
“Do I think what was because of the rehab?”
“Lucy. The reason she doesn’t talk about being on TV. After the show. She was in rehab. Maybe you didn’t know?”
Maya became alert, waiting to hear Grace confirm. But she sidestepped his question with a totally left-field question of her own: “How much do you remember about the Tyson Drew case?”
John-Michael didn’t reply. When Grace began to talk again, Maya guessed that he must have simply shaken his head, because he didn’t seem to know anything at all. Grace began to explain what sounded like the whole story. Tyson Drew, a party in Hollywood, a murder. Reports in the news about some child TV stars being in the house— maybe they’d witnessed something? Lucy—Lucasta, as she was known in those days; the phone was cutting in and out but Maya managed to pick out the most important details: Charlie from Jelly and Pie had been one of the children in the house. Some kind of confusion over the witness reports. A man being found guilty of drowning Tyson Drew. Somebody named Alec Vespa maybe? . . . Alex Vesper!
The name practically stopped Maya’s heart.
Vesper. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The same last name as Grace before her mother remarried Candace’s father.
Alex Vesper.
And that’s when Maya realized. It was like something was hollowing out her insides. She felt as though she might actually be sick. She leaned forward on the chair and stared at the brilliant white shine of the ocean. She simply tried to breathe.
Alex Vesper was Grace’s father. Grace’s father was on death row.
“So that’s why Lucy didn’t want us talking about Jelly and Pie!” she heard John-Michael say. “She didn’t want us wondering about why she changed her name, maybe looking it up on the internet. I have to say, never in a million years would I have guessed that Lucy was at the Tyson Drew murder party.”
“Me neither,” said Grace. “It’s as if Lucy’s gotten used to hiding it. Like she’s used to living with suspicion. Makes you wonder why.”
Maya felt as though tumblers were falling inside her mind, cogs locking into place. Slowly a key turned, and on the other side was nothing but fear. Betrayal.
Danger.
She was afraid to search for the news story. But Maya knew that she must. Her fingers trembled as she tapped the screen of her smartphone, brought up a web browser, and searched.
“Dana Alexander” “Tyson Drew”
Something cold stirred deep within as the results came up.
The name didn’t appear in the headline. Only one newspaper had even reported it. A casual reader might assume it was a mistake. But there it was on a list of famous people who’d been at the Hollywood party at which Tyson Drew had been found dead.
Dana Alexander.
The bigger newspapers didn’t mention her. She’d been a huge star back then. In her youthful prime; two years before she played Lady Macbeth in Hollywood’s biggest adaptation of the Shakespearean tragedy.
Was it possible that Dana Alexander had the kind of power that could keep her name out of a story like that?
Maya shivered, thinking of the latest report she’d typed up for the woman.
All these years later and Dana Alexander was still keeping tabs on Lucy and Grace. The only thing that Maya could see that connected the two girls was the man on death row.
A cool breeze blew in from the water. Maya began steadily to shake.
It finally made sense, the reason why Alexander was watching the house. Lucy or Grace: one of them knew something. Lucy was at the Tyson Drew murder party. Grace was Alex Vesper’s daughter.
What if Vesper wasn’t guilty?
What would Dana Alexander be prepared to do if Lucy remembered something about that Hollywood party, something that might save Grace’s dad from death row?
&n
bsp; What would Dana Alexander do if everyone told the truth?
ARIANA CALLS THE WEST COAST
MEMORIAL DAY, EVENING
“This isn’t working out quite as I’d hoped.” Dana Alexander’s voice was silky smooth, clinically cool in its expression of disdain.
Ariana pursed her lips. Sometimes it was downright irritating talking to the British woman, with her supercilious airs and her stuck-up accent. It wasn’t like Ariana to experience xenophobia—she had nothing against folks seeking a new life in the United States. But sweet Lord of mercy, some Europeans were just so damn precious.
“Only so far I can push things with the girl. It gets to looking like harassment.”
“No doubt,” came the dry response. “That’s why I made provision for an alternative source of information. But things have dried up on that front, too.”
“You absolutely certain? Maybe the kids just got settled into a routine?”
“Always a possibility,” said Alexander. “And yet, I think not. Their lives were just getting so interesting. Lucy almost expelled, John-Michael being investigated by the police, Paolo hiding something—I still don’t know what. And now? All I’m hearing is ‘sweet little Grace, the devoted daughter.’ Such an angel, what a saint! So dedicated to her cause, to her pen pals, the poor lonely prisoners.”
“Maya doesn’t know that the guy on death row is Grace’s father. Gotta expect the girl to have a little bit of fellow feeling for her.”
Alexander’s response was fiercely snapped out. “Of course Maya doesn’t know! The fact that Vesper is that girl’s father just makes her all the more sympathetic. If Maya were ever to discover that particular gem, I doubt I’ll ever hear anything else from that little brat house again.”
“Sounds like Maya is already choosing her words more carefully.”
“Indeed. That’s why it may be time to proceed to Plan B.”
“There’s a Plan B?”
“There’s always a Plan B. Pack your bags. You’d better pop along to LA. Surely you’re overdue an unfortunate fall from the wagon? Booze or pills—I don’t care which you tell her you’ve gone for. Poor you, you’ve no one to turn to except dear little Lucasta from rehab. In the words of Lady Macbeth, darling, ‘Screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we’ll not fail.’”
Ariana could almost hear the smug smile on the other end of the phone. But then there was a marked shift in Dana Alexander’s tone. This time it was pure ice.
“There’s nothing I despise so much as a spoiled child, Ariana. It’s time I took a more active role in their lives. Time to bring the heat to Venice Beach.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s always tricky for an author to break out of a pattern and innovate into a very different style of writing, but thanks to some brilliant, talented friends and editors, writing Emancipated has been a joy.
To Michael Grant, whose wealth of experience as a children’s and young adult author I have been able to rely on in so many ways—as a mentor and manuscript critiquer, as a story adviser and a guide to Venice Beach and Santa Monica. The reason there is a Mercedes-Benz in this story is down to a car rental snafu and Michael’s glee at driving around all day in a high-end convertible during my visit to LA.
To Hoku Janbazian and my aunt, Tere Reyes, for taking care of me and showing me around LA during my trip to research the locations for Emancipated.
A fantastic editorial team is the best gift an author can have: Elizabeth Law’s single-minded dedication to helping me make this series as great as possible. It’s not every editor who can analyze character development in reference to nuance in Mad Men and Breaking Bad, and fewer who’ll do the same over Skype from Paris!
At HarperCollins, thanks to Katherine Tegen, Katie Bignell, Bethany Reis, Veronica Ambrose, and especially Maria Barbo for such careful, thoughtful consideration of the manuscript at each stage of its evolution, for such clear and confident guidance.
On this side of the Atlantic, thanks to my lovely friend and fellow YA author Susie Day for beta-reading an early draft and persuading me to write a better ending! Robert Kirby of United Agents has been a fantastic source of advice and support throughout.
And without my wonderful family, David, Josie, and Lilia, this would all be a fairly meaningless endeavor!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Haddon Davies
M. G. REYES (Maria Guadalupe, aka “Pita”) was born in Mexico City and grew up in Manchester, England. She studied at Oxford University and spent several years as a scientist before setting up her own internet company. She lives in Oxford, England, with her husband and two daughters and loves visiting LA.
www.mgreyes.tumblr.com
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CREDITS
Cover photograph on front © 2015 by Hans Neleman/Getty Images
Cover art and design © 2015 by M80 Design/Wes Youssi
COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
EMANCIPATED. Copyright © 2015 by Reynolds Applegate, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2014949409
ISBN 978-0-06-228895-0
EPub Edition © May 2015 ISBN 9780062288974
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