“Okay, I’ll take one for the team,” I begrudgingly give in.
“You won’t regret this.”
His dimples pop out at me once again as he beams, and I inwardly sigh. He knows he’s hot, so, I won’t let him catch me eyeing him. What he doesn’t know is that, as unaffected as I try to be toward him, I can’t deny how nervous he makes me.
“So, do you like Chinese or pizza?”
Chapter 6
I don’t know why Ryder is so fidgety, but there’s definitely something he isn’t telling me.
“Why are we here?”
He keeps glancing around like he’s trying to avoid a one-night stand who overstayed her welcome the morning after.
It’s Thursday afternoon, and I’ve decided that, if I’m going to pursue this case, Ryder and I need to take a little field trip to the Craig house. There’s no school tomorrow since they’re having a “day of mourning” for Felicia’s funeral, so it’s the perfect chance to go out. I haven’t even told Ryder where we’re going; he got so excited when I asked him to meet me at my house he practically frolicked all the way to his car. I know my place is okay because Dad said he’s taking a break from writing and going to the bookstore for a bit, meaning he’ll really be at Marty’s Sports Bar to watch whatever sporting event is on TV at the time. My procrastination is an inherited trait.
For a moment when he arrived, Ryder thought he’d get to come inside my house. He jumped out of his car before I could do anything and ran toward the front door like an excited puppy. All I wanted to do was hit him with a newspaper.
Now he’s just as excited, until I turn onto Campbell Street and park right in front of the largest house on the block. We get out.
“I thought that it might be a good idea to look around her room. You know, do some sneaking around.” I eye Ryder skeptically. “She used to have a diary, so I thought maybe I’d check to see if there was anything.”
That gets his attention. He gives me a quizzical look. “That sounds dangerous. A diary? What was she, thirteen?”
“Some people like to write their feelings out. You never know. It’s a start anyway.”
“Well, we could get caught.”
“Her stepmother might know something. From what I recall, she was always doped up when we were kids. Felicia did call her the pill-popping stepmonster. I could just imagine how frustrated she might feel now that her dealer is dead. She might reveal something unintentionally.”
“Do we really?” Ryder whines.
“Yes, we really.” I examine him and notice his twitchy eyes. “Why are you so nervous?”
“I just don’t see the point in coming to her house in broad daylight. On a Thursday, of all days. We should be going on our date since there’s no school tomorrow.”
“The date will have to wait until after the investigation.” I watch as he continues to squirm.
He pouts and says, “You’re no fun.”
Suddenly, the door to the house flings open, and Rochelle Craig stands there in nothing but a yellow bikini. She’s the epitome of the perfect woman, thanks to a really great plastic surgeon. She’s definitely a MILF. Her rock-hard boobs are practically popping out of the tiny scraps of triangular material, and her thighs have that oh so desired gap that girls purge themselves aching for. She looks like she just walked off the runway at Fashion Week. You can’t even tell she’s nearing forty, not that she would ever admit to being over twenty-five. From what I remember, she’s been that exact age since Curtis Craig brought home his new wife. His old wife had run off, leaving three-year-old Felicia behind. It was a scandal. The most popular mayoral candidate’s wife ran away with the manny. Even though it was a shock, what wasn’t shocking was his landslide win. He’s been the mayor ever since.
“Ryder! I didn’t know you were coming over.” She bounces in excitement; however, her boobs are immobile. She grabs him by the collar, making him freeze in her grasp, and pulls him to her. She kisses him all over, leaving bright pink lipstick marks all over his face and shirt collar.
My mouth hangs open. What. The. Fuck.
He stands there, as still as her breasts, with his eyes trained on me. I feel awkward just standing there gaping at them. After a moment, I come back to reality and remember this is Ryder Frost, after all. It isn’t just teenage girls he’s after. I once heard he was caught in the parking lot of the mall, banging the wife of a department store owner. It was just gossip, but after that, Ryder never went back to the mall. I should have expected something like this.
He’s trying to pull away from her, but she has a firm grasp on him. “Mrs. Craig, please stop.”
“Call me Rochelle. Mrs. Craig makes me sound old,” she purrs.
I feel nauseated. I never thought I’d see Ryder in action, let alone feel rage boil up at the sight. That thought sobers me up. I clear my throat and say, “Mrs. Craig.”
Rochelle abruptly stops mauling Ryder in broad daylight and slowly turns to face me. I stand there with what I hope is a snarky smirk on my face. I’m over my initial shock of the whole thing.
“Lake?”
“Good to know you remember after all these years. I was worried when I noticed those crow’s feet,” I say.
She turns to Ryder, but instead of continuing to shower him with kisses, her heavily caked-up face turns cold. “What is she doing here?”
“Seems like you two know each other.” I snort.
Her face contorts into a sneer. “You could say that.” She leans in the doorway, pushing out her chest. “What can I do for you two?”
Ryder opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him say anything. Instead, I take control. “Ryder and I were in the neighborhood and wanted to give our condolences to Felicia’s father.”
“Well, Curtis is not here, but why don’t you come in for some lemonade? It’s been a while, Lake.” She addresses me, yet only has eyes for Ryder. “We have so much to catch up on.”
She turns without another word and sways her hips as she sashays back into the house. She doesn’t seem at all distraught over the loss of her precious stepdaughter. She looks like it’s just any other day.
I pat Ryder on the shoulder and say, “Sounds good to me.”
He grabs my hand, stalling me before I can walk in. “I can explain.”
“Don’t bother.” Felicia didn’t mention a bad-boy boy toy in her letter. It’s interesting since he claimed he was helping her from the start.
I pull my hand out of his and stalk into the house. I don’t know why, but the fact that Ryder had a fling with Felicia’s stepmother bugs me.
As I walk into the house, Ryder digs his fingers into my upper arm and pulls me around to face him. I hiss in a breath at the pain. “That’s going to leave a bruise, douche-canoe.”
“I never slept with her,” he says through clenched teeth.
“That’s kind of hard to believe after the way she reacted.” My voice sounds more irritated than I want to admit. “It’s not like I even care.” There’s an edge in my voice that I don’t want him to notice, but that doesn’t seem to work out. His eyes suddenly twinkle like stars.
He tries not to smile as he says, “Rochelle had a thing for conquests. One night after tutoring Felicia, she approached me. Sure, she’s hot, but it never went past her cornering me and attempting to maul me. I’m not into older women. Especially someone like her.”
“What about Mr. Miller’s wife?” I ask.
“Who?” He gives me an incredulous look.
“You know the department store? Miller’s?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He looks at me like I’ve grown a third nipple on my forehead.
“It’s … nothing,” I mutter, trying to pull away.
“No, not nothing. You know, I didn’t think you’d believe every rumor you came across. My list of exes isn’t as long as yo
u think, Lake. I just have a reputation, but it’s not all true. You know what it’s like to have a false reputation.”
Ryder knows exactly how to get to me. Though I don’t necessarily trust him, there’s an intensity to his eyes that makes me question what I believe. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted to date you. Not that you’d believe me.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe you.” It’s half true, but still, I won’t admit to believing him. My curiosity is getting the best of me, though. “If you want me to believe you, tell me how you got away from the plastic hag.” I point to Rochelle’s retreating form.
“Felicia helped me escape Rochelle’s acrylic clutches by walking in and making a fuss about letting this slip to her father. At first, Rochelle just laughed it off, but when Felicia threatened to tell him about her other little habit, she freaked. Rochelle practically ran out of the room, but she was drugged, and in heels, so she fell down a few times before she actually made it out of the room. She was like a newborn giraffe on roller skates. It was pretty funny, but it was interesting that she was more afraid of whatever Felicia had on her than her own husband.”
“I’d say that would have given her motive to kill Felicia. Rochelle disliked my mom, too,” I say, winging it. “Though, if you’re lying and you actually did sleep with Rochelle, it gives you motive, as well.”
“Why would I kill someone who helped me escape ‘rock tits’ ?”
I shrug. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to look into.”
His nostrils flare, and I know he’s pissed at me. He slowly storms into the house. I figure he doesn’t want to be left alone with the cougar, so I follow after him. We walk toward the living room, where I suspect Rochelle is waiting for us.
“Please have a seat.” Rochelle lounges on one of the two sofas that sit parallel to each other.
This house isn’t like mine. It’s ageless, but not in a bad way. There are tons of antique furniture that make the house look classy instead of sterile. The floors are a honey oak, and the walls are a fair cream. The sofas in the living room are both a light ashy color, and between them sits a glass coffee table with intricate hand-carved legs.
On the table sits a bowl of grapes and three bottles of pills. I notice one of them is prescribed to someone named Marlene Grossman. I don’t recognize the name. Rochelle picks it up, and with no shame, pops open the bottle and plops two pills in her mouth. She doesn’t even drink water. She just tilts her head back and swallows it like a druggy pro. Rochelle then picks up a vine of grapes, holding it high up above her head, before lowering it to her mouth and biting into a single grape. It’s like she’s Cleopatra, minus the scantily-clad grape-holding boys. Though I assume she’s trying to be seductive, she just looks pathetic.
Ryder and I take a seat on the opposite sofa. He sits a little too close to me, but I don’t move away. Rochelle’s glinting eyes narrow in on him as he curls his lip in disgust. I guess she doesn’t get the message, because she bites her lip as though she’s wishing it were his body. I clear my throat, forcing her attention to me.
“It’s been a while, Lake. Why are you really here?”
“I mean it when I say I came to pay my respects. I’m not a coldhearted bitch.”
“That’s so thoughtful of you,” she sneers. “And what are you doing here, Ryder?”
“I was escorting my girlfriend here. That’s all. You see, we’re a couple,” he says as he casually throws an arm over my shoulder.
I try to keep my face impassive, though I want to sock Ryder in the throat for letting anyone think that could possibly be true.
She snorts.
“We are a couple.” I lean into him, trying to prove a point. Ryder squeezes my shoulder, enfolding me in his warmth. I’ve never let anyone get this close to me, but I pretend to revel in it.
Rochelle doesn’t seem convinced. She glares at Ryder like a scorned lover.
“How have you been doing since Felicia’s death, Rochelle?” I ask.
“It’s hard losing a child at such a young age,” she says.
I want to laugh in her face. “Oh?”
“I wouldn’t wish this on anyone,” she murmurs.
“Why?”
“My husband loved his daughter. He dedicated his whole life to her. You know what happens to a man when you take away the thing he loves most?”
“What?” Ryder asks.
She looks him up and down and licks her lip. “He gets soft. He gets angry. And he goes to the attorney to donate her inheritance to a charity for youth suicide prevention programs.”
“So, you don’t get her inheritance?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “You sound like his father.” She points to Ryder. “I was never going to get any inheritance that belonged to Felicia.”
I don’t know what Felicia wants me to get from her stepmother. But I’m in her house. Maybe the whole point in getting me to see Rochelle is so I have a way into the house to investigate.
Though Rochelle eats grapes with her mouth, her eyes devour Ryder. Suddenly, a lightbulb flicks on in my head. “Okay. Fine, I’ll tell you the truth.” I let out a shaky breath. “I just …” I shove Ryder away from me and stand. I cover my eyes with my hand but peek at him through my fingers. He’s staring at me with his mouth hanging open.
“We didn’t just come here for Felicia. We came here because…” I quiver my lip. “Because Ryder needed closure.”
“What?” they both say at the same time.
“I told him if we’re going to be together …” I muster up the most disgusted face I can. Bile rises in my throat at the very thought. “He needs to get you out of his system. He’s been so wrapped up in the thought of you. It hurts my heart to admit it, but I can’t think of any other way, other than confronting this here and now. I mean, the last time we almost made love, he whispered your name by accident, and I … I couldn’t.” I close my eyes and let out the most ridiculous whimper I can muster up. The silence in the room is overwhelming, and I pray that the psychotic hag believes me. I open my eyes again and look at her. She’s gazing at me intently, eating up every word I say. “Please, I just can’t anymore.” Though I sound like I’m in pain from all this, what’s painful is holding in the laughter itching to surface.
“I … I need a minute. Excuse me.” I glance at Ryder, whose jaw is dropped. Good, I’m glad he looks shocked. I wonder how he’s going to get out of this one, but I don’t waste another second. I storm out of the room, making my audible sob echo throughout the house.
I don’t look back, figuring this is punishment for Ryder. He can handle distracting the lecherous succubus for a moment while I creep my way upstairs.
The house isn’t necessarily a mansion, but Felicia has a wing all to herself. There are two bedrooms on her side of the house. I glance inside one of the rooms. I remember it used to be a playroom. It looks like she turned the room into an in-home gym. Sure, I have great memories in that room. We used to go there after school each day and play with our Barbies until it was time for me to go home. I try not to think of the laughter we shared. I close my eyes trying to block out the memories and remember the terrors she inflicted on me for the past four years. I open my eyes and move along.
I linger outside her bedroom door for a moment. Once I go into Felicia’s room and start to snoop, that’s it. I’m committed to solving these murders. If I find something important, I might be charged with tampering with evidence, or maybe it’s more like stealing evidence. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I open the door.
I’m shocked at how much it resembles her room from four years ago. She was obsessed with the color purple and had a mural of a fairy wonderland on her ceiling. Though her sacred dollhouse has been replaced with an antique vanity set, her bed still has the same queen canopy, and is covered with stu
ffed animals of all shapes and sizes. I forgot the evil troll had an obsession with teddy bears. She’d been collecting them since we were kids and, judging from the few unfamiliar ones, she continued to do it as she got older.
I don’t dwell in the doorway for long. It’s eerie, like stepping into a Twilight Zone marathon. I haven’t been here for years, yet everything is the same. I slowly walk into the room and start my search, going to her bed and gently lifting the corner of the mattress. When she was little, she had a journal that she hid under her bed. Sadly, nothing is there. I drop the mattress and look around. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. My eye catches on the computer on the desk. It’s an iMac with a large screen and a pastel pink keyboard. Felicia really did love her pastel colors. Even her closet is full of pale-colored outfits. She was a bit of a fashionista at school, so popular that there was an Instagram dedicated to her weekly wardrobe. She even persuaded the principal to okay stilettos as dress-code appropriate attire.
I use the mouse to try and wake up her computer. It’s password protected. I haven’t been friends with Felicia in so long, I doubt any of her passwords are the same. I sit down at the computer and try anyway, typing in the first password I can think of. Felicia’s mother’s name. She used to use it for everything when we were younger. But it doesn’t work. I glance around the room, wondering if anything could give me a clue. It doesn’t. I open a few of her desk drawers, hoping to find something, anything. When I get to the bottom drawer, my eyes widen at the flimsy piece of wood with something hidden underneath. I pull it out and smile at the sight of a classic black journal.
“Come to Mama.” I feel like doing a little jig because I was right. Felicia still kept a journal.
I pull it out and open it. It’s fairly new, and the first entry is three months ago. I know I don’t have much time, but I take a peek at the first entry anyway.
For a moment, I think I must be reading someone else’s journal. I don’t expect the turmoil that Felicia supposedly felt. She sounds so normal, rather than like the cruel dictator of my high school. She bragged to people about going to our local university because she was a shoo-in for the sorority her mother was in, and would no doubt become president.
Dead Girls Don't Keep Secrets Page 6