“You mean like following a gangbanger to a deserted house and letting him take my phone and turn it off?”
“Something like that.” He turns my phone over in his hand. “Where did this come from?”
I avoid his eyes. “My dad gave it to me, to replace the one I handed over to that detective.”
“He win the lottery?” He smirks. My face burns red. He knows I’m lying. “If you were a Mexican, you’d get thrown in jail for having this, based on suspicion alone. If you have brown skin and can afford this phone, you must be a drug dealer.” The chip on his shoulder comes out again. What did Rachel say? He hates white people and this town, and probably even fuzzy yellow kittens.
“Did you have anything important to tell me, or are you just going to give me your attitude again?” It irritates me that Eduardo acts like the whole world is out to get him.
He hands me back my phone. “Where did you really get this?”
I avoid his eyes, hating how transparent I am. “I told you—”
He shakes his head at me. “We won’t get anywhere if we lie to each other.”
“Fine,” I say, staring directly into his eyes. “A friend gave it to me.”
“A friend?” He looks at me skeptically. “Someone who wants to keep track of you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The Cempoalli all had the same kind of phone. Phones with trackers on them. When I left the gang, I threw mine away.”
I look down at the phone again, but Skyler wouldn’t do something like that.
“So is that from your novio?”
“Yes. Skyler gave me the phone, okay.” I stare him down. “Why do you care?”
He shakes his head again. “You shouldn’t trust him, boba. I worked on their farm. I saw things—”
“You mean between hits on your joint? Skyler told me you got fired for smoking pot.”
“And did he tell you that his dad fired most of the workers that day? All the illegals, not just the ones who were smoking. That it was after most of the crops were already harvested? That he didn’t pay anyone?”
I swallow and think about the migrants that Dad took to Spokane, people who worked all season and didn’t get paid. “Skyler isn’t like the rest of them.”
“You can believe that if you want to, boba.”
I study the circle in front of me, thinking about Evan’s threats, the negatives from the darkroom, and Rachel trying to get information from the football team. “What if this wasn’t made by one of the Cempoalli?”
“What?” He stares at me, his eyes burning through me.
“What if it was someone else?”
“Why would you say that? What did you find? Rachel’s journal, do you have it?”
I’m sorry I said anything. “Look, I don’t know anything yet. I’m still trying to figure some things out.”
He looks suspicious. “Like what?”
I think about everything I’ve learned about Manny and Rachel and the football team. “I don’t know yet. But …” I’m thinking of what Rachel told me to do, work with Eduardo, trust him. But she also said she couldn’t give him everything because someone might get killed.
“But what?”
“It’s kind of hard when I’m doing this all by myself.” It comes out in a rush of frustration.
His expression doesn’t change. “You shouldn’t be doing this at all.”
“But I am. We’re in this together, so get used to it.”
“Okay then. I have something to show you.” He points to the house. “Inside.” I see the challenge in his eyes. He doesn’t think I’ll come with him. He’s right, the last place I want to go with him is in the old house.
I hesitate. “You know how to get inside?”
He nods. “I’ve been living here ever since I got fired because of my tattoo. Before that I was living with the migrants.”
“You live here?” I think he’s making a joke or being sarcastic until I see the tired, dejected look on his face. “You sleep here?” He nods. “Why? Why don’t you just go live with your uncle, wherever he is?”
“I made a promise.”
“But you can’t live here. It’s old and there’s no running water or bathroom or—”
“You know of a better place?”
“Maybe you could stay with us. I know Dad would …” But I can’t finish that sentence. I don’t think even Dad would be willing to let Eduardo stay with us.
“Forget it.” The hardness comes back into his face.
“But why would you want to live where Manny died? Doesn’t that …”—I search for the right word—“freak you out?”
“It gives me a chance to look around, see if there is anything that might help me find out what happened.”
“And you’ve found something?”
“One thing.” He looks around. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
I follow him to the back of the house, to another door with a padlock, but when he pulls on the metal plate it’s attached to, the whole thing comes out of the cracked wood. He pushes his way inside. “Here it is. Mi casa es su casa.”
The windows are so dusty that the house is almost as dark as it was that night. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. The room is just like I remember it, a big mirror on one side, the window with curtains on the other, but I’m on the opposite end of where I was then. Glass still covers the floor. The only indication that Eduardo has been staying here is a small pile of clothes in one corner, a rolled-up sleeping bag stuffed behind the couch, and … I move closer, a pile of … library books?
They’re set on a little black table by the entryway, underneath the red circle. My stomach turns with nausea, even though I’m sure the paint smell is only in my memory. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow a few times.
“Are you okay?” Eduardo is standing beside me. I’m surprised at the concern I hear in his voice. “Maybe you should go—”
“No, it’s fine.” I try to sound brave, but my face in the mirror across the room shows only terror as I reach to touch the symbol. I put my hand over a smudge on the side, left by my hand when I touched it before. It all feels surreal, this room has existed in my nightmares for so long, but right in front of me is solid evidence that I was really here that night.
Maybe someone else left evidence too.
I set my backpack down on the floor and go to the curtains, to the place where I saw the person with the 18 on his back. I move them aside and even get down on the dusty floor, looking for … I don’t know what.
“This one isn’t right.” I look up, startled at the sound of his voice in the quiet room.
“What?”
He traces the circle with his finger. “The symbol is messed up.”
“I know. I touched it when it was wet. When I was here before, the night I came with Rachel, the night Manny died. I got scared and backed into it.”
“No, not that. The symbol in the center is reversed.” He traces an eye-shaped marking with lines through it. “The dot is supposed to be above this, not below it.”
I stand up and go to him. “Are you sure?”
He looks at me like I’m asking the stupidest question ever. “I’m sure. Whoever made this didn’t know what they were doing. No Cempoalli would ever make that mistake. It’s the Olmec symbol for twenty. We use it because there were twenty original members of the gang.”
Twenty? That was the number I saw carved into someone’s chest on the negatives at Skyler’s house. If 20 is a Cempoalli number like 18 is one for the 18th Street Gang, “Would Manny wear a number that represented the Cempoalli?” I say the last question out loud.
“What do you mean?” Eduardo says.
“For the football team, is there any way Manny would have picked a jersey number that represented the Cempoalli, something like twenty?” Eduardo looks like he’s thinking about it. “I mean, I know he was kind of betraying them, going to the police and everything, but—”
“Yes. He would have chosen the Cempoalli number for his football jersey.”
“But why?”
Eduardo shakes his head. “You wouldn’t understand. Even though we left them, even though we can’t ever go back, they’re part of us.” He touches the symbol on his back. He looks so sad, so lost. For the first time it occurs to me how hard it must have been for him to leave his home, his family, even his gang, to come here. His best friend was murdered, and now he’s living in an abandoned house, all alone.
I touch his arm. “You can’t stay here, it isn’t safe. I’ll talk to my dad—”
He pulls away, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” He slides something halfway out of his shirt, something black and shiny.
My heart stops as I realize what it is. “You have a gun?”
Eduardo looks nervous, like he shouldn’t have shown me.
“Where did you get that?” I hiss.
He laughs, full of bravado. “Hick town like this? Everyone has a gun and nobody locks their doors. It’s a gangsta’s paradise. If you want I could get you one too.” His face gets serious. “That might not be a bad—”
“Are you crazy?” I back away from him. “No. No guns.”
He pulls the gun out in a smooth motion, like it was something he’s done before. He turns it over, admiring it, and, I think, enjoying my reaction to it. “You’d change your mind if you knew all your enemies had them.”
“I don’t have any enemies,” I say.
“Are you sure about that?” The way he says it, combined with the look on his face, makes my blood go cold.
I think about the note, and what was taken from my room, and the look Evan had on his face when he left Araceli’s house, but I answer, “I’m sure.”
He walks back to me, still holding the gun. “You should take this. I could show you how to use it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t know how to use it, I just—”
My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and the note comes too. Eduardo picks it up. “What is this?”
“A note. I think Manny wrote it to Rachel.”
He reads it over, and I can see him struggling to keep his emotions in check.
“What does it say?”
“He says, ‘If something happens to me, don’t cry, forget you ever knew me.’”
“Why would he tell her that?”
“Because he knew if they caught up with him, if the Cempoalli found out that he was talking to the feds, they would kill him and anyone who was important to him.”
I think about the video. “But he thought he was safe; he thought he was going to have a normal life. He was going to play football.”
Eduardo nods. “Because he trusted Agent Herrera, but he was wrong. No one can keep us safe.”
I glance down at my phone because I don’t know what to say to him. I have a message from Skyler.
file attached. best I can do. in deep.
“What’s the file?” Eduardo says, and I realize he’s over my shoulder.
“It’s the coroner’s report on Manny. I asked Skyler to—”
“You told your boyfriend?” Eduardo bursts out.
“He can help us. He has access to things like this report. He will—”
“He has access to it because his brother is the sheriff, which means he will tell him everything you’ve found out. How could you be so stupid?”
“Skyler won’t say anything to Eric, he—”
“Let me see it.”
I hand over my phone, and he opens the file. His face goes pale as he looks at whatever is on the phone. He slams it down on the table, making the books jump.
“What did you see?” I ask, breathless.
“Nothing I didn’t already know. They gutted him.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. “I’m sorry—”
“Forget it, it’s too late.” He gestures at me with his gun. “If you find anything like that again, bring it to me, not the police, and not your novio.” He spits out the word “novio” like it tastes bad on his tongue. He turns away, shoving the gun back into his shirt.
“Where are you going?” I step in front of him.
“There’s something I have to do.”
“Eduardo, wait.” I put my hand on his shoulder, afraid of where he’s going.
He pulls away. “If I find what I’m looking for, you’ll be the first to know.”
Chapter 29
After he leaves I’m not sure what I should do. Follow him? Call the police and tell them about the gun? I don’t know what the right thing is anymore. I keep getting deeper into this, and I’m not any closer to finding out the truth.
I turn over my phone, bracing myself to see what Rachel saw. The picture is just a drawing of a generic person, with red markings indicating wounds, a lot of wounds. I scan that first, examining the marks drawn on his chest, but I don’t see anything that looks like it could be a number. I read the report, picking out words like multiple lacerations, punctured aorta, and extensive bleeding. It all sounds so clinical and sterile, not like it was talking about a real person, not someone who died right here in this house.
I read through it again. I don’t understand a lot of the words and terminology, but I don’t read anything that indicates that Manny might have had a number carved on him anywhere. The report mentions other scars, “scar tissue on right shoulder and left thigh, consistent with previous lacerations,” but nothing about a scar on his chest at all. The picture I saw in the darkroom must not have been him.
I close the file, defeated. I feel like I’ve hit another dead end, and I’m running out of time. If I don’t find out who killed Manny and Rachel before Eduardo does, he’ll do something stupid and someone else is going to get hurt. I’m not sure what to do about him. Every time I think I’ve figured him out, something sets him off, he gets mad, and he runs.
I turn toward the stairs that stopped me before. The thought of going up there now is almost as terrifying as it was that night, but it’s the only place left for me to look.
The stairs creak under my weight, and my feet leave prints in the dust. It doesn’t look like Eduardo has ventured up here at all. At the top of the stairs is a long hall. There are two closed doors on my right. Light is streaming in through an open doorway at the end of the hall. I head there.
The room is empty except for a shattered mirror on one side of the room and bits of broken glass all over the floor. The floor is covered with a layer of dust, but in the far corner there are brown streaks on the wall and on the floor. This is where Manny died. I stand in the doorway and imagine Rachel coming up the stairs, thinking she was going to meet him here, instead finding him cut and bleeding. She must have gone to him, tried to help, and gotten covered in his blood. When she realized he was dead, she ran away, cutting her foot on pieces of glass.
I look around me at the walls covered in graffiti and imagine the scene she walked into. I would have been terrified too, terrified enough not to tell anyone, not the police, and not even my best friend.
I walk over to the Cempoalli symbols painted on the wall and study them, thinking about what Eduardo found downstairs. There aren’t any that are reversed, but there are a couple of places that look like someone started to paint something and then covered over it, like he made a mistake.
I walk to the window. Half the glass is missing and another tattered black curtain hangs beside it. I look out across the yard. From here, I can see Rachel’s front porch and her covered bedroom window. Someone standing where I am now could have seen everything that happened at Rachel’s house. If the curtains were open, he could see into her bedroom.
I lean forward and something catches my attention. Wedged into a crack in the windowsill is something yellow. I slip my fingers around it and work it out. I hold it up to the light and realize that it’s a film canister, like the one Skyler used the other night.
There’s one word written on the side in red pen.
“Cuts.”
Chapter 30
“Hey, Jaycee, what are you doing here?” Eric smiles as he leans out of the window to his sheriff’s truck.
“Heading home from Araceli’s house,” I say casually.
He opens the door. “I’m not technically supposed to be giving anyone a ride in this car, but it’s raining and it occurred to me that I never got the chance to talk to you about where you were the night your friend was murdered. We could call it ‘official police business’ and then I could give you a ride home.”
“That’s okay …,” I start.
Eric’s grin fades. “I insist.” Something about the way he says it reminds me of Evan at Araceli’s today, like maybe I don’t have a choice. He gets out of the car, walks around to the backseat, and opens the door for me. “I’d let you ride up front, but I get in trouble for having young girls in the front seat with me.” His grin is back, but there’s something behind it. I try to shake off the urge to run, because I’m pretty sure he can arrest me for running away. I climb inside. Just before he shuts the door behind me I see something on his hand, a faded scar that looks like the number 18.
“So,” he says, “where were you the night Rachel was killed?”
I try to stay casual. “You heard what I said at your office. I was at Evan’s party, and then I was with Skyler.”
He looks in the rearview mirror. “About how long were you with Mr. Cross?”
“A couple of hours; then he took me back to Claire’s house and I snuck back in.”
His expression in the rearview mirror looks confused, like something I said didn’t make sense. “What time did Skyler drop you off?”
“One forty-five.”
“Are you sure?” He says it like that’s important.
“Positive.” I know almost the exact time Skyler kissed me because I turned my phone back on as soon as I got back into Claire’s room. I was hoping he’d text me. Instead, I got the text from Rachel.
Sheriff Cross is quiet. I wait for more questions, but they don’t come. Finally he looks back at me in the mirror, his face serious. “The other reason I wanted to give you a ride was to warn you. That kid you went running with yesterday is dangerous.”
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