All Unquiet Things

by Anna Jarzab

She took the present and slipped the ribbon off with excitement. She brought out a little blue velvet bag and dumped its contents into her hand. There, glinting in the fading light, was the bracelet. I had saved up my allowance for several months in order to afford it and had the store engrave it with her initials.

  “Do you like it?” I asked softly.

  She lifted her eyes to mine. “I love it,” she said, putting her arms around me and giving me a soft, tender kiss. I felt a tear fall from her cheek onto mine. She wiped it away with her thumb. “It’s wonderful.” And Carly smiled—for the first time in a long time—a big, genuine smile.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Senior Year

  Twenty minutes after we arrived at San Quentin, we were seated in a room filled with inmates and their visitors, separated from Enzo Ribelli by a small table and a thick plate of fiberglass.

  “Neily,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  I jerked my thumb at Audrey. “Ask this one. The last thing I remember was my Coke tasting funny—when I came to, we were pulling up to the gate.”

  “Audrey?”

  “I wanted him to hear your side of the story,” Audrey said.

  Enzo sat back in his metal chair and stared up at the ceiling, letting out a deep breath. I didn’t know him very well. When Audrey and I had been friends, her relationship with Enzo had been in tatters. He was almost never at home, and Audrey spent most of her time at Carly’s house; she even had her own bedroom there. I probably hadn’t seen him more than a half dozen times, but I knew his face from the media—scores of old photos filtered into the local news stations and the newspapers, each one showing a man who, thanks to the ravages of destructive habits and a life of hard knocks, had changed a lot since high school—and during the trial. But prison life seemed to agree with him. His formerly chiseled face was still scored with deep wrinkles, his head was completely gray, and there were bags under his eyes, but he seemed healthier. Gone were the alcoholic abdominal bloat and hollowed-out heroin cheeks—he was well fed, clean, and sober. It even looked like he’d been working out. You could say what you wanted about our correctional system, but imprisonment had improved Enzo’s life to a certain degree. It was freedom—or his inability to control himself when he had it—that had destroyed him.

  At first, Enzo seemed reluctant to open up old wounds, but I suspected that Audrey was talking to him about Carly’s murder every time she came to visit. He was probably used to going over it again and again—she could be very persistent. Finally, he nodded and heaved another deep sigh.

  “Okay.”

  “From the top,” I said.

  Enzo had just been fired from a construction site in San Ramon for being drunk on the job (“I’m not proud of it,” he interjected bitterly, as if I had somehow implied that he was). It was just after noon, so, not knowing what else to do with himself, he went to a bar where they knew his name and he had a tab. Once there, he installed himself in a corner and didn’t leave until the proprietor kicked him out at five.

  “From there, I went home, drunk as a skunk,” Enzo said. “Audrey was sick in her room, napping. I lay out on the couch and fell asleep for a couple of hours. I got up at seven-thirty and ate some leftover pizza. Then I went down to the 7-Eleven to pick up some beer. I thought Audrey might be up by the time I got back, so I headed to the creek.”

  And that’s where, Enzo said, he passed out. “I’d been drinking already, and it didn’t take me very long to mow through that six-pack. I was tired, so I closed my eyes. Next thing I know, an officer is knocking on my window and yanking me out of the car.”

  “You don’t remember anything?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Well, what about your gun? They found it in the river, and they matched it to the bullet that killed Carly. I think that’s what they call ‘incontrovertible evidence.’”

  “I used to keep the gun in the house, but every once in a while—” Enzo clenched his hands into fists. “Every once in a while I would take it with me. Just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “I don’t know. In case I got into a fight. In case somebody tried to rob me. Listen, Neily, I was so messed up, I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t keep a job. I couldn’t take care of my daughter or myself. I didn’t put very much thought into what I might need the gun for—if I got it into my head that I needed it, I’d bring it with me.”

  “And did you bring it with you that night?”

  Enzo shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember bringing it, but how else could it have gotten all the way out there? There’s a lot I don’t remember.”

  “When you did bring it with you, where did you keep it?”

  “Sometimes I left it out on the passenger seat, but mostly I put it in the glove compartment. You know, to be safe.”

  “What if you didn’t bring it with you?”

  “You mean, what if somebody stole it from the house?”

  “Yeah. It could happen, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you keep it locked up?”

  Enzo shook his head. “No, I usually kept it in the top drawer of my dresser.”

  “I used to lock it up,” Audrey said.

  I turned to look at her. “What?”

  “You didn’t usually keep it in the dresser, Dad. You usually kept it lying around the house. When I would find it, I’d pick it up with a pen or something and put it away in the china cabinet, the one with the lock.”

  “What did you do with the key?” I asked.

  “She used to put it on top of the china cabinet,” Enzo said. “Audrey also used to hide booze in there. What, did you think I didn’t know?”

  Audrey sighed and shook her head. “Whatever. The point is, a lot of people knew what was in that cabinet and where the key was. I threw something like four parties the year before Carly died. All of my friends knew—Carly included—but it’s not like it was a very creative hiding place. Anybody with half a brain could have found it. And when I was out, Dad almost never locked the door, even when he left the house. The gun—that’s the easiest thing to rationalize away.”

  “Is there anything else you remember about that night?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Then I guess we should discuss motive, if that’s all right with you.”

  Enzo met my eyes directly. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “Well, they said you killed Carly over her inheritance. Is that true? Were you angry about the money your mother left Carly?”

  He shifted uneasily in his seat. “I wasn’t happy, I’ll tell you that. I mean my mother knew I was hard up for cash—I had been for ages—and she just skipped me. It was a slap in the face. Sure, she left Audrey plenty, but I couldn’t touch that money.”

  “She didn’t leave Paul anything either,” I reminded him.

  “That’s bullshit,” Enzo said dryly. “Paul passed on an inheritance before my mother died—he helped her write her will, for Christ’s sake. She left him some furniture and a couple of expensive paintings—things he asked for. He told her to put the rest of his share into trust for Carly. That was his choice. I didn’t get a choice.”

  “And this shocked you?” I asked. “You weren’t exactly the ideal son.”

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, and I know that now. But you asked if I was angry about the will, and I’m being honest when I tell you I was. I was furious. I thought that at the very least my mother ought to have left me her jewelry. She had some extremely pricey stuff, things that I valued as a part of my childhood. But she left it all to Carly—it was part of the deal Paul made with her.”

  “Including the necklace?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  The necklace was high-quality, a half-carat diamond on a platinum chain that Carly had worn constantly since her grandmother died. I remembered jealous girls remarking on it at school—sure, most of them were rich, but none of them had jewelry like that. Overnight
, Carly had become much more than a doctor’s daughter—she was an heiress, a wealthy woman in her own right, and that necklace was proof.

  The necklace was the reason that Enzo was supposed to have killed Carly. The story the DA told was that Enzo had somehow arranged for Carly to meet him at the bridge—maybe he had given her a sob story and begged her to help him out financially, maybe he had lured her there under false pretenses, or maybe, most remotely, they had met by sheer chance. Since Enzo never did confess, that bit was pure conjecture. In any event, they met, they argued, and Enzo pulled out a gun. He shot her four times in the chest, grabbed the necklace, dumped the gun in the creek, and stumbled back to his car, where he slipped into an alcoholic stupor. The necklace was found lying in the mud next to the vehicle. The district attorney claimed that Enzo had dropped it getting into the car.

  “The thing is, they found it on the passenger’s side. I was passed out behind the wheel—what’s the likelihood that I would have crawled through the passenger’s side to get to the driver’s side?”

  “That is tricky.”

  “Tricky? It’s ridiculous. The point is, they convicted me based purely on circumstantial evidence.”

  “And the gun.”

  “But the gun is also circumstantial, if you think about all the opportunities other people would have had to steal it.”

  “You had a motive.”

  “The truth is, Dad knew that if things got really bad—if we were in danger of losing the house, or he was about to get his kneecaps broken because of some gambling debts—I would have given him the money,” Audrey said, speaking up for the first time in a long while. It was a bit unsettling; it was unlike her to be so quiet. “It wasn’t like I didn’t have it to spare.”

  “Exactly,” Enzo said. “And I knew that.”

  “So? They’re saying you killed Carly over the necklace. That was in your possession,” I pointed out.

  “It wasn’t in my possession, it was on the ground next to my car. How long would it take for somebody to throw it out of a passing vehicle or drop it as an afterthought? A few seconds, tops.” Enzo leaned back and grimaced. “I don’t even know why I’m trying to convince you anyway—who do you think you are?”

  “Dad,” Audrey said firmly, “I’m going to find out who put you in here, and Neily’s going to help me. He’s the only ally I’ve got.”

  Enzo nodded. “Fine. But that’s all I have to tell you. I didn’t do it, and there are plenty of people who could have framed me.”

  “Like who?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Anybody in town with a decent brain and motive,” Enzo said.

  “Well, in a town full of Ivy League-educated doctors and their spawn, that really narrows it down,” I said.

  “Look,” Enzo told Audrey, “don’t go playing Nancy Drew. I don’t want you finding out who really killed Carly. That’s a job for the police.”

  “Because they did such a good job the first time,” Audrey said.

  “I mean it, Audrey,” Enzo said. “Whoever killed Carly did it maliciously, and they’ll do it again if you give them half a chance. You’re the only thing in the world that matters to me. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Audrey nodded. “Okay.”

  “Neily.” I looked up. “Don’t let her do anything stupid.”

  “I’m sure she won’t,” I said. Audrey gave me a nod, and I knew it was time to go.

  As soon as we left the prison, Audrey’s cell phone let out a deafening peal.

  “I have a voice mail,” Audrey said, stopping to listen to the message. When it was finished, she sighed. “It’s from my uncle Paul. He wants to see me.”

  “Why?”

  “He wants me to start going through Carly’s stuff.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Unofficially, all of the things Carly owned belong to me now. Paul called the house a few weeks ago to ask me to take what I wanted before he gets rid of it, but I haven’t had time lately.”

  “You inherited Carly’s stuff?”

  “Not exactly. Technically, minors aren’t allowed to enter into contractual agreements, so if you’re under eighteen you can’t inherit money or property or will any money or property to anybody else. So when Mams died a couple of years ago, all her money was put into trust for me and Carly—we each got our own, with Paul as the executor of both trusts.”

  “So your dad couldn’t get his hands on your money?” I guessed.

  “Exactly. Mams was a sharp woman. Paul gave Carly and me allowances out of the trusts, but I think he still felt uncomfortable with the fact that my dad might be able to access my money if something were to happen to me. He made us write statements of wishes and had them notarized so that if either of us were incapacitated or … worse, he could use them to protect our assets from anyone who might sue for them.”

  I nodded. “So what did Carly’s letter of wishes say?”

  “Well, you know Carly. She never wanted to make things easy.”

  I gave a short, involuntary bark of laughter. “No kidding.”

  “Paul’s plan was to have Carly leave most of her money to him,” Audrey said.

  “Well, that’s a little creepy. What parent expects to outlive their child?”

  Audrey shrugged. “I guess it made sense to him, since she wasn’t married and she had no children. Plus he would get it anyway, as her next of kin and executor of the trust. By the end of the process, I was pretty sure Paul would kill us both himself. I left most of my money to my dad, which was exactly what he was trying to prevent.”

  “Did your father know that?”

  “Of course!” Audrey said.

  “Just asking.” That really did throw a wrench into the Enzo-killed-Carly theory—if he was going to kill someone for money, why not kill the daughter who wanted him to have everything if something happened to her? “What did Carly want to do with her inheritance?”

  “Carly refused to take any of it seriously. She insisted on leaving all her money to the SPCA.”

  “The fights between her and Paul must’ve been epic.”

  “Oh, believe me. There have been civil wars with less bloodshed.”

  “So who won the argument?”

  “Carly, of course. He got her to agree to leave him a quarter of what she had, but the rest is going to homeless dogs and cats around the country.”

  I smiled in spite of myself.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “Nothing. It just sounds a lot like her.”

  “Since she was underage none of this is actually binding, but I don’t think Paul had the heart to go against her wishes after what happened. Anyway, Carly and I left our stuff—our ‘material possessions,’ I think was the wording—to each other.”

  “So now you have to go through it and decide what to keep?”

  “Apparently.”

  “That should be fun,” I said, staring out the window.

  “You’re coming with me, you know,” Audrey said.

  “Uh, no. Why would I do that?”

  “Because I’m asking you to, as a favor.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Look, Neily, I know we’re not best friends, but—”

  “We really don’t have to have this conversation.”

  “Do you believe that my dad killed Carly?”

  Did I? I had always had my doubts. As messed up and pathetic as Enzo Ribelli had been, he didn’t strike me as sinister, and he certainly seemed sincere now. I wasn’t naïve enough to think a look of innocence and regret couldn’t be faked, but Audrey’s arguments made a certain amount of sense. “No. I don’t think he did.”

  “So, are you willing to help me dig up some evidence that could prove he’s not guilty?”

  “But your dad just said—”

  “He’s only trying to protect me,” Audrey interrupted. “But he can’t do that from inside a jail cell. I’m willing to risk it. Are you?”

  I hesitated. “I guess,” I said. This could not possibly turn
out well. Logically, I knew it was ridiculous, the idea of Audrey and me playing amateur detective like characters on some TV show. But my synapses were firing with rabid curiosity, and each moment passing felt like a moment lost. If Enzo Ribelli hadn’t killed Carly, that meant somebody else had, and that person was still out there, still living, still breathing fresh air. And of all the things that pissed me off, that was the only one that seemed worth fighting to change.

  “Good enough. That makes us a team.” Audrey gave me a small smile. “I need you to come with me. I haven’t seen Paul in a really long time and I don’t think I can face him alone.”

  “Just so you know, he’s not a big fan of mine.”

  “Yeah, but who is, really?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Freshman Year—Fall Semester

  My first impression of Audrey was of a girl eager to please. Everything about her—her clothes, her hair, her makeup, her flashing smiles and easygoing attitude—seemed calculated to force people to like her. It was clear from the first moment she arrived that Carly was the person she was most desperate to impress.

  Carly and I had a summer tutor, but we only spent about three hours a day working on our curriculum. The rest of the time, we were at the Ribelli house, trying to amuse ourselves in between helping Miranda with whatever she needed. Audrey came over a lot in the afternoons, when we had finished studying. For a while, Audrey and Carly were trying so hard to make themselves likable that it seemed to me they might miss each other. I liked Audrey well enough, or maybe it was just that I was amenable to anything that cheered Carly up, and Audrey was, if nothing else, full of high spirits. I wouldn’t say we were close, though—friendly, but not joined at the hip.

  The summer moved slowly, crumbling away at the edges until school finally came. It annoyed Audrey that we were throwing her to the wolves, hiding away in our cozy library corner while she was left to navigate the halls and classrooms of Brighton all by herself. She said something to Carly, and Carly agreed to take journalism with Audrey during fourth period. I declined an invitation to join them—the class was a complete blow-off, everybody knew that, and it would be filled with wall-to-wall Brighton assholes, people I had no desire to be around.