“I don’t know how it got there.”
“I know. The Hollises are behind it. I believe that. And I think Blake believes that, too. She hasn’t said as much, but I know her and I think that’s what she suspects.”
“So what am I supposed to do—hop a plane to Dubai and make them fess up? Ask them how they magically teleported my shit into Peyton’s car? Ask them how Luna got into my closet? Because we all know that’s who did it.”
He shook his head. “Not necessarily. Remember, there’s another player in this game.”
I breathed. Yes, of course there was another player. Luna didn’t kill Peyton herself. She and her parents—And don’t forget Dru, I reminded myself. He may have had a change of heart, but he was in on it, too—hired someone else to do the dirty work.
“Arrigo Basile,” I said.
“Yes. Rigo is the one who swung the weapon that killed Peyton. I would bet my life on it. We just can’t prove it. We have no video, no murder weapon, no Rigo. He would have every reason to plant evidence to make sure you went down for the crime. And I think if we find him, we can begin to get to the bottom of this. We can clear you. Until then, there is nothing tying Rigo to the crime other than a friendship with the Hollises. Which isn’t enough.”
I would bet my life on it, he’d said. I didn’t want anyone betting their lives on anything anymore. I wanted this to be over. I wanted to forget I ever heard the names Peyton Hollis or Luna Fairchild or Arrigo Basile. “But you’re not on the case anymore.”
“I’ve already worked it out. As of this morning, I’m back on it,” he said. “Not as the lead, just backing up. This is wrong and we can prove it. You and me, together.”
I didn’t say anything. What could I say? This was something I’d spent the past seven months trying to put behind me. Trying to forget about it, trying to outlive the shock and fear. It took forever for me to convince myself that they were all actually gone. I wanted to close my eyes and hide, which was so totally unlike me, it hurt.
Detective Martinez reached up and grabbed his sunglasses from the dash, put them on, and turned on the car. “Okay,” he said. “Come with me.”
Before I could protest, or even get my hand wrapped on the door handle again, he backed out of the parking space and squealed out of the lot.
7
AS SOON AS I saw the cemetery, I knew what his plan was. The asphalt under our tires shot up panicky metallic fireworks as we approached the open gate.
“No,” I said. “Let me out.”
“I think you should see this,” he said, turning on his blinker and waiting for oncoming traffic to pass so he could pull in.
“I don’t want to see it. I’ll jump out.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the traffic. “Suit yourself. But you know I’m your best chance of fixing this problem that you’re in. You jump out and you’re on your own. You stay here, listen to me, and we can work together to keep you from celebrating your sixtieth birthday in prison.”
I let out a shaky breath, fearfully casting my eyes over the graves as we drove by. None of them looked fresh. There’d been enough time for the grass to grow back over Peyton’s and Dru’s. Their graves were no different from anyone else’s. If Luna’d had her way that night, it would have been my grave here instead.
Detective Martinez turned into the driveway and maneuvered through the cemetery, finally pulling over and putting the car into park. Neither of us spoke as we got out.
I followed him to a headstone, lonely and set apart from all the others. A cluster of colorful plastic flowers were poked into the soft earth in front of it. I couldn’t help thinking that Peyton would have loved the color but would have wanted to die over the tackiness of plastic flowers. A note, faded and wind-beaten, was wrapped around one of the stems. I bent and read it.
GONE 2 SOON.
B
The 2 flashed out at me—pink, and so did the B—primary blue, tickling what felt like a memory in the back of my mind. Why did I feel I had seen this note before?
“Do you understand now why I brought you here?”
I shook my head. “Because you’re an asshole with serious control issues? And let’s not even talk about your superiority complex. Do they have shrinks in cop school? Because you need one.”
He grinned, ducked his head. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re being yourself. I thought maybe you’d be mad at me.”
I moved past him and headed back toward the car. “This was a waste of your time. I’m not interested in graveside sobfests.” I knotted my fingers together to keep them from shaking. Surely Dru was planted somewhere nearby. And on the other side of the cemetery was the grave I had been neglecting for ten years. Mom. I hated this place.
He followed me to the car, turned me around just as I reached the door. “But do you see it? I mean, really see it?”
“See what?”
“Look harder.”
I gestured futilely. “It’s a headstone in the middle of a field of headstones. No different. So what? It’s depressing as hell and it has nothing to do with m—”
But then I did see it. It was a headstone in the middle of a field of headstones. But also set apart from them. On its own. Dried grass clippings strewn over Peyton’s name. An odd bunch of plastic flowers from some mysterious “B” the only adornment.
I looked around. Most of the other graves had clusters of flowers. Some had them in vases and in the ground. Some of them had wreaths and other decorations. They’d been brushed off, tended to.
Peyton’s seat at graduation had been overflowing with so many gifts we had to walk wide around the chair.
Yet nobody had been to her grave. Nobody except for this B had dropped by with flowers.
Why?
Because, truly, Peyton had nobody. It was something we had in common that I’d never considered before. I never pretended to have anyone more than Dad; she had the appearance of friendship and family. But in the end, it was just appearance. People only loved Peyton when the spotlight was shining. In a way, we were both alone in this world. Had she lived, we might have clung to each other.
“You see it now, don’t you?” Detective Martinez asked quietly. “You get why I brought you here.”
A wind had kicked up from nowhere, pushing my hair across my face. I didn’t bother to shake it off. “She looked like she had everything in the world,” I said. “But she was missing so much. It’s sad.”
The detective leaned against his car, pushing his hands into his pockets. I lifted my face to catch the breeze and cool my forehead. “When I last saw you, I gave you a letter from Peyton. Do you remember?” I didn’t respond, but he pressed on anyway. “In it she talked about a woman who could answer all your questions. Did you ever get in touch with that woman?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t find her.”
Not exactly true. I couldn’t find the mysterious Brandi Courteur, who Peyton referred to in her letter, because I hadn’t bothered to look. At first I’d been certain that I could locate her, and that I could solve the mystery—how my mom ended up being Peyton’s mom, and how Peyton ended up a Hollis. I’d been determined. I would finish the job that Peyton had started.
And then the reality of everything that had happened, and all the implications that could come from knowing, set in, and I was paralyzed with fear. I wanted only to concentrate on graduating like my dad wanted me to do, and then to get the hell out of Brentwood. Where I would go, I had no idea. My life had been one big, ugly question mark since the whole disaster went down. That letter was still tucked inside a binder in the bottom drawer of my desk at home. Let old ghosts stay dead.
“Nikki, Peyton left you that information for a reason. She wanted you to know the truth. Look at her grave—you were all she had. That’s what I wanted you to see here.”
“Where’s Dru’s grave?” I asked, my words being whipped away on a sudden gust of wind. My hair blew across my mouth, as if to silence it, and I brushed it away.
&nbs
p; “Cremation,” Detective Martinez said. “Apparently he’d told a cousin or grandparent or someone that he wanted it that way. They cremated him and scattered him in the ocean.”
The ocean. Free and unpredictable, at times violent, cold, at other times, warm and consoling. A mystery. A force. Uncontainable and unknowable. Just like Dru. I could think of nothing more perfect.
“Can we go now?” I tried to sound bored, put-out, but my words came out whiny instead. I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home.
“Sure.” He pushed away from the car and opened the door. I noticed a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his neck and into the collar of his polo, which was finally starting to lose some of that maddening morning freshness. I slipped into the car, welcoming the coolness of the interior and how it made me feel sealed away from Peyton’s grave. From the crimson that was always so present at cemeteries.
He got in and turned on the ignition, adjusting the vents so the air-conditioning blew right on me. I shivered. He put the car into gear but, before taking off, said, “I can help you get to the truth. I can help you find Rigo.”
I glanced out the window. I could see the note on the flowers flutter with the breeze. Pink, primary blue. Something so familiar about them . . .
“What do you think?” Detective Martinez asked, interrupting my thought. Despite the cool air blowing in my face, I still had a ring of sweat across my hairline. “It’s the best option you have right now.”
Actually, at the moment it appeared to be the only option. I was hardly swamped with offers of help. And I was at a total loss for ideas how to save myself.
Finding Rigo might solve a hell of a lot of problems with the Hollises and with Luna and with my current predicament. And if I needed Detective Martinez’s help to find him, I would just have to live with it. I could live with it. I could. Couldn’t I?
Just to be safe, I would make sure I took point on this. That way this would be more of a partnership than a rescue. Blake Willis had said it was on me to save myself. So, fine, I would save myself. Or at least go down trying.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll find Rigo and go from there.”
He looked relieved. “Actually, there’s someplace else I’d like to start.”
8
I’D NEVER BEEN in an evidence locker before. Not that it was particularly sexy or exciting, but I suppose I did in some way expect more. Basically it was a little hole of a lobby dominated by a beat-up counter, behind which sat a completely bored-looking woman. She was reading a paperback.
Behind her was what looked like a warehouse filled with random crap. There were boxes, envelopes, tubs, and bags lining shelf after shelf after shelf. There was an entire shelf filled with guns. Another one lined with computers.
“Hey, Martinez, what’re you up to?” the woman said when we walked in. She set the paperback down. I could see a very steamy-looking cover on it. Imagine, reading romances while being the person to guard all those guns.
“Just doing my job,” he said. “Nabbing bad guys and saving the city. The usual.”
The woman laughed and swatted the air. “Listen to you, thinking you’re a superhero. Where’s your cape, baby boy?”
He ducked his head, shy. Was he blushing? This was a new demeanor on him, and it made him look younger. “I left it in the car,” he finally said. “I hate to show off. Got to protect my secret identity.”
There was more laughter, and then the woman finally sized me up, tilting her head so she could capture me through her glasses. She sobered a bit, but still smiled pleasantly. I wondered how often she got company in here. I guessed not often. It would be hard to maintain a pleasant personality in a place this lonely. Hell, it was hard for me to maintain a pleasant personality anywhere.
Either way, it was pretty easy to tell she had a crush on Detective Martinez. She probably wanted him to be on the cover of that book with her.
“What brings you into my little cave?” she asked, talking to Martinez, but still looking at me.
He pulled a paper out of his back pocket and smoothed it out on the counter. “Got a property release form.” He slid the paper at her. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and studied it.
“Hollis case?” she asked. “You kidding?”
“Willis signed off on that property last night.”
The woman frowned. “On an open case?”
“It’s just property they’ve already cleared. Sitting around waiting for auction anyway.”
“And it belongs to you, I assume?” she said, leaning so she could see me behind him. I started. I had no idea why we’d even come here. This was as much news to me as it was to her.
“Yep,” he answered for me. Thank God.
She studied the paper again and then shrugged and pushed her chair back. “Just give me a few,” she said.
She disappeared into the maze of shelves, shuffling slowly on sensible shoes. She had a bit of a limp, and I wondered if maybe this place was where they sent officers who were no longer able to do their duty on the streets. Or maybe she just liked it here; who knew?
Detective Martinez leaned on his elbows against the counter, casually watching her disappear. He turned to me and I gave him a questioning look.
“It’s just a few things we took from the Hollis place and both apartments. It’s been cleared as evidence and now is just sitting around waiting to be claimed. But we both know it isn’t going to be claimed.”
“What about Luna? Can she claim it?”
He shrugged. “She probably doesn’t even know what we have and what we don’t have.”
“She’s smarter than you think,” I said. “No other family?”
“Not any that wants to get in the middle of a murder investigation.”
“I guess that makes sense, but it’s an awful lot of money to stay away from,” I said. I heard the shushing of the woman’s shoes coming back. She was pushing a cart with four boxes stacked on top of it.
“That’s it?” Martinez asked. “You sure?”
“Everything else is evidence, honey. Beggars can’t be choosers.” She tapped a combination into a keypad and pulled open the door that separated us from the evidence. Detective Martinez held it while she pulled the cart out. “You need me to help you get it into your car?”
“We’ll manage,” he said. “But thank you for everything. I still owe you that lunch, don’t I?”
She smiled wide, her hand fluttering around the buttons on her shirt. “I’m not holding my breath. Can’t trust you superheroes, you know. Always having to fly off in the middle of the salad course.”
“I’ll make you eat those words,” he said, grabbing the cart handle and pushing us toward the door.
“I’ll believe it when I see it, sugar,” she called back. The door shut behind us, cutting her off.
Martinez pushed the button for the elevator, and the silence stretched between us, a noticeable hum.
“What?” he said, when he caught me watching him.
“‘Baby boy’? ‘Honey’? ‘Sugar’?” I mimicked the woman’s voice.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, his hands pressed low on his hips. “She calls everyone those things. Nothing special about it.”
“Whatever,” I said. “She totally wants you.”
“Would you lower your voice, please? I work here.”
“Or what? You’ll zap me with your superpowers, baby boy? Wrap me up in your cape?”
The elevator chimed and he pushed the cart in, barely leaving enough room for the two of us. “She’s twice my age,” he muttered, reaching across me to push the lobby-level button.
“Which is what, exactly?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “I mean, I’ve always wondered. I saw you blushing in there. You seem kind of young to be a detective, is all. Isn’t there some kind of, like, age requirement?”
He continued to stare daggers at me, until I was uncomfortable enough to let it go. “Whatever,” I said again, under my breath. “Excuse me
for thinking you’re a regular human.”
The elevator opened and we stepped out. Detective Martinez pushed the cart around to a remote hallway, and we went out a door that dropped us into the side parking lot. Our car was the only one in the lot. Detective Martinez pushed the cart to the car and started unloading the boxes, setting them on the sidewalk. My stomach tightened as I saw flashes of familiar color—the word Hollis, their address, Peyton’s name, Luna’s.
“You want to go through them now?” he asked.
“Right here?”
He looked around. “Why not? Nobody out here. I’m not saying we pull everything out. Just maybe give it a quick once-over, see what we see.”
I lowered myself to the sidewalk and sat on my knees, running my hands across the top of a box. “Did Blake really sign off on these?”
He crouched next to me, never fully lowering himself onto the pavement. “She wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked her to.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Really.”
“Yeah, Nikki. Because she knew it had already been dismissed as evidence. And because I asked her to. I know this is a foreign concept to you, but sometimes people are reasonable with each other. Makes the world run a lot more smoothly.”
“Not my world,” I said, although to be fair, it had been a long time since I was last reasonable. With anyone. Reasonable wasn’t my style. Reasonable was dangerous. You start being reasonable and people will start walking all over you. That’s just the way it is.
He pulled a knife out of his pocket and sliced through the tape. My palms got sweaty as he yanked open the box flaps. Was I ready for this? I wasn’t sure.
Inside the box was a mishmash of clutter. Paperwork—letters and numbers jumping out at me in crazy colors—and tools and things I remembered from the pool house. Nothing useful, nothing that had anything at all to do with that night. Detective Martinez reached in and sifted through the paperwork.
“Bank statements,” he said. “Bills, credit card statements. Personal accounting stuff. Looks like Dru’s.”
Dare You Page 6