Dead Girls Don't Lie (17 page)

The first picture was taken at the end of ninth grade. Rachel and I are standing together in the middle school gym after our graduation dance. She’s in a strapless red dress that makes her look like a Latina model. I’m wearing a pink frilly dress that someone from the church loaned me. It makes me look like I’m ten. We have our arms linked and both of us are smiling. It hurts my heart to see us together like that, so happy.

The next picture is something from the Catholic church, a baptism or something. She’s standing next to Eduardo, a young mother holding a baby, and a group of people I don’t recognize.

There’s one more of the two of us from last summer. We’re sitting on the sweetheart log at the edge of the park, where kids have carved and crossed out initials for so many years that they blur into each other. I used to imagine that Evan would carve my name next to his on that log; now I wonder if Skyler will.

The next pictures look like Rachel took them herself, maybe with her cell phone. They document how she changed. Her nose gets pierced and her hair gets bleached, her eyebrows are plucked thin and her makeup gets darker, but that isn’t what I notice the most. It’s that she doesn’t smile anymore. Her face is pained, and then hard, and finally, hopeless. Only the last one is different. Rachel is wearing a white dress
and the sun is shining behind her hair like a halo. She has her eyes closed like she was laughing. She looks like an angel. I’m not sure why she put that picture last. Maybe she wanted me to know wherever she is now, she’s okay.

There are other pictures, mixed in with the self-portraits. The first ones are graffiti from the old house. There’s only one other picture with Eduardo in it. It’s a close-up of the symbol on his back. If I didn’t know he had the tattoo, I wouldn’t even know it was him. I wonder what their relationship was like. During the last couple of months it seems like they were always together, not holding hands or kissing like most of the couples at the school, they were just together. I wonder if he was the one she was talking about that night. I wonder if he’s the one who sent her the text.

There are numbers written in between the pictures, so small that I didn’t notice them before: 20, 22, 34, 44, 66, and finally, Evan’s jersey with the 18 and the words “making the cut.”

I think about the bloody 18 I saw on the negative. Could it have been the beginning of Evan’s tattoo?

I concentrate on each individual picture, trying to make sense of it. It meant something to Rachel, enough for her to go to the trouble of hiding that little chip in the cross. It frustrates me that there isn’t more, that she was so cryptic.

I close my eyes, half thinking, half praying for some kind of guidance, except I’m not sure if God helps kids who defy their dads and leave church with boys.

Something that Skyler said about the other picture sticks in my mind.

I wanted you to see if there was something the police might have missed, something that you’d know because you knew her so well
.

That stops me. I look at the pictures again. If Rachel created this for me, if she was worried about someone else finding it, then there have to be things only I’ll recognize. I have to look at it that way, in the light of ten years of friendship.

Chapter 17

“You got it?” Dad says. I don’t, not really. I finally fell asleep last night after staring at Rachel’s pictures for hours. I stared at them until my eyes hurt, but I couldn’t figure anything out. My head is a jumble of everything that’s been going on. I can’t focus on the explanation Dad just gave me of his elaborate filing method.

“Jaycee, did you hear me?”

“Yeah, sure, Dad.” I turn my attention back to the piles of paperwork; they look overwhelming. “You know, you could just scan all this stuff in and save it on a computer.”

“Never trusted keeping things on a computer,” Dad says. “Computers are machines; they crash and files get lost. I prefer to have everything where I can reach out and hold onto it if I need to.”

I wonder if he feels that way about me too, because he settles down at his desk while I work at a little table to the side, within arm’s reach. I’m not sure why he spent so much time
explaining everything when I could ask him a question any time I needed to.

He makes phone calls while I file. Every few minutes I glance out the window, toward the school playground, thinking about the conversation I heard, the pictures from Skyler’s house, and the pictures Rachel left for me.

Dad notices. “I know you’d rather be out enjoying the sunshine. I’m sorry I have to punish you.”

I doubt that. I turn my attention to the filing. It’s mindless, and I kind of like creating order, sorting the piles into neat folders in Dad’s filing cabinet. Then I come across one that looks different than the other papers. The label at the top says
CONFIDENTIAL
. I stand up and set the pages in front of Dad. “Where does this go?”

He looks down at the paper and then looks up at me sharply. “Did you read it?”

“No.” I automatically feel guilty, even though I didn’t read it.

“Did you see any names on the file?”

“No.”

His face relaxes. “I’ll take care of this one. I thought I’d taken all of those out. Any that are marked confidential please give to me immediately and don’t read what they say. They go in a different file.”

“Okay.”

He takes a ring of keys out of his desk, unlocks the bottom drawer of the file cabinet, and thumbs through the tabs. I know I shouldn’t watch him, but I do. I keep ruffling through
the pile on the desk so it doesn’t look like I’m watching him, but I can see names on the files. I read the first few: Asher, Brown, Chandler, Cross.

Cross?

He shuts the drawer. “I appreciate you showing that to me without looking at it.” He goes back to his desk and puts the keys back in the drawer. I nod, but I’m burning up with curiosity about whatever that file says about Skyler’s family. How much does my dad know about his dad and what goes on there?

“Once you’ve finished that paperwork you can dust my shelves. I have a meeting with the sheriff in about twenty minutes.”

I turn back to the files, trying to keep my mind off the one I saw in the drawer. I would never look at Dad’s confidential files. Before. I’ve done a lot of things in the last couple of weeks that I didn’t think I’d ever do, a lot of things that would shock my dad.

I keep thinking about the file and the key while I work.

Finally Dad stands up. “The meeting should only be about an hour, and then we can head home for lunch.”

As soon as he’s gone, I open the drawer and take out the key ring, rolling it between my fingers and contemplating what I should do. I’m not even sure I want to see what’s in there. The rumors are that Skyler’s mom had an affair and left his dad and the rest of the family when Skyler was really young. Maybe they’re divorce papers.

I guess I wouldn’t want Skyler poking around in my family’s
business, not that there’s much excitement there, but maybe there’s something in the file that will help me help him.

I put the key into the file cabinet and it turns with a little click. The Cross file has
CONFIDENTIAL
across the top, just like the other files. I reach for it, but as I glance over my shoulder I pull another file out instead. This one says:
CHANDLER
and
LEGAL COUNSEL
.

I lean over to put it back in the file, picking up a couple of words: football hazing rituals, cutting, plausible deniability, lack of evidence. Coach Chandler is the football coach and was my geometry teacher last year. I remember hearing about this. It was a few years ago, some kid accused the football team of some kind of hazing and brought a lawsuit against the school and the coach, but nothing ever came of it. Dad helped Coach Chandler out because he couldn’t afford a lawyer.

I look at the file again. This time the word “cutting” stands out. I think about the pictures I saw in Skyler’s darkroom, or maybe it’s Evan’s darkroom and they’re Evan’s pictures. It looks like the hazing ritual is still going on. I contemplate taking the file, maybe even telling Dad about the pictures I found, but then I’d have to admit to Skyler and Dad that I was snooping. Also, crossing the football team would be social suicide for school next year. Besides, as sadistic as it is, the boys in the pictures looked like they were okay with what they were doing.

I shove the file back into the drawer and listen for footsteps as I pull the Cross family file out and set it on the floor in front of me. I take a breath and open it. The first page is a letter to my dad.

Mr. Draper,
I’m writing to ask for your help so I can get my son back. I made a lot of mistakes, I know that, but I can’t leave Skyler with his dad. Wayne’s older boys seem to be happy with the situation, but Skyler is a sensitive boy who needs someone who understands him
.

Wayne is trying to have the state declare me an unfit parent so I can never see my son again. I know I shouldn’t have left the way I did, and I know what the doctors or my ex-husband may have told you about my illness, but I’m doing much better. I’m taking my medications. I’m working as a housekeeper and making extra money on the side doing portraits. I have a little apartment and I know I can take care of him. Please, I’ll do anything to get him back
.

Sincerely,
Megan Dial (Ellen Cross)

Underneath there’s a copy of the letter Dad sent back to Skyler’s mom.

Dear Mrs. Cross,
I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well. I hope your condition continues to improve and that you have success with your photography. However, I cannot in good faith get involved in this case. I’m not well acquainted with you or your circumstances. As far as your mental health is concerned, I’m not a physician and therefore I have to leave that to their evaluations.

Know that your son is doing well and seems happy. I will keep an eye on him, and if his circumstances change I’ll do my best to make sure he’s taken care of.

I wish you the best,
Travis Draper

My heart hurts for Skyler’s mom, and for Skyler. I wonder if he even knows she was trying to get him back. I didn’t realize until now that Eric and Evan had a different mom than Skyler, but it makes sense. Skyler is smaller and his hair is darker than his brothers’. Knowing what I saw of Mr. Cross, I wonder if Dad should have gotten involved.

The next page in the file is another letter to Dad, this time from an attorney.

Mr. Draper,
I am writing to you because we found correspondence between you and Megan Dial in her personal papers. We regret to inform you that Ms. Dial took her own life on the 6th of this month.

The late Ms. Dial’s will leaves a large sum of money from a family trust to her son, Skyler Cross, with explicit instructions that the money not go to her ex-husband. As the attorney settling her estate, I’m endeavoring to transfer the trust fund for her son through a Mr. Ortiz, a friend of Ms. Dial’s who lives in the area, but I have met with some resistance from Ms. Dial’s ex-husband. I was hoping you could assist me with this. Please contact my office at your earliest convenience.

I’ve also been entrusted with a brief note that the late Ms. Dial left for her son. I’ve enclosed a copy of the note. Perhaps you can decide the best time and method for getting it to him.

Sincerely
,
Jason B. Kirk
,
Attorney at Law

It’s all pretty terrible. I glance through the letter again and the name Ortiz stands out, the same last name as the man who was arrested for Rachel’s murder? It’s probably just a coincidence. Ortiz is a common enough last name, but then again—

I reach for the last page in the file, the note from Skyler’s mom to him, but the door to Dad’s office opens. I shove the papers into the folder and stuff the file back into the drawer, but when I slam it shut the lock catches and it bounces back. I’m stuck on the floor with the drawer open and the file half hanging out. I turn to face Dad, trying to form some explanation. Instead, I see Skyler.

I stand up quickly to block the file from his view. “Skyler, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. You didn’t answer the phone at your house, so I figured you might be with your dad.” He moves across the room and wraps his arms around me, leaning over my shoulder toward the file cabinet. “What are you working on?”

I step back from him fast to cover the open drawer. “You can’t be here. I can’t see you.”

He looks hurt. “Why not?”

“I’m grounded. Someone from church saw us leaving together.”

“Ouch, sorry.” He looks miserable. “How long you in for?”

“A week. At least.” I’m trying to keep an eye on Dad’s office door, listening for footsteps and trying to keep my body in front of the file cabinet so Skyler won’t know I’ve been digging into his family’s business. “So you’d better go.”

Instead of leaving, Skyler steps forward and brushes a stray piece of hair out of my face. “A whole week? I’m not sure I can live that long without you.”

I step back again, banging my ankle, the sore one, on the corner of the open file cabinet. I bite my lip. “Sorry. But it’ll be longer if my dad catches you here.”

“Where is he now?” Skyler closes the distance between us again; now I’m trapped between him and the open drawer. He looks over my shoulder again.

I move to block his view. “At a meeting with Eric, at his office.”

“How long is the meeting?” Skyler looks around the office, but he doesn’t move away from me.

I chew on my lip and glance at the clock. “Not long enough.” Then I bite down hard, what a dumb thing to say.
Not long enough for what?