Dead Girls Don't Lie (8 page)

I stare at the graffiti under my feet, a hollow eye. “Rachel was into some bad things. I didn’t want anyone to see it.” I can’t face Dad or Araceli, and if I look at Agent Herrera he’ll know I’m not telling all of the truth.

“Bad things?” He leans toward me. “Like what?”

I step back. “I don’t know. I just heard rumors.” He’s still breathing down my neck. “And they found drugs in her locker.” Araceli takes in a wavering breath. I hate that I brought that up in front of her. I whisper, “I’m sorry,” as Dad grips my arm.

“Anything you have firsthand knowledge of?” Agent Herrera seems to fill the entire porch. I can’t escape his eyes.

I think about telling him everything, about the text, about the old house; maybe if I tell him, this could all be over. I wonder what the penalty is for withholding evidence. I wonder if the police could really protect me. But I promised Rachel I wouldn’t.

He’s already moved to the next thing. “Could you tell me anything about who Rachel has been associating with lately, or what she might have been doing?”

Eduardo’s face comes into my brain, but I can only form one word. “No.”

“I see.” He steps back and I breathe again. “I’ll check the phone records and see if we can retrieve the contents of the text, but usually the phone company only keeps that data for twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” I wonder if that includes the other text I received today, if he’ll search through all my texts, including the video message and the one I sent Eduardo. Agent Herrera writes something down. “Ms. Sanchez was telling me that Rachel sometimes kept a journal, but the journal hasn’t been seen since Rachel died. Do you know anything about it?”

I lick my lips, but can’t think of anything incriminating about telling the truth. As long as I’ve known Rachel she’s had some kind of journal. “Yes.”

“So you’re saying you know where it is,” Agent Herrera says eagerly.

“No, I’m saying I know about it.” The graffiti moves in red swirls around my feet, making me dizzy. I lean against Dad for support.

“You don’t have any idea where it might be now?” Agent Herrera’s eyes glitter, like some kind of bug, or a spider, moving in for the kill.

“No,” I answer firmly. My face is getting hot like I’m about to throw up again, or pass out. I close my eyes.

When I open my eyes Detective Herrera is holding a business card. He reaches it toward me, but Dad intercepts it. “If you remember anything you think might be important to the case, please give me a call.” He turns to Araceli with a stone-cold look. “I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll do whatever we can to find out who did this.” His speech sounds canned, like he’s said those words without hope a thousand times. The way he looks at Araceli, without any real sympathy, makes me dislike him even more.

“Who’s responsible for all this?” Dad indicates the porch with a sweep of his hand. “Who do we need to talk to in order to get this cleaned up?”

Agent Herrera shakes his head. “We’re done gathering evidence. As far as what’s left, that’s the homeowner’s responsibility.”

I can see the sides of Dad’s jaw working, like he wants to say something, but he just nods.

“I’ll be in touch.” Detective Herrera’s monotone voice makes me think he’s pretty much done with this case.

“What about my phone?” My voice sounds small and selfish. It was just a hand-me-down, Dad’s old phone, but it’s been my social link to everyone for the last year, and even though I deleted the text, it was my last link to Rachel.

“We’ll send it to you when we’re finished with it,” Agent Herrera says briskly.

He nods to Dad and then leaves us standing on the porch. We all watch him climb into his car and drive away. When he’s gone, Dad reaches for Araceli’s arm. He looks down at her. “I’m sorry for this. Why don’t you come stay at our house for a couple of days, and I can get some people together to help you clean this up.”

Araceli shakes him off, drawing herself into a stance I know too well. Rachel and Araceli have always been independent. “I’m leaving for work in an hour. The boy from the construction company said they would be here to replace the window tomorrow morning. I’ll take care of the rest when I can.”

We stand in silence for a few minutes. Araceli doesn’t invite us in. Finally Dad says, “We’ll let you go, but please call us anytime, day or night, if you need anything.”

Araceli looks at me with an expression that feels cold for the first time ever. She can’t forgive me for deleting Rachel’s last words. “Thank you very much, but I have friends I can go to if I need help.”

The way she says “friends” cuts through me, like she’s implying that Dad and I aren’t her friends anymore, when once we were more like family.

Dad reaches for her hand. “Again, I’m so sorry. Rachel will be missed by all of us.”

Araceli pulls away and nods. She doesn’t look at me again before she closes the door.

Chapter 9

“We really appreciate Jaycee coming today.” Dawn, the head of the church children’s program, is talking to Dad at the door. “She’s so good with the kids.”

I can’t hear Dad’s response over the noise the kids are making while they paint animals from Noah’s ark. I’ve been helping with Vacation Bible School since I was thirteen. I love being around little kids, but because of everything, this is the first time I’ve made it this summer. I feel guilty that the only reason I came today was so I could be close enough to the school to meet Eduardo at ten. I couldn’t exactly tell Dad about that. I just have to figure out an excuse to leave the class for a few minutes. I hope it’s only a few minutes. I’m not sure what Eduardo has to say to me.

“And she’s turning into such a pretty girl—the big brown eyes, the auburn hair,” Dawn says.

I turn on the faucet to rinse out the paintbrushes and look in the mirror. I wonder if Dawn is right about my being
pretty. The skinny girl who looks back at me doesn’t look any different to me. My hair isn’t auburn, just plain reddish-brown, my face is pale and plain, and while I’m not quite a size zilch in bras anymore, my body doesn’t compare to Taylor’s or Claire’s, and not even close to Rachel’s. I’m sure Dawn is only being nice.

Dawn continues. “I’m glad she felt good enough to come today. I’m sure she’s heartbroken over what happened to Rachel. Those girls were quite a pair. It’s so sad the path Rachel chose, so unexpected.”

“Yes, it was,” Dad says. I can hear the sadness in his voice.

“Cee Cee.” One of the little girls, Nicki, tugs on my elbow. “I made a picture for you.”

I bend down and accept the picture, either a short-necked giraffe or a horse with blue spots. “It’s beautiful.” Nicki’s face glows, and my heart swells as I give her a hug, wishing some of her innocence could rub off on me.

“Was that my dad?” I ask Dawn after I’m done hanging up Nicki’s picture.

“Yes, it was. He didn’t want to disturb your art class, but he said he wanted to check in and see if you’re feeling okay.”

“Oh.” More like he was checking up on me. Dad’s always been overprotective, but it’s gotten worse since Rachel died.

Being with the little kids keeps me busy and keeps my mind off everything else, at least mostly. I still glance at the clock every few minutes, wondering what Eduardo wants to talk to me about and whether I dare meet him.

It’s not even 9:45 when I see Dawn standing by the window, looking out toward the field behind the grade school where I set up a soccer game. Some guy is kicking the soccer balls we left in a pile next to the portable net. He slams it into the goal so hard that the cheap net is about to collapse in on itself. “Who is that boy? He’s going to destroy that net,” she says. The boy turns and I recognize Eduardo.

I hesitate and consider hiding out in the church, but I said I’d meet him. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Are you sure?” Dawn says. “I mean, he looks like he could be dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, and try to laugh to cover my shaking voice. “As long as you’re okay being alone with the minions.” Instead of waiting for her answer I head for the door, afraid that if I don’t go now I’ll lose my nerve.

I walk outside and cross the street to the school. “Hey,” I call. The soccer ball slams into the net and the post leans closer to the ground. “Hey!” I yell louder, running toward the goal as a second soccer ball makes the other post tip over. “You’re going to ruin that.” The third soccer ball shoots toward me. It surprises me, but I manage to block it with my foot and send it back toward Eduardo. When it hits his foot, he looks shocked that I was able to return it. Maybe even a little impressed. When I was a little kid Rachel and I played soccer together. I haven’t played for years, but I’ve been practicing behind the house, where no one can see me.

“What are you doing?” I demand in a voice that’s braver than I feel.

He catches the ball with his foot and launches it straight up, then catches it smoothly. “You said you would meet me.”

I glance over my shoulder at the big window where Dawn is still watching us. I walk closer so I don’t have to yell. “Yeah, in fifteen minutes. I’m kind of busy right now.”

“You didn’t get my text about coming early?” he says.

I freeze. “You sent me another text?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Only if you sent me something you don’t want the police to know. They have my cell phone now.”

The whole time we’ve been talking he’s been kicking the ball back and forth between his right foot and his left, but as soon as I say “police” he stops and his dark skin goes a shade lighter. “You gave your phone to the police?”

“No. The FBI,” I say slowly, watching for his reaction.

He gets even paler. “FBI?”

“There was some special agent from a gang task force at Rachel’s house yesterday.” I tug at one of the goal posts to straighten it, avoiding his eyes. “He asked me some questions and he took my phone.”

“You talked to the feds?” He says it like I’m a traitor. “You gave them your phone? With Rachel’s message?”

“Yes … I mean no.” His reaction is making me more nervous. “Yes, I talked to them. Yes, I gave them the phone, but I deleted the message, like you told me to.”

“Did he have a warrant to take your phone?” He sounds scared, as if Agent Herrera’s having a warrant for my phone would be a bad thing.

“No, I was just trying to cooper—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t cooperate with them. You can’t trust them. You can’t trust the police, the feds, anyone.”

“Except you?” I’m trying to sound ironic, but I’m not sure he catches it.

“Except me.” His voice is so serious that it scares me.

I finish straightening the posts and stand to face him. I’m not sure where this is going. “So, you want to talk? Okay, let’s talk.”

He looks back at the church. “Not here.”

I roll my eyes, but his need for privacy makes my stomach clench. “No one in the church can hear us.” He shakes his head. I’m not sure how to handle this situation, or if I should be alone with him. I point to the far end of the field. “I’m supposed to set up an obstacle course for the kids out there. Help me with that and we can talk.” He looks around the empty field and then nods. I head for the shed next to the church. “Bring the soccer balls.”

In the safety of the shed I take in a breath, contemplating what Eduardo could possibly want to talk to me about. I grab an armload of spikes with flags on the end and a stack of orange cones. Eduardo is heading down the field, a ball in each arm, dribbling the third one between his feet. I stop and watch him, wondering if I’m being stupid or paranoid. He kind of saved my life in the lake. I would have probably figured out I was in shallow water before I drowned, but still, he came in
after me, or maybe he was already there. Maybe he was watching me. That thought sends chills down my spine.

Whatever he’s here for, at this point being friendly is probably my best option. “Do you play soccer?” I say when I catch up to him.

“No,” he says flatly. He drops the balls from his arms but continues dribbling the other one between his feet, like it was a nervous habit. “Why do the feds have your phone?”

“Because I had Rachel’s number, which apparently not even her mom had.”

“Why did you tell them you had her number?” He eyes me suspiciously.

“Because they asked. Because they’re trying to figure out what happened to her, and I thought I should help.” Not exactly the whole story, but it sounds more noble than my getting a text from Rachel and then deleting it. Except to him, I don’t think it sounds noble at all.

“The cops are idiots. They don’t want to find out what really happened. They just want to find some Chicano to pin it on.” He keeps dribbling the ball between his feet. I don’t want to keep arguing with him, so I look for neutral territory. I drop my armload of flags and cones on the ground. “You’re really good at that. You should try out for the high school team—”

“The high school soccer team is a joke.” He shoots the ball toward me so hard that it stings my foot, but I block it and send it back to him.

“They went to state last year, and the year before,” I point out.

He catches the ball under his foot and rolls it back and forth. “Really? How many soccer games did you watch last year?”

I pick up the first flag, not sure why he sounds so hostile. “I didn’t—”

“And how many football games?” His gaze goes through me.

“I don’t—”

“All of them?”

I hesitate, not sure of the animosity in his voice. “I don’t know what that has to do with any—”

“And they lost every one.” He crosses his arms. “But you watched them anyway. And probably painted your face and wore the school colors and screamed for them.”

He’s right. I didn’t paint my face, but I wore the school colors and I went to every game, alone. Even though Rachel and I were still friends at that point, I couldn’t get her to come with me. The rest of the town went though. We all screamed ourselves hoarse as the football team was trounced again and again. Why does Eduardo care?

“Nobody goes to soccer games because they’re a conciliation sport for the Mexican kids.”

I plant another stake while I think about that. “So you texted me and made me come all the way out here so you could give me attitude about high school sports?”