The Deadly Sister (4 page)

I nodded.

Maya lay back and covered her eyes. I thought she might
have been getting a headache, so I reached over and switched off the lights. “So I gave in a little, and then I shoved. I was no match for him, of course, but I guess I sort of surprised him. He sprang back and hit his head on the roof, hard, and I slipped out from under him. So I’m standing on the grass, in the glare of his headlights, and he’s right in my face, telling me to leave. I’m halfway on my bike, when I suddenly get incredibly mad. It was the feeling of being sent away that did it to me. Like who’s he to screw me over and then
dismiss
me? Our future was lost—there was no point being nice anymore. So I started raging.”

I wondered if she was telling the truth. I’d seen her sullen plenty of times, almost constantly, actually, but never
angry.
I mostly believed it, though. She wasn’t even making her usual minimal eye contact, she was that wrapped up in the moment she was describing. “He didn’t know me well enough, I guess. He was surprised. I wouldn’t have been able to hit him if he hadn’t been surprised. But I took this whiskey bottle that someone had littered and I slammed him with it. I wanted to shock him. But the neck of the bottle was broken, I guess, and it was full of rainwater. It was so dark, I couldn’t see details. So it was heavy and sharp. It was raining by then, and…it slipped out of my fingers. I…he howled. Not like mad, but like wounded. Like he was really hurt.”

I nodded. I could easily picture Jefferson’s rage and confusion. He was always in control. Losing that had to have been the worst part for him.

“Look at me, though,” she said, her face twisted in agony. “I’m a weakling. I couldn’t really kill someone. No matter how mad and high I was. I just made him bleed a little.”

“That bottle must have been some weapon, Maya,” I said slowly. “I saw his face. It was pretty cut up. And he looked like he fell. I don’t know which killed him, the bottle or the fall.”

I thought she was going to start screaming, but no sound came out. She slowly closed her mouth, wiped her lips. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible. “I could have stayed. I could have called for help.”

“What
did
you do?” I asked.

“I left. I came here.”

“So he wasn’t dead when you left?”

“Abby, no! I didn’t kill him! I couldn’t have. Of all people,
you
have to believe me.”

Of all people, you have to believe me
—I’d heard this plenty of times before, usually when Maya was guilty of something. It was meant to make me feel special, connected. But I also knew she’d use it on anyone she had a use for.

“Was he on the ground when you left?” I asked.

“Yeah, on his knees. I was worried what he’d do when he got up, what he’d do to me. I had to go. I know everyone sees him as Mr. Gentleman, but when he got angry, it was scary. You understand, right?”

“You left your phone there,” I said.

“I didn’t mean to. I had to go home to call Keith.”

“Wait—you came home?” I asked. I hadn’t even noticed.

“Yeah. Not for long. I ducked into the kitchen and back out again. You wouldn’t have seen me.”

“Here,” I said, handing her phone to her.

“What do I do?” she asked quietly, absently rubbing the screen clean with the hem of her shirt. “What do I tell Mom and Dad?”

I felt even more sick. “This is a hell of a lot more serious than getting in trouble with Mom and Dad! Maya. You could go to jail. You could spend your
whole life in prison.
”

“No, I can’t. Because I didn’t kill him.”

“That’s sort of irrelevant, right? It looks like you did, and that’s what matters.”

“But you believe me. Tell me you believe me,” she begged.

“Sure,” I said, but I knew I didn’t sound convincing.

“There’ll be an investigation, right? And they’ll figure out the truth?”

“You’re not even sure what the truth
is.
You’re just ‘pretty sure’ you didn’t kill him. The police aren’t going to buy that. It’s not nearly good enough.”

“I can’t believe you don’t believe me!”

I sighed. Why wasn’t she getting it? “I’m trying to keep you safe. Don’t start doubting me. I’m the one definite ally you’ve got in all this, you know that?”

She let out a long, guttering breath, pressed her face into the wall. “I’m sorry. I know that… I’m going to have to lean on you from here on out. Can I lean on you, like I used to?”

She’d never acknowledged that her behavior had ever caused me any burden whatsoever. It was amazing, how much pity I had for her at that moment, even in that terrible circumstance. I hugged her again. This time I wasn’t smelling evidence on her clothes. I was just pressing her tight. And at the same time, I knew I was being played. Maya still believed she could flirt her way out of anything, even murder.

“What,” I said eventually, “are we going to do about his car?”

“What do you mean?” Maya asked.

“You took his car.”

“
I took his car?!
Where is it?” She crushed her hands against the sides of her head. “What the hell is wrong with me?” she wailed. “How can I not remember taking his
car
? I swear I didn’t. I saw it—someone else was driving it. I think. I mean, if you say I did, I probably did, but I really don’t think I did.”

“Well, it’s right down the block, farther down Langdell. We can’t leave it here. They’ll trace it to you.”

“No, they won’t. I didn’t touch it. So what if his car’s parked downtown, sorta near a tattoo parlor I go to sometimes? How does that trace back to me?”

She was right, when I thought about it. But I still wanted to get everything related to Jefferson as far away as possible. “Did you leave anything in the car?” I asked.

She frowned. “I don’t think so. I swear I didn’t move that car.”

I sighed. “Cheyenne and I’ll take a look.”

“What do I do with myself?” Maya asked. “I don’t know where to go.”

“Look,” I said, “you can’t go to Mom and Dad. You can’t put them in that position, and regardless, you might not like what they decide to do about it. You’re going to have to stop using your cell phone and e-mail and everything else. Those can all be traced.”

“Grandma Veronica. I’ll go stay with Veronica.”

“If you’re missing, you know they’re going to check her house.”

“You sure? She’s just our one-time stepmother’s mom. Okay, yeah, maybe, eventually they’ll come to her place. She’ll find another place to hide me by then. I trust her, Abby. She’s the only person in this world I trust, except for you.”

I had no doubt Maya would add more names to this list as soon as it became convenient. “Fine,” I said. “You have to go there immediately. I don’t know how I’m going to drop you off at the same time as checking Jefferson’s car and—”

“Abby, calm down. I’ll take a bus. I know how to take a bus.”

“No, we’ll drop you off. It’s okay.”

“Abby…”

“Don’t ask me for anything. This is the last time I bail you out, do you understand?” I said, my temper flaring. “You have no idea what a mess you’re putting our whole family in. I’m terrified, I’m sick, I’m—”

“I just need you to get my jeans from upstairs.”

“Oh. Fine. I’ll go get your flipping jeans.”

She knew exactly how to play me, as always. As soon as I started to get angry, she’d direct me toward practical things. She played helpless, got me concentrating on lost denim long enough for me to stop thinking about lost sisterhood. It had always worked.

M
aya tried to chicken out and wait at the parking lot, but I told her she had to come with us, since seeing Jefferson’s car might jog her memory.

We stood around the driver’s side window. Cody, perplexed and tired, sulked in the dirt.

“Where did you put the keys?” I asked Maya.

“I swear, I never had any keys.”

“You got this car here somehow, sweetheart,” Cheyenne said, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t
know,
” Maya wailed. “I really, really don’t!”

“Okay, shh, keep
quiet,
” I said.

If downtown hadn’t been so totally deserted, we wouldn’t have had the nerve to stand there staring into a dead boy’s car. Even so, I kept scanning around to see if we were being watched. Except for one homeless guy who was far more concerned with collecting soda bottles from a trash heap, we were alone.

A collection of Mardi Gras beads dangled from the rearview mirror, one sun-silvered purple length snarled around a Xavier High School parking pass. A fast-food cup was wedged next to the parking brake, its plastic lid half off, a small pile of ash around the straw hole. Jefferson’s
messenger bag was on the passenger-side floor, the flap open to reveal a neat block of textbooks. A sweatshirt had been thrown in back. The driver’s seat was draped with one of those cab driver beaded covers. A glass pipe nestled in the ashtray. Faded parking passes from the clubbing district curled under the windshield.

“Maya,” Cheyenne said, “isn’t that your sweatshirt?”

“Where?”

“On the backseat.”

“I don’t—shit shit shit,” she said.

“We have to get in there,” I said. “You need to think. Where are the keys? You must remember having them in your hands at some point. Don’t you remember putting them somewhere? In a pocket?”

“I don’t have pockets,” Maya said. “And I don’t remember any keys. I don’t remember
driving.
”

“It’s amazing you’re alive,” Cheyenne said. “That you’re not wrapped around a tree somewhere.”

I put my hand on Cheyenne’s arm to stop her—if Maya withdrew any more we’d never get her back. “I’ll call Keith later and see what he might know,” I said. “In the meantime, we need to get you out of here.”

I knew that once the police started looking for Maya, they’d eventually get to Veronica’s house. The police could be on top of us at any moment. But what choice did we have, really? Veronica’s was the best of a short list of options.

The ride to Grandma Veronica’s house: Cheyenne at the wheel, me in shotgun, Maya slouching out of view in back, like a politician tipped off to an assassination plot. No one said anything. The only sound was Maya slurping her slushie, which she’d insisted we stop and buy her. She was living deep in her mind, silent and preoccupied. I imagined her replaying last night over and over in her head, trying to determine what the truth really was. The whole vibe felt like our family trips during the divorce year.

Veronica lived by herself half an hour out of town, in a creaky suburban development centered on a communal pool clogged with pine needles and toddler poo. By all rights, Maya and I should have hated her: She was the mother of the woman who split up our mom and dad, after all. But that office affair ended after a year, and Dad went back to Mom. No one was in touch with the “adulterous whore” (Mom’s words, clearly), but Maya and I couldn’t quite give up Veronica. She was a little crass and loud, sure. Crazy hair—white and fluffy as a dandelion, with one store-dyed huge brown streak—and really fun. Independent, even though she was in her seventies. She would buy a truckload of art supplies each Sunday and spend the week making T-shirts and selling them online. She actually made a living out of it, when you added in Social Security payments.

Cheyenne took the curves of Veronica’s subdivision at high speed, making the fillings in my molars rattle. Normally, parking under Veronica’s carport involves a quiet
crunching sound of fronds and clippings and dead insects going under the tires, but today there was a roar and a whump as Cheyenne slammed the cement block at the head of the parking spot. Cody growled.

“Hey, cool it,” I said. “You’re not making us look totally suspicious or anything.”

Maya peered up and down the subdivision before she got out of the car, like there might have been SWAT teams on the roof waiting for the chance to sight their rifles on her. Cheyenne and I shuttled her to Veronica’s door. I opened Veronica’s gate and shooed Cody out back before we rang the doorbell.

Veronica opened the door, holding a tabby and shaking her foot at a calico trying to escape. Other cats howled farther in the house. “Girls! Come in. Oh, shit.”

The calico got out. I leaped for him, but it was Cheyenne who stopped him…by stepping on his tail. He howled. “Thanks a lot,” Veronica said in a curious tone, like she wanted to drop-kick Cheyenne as much as thank her.

As soon as we were over the threshold and the door had closed, Maya sank to the shag carpet. “Oh, thank god,” she murmured into the nylon fibers.

Veronica stopped in the middle of her autopilot trip to the coffeepot and placed her hands on her hips. “What the hell is going on, ladies?”

Maya peered at me from the floor, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t do this right now. Abby, you tell her.”

Veronica resumed her trip to the coffee machine. “I’ll make a full pot, I think. Cheyenne, I know efficient girls like you adore coffee.”

“We don’t have time,” I said.

I started by telling Veronica about Jefferson’s messing around on Maya, then moved on to Maya coming to find him and getting worked up, the strike on his head, the fall he must have taken into the river as he staggered. Veronica listened intently.

“You didn’t kill him,” was the first thing she said once I was finished. She placed her healing hands on Maya, who had lain on the couch and pulled a corduroy backrest over her face.

“I hit him really hard,” Maya said. “He was bleeding. And he’s dead now. It doesn’t feel good at all.”

With me Maya was defensive, but to Veronica she was all but confessing. I felt a shiver of jealousy at their closeness. Veronica went to the couch, pulled the backrest away, and sat down next to Maya, gathering her in her arms. “Shh. Of course you didn’t. He deserved to be hit, honey. He was scum.”

Cheyenne, left standing next to me at the counter, arched an eyebrow:
Is this going to become the official history, that Jefferson deserved to die?

“We have to figure out what to do with Maya,” I said, wishing I was part of that broth of compassion on the couch. I displayed my hand on the table, palm up, the way people in couples do when they want to be held.

Cheyenne didn’t notice. “I don’t think she should go back to your parents,” she said.

“Absolutely not,” Veronica said. “It would put your father in an impossible position. She’ll stay here.” She hugged Maya closer. “Won’t you, darling?”

“If Maya’s missing, the police will come here,” Cheyenne said flatly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You’re totally right,” I said. “But what other choice do we have for now? No one’s got cash for a hotel. We’ll move her as soon as we can. Once we know who the police are gunning for, we can decide whether Maya should come out of hiding. If they’re on the hunt for her, then we’ll move her someplace. This is our best option until then.”

“If I’m in hiding,” Maya sniffed, “it just looks even more like I killed him.”

“If you’re
not
in hiding,” I said, “then you’re in police custody. You can tell them you’re innocent as much as you want, but I’m sorry, they won’t believe you.”

Maya began to shake. Veronica gripped her tighter. “Shh, honey, shh. Abby, really! Watch what you’re saying!”

“What?” I yelled. I’d been calm until then, but apparently I’d been simmering beneath; I was surprised by my own rage. “Are you mad at me because I’m being
harsh
? I’m doing my best to give Maya the benefit of the doubt. If she’s guilty, we’re all accomplices here. Even Cheyenne, who has no reason at all to stick her head out yet again for my screwed-up sister. It’s not her fault that Maya’s become nasty and self-centered, and then went and maybe
killed
someone. I know
you say you didn’t do it, Maya—but it’s not looking real good right now.”

“Abby,” Cheyenne said, finally taking my hand. “Keep your voice down, okay?”

“I am
not
nasty,” Maya said, typically choosing the most minor point to fixate on.

“This is ridiculous,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m sticking around and trying to help you.”

Something clicked in Maya: the horror of her situation, the very small number of people she could call allies, or maybe the contortions I was going through to keep her away from the police. She got up from the couch and stood next to me, almost took my hand. “Abby,” she said, “I know you could have turned me in. But you didn’t. I swear I didn’t kill Jefferson. I
swear
it. Since you’re helping me, I think somewhere deep down you must believe me. I need you. I’ve always needed you, but now more than ever. Please don’t give up on me now.”

I was in shock. My anger sputtered away. That’s how it had always been: I needed so little encouragement to pledge myself to her.

“Look, Maya,” I said. “I know you’d never mean to kill someone. And I do find it hard to believe you killed Jefferson. If you didn’t, someone did. And until we find out who that is, you’re going to be the number one suspect.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I get that.”

We hung there for a second. I felt such a strange closeness
to her. It was as if I’d been waiting until this moment to realize: We were in this together.

“Why don’t you go take a nap?” Veronica suggested to Maya. She was more than willing to oblige, lumbering away with eyes half closed. Once she’d left earshot, Veronica turned to me and Cheyenne and said, “She can’t stay here. I’d love to take care of her, but the police will be on my place in no time. I’m going to find her someplace safe to stay.”

“You’ll tell me where it is as soon as you do?” I asked.

Veronica nodded. “Of course. The official story, though, is that you have no idea where she is. I’m not going to tell you the exact location, so you have less to hide from the police. And I don’t want any talk about whether she actually did it, do you hear me? She’s innocent, end of story.”

“What do I tell my parents?” I asked.

“You haven’t seen Maya in days,” Veronica said flatly. “Done.”

“I don’t know if I can pull it off,” I said, though I was pretty sure I could. Lying to my parents had never been too hard. They never expected it from me.

“I don’t think you two are considering,” Cheyenne said, “the most obvious option. Maya should turn herself in. She can say she didn’t do it, but that she hit Jefferson and she’s worried because she hasn’t heard from him since last night. Come clean.”

Veronica glanced at Cheyenne dismissively. “You’re a
smart girl, Cheyenne, but no. The minute the police get their hands on Maya, she’ll tell them anything they want to hear. She’s scared and easily steered into a dead end. Right now, Maya is just missing. It’s possible the police will think she and Jefferson were both attacked by some stranger, that Jefferson defended them, that Maya either escaped or was kidnapped. She shouldn’t go and disprove that.”

“But if we go ahead with your plan,” I said, my stomach clenching even harder than it had all day, “my parents will start to worry that Maya’s dead. We can’t do that to them.”

“We have to,” Veronica said. “I’m sorry, but I’m not letting my Maya get anywhere near a police station. I wouldn’t put her in that position for anything.”

“In the meantime,” I whispered dully, “I’ll just watch my family fall apart as I search for the real killer.”

“I’m here to help,” Cheyenne said. “You won’t be alone.”

“Don’t search for anyone,” Veronica said. “Don’t draw any attention to us. Sounds like not many people knew about Maya and Jefferson’s relationship—it might take the police a long time to make the connection. Keep your whole family off their radar, okay?” She reached a hand into a homemade pottery vase by the front door and pulled out a quarter. She pressed it into my hand, then apparently thought better of it and pressed it into Cheyenne’s instead.

“What’s this?” Cheyenne asked.

“You’re finding a pay phone that’s at least a few miles away and making a call,” Veronica said. “An anonymous tip that there’s a body to be found. It’s time that that poor boy’s
parents found out. And after that, neither of you are to bring up Jefferson Andrews, ever again. And remember, Maya’s dead to you.”

I thought it a strange choice of words, given the circumstances. But I didn’t question them. For all I knew, Veronica was having us hide Maya from the police because she thought she really did it.

I ducked into the spare bedroom to say my good-bye to Maya.

I had no idea when I’d see her again.

But we didn’t admit that to each other. We didn’t hug, didn’t make it a big deal.

We just let each other go to wherever life was about to drag us.

I sat in the idling car in the mall parking lot, watching as Cheyenne used the pay phone. A bunch of freshmen boys from our school passed by, pushing one another. I slinked out of view as they passed.

Cheyenne finished the call, dashed over, landed heavily into the seat, and put the car in gear.

“All done?” I asked.

“All done.”

Jefferson’s death was now officially revealed. Police would be driving to the ravine, sirens blaring.

There was no going back now.