Incriminated (14 page)

John-Michael, Grace, and Lucy returned from Santa Monica and retreated to the second-floor bedroom to discuss their next move. Paolo and Candace had gone for groceries, and Maya was running errands with her aunt Marilu, so they were less likely to be disturbed. Only Ariana was in the house, cooking. They left the door wide open this time, so that they'd easily see if someone approached.

“Better do it quick,” Grace had advised, “like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

The trouble was, Ariana was stuck to Lucy a whole lot harder than a Band-Aid. The years they'd shared. The tears, the pain. Things they'd told each other that no one else knew. And yet through it all, Lucy realized that she'd never truly considered Ariana to be a
friend
. The relationship was too complicated for that. Friends shared tiny intimacies, meaningless banter, food, philosophical conversations, the
quotidian
nothing
of life. Lucy and Ariana shared little but their sadness, and had done so from the very beginning.

The second that Grace had said the words,
with someone close to you
, it had been as though a blindfold had been lifted from Lucy's eyes. Ariana. So simple, yet so unthinkable. What kind of person would intrude on the privacy of a damaged teenager? What kind of monster would use another damaged kid to accomplish that?

Her rational mind tried to brush away the cold, hollow feeling that had warned Lucy that Ariana was just too perfect. The girl had appeared in Lucy's life at just the right time. What did people do in rehab? They talked. It was the new confessional.

It flashed through Lucy's mind that maybe Ariana wasn't actually damaged. That maybe it had all been an act. But the memories from their Claremont days piled in pretty quickly to dismiss that thought. Ariana passed out drunk at her hostel. Ariana calling Lucy to pick her up from outside a bar where she'd fallen down, half blind from whatever drug she'd taken. Hours at her side, watching her go cold turkey. No actor would be so committed.

Lucy couldn't figure out how Ariana could possibly know someone like Dana Alexander. Ariana came from Louisiana, where as far as Lucy could make out, she'd been a nobody. It struck Lucy that she hadn't bothered to find out many concrete details about Ariana's background. The accent sounded genuine, and Ariana had some airs and
graces that matched her story of faded elegance, a once well-to-do family fallen on poverty. But nothing that could connect Ariana to a Hollywood movie star from England. Lucy just couldn't see it.

This was the detail that almost persuaded Lucy that she was wrong. After she and John-Michael returned from the psychiatrist's office in Santa Monica, Lucy couldn't stop mulling it over. Maybe they were jumping to conclusions?

But then Lucy recalled, with a stab of anguish, how she'd told Ariana about the dream that wasn't. They'd talked about it recently, right here in the house, in Lucy's room. But now that Lucy
really
thought about it, she remembered that it hadn't been the first time she'd mentioned that dream to Ariana. The subject had come up several times over the years. And each time, Lucy realized, Ariana had soothed her, calmed her, reassured Lucy that it was just a dream.

And probably gone straight back to Alexander with the news.

Lucy still thinks it was all a dream.

Ariana had to go, and now, before Lucy's mind could be changed.

“There's not one person in the house who won't be glad to see her go,” Grace had admitted when Lucy first mentioned it. “You didn't like her . . . ?” Lucy said, bemused. “Why didn't you say so?”

“She was your friend. But now that we know she's not I'll be honest—she's a creeper for sure,” Grace said. “The
way she hovers, always trying to listen in on conversations, not really contributing.”

“Ariana can be shy in groups,” Lucy said. Defending Ariana was a reflex, even now. “Like Maya. Remember how quiet Maya was, too, at first?”

Reflex or not, Lucy had to override her own impulse to look out for Ariana. No one could ask her to leave but Lucy. It had to be done, and it had to be done today.

“We're behind you, Lucy, whatever you decide,” John-Michael told her. Lucy went directly downstairs and into the kitchen, where Ariana was chopping onions for dinner. “Ariana,” Lucy began, her stomach lurching. “We have to talk.”

Ariana placed the knife neatly to one side of the chopping board. “What's up, hon?”

“Ari, I'm really sorry. But it's been over three weeks. You said you'd only be staying here for a few days. And, the thing is, we're not really allowed to have more than six of us here. The insurance, Candace's mom. We've been skating around issues here, but it can't go on.”

To Lucy's astonishment, Ariana began to smile. It was a sad smile, filled with compassion.

“Your friends don't like me.”

“This isn't about you. It's about how the house is set up.”

Ariana gave a slight shake of her head. Her smile had become ironic, verging on cynical. “I tried real hard to get them to like me, Lucy, but they're not easy. You ever get
the feeling that something messed up is going on with all of them?”

Lucy hesitated. She didn't like the sound of where this was going.

But Ariana was hitting her stride. With her back to the kitchen sideboard, she tossed the knife aside. Nervously, Lucy watched it clatter toward the sink.

“Candace, she's totally focused on her career. She'll want this whole place for herself soon enough. Wait and see. Paolo, I don't even know what that boy's deal is. John-Michael, well, okay, he's a sweetheart but what he did to his car? No normal guy drives a Mercedes-Benz off a cliff. Take my word for it; he's got a screw loose.”

“Ari,” Lucy began, half smiling in utter astonishment at the tirade that was flowing from Ariana's mouth.

“Maya's a nice kid, I got nothing against her. I mean, who wouldn't want to get rich from some dumb piece of software?”

“Are you done?” said Lucy. Their smiles had vanished now.

“Almost,” Ariana said with a touch of vehemence. She walked around the dining table until she was standing half a yard away, staring Lucy right in the eye. “Grace is the one, isn't she? She's the one who told you to kick me out.”

“She's not—”

Ariana interrupted, musing. “Grace—so nice and so quiet. She wants to be the housemother. Girl got nothing else goin' for her. She's not talented or brilliant, like the rest
of you. Not tortured and angsty, like you, or John-Michael. Just plain, ordinary, dull Grace. And I threaten her. It's as simple as that.”

“Grace is none of those things,” came a voice from behind Lucy. She turned to see Candace standing in the open door. Paolo stood beside her, and behind them both, Grace and John-Michael. Together they presented a firm, resolute front.

“Grace is amazing,” John-Michael said, pushing forward until he was shoulder to shoulder with Lucy. “I wouldn't have got through some of the worse parts of my life without her.”

“It's true,” Paolo said. “Grace is awesome.”

Lucy's eyes met Grace's. She was trembling, very slightly, but looked right back. Lucy turned slowly to Ariana. “They're right. Grace is the one who binds us together. And no one asked me to get you to leave, Ari. But you can bet your ass that they want you to go now.”

“My bag,” Ariana muttered through gritted teeth, “is always packed.”

They watched, uncomfortably silent, as Ariana made a point of flinging the freshly chopped onions into the sink, then flounced off into the living room. She reached for the suitcase that was tucked neatly in the space between the futon and the new three-seater sofa. Within five minutes she was ready to go.

Lucy pulled away slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, through the French windows to the rear of the living room
and beyond the small backyard, she glimpsed a white Cadillac. Maya's aunt was pulling into a parking space behind the house.

Ariana dropped the suitcase to the floor. She faced Lucy, seemed to consider for a moment, and then, almost reluctantly, she put one arm around Lucy's neck.

With her mouth close to Lucy's ear, Ariana whispered, “Watch out for these people, Lucy. They don't know you the way I do.”

“You're going to the movies?” John-Michael said. He watched Lucy wrap the cheese she'd been slicing and put it back in the fridge. She arranged a few slices on a plate around some cherry tomatoes and began to eat, leaning against the kitchen sideboard.

“Are you sure?” he said. “Wouldn't you prefer to hang out with us? Although, now that I think about it, Maya probably won't want to do anything—she's totally obsessed by her app these days. I don't know when Paolo will get back from the tennis club. And I'm kind of going out . . .”

John-Michael's voice trailed off. He hadn't mentioned yet to Lucy that Ruben and he might be kind of seeing each other. He probably should.

Lucy chewed for a few seconds, then shrugged, a little sadly. “Today has been intense. I think I need to be out of the house, out of my head.”

“Want me to go with you?” John-Michael offered. “I'd be happy to break my date.”

The beginnings of a smile appeared in Lucy's eyes. “A date?”

“Ruben.” He felt a blush steal over his neck and cheeks.

The smile vanished. “Ruben is gay?”

“Bi,” corrected John-Michael.

Lucy put down her plate, eyes downcast; she wouldn't look at him.

“You're upset,” he said sympathetically. “I'm sorry—Ruben said you might be.”

She shook her head for a moment, blinking back tears, and then tried to smile. “I should have guessed. Now that I think about it, he was always asking me to get you to play guitar again. It was all an excuse.”

“It may have been,” John-Michael said nervously. “I'm not that good.”

Tentatively, she asked. “Have you guys . . . you know?”

John-Michael grinned, more confident this time. “Hey, none of your beeswax, Long!”

She crossed her arms. “No fair stealing a bandmate's guy, Weller.”

“Well, technically, he was never yours . . .”

“Seriously, how long has this been a thing?”

John-Michael picked a cherry tomato from Lucy's plate and popped it into his mouth. “A day. After we rehearsed yesterday, at school, we went for burgers and shakes, then made out on the beach.”

“Ugh, that's so high school.”

“I know!” John-Michael said happily. “It was awesome. Like being sixteen again. Ah, sweet sixteen!”

“Sweet sixteen?” Candace said, sailing into the kitchen with an empty plate, which she placed in the sink. “Who's sweet sixteen?”

“John-Michael kissed a boy on the beach,” Lucy said, pouting.

Candace said, “Oooh, spill. I want details.”

“Ruben, the drummer from Whatnot. They met at Grace's benefit concert.”

“That band you were in for all of five minutes?” Candace asked, taking a dining table chair and turning it to face them. “Is it still going?”

Lucy shrugged. “I guess they found a replacement for me.”

“So we both like
los latinos
, eh, John-Michael?” Candace said, nudging him.

“Is that actually happening then?” John-Michael asked, a little surprised. “You and Yoandy Santiago?”

Candace beamed. “Maybe.”

“But—doesn't he have a girlfriend?”

Candace rolled her eyes. “No! You can't believe the gossip. He's music-famous and she's reality-TV famous, so they get the paparazzi treatment once in a while.”

“He actually told you he's not with Kay Alexander?” insisted John-Michael.

“Yes,” Candace said, annoyed. “Yoandy doesn't have a
girlfriend. Yet,” she added with a wink.

Shaking his head, John-Michael said, “I hope you're right. I don't want to see you getting hurt.”

The amusement dropped from Candace's face. “Man, you sure changed your tune.”

“Dude, I am
one hundred percent
Team Yoandace. Just be careful. Those stories about him dating Kay gotta come from somewhere.”

“Anyway . . .” Lucy interrupted, “I should go. I'm meeting Luisito. We're seeing
The Death of
Caesar.
”

“The one based on the Shakespeare play? Oh man, I totally want to see that,” John-Michael said. “The guy who plays Antony is brutally hot.”

“Me too,” Candace said. “We did
Julius Caesar
in my youth theater company. ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.'”

The kitchen went silent as Grace strolled in, her head on her chest, arms lightly folded in front of her. She looked up, first at John-Michael, then at Lucy with an awkward “hey.” Finally, she turned to Candace and reached out to touch her sister's shoulder. “Hey, Candace? We need to talk.”

Candace did a comic half frown, glancing at John-Michael before she looked back at Grace. “Sounds serious. You breaking up with me, sis?”

Lucy shot him a look that confirmed John-Michael's guess. Grace was about to tell Candace the truth about her
father. Hurriedly, he took Lucy's plate and added it to the pile in the sink. “That's our cue to leave.”

“No,” Grace said in a very clear voice. “No. Lucy, John-Michael, I'd like you to be here for this. I need help explaining everything.”

Lucy's expression turned sickly, as though she would prefer to be just about anyplace else. In fascination, John-Michael watched Grace turn to her stepsister and take her hand. “I've been keeping something from you, Candace. It wasn't my idea to do it, but anyway, I did.”

Candace gave an embarrassed laugh. “Jeez, Gracie, what's going on?”

Grace took a long breath and released it through pursed lips. “Wow. This isn't easy.”

Candace tugged at her hand and gently pulled her stepsister toward another chair. “Sit. Okay, sis, hit me with it. Whatever it is, we'll be cool. Unless you're Yoandy's other secret crush. Then we definitely are not and you, my dear, are an onion-eyed wretch.”

John-Michael smiled to himself. Despite her joking, Candace was a loyal sister.

Grace took another breath. “So you know how you've never met my dad, Alex? Well, his name isn't really Alex Grant. He doesn't live in Canada. His real name is Alex Vesper.” She paused for a few moments, then in a quieter voice added, “Candace, do you know who that is?”

Candace shook her head. She looked baffled. “Should
I? Although the name sounds familiar.”

“He's the man they convicted for the murder of Tyson Drew.” Grace paused and took a deep breath. John-Michael could see tears welling up in her eyes. “Candace, my dad's on death row.”

Candace clasped a hand to her mouth, then looked first at Lucy, then John-Michael. “Did you guys know?”

Lucy nodded gravely. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Grace told me a little while ago. John-Michael too. I . . .” She hesitated and settled a meaningful look on Grace before continuing. “I was at the party where Tyson Drew was murdered. I was just a kid, but I think I may have seen something. Something that could maybe get the conviction overturned.”

Grace's eyes shone with the hint of tears, her voice shook, but only slightly. “My dad is innocent, Candace, I know it. I'm absolutely certain. But the evidence just didn't fall the right way. They've set a date for his execution. It's happened before. This time, it's in about two weeks.”

“Oh, Grace, no, I'm so sorry, baby!” Suddenly, Candace was pulling her stepsister into her arms and squeezing, her head pressed to Grace's shoulder, her eyes tightly shut. “You poor thing,” she said. “That's so horrible!” She pulled away. “Lucy, why haven't you testified yet, if you know something?”

Lucy sighed wearily. “It's complicated.”

“It really is,” said Grace. “Please, Candace, Lucy's been through a lot. But she's going to do the right thing now, aren't you, Lucy?”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I am.”

Wonderingly, Candace shook her head. “All these years . . . Why didn't you tell me? I would have been there for you. Did you ever visit him? I'd have gone with you. Oh!” Her eyes widened as realization struck. “Dead Man Walking!” For a moment she sounded almost joyful. “He's your dad! Although—God—that totally sucks for you. Oh, I'm sorry!” Once again, Candace fell on Grace's neck and hugged her stepsister.

John-Michael nodded at Lucy. “I think maybe we should go.”

“How come John-Michael and Lucy knew before me?” Candace pulled away, puzzled. For the first time, a note of hurt entered her voice. “And your mom and my dad. They—you—were all lying to me all those years?” Now the tears were shining in Candace's eyes as well. “Why—? I mean, Gracie, didn't you trust me?”

“Yeah, we should definitely go,” John-Michael said. He reached for Lucy's hand.

As they left the kitchen, he heard Grace saying, “Of course we trust you, Candace. Please—let me explain?”