Incriminated (16 page)

“And then we kissed,” Candace said. She was grinning as she took a seat on Grace's bed, forcing her stepsister to move over to make space.

“Who kissed you?” Grace inquired absently. She sat up, a little put out to be interrupted by Candace entering her quiet room. She put down her copy of
Drown
, which she'd been reading since she and Paolo had returned from getting the tattoo, several hours ago. She checked her watch. It was almost five in the afternoon.

Candace rolled her eyes, demanding attention. “Yoandy.”

Just the same, Grace barely heard the reply. The day was almost over, and still Lucy hadn't returned from her visit to the police station. That's assuming she'd even gone at all. Grace wouldn't have been surprised if Lucy needed more time to think—the hypnosis had clearly been a traumatic experience. Since her father had been jailed, Grace
had been forced to learn significant patience. Part of her understood that one more day couldn't make much difference to a legal process, at least not two weeks from the execution date.

But another part of Grace had been reawakened by a newfound hope. By the evidence—finally—that someone else might know what really happened that night at the party on Mulholland Drive. That side of Grace's personality was suffering an ordeal. Every extra minute of uncertainty felt like agony.

What would she do if Lucy hadn't gone to the police? Grace wasn't sure she'd be able to contain her frustration and rage.

She glanced up at her stepsister, trying to focus on what Candace was saying. “You kissed . . . who again?”

Candace looked faintly annoyed. “Urgh. Yoandy Santiago! Try to listen. We were at the TV studio, earlier on.”

“And then what?”

“Not much,” conceded Candace. She sounded frustrated. “He's gotten cautious.”

“Uh-huh,” Grace said, trying to sound interested. “Why's that?”

“I'm gonna take a wild guess that it was the fear of having Kay Alexander shredding his clothes maybe. Scissors supplied by her big sister, Dana.”

Grace put down her book slowly. The mention of “Dana” sent a prickle along her spine. “Why . . . would she do that?”

“Who can say?” Candace said. “God only knows what Kay is like.” She sighed. “For some reason, the woman thinks that she is Yoandy's girlfriend.”

“Candace,” Grace said unsteadily. “Are we talking about Dana
Alexander
?”

“Yeah,” agreed Candace. “Lady Macbeth is a big deal, it turns out. Which is why I gotta be careful—real, real careful that Dana doesn't find out. Apparently,
Dana
is the one who recommended me for the part of Annika. Now it sounds like she thinks I owe her, big-time. She seems to think I'm gonna take Yoandy from her sister, Kay.” She gave a crafty grin. “I tell you, owing Dana—honestly? I don't see it.”

Grace couldn't speak for a few moments. Then, struggling to remain calm, she said, “You . . . are connected to
Dana Alexander
, the British movie star?
She's
the one who got you into
Preppe
d
?”

“I know,” Candace said, now thoughtful. “I thought it was odd, too, especially after what you told me yesterday about Lucy kicking out our delightful ol' houseguest, not to mention the whole Tyson Drew thing.” As though an idea had just occurred to her, she added, “Hey, did
you
know that Maya's aunt works for Dana Alexander?”

This additional piece of information hit Grace like a slap in the face. “Who—Aunt Marilu?”

“That'd be the one.”

“No,” Grace murmured. “I did not know that.”

Unreal. Impossible. How deeply had Dana Alexander insinuated herself into their lives?

Dana's sister was dating a guy who Candace also liked. She'd recommended Candace for a part on a new TV show. Dana Alexander might be the true killer of Tyson Drew.

And now—it turned out that Maya's aunt actually worked for the woman.

“This is too much,” Grace mumbled. “It's—no. This is too many coincidences.”

“It really is,” mused Candace, “I mean, Hollywood can be kind of incestuous and all, but . . .”

She stopped abruptly when the door flew open and Maya came bounding into the room, throwing her messenger bag onto her bed and flopping down next to it.

“Guess what?” Maya said, her eyes bright with excitement. “Jack and I met with Alexa Nyborg today, up in Napa.”

But Candace just groaned. “Give me an actual break! Maya, could you knock first? We're trying to have a private conversation here.”

“It's my room, too,” Maya said with surprising levity. “If you're having a private conversation about me, maybe include
me
?”

“You clearly don't understand the rules of gossip,” Candace said with pronounced irony.

Grace waited for a moment. “And? How did the meeting go?”

Maya drew herself up even straighter, her bare knees pressed almost daintily together against the edge of the quilt on her bed. “
And
she made me an offer.”

Both Candace and Grace now faced Maya, managing to keep their sighs of irritation to a minimum. After a moment Candace said impatiently, “Come on, Maya, let's hear it!”

Maya opened her messenger bag, removed the laptop, a sphinxlike grin playing about her lips. As the MacBook started up, she glanced at them in turn and said, “Alexa has this amazing little
casita
up in Napa. It's all mission-style, white adobe walls and arches. The garden is full of tangerine and lemon trees, pink and white hibiscus flowers everywhere and the most beautiful swimming pool I've ever seen.”

“Sounds great,” Candace said with more than a hint of eye roll. “But what did she actually offer you?”

“I'm telling you about the
casita
,” Maya said, her smile ever more mysterious, “because that's part of what she offered me. Alexa hardly ever goes there. These days she's usually flying somewhere every weekend. She said I could stay there whenever I like. Even offered to let me stay this weekend—July Fourth. She was planning to fly out by private jet right after our meeting 'cause she's going to be in Washington at some event with the president.”

“She offered to loan you a house in the Napa Valley?” Candace said, her mouth falling open.

Maya grinned, typed something quickly, and said demurely, “I said no, thanks. After all, we're having a barbecue and fireworks here, right? Just the six of us. But Nyborg was actually pretty insistent. Said if I change my
mind, the key is with a neighbor.”

Candace responded with an amazed grin.

There is something very badly wrong in this house
, Grace thought as Maya prattled on about her app. Too many sudden connections to Dana Alexander, to a person who she now realized was not only getting information through Ariana, but who had found a way to keep tabs on the housemates via Maya and Candace, too.

Why?

Grace could understand why Alexander might want to spy on Lucy—a buried memory that threatened to expose the woman's secret, possibly even that she was a murderer.

But Maya? Candace? What possible threat could they be?

A cold, crawling sensation ran through Grace, as though an ice-encrusted spider was walking along her spine. Lucy wasn't back from talking to the cops yet; she'd ignored the two, hopeful texts that Grace had sent:
Hey just checking in. How's it going? Any news?

Technically, no news was good news, yet Grace's instincts told her it wasn't good. She felt her chest muscles clench around her ribs, and wondered fleetingly where Paolo had gone. His embrace had been such a comfort to her earlier today. If he was here, she'd feel safer. Grace didn't feel safe around Maya and Candace, not right now. Not until she understood their connection to Dana Alexander.

Maya continued to chat: Alexa Nyborg
this
and Napa
that . . .
until Grace simply couldn't tolerate it any longer.

“That's just great,
Maya
,” retorted Grace, and her tone was so uncharacteristically sharp that even Candace flinched in response. She paused, waiting until she had Maya's complete attention. “But let me ask you this: why didn't you ever mention that your aunt was Dana Alexander's driver?”

Maya simply froze for several seconds. Guilt was written all over her face: guilt and shame and regret.

Lucy didn't return from the police precinct until almost a little after five in the evening. Barely across the threshold to the house, she stood absolutely still, listening. Just before she'd arrived, she'd heard the front door slamming shut as someone entered the downstairs part of the house. As she turned her key in the lock, she heard voices toward the back of the house, presumably in the yard. Paolo and, if Lucy wasn't mistaken, Grace. Lucy's hand stilled. Grace was the very last person she wanted to face right now. She extracted her key as silently as possible and turned toward the spiral staircase that led to the second floor.

As she approached the landing, she could hear Maya, Grace, and Candace inside the triple bedroom. The name “Dana Alexander” was clearly mentioned, at least twice. Lucy approached quietly, hoping to eavesdrop awhile.

Maya was speaking rapidly, sounded agitated. “Could you stop asking me about Dana Alexander, already? I told
you—she's my mom's boss,
that's it.
I don't have anything to do with her, never met her, never so much as talked to her on the phone.”

There was a lengthy, tense silence. Then Candace said tentatively, “Your
mom's
boss? Don't you mean your
aunt's
? Doesn't your mom live in Mexico City?”

Lucy had heard enough. She pushed open the door. “What's going on? Why're you giving Maya the third degree?”

But Candace's eyes were fixed on Maya. She looked utterly baffled. “Maya, who
are
you?”

Maya moved to leave. Candace held up a hand. “Not so fast. Maya, you need to answer. Is Marilu your
mom
?”

From behind Lucy came the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. She took a quick look. Paolo was on his way up, too.

“Did I hear correctly?” Paolo said. “Did Candace just say that Maya's aunt is actually her mom?”

Lucy glanced at Grace. She seemed paralyzed with tension, suddenly pale and wan. “Did you go to the police?” Grace asked her, coming straight to the point.

Lucy swallowed. “I tried, G. Really, I did.”

Grace whimpered, touched a palm to her head. Paolo responded immediately. He sat down beside her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and drew her close. “Lucy,” whispered Grace.

All eyes were now on Lucy. “Where's John-Michael?” she asked, suddenly defensive. The room felt pretty hostile. At least John-Michael might understand.

Paolo said coldly, “He's in the kitchen.”

“Look, can we all talk about this downstairs?” Lucy said, pleading.

“I still want to know why Maya's been lying to us about her mom being her aunt!” Candace objected.

“Seriously?” Paolo retorted. “You actually think that's more important than Lucy going to the cops with evidence that might get Grace's father off death row?”

“Obviously not,” Candace said hotly. “I'm just sayin' that Maya isn't getting off the hook so easy. Especially since it turns out that her
mom
works for a total Hollywood player who's been meddling in my life.”

To Lucy's astonishment, Grace made her way over to Maya, and said gently, “Come on, Maya. I'm sure you had a good reason for telling us Marilu was your aunt, but you need to trust us now. Please. There are things going on in this house that you're not aware of. And Dana Alexander is at the center of too many of them.” Grace cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice sounded shaky. “Lucy's right. We should go downstairs, where we can all talk this through.”

Without another word, the housemates trooped downstairs. In the kitchen, in front of a stunned John-Michael, they arranged themselves around the dining table, and each took a chair. The atmosphere had grown as suddenly chilly as the air outside, now that the clouds obscured the setting sun.

“Um . . . what the heck?” John-Michael said, placing the
large kitchen knife back on the chopping board next to a heap of sliced carrots and celery.

“Lucy's got something to tell us,” Paolo said with a reassuring glance at Grace.

“Maya too,” Candace added.

Lucy couldn't quite put a finger on it, but she sensed guardedness in almost everyone in the room. Or maybe she was just projecting her own feelings? Her instinct had been to protect Maya from the sisters' questioning. Some people had private stuff going on. Why did everything have to be out in the open? It didn't make things easier, in Lucy's experience. To give away a secret was to give away your freedom.

She couldn't help wishing that people would just mind their own business. But right away, she felt her conscience smack her down. Grace's dad was going to be executed in less than two weeks.
Executed
. How could Lucy's own issues come close to that?

“So, I went to the cops,” Lucy said, carefully avoiding Grace's hot, teary gaze. “All kinds of stuff going down in the precinct today, or so they told me. Drunks and drug dealers being chased around, all the detectives out on cases or busy, a major traffic accident on the 405.”

“They didn't see you?” concluded Grace. Her disappointment sounded bitter.

“Oh, they saw me but for, like, five minutes,” Lucy admitted. “Had to wait a long time before anyone would meet with me. When they finally did, well, they got big
eyes, like saucers, and started saying that I had to be interviewed by a detective, but they didn't have anyone available today, it had to be recorded properly and witnessed, that I needed an appointment.”

“You need an appointment to give testimony that's going to save someone's life?” Grace said, incredulous.

“That's pretty much what I said,” Lucy agreed. “As it turns out, you do. At least when the person whose life you're saving ‘isn't in any immediate danger.'”

Grace gasped. “Every extra day puts my dad in immediate danger. It's called
death
!”

Paolo squeezed Grace's knee to calm her down, which seemed to work somewhat as she sat back in her seat. Lucy managed to minimize her surprise.
Well, at least that's moving in the right direction
, she thought.

“I know,” Lucy said to Grace. “And I'm sorry. But what with it being the holiday weekend, I could tell that the cops just weren't interested. I got an appointment for Monday. Grace, don't worry, I won't let this go.”

“Okay, so that's Lucy dealt with,” Candace concluded impatiently. “Now, let's hear from Maya. Girl, explain yourself!”

“Okay, the woman I've been calling ‘Marilu' is my mom,” began Maya warily. “I didn't tell you because . . . because . . .” At this, Maya dropped her head into her hands. “Oh God, I really don't want to do this.”

Grace put one arm around her roommate's shoulders.
“I know this isn't easy. But we need to know we can trust one another.”

Lucy, Candace, and John-Michael murmured some bland words of encouragement. But Lucy noticed that Paolo remained quiet, not moving, his eyes fixed on Maya's arms.

Reluctantly, Maya drew herself upright. Her eyes were damp. She wiped one with the back of a hand. “I guess you'd better know. My mom does work for Dana Alexander. If you look up Lupita Soto de Padilla, it's pretty easy to find online that she's connected to Alexander. So I told you she was my aunt, whose name is Marilu Soto.”

Firmly, Candace asked, “Why didn't you want us to know about the connection with Dana Alexander?”

Maya looked at each housemate in turn as she replied. “Listen, I didn't know about the setup here, okay? Just what you guys told me when we moved in. But for some reason, Alexander wanted to know what was going on in the house.”

There was an audible flinch from Grace and Candace. Lucy herself felt as though a lump of air had solidified in her own throat. “Excuse me?”

Maya's expression had become sorrowful. “She's interested in everything that goes on in the house. But Lucy, I gotta tell you . . . most of all she's interested in you.”

“That goddamn witch, of course she is,” Lucy said, seething. “That's why she got Ariana to spy on me, too.”

Maya seemed taken aback. “Ariana was spying?”

“We were going to tell you,” Grace said. “We only found out yesterday. You and Candace have been awfully wrapped up in your work.”

“And to be strictly accurate,” John-Michael pointed out, “we don't know for sure about Ariana, isn't that right, Luce?”

“Ariana spying,” Maya repeated thoughtfully. It could have been Lucy's imagination, but for a brief moment she had the strangest feeling that Maya
wasn't
all that surprised. “But I think that's right,” Maya continued, shaking her head. “Listen, I was supposed to send a written report every few days. About a month ago, after I overheard Grace talking to John-Michael about how he crashed his dad's car, I decided to stop telling Alexander anything useful.”

“Wait up, wait up,” Lucy interrupted, frowning. “You
listened in
on Grace and John-Michael?”

“It was kind of a pocket dial,” Maya admitted. “It wasn't intentional. And I already told this to Gracie. I heard her say something that made me wonder about Dana Alexander.”

Lucy watched Grace acknowledge this with a slight nod. Suspiciously, Lucy said, “What'd she say?”

Maya said quickly, “Enough to make me worry that Alexander was bad news and to realize that what I was doing could be dangerous to you guys. And since that day, I swear to God, I haven't given her a single useful report.”

“Which does not get you off any kind of hook!” Candace bristled.

“But it does explain why Dana sent Ariana,” Lucy concluded with bitter understanding. “The second you stopped sending anything useful, Ariana shows up on our doorstep.”

Maya nodded, clearly relieved. “Yes. At least I think so. But it only started to make sense recently. Just little things about the way Ariana behaved . . . she was always hovering around where most of us were, not joining in conversations, just listening.”

“The way
you
used to?” John-Michael observed dryly.

“Like I said: I realized it was wrong.”

“Why'd you do it at all?” Candace said. “It's kind of a skanky thing to do to your friends.”

“Guys,” Maya said, eyes wide, hopeful, her hands spread wide on the table before her, “Alexander has stuff on me and my family. I'm not exactly sure what, my mom won't give details. But Alexander goes to immigration and my mom gets deported.”

“Wait, your mom is here illegally?” Candace asked. “I thought you were a citizen.”

“I was born here, yes. But not my mom, obviously. And there's some issue with the documents.”

John-Michael broke in, “It's got to be horrible to live that way, trying to stay under the radar.”

“Then Alexander had me under observation from the beginning,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “She must have gotten to Ariana when we were in rehab. Maybe even put her there with me, for all I know.”

Maya leaned toward Lucy. “What I didn't understand
was
why
. Until you told us that you were in
Jelly and Pie
and we figured out your real name. And until I heard Grace talk to John-Michael. Dana Alexander was at the party when Tyson Drew was murdered, wasn't she, Lucy? Is there a chance that she thinks you saw who really killed him?”

“You figured all that out, too, and you didn't tell us?” gasped Paolo.

“Maya, seriously, you wanna consider acting for a living?” chipped in Candace. “'Cause you are one high-end liar.”

“I think Alexander knows
for a fact
that Lucy saw who killed him,” Grace said grimly, ignoring the other housemates' jabs at Maya. “I think it's pretty obvious that Alexander is the one who scared you into silence, Lucy. But now she knows that you remember the truth and you are going to testify . . . right?”

Lucy felt the slow burn of everyone's attention as they focused on her. She found herself unable to look any one of the housemates in the eye.
Alex Vesper is on death row because of you
, they seemed to be saying.
An innocent man has been in prison because of you. All because of you.
Because little Lucasta was so scared she wet her pants that horrible night on the balcony. She was shaking when a woman took her by the hand, a woman with soft hands with beautiful peach fingernails. They were all Lucasta could see as she led her to the bathroom murmuring gentle words of comfort in her ear.

You're sleepwalking, honey. Dreams grabbing you by the throat. Time to get back to bed, Charlie.

Lucy wanted to cry, yet tears wouldn't come. Instead, she felt her core growing cold. Numb paralysis. Someone's hand reached out to touch hers. But she barely felt it.