Emancipated (29 page)

Candace thrust a half-filled liter bottle of supermarket-brand Russian vodka into Grace's hands. She unscrewed the cap, then took three glass tumblers from a cabinet and made three vodka sodas on the rocks with some bottled lime juice left over from the party. She handed the drinks to Candace and Maya. Candace immediately swallowed two big gulps from hers.

The other two girls took their drinks over to the gray three-seater sofa.

“I can't believe they actually arrested him. That's pretty much the scariest thing I've ever seen,” Maya said.

Grace took a sip. “It could be about to get a lot worse.”

Maya stared at her. “You . . . you think John-Michael did it?!”

“I don't think he has an alibi,” Candace said. “He looked terrified last time that detective was here. I saw his mood switch”—she clicked her fingers—“just like that. One minute he's making chocolate buns, next minute he's this scared little kid.”

Grace said, “You were with John-Michael earlier on, Candace. Did he seem worried?”

“Not particularly. Although we weren't talking about him.”

“What did you talk about?”

Candace thought for a few seconds. “We sat in the sun, we talked, we went into the ocean. We had fun. He seemed fine.”

“Huh.”

“Lucy might know more,” Candace said. “They're obviously close. And a little while back, she was talking to me about how John-Michael got his all clear at the health clinic.”

“Sure, he told us, the HIV test.” Grace looked at Maya for confirmation, but the younger girl was staying quiet, listening attentively.

Candace said, “Yeah, only Lucy wasn't convinced he was getting tested for HIV. She seemed to think he had something else going on. Something connected to his father.”

“Like what—a genetic disease?”

“Yes! Maybe that's what Lucy was getting at. Is it possible that John-Michael was getting tested for a genetic disease? And maybe his dad died of that?”

Grace looked doubtful. “I thought his dad died of choking. Or an overdose.”

Maya finally spoke. “I thought it was choking
because
of an overdose.”

They were all silent for a few moments, sipping their drinks. The alcohol had already soothed Candace. She turned on the TV, but Maya immediately grabbed the remote from her and turned it off. “Please. Can we just have some calm for a little while?” She hurled the remote back across the sofa.

Candace and Grace exchanged a single look in ominous silence. This was pretty strange behavior from Maya, at least on a day when she wasn't obviously glued to her coding.

Candace explained, “We need to watch
The Simpsons
or something. ‘Cause this is a major downer.”

But Grace grabbed the remote. “If Maya isn't happy,” she said, “I think we should leave it.”

“Thank you, Grace,” Maya said. She glared at Candace, who lapsed into stony silence.

But Candace didn't feel like letting it go. After a while she said thoughtfully, “You think maybe his dad killed himself because of the illness? Maybe it was incurable?”

“Some of those genetic diseases are pretty horrible. What if JM's dad knew he was going to die from something real nasty, and decided to kill himself first? What if he asked John-Michael to get him some H?”

“John-Michael said he never used H.”

“No, but, come on, Grace. He lived on the streets for, like, a year. He's gotta know people who deal it.”

“You think maybe he was with his dad when he died?”

Maya said, “If he bought him H and gave it to his dad, knowing that he was gonna kill himself, that's a crime. I don't know what level of crime it is, but I'm pretty sure that's illegal.”

Grace could barely conceal her scorn. “Of course that's illegal! It's assisted suicide. Second-degree murder. You do prison time for that.”

“That's insane,” Candace said. “No way should you do time for assisted suicide.”

“Are you kidding?” Grace countered angrily. “What if I come round and ‘assist' you to death, huh? Or your little ol' grammy? That okay by you?”

Maya said, “Okay, okay, let's not get into this. Maybe we agree, maybe we don't. But if it's illegal, it's illegal. And John-Michael could be in big trouble if he actually did it.”

“Let's hope Lucy can keep him quiet,” Grace said.

Candace's cell buzzed with a call from Lucy. Candace signaled urgently for silence and then answered. She barely said anything, listening to Lucy, exhausted, tell her they'd be home in a couple of hours—
without
John-Michael.

When Candace informed the other girls, they paled.

“No me digas,”
Maya pronounced slowly. “Is it possible . . . that he did it?”

“It would explain a lot,” Candace mused. “John-Michael's dad finds out he's sick. Maybe he's known a while. Maybe he only decides to tell JM at the end. When he's already decided to end it.”

Grace glanced at the other two girls. They'd grown somber, nodding in quiet agreement. Incredulous, she said, “So we've already decided, have we? He's guilty? He helped his father to die?”

“It fits the facts,” Candace admitted.

“Would it really be so bad?” Maya said. “If his dad was scared, maybe already suffering? It could be a kindness.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Grace said. “I sure hope I'm not around any of you when I start getting old.”

Candace shrugged. “I'd switch you off if you asked me, sis—if you were suffering. But what I don't get is why a sweet guy like John-Michael, who was thrown out on the streets by his jerk of a dad, would want to do him any favors?”

“He gets to keep all the money,” Maya said quietly. “Whichever way you look at it, things got better for John-Michael after his old man died.”

“That'll work against him,” Candace said.

“I don't think we should talk about it any more,” Maya said, reddening.

Candace groaned. “Now can we please watch TV?”

Grace handed her the remote. “I'm not in the mood.” She rose to her feet. There was only ice in her
glass now. “I'm going to my room.”

Neither Candace nor Maya followed her. They wanted to be there when Lucy and Paolo got back. Maya glanced at Grace before she left. Candace couldn't tell whether it was sympathetic or judgmental.

After two hours watching a TV show called
Deadbeat
, which starred a very cute actor that Maya clearly liked, they heard the front door open.

It was Lucy and Paolo, back from Carlsbad.

Maya and Candace rushed over to the kitchen, where a very subdued Paolo made cup of hot tea. Grace joined them, murmuring some vague platitudes. But they were all tense with anticipation. There was only one thing they wanted to know.

Lucy cradled the mug. She took tiny sips like a little kid. Finally, she faced them, shyly.

“It's not looking good.”

They waited, too appalled to speak.

Lucy shook her head. Candace couldn't help noticing how Paolo hovered close at hand, his face written with concern. He turned toward the girls, his eyes glistening. “It's a difficult set of circumstances. John-Michael's going to be in jail for at least a night. They're trying to collect enough evidence to charge him.”

Lucy drew breath, spoke in an unbroken monotone. “They've got a witness who says they can prove John-Michael had a motive. He's got no alibi. Someone who fits his height was caught on a security video leaving the murder scene around the time of death. He was seen at the scene some weeks later. They suspect he was removing evidence.”

Candace blinked, trying to absorb the vacant horror of it. “And what does John-Michael say?”

With blunt finality Lucy said, “Nothing.”

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KITCHEN, FRIDAY, MAY 22

“Can I make you something to eat?” Grace stepped up to the kitchen counter and started pulling out plates and napkins. “You guys must be exhausted.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said. She leaned against the kitchen table, eyes glazed.

“Are we allowed to talk to John-Michael? I mean, can he contact us?” Grace asked. She arranged ham and turkey slices on four pieces of Wonder Bread, then squirted each with mustard and mayo and pressed them into sandwiches.

Lucy reached for hers. “That's enough for me, thanks, Grace. I'm not hungry, I just don't want to go to bed on an empty stomach.” Within a couple of minutes she'd finished the snack. Paolo ate his in four ravenous bites.

“I don't know what John-Michael can and can't do,” Lucy said in a weary voice. “I just know he's in a whole lot of bad trouble.”

They couldn't persuade Lucy to tell them more. She looked emotionally drained and went directly to her room. After five hours of driving, Paolo was also exhausted. The moment Lucy headed for the stairs he prepared to follow her, pausing only to drink a glass of water.

Grace listened to their footsteps from the bottom of the stairs. It sounded to her as though Paolo had accompanied Lucy to the double room at the top of the house. Maybe this was the night he finally made a move. A cunning, maybe even callous strategy, no doubt, but then Grace wasn't surprised. Lucy was rarely as subdued and vulnerable as she was now. And Paolo, she suspected with aching realization, was not the type to give up. The fact that one of their friends was facing a mind-warpingly serious criminal investigation would probably only heighten the mood.

She forced her mind away from the idea of them together. Instead, she thought of John-Michael alone in his jail cell. This, too, was troubling.

Maya's cell phone rang, startling all three girls. She answered in Spanish,
“Bueno.”
She nodded a couple of times and then put the cell back into her jeans pocket.

“My . . . aunt . . . Marilu is here. She wants me to go spend the night at her place.”

“She's here?” Grace asked. “At the house?”

“Outside.”

Grace frowned. “Kinda late, isn't it?”

“I . . . eh . . . forgot. She did mention that she might stop by. I called earlier and told her about John-Michael. I was pretty upset at the time.”

The girls watched her go upstairs to grab some overnight things. Candace turned to Grace. “Huh! Lying much?”

“You think?”

“Gracie, it's almost midnight.”

“She's Mexican,” Grace replied. “They're a very family-oriented people.”

Candace raised a skeptical eyebrow. She ambled over to the kitchen and peered out through the front window. “Look at her aunt's car. Tell me that isn't a fifty-thousand-dollar car.”

Grace joined her at the front window. “The Cadillac? I suppose. Never really thought about it.”

“If Auntie Marilu is so rich, why does Maya have to live with us?”

Grace was on the point of replying, and then stopped because Maya was back downstairs now, looking for her keys on the hooks near the front door.

“Okay, later.”

“So your aunt has a pretty fancy ride,” Candace said lightly.

“Oh, that's not hers,” Maya replied, distracted. “Did anyone see my keys?”

“You left them on the kitchen table,” Grace said, pointing. “Whose car is it?”

“It comes with the job,” Maya said. “She's a driver.” She plucked the keys off the table.

They watched her leave.

Grace turned to Candace. “Did you know her aunt is a driver?”

“Me? How would I know?”

“She's never mentioned that. A driver,” mused Grace. “How do you like that? I wonder who she works for.”

Candace shrugged. “We don't really know too much about Maya, do we?”

“We know as much about Maya as we know about anyone in this house,” Grace said with care.

Candace not only agreed, but proceeded to relate the theories she and Lucy had exchanged the night after John-Michael's impromptu dinner party. “In the end,” she concluded, “Lucy wondered if John-Michael had ever actually been worried about HIV. That's how messed up things are around here. Anything could be going on, underneath it all. Literally, anything.”

Eventually she grimaced and said, “I don't know how any of us will sleep tonight. Poor John-Michael.”

Grace had the impression that the wider implications of Maya having extra knowledge about the housemates hadn't impinged remotely on her stepsister's brain. It struck her as odd, but she guessed that Candace must already be overloaded with concern for John-Michael.

“No way I'm going to bed feeling like this,” groaned Candace. “Seriously. I need to watch TV, or I'm gonna snap like a twig. And it won't be pretty.”

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THIRD FLOOR, FRIDAY, MAY 22

Without a word, Paolo followed Lucy to her room. At the threshold, she took his hand and led him inside. He was silent as she walked him to her bed. Only when she sat down did an awkward tension develop. Lucy looked into his eyes. He was staring at her with unguarded longing.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

It took him a minute to react. “Okay what?”

“Okay, Paolo, the answer is yes. But just tonight.”

To her surprise he mumbled, “Why?”

She looked away slightly. “Why? Because I don't want to be alone. Here. In this room. Thinking about John-Michael in jail.”

With a finger, he gently guided her chin back so that she was facing him again. “I meant, why just tonight?”

Lucy laid one hand on his upper arm. “Don't spoil the mood, Lawyer Boy. This isn't a negotiation.”

Again, to her surprise, he became quiet, obviously thinking. Whatever private dialogue he was
conducting with himself, it didn't seem to change his mind.