She laughed, which meant finally she looked away, but somehow that was even more unsettling. “What-the-fuck-ever, Nikki. Why don’t you get out? I don’t have to talk to you.”
I widened my stance, crossing my arms over my chest, my hands squeezing into fists under my forearms. “Tell them you lied. Tell the prosecution the truth. Just do the right thing and I’ll go.”
“No, I think you’ll go now,” she said. She reached out one palm, placed it against my shoulder, and pushed. I didn’t move much, but stutter-stepped backward, a bright spot of pain reopening on my cut where she’d just pushed me.
“I wouldn’t do that again if I were you,” I said.
She laughed a second time, only now it was totally mirthless, like listening to a demon laugh. “Or what? You’ll be mad at me?” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “If I knew where Luna was, I wouldn’t tell you. If I was the tipster, I wouldn’t take it back, either. Because you’re a bitch and Luna is my friend and how do I know you didn’t do it?” A smug look crossed her face as she reached out and shoved me again.
This time I was ready. I sprang forward, placing both of my hands on her chest and shoving her backward so hard she crashed into Seth’s drum cases, landing hard on the floor.
Everyone raced toward us, including Gibson Talley, who appeared out of a back room somewhere.
“Hey-hey-hey,” Vee was saying, stretching her arms out as if to hold us apart, even though we were several feet away from each other.
“Get her the hell out of here,” Seth was yelling, pointing at me.
Gibson Talley was saying nothing, just helping Shelby up from the floor.
Shelby was grinning again. “Testy,” she said when Gib had righted her. He stood between us protectively, glaring at me.
“Vee,” I said. Breathing hard, trying to convey the gravity of everything with my eyes. “This is important. For Peyton. I know you care. She was your friend.”
Vee let her arms drop to her sides. She seemed to think it over, and then looked at Shelby. “Just tell her what she wants to know. Did someone set her up? Was it you?” Shelby crossed her arms and gave Vee a standoff look. Vee took two steps toward her. “I’m serious, Shelby. Peyton was this band, and if you know something about what happened to her, you need to say so. Or you need to find another band to sing in. That simple.”
“Fine, but I swear I don’t know anything,” Shelby said. She was clinging to Gib’s shoulder from behind, but not in a protect-me sort of way. More of an I-own-you sort of way. “I picked her up and we drove around for a little bit, and then she had me drive her to this gross building downtown. I did, and she got into a van outside it and took off. It was the first time I saw her since she got arrested, and I haven’t heard from her since. I’m not your tipster. Sorry.”
“That’s it?” Vee asked. “That’s everything?”
“I told you I didn’t know anything,” Shelby said. “That’s what I know.”
“She told you. Now go,” Seth said, grabbing for my arm.
I shook it off violently. “If you want to keep that hand, you won’t touch me with it again,” I said.
“Come on, Nikki,” Vee said, but much more softly than Gibson had. “We need to warm up.”
I ignored her. “What did Luna tell you when you were driving around?”
Shelby leaned forward, hitching up onto her tiptoes to jut her head over Gib’s shoulder. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fine. We talked about you. It wasn’t very nice. I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
My ears perked up. “What about me?”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, that you’re a total bitch, okay? And that she wishes she’d killed you, because at least her brother was good for some money when she needed a bailout. And that’s it. We talked about school and stuff after. And she told me about that place she was in. Juvie or whatever. And she told me that she was super worried about getting tossed back in.”
“You’re done here,” Seth said, but at least he didn’t touch me this time.
“Yeah, Nikki, take your drama somewhere else so we can get set up,” Shelby said. She turned to Gibson. “Gibby, make her leave.” Gibby. Barf.
Gibson ran a hand through his Mohawk—surprisingly not flattening it at all—and took a step toward me. “Time to go,” he said. “You got what you wanted.”
I held my hands up, surrender-style. “I’ll go, I’ll go. Thanks for nothing.” But just as I was getting ready to turn for the stairs, it hit me. “Wait a minute. You said you dropped her off and she got into a white van?”
She snapped her fingers. “Snaps for Nikki for getting the good listener award. Please leave.”
I went, but as I made my way back upstairs and around the building, my mind was swirling. A white van outside a building downtown.
Scarlet avocado maroon.
D-O-M.
Of course. Dom Distribution wasn’t just a Hollis business. It was a Hollis-Basile business.
Rigo was connected to the van. And I’d seen it somewhere before. Somewhere other than at the auction. Had I seen it at Tesori Antico? Maybe, but that still didn’t feel like the right place.
If I could just remember where the right place was—where I’d seen that scarlet-avocado-maroon—maybe I could finally find Arrigo Basile.
30
I HAD RUN into a dead end with Ruby before, but I needed to try again. Ruby knew things about the Hollises she wasn’t telling me. Maybe she knew where the building downtown was. Maybe she knew what the connection was with the white van. Maybe if I told her everything—even about the key that Blue had given me—she would feel a little more comfortable talking to me.
The first thing I noticed when I parked across the street was how dark Ruby’s building looked. Like nobody was moving inside. I checked the clock—maybe I had been in Culver City longer than I thought—but it was still early. Or at least early enough for someone to be awake.
Unless, of course, they were all out working. But even then wouldn’t someone be around?
I locked my car and instantly the air lit up mint green, the street turning feathery sage under my feet. Something was off. I didn’t know what, but I could feel it.
My phone lit up. Jones.
Shit. Always at the worst possible time.
“Hey,” he said. “You got a minute to talk?”
I closed my eyes, banged my forehead gently against the top of my door frame. “No, I’m sorry, Jones. I’m sort of busy.”
“When will you be home?”
“How do you know I’m not home now?”
A pause. “You’re never home anymore. One of the many ways to make it hard to have a relationship with the elusive Nikki Kill.” Bitterness again. Great. Just what I needed: another fight with Jones.
“Well, the good news is there is no relationship for you to have. I thought we established that already.”
“Ouch,” he said. “You’re right. We did. I guess it’s just hard to let go.”
“Well, please do, Jones,” I snapped. “For both of us.” There was another pause. “Listen, I need to go.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course you do. And, Nikki?”
I sighed, making no effort to conceal it. This game with Jones had gotten beyond old. “What?”
“I’m sorry, okay?”
“Sorry for what?” It came out nasty, and I hated that, because he actually sounded like he meant it.
He hesitated again, and I could hear the old Jones in that hesitation. The Jones who wasn’t eaten up by jealousy. The Jones who’d swept me off my feet at the beach. The Jones who would go to college in a couple of months and make some girl very, very happy. I was almost envious of that girl, because she would be able to appreciate what I couldn’t. Her life would be full of magenta and she would love every minute of it. “Just . . . for everything.”
I took a breath. Oh, Jones, someday you’ll see it—you’re too good for me. “You don’t ne
ed to be sorry. People break up. And it’s not all your fault. I know it’s not easy to be in my life.” Not for anyone, I wanted to add. But I also wanted to forget that about myself, because being difficult really didn’t ever get me anything but frustration and heartbreak, and there was a part of me—maybe even a big part—that wished I was easier to get along with. If I’d been friendlier, would Peyton have been in my life before the accident? I didn’t like to think about the possibility. “We can still talk, Jones. Later, though, okay? Like, maybe when you come home for Christmas or something. We just need a break, I think. By Christmas, everything should be settled down.” Or I will be in jail and it won’t matter anymore.
“Yeah. Probably not, but okay,” he said. “I’ll let you go.” He hung up before I could say good-bye.
Sometimes I thought maybe I wasn’t the only difficult one.
There was a gang of kids standing on the corner. They turned and watched as I crossed the street. They seemed to be leaning in close, whispering. It was a sound that made the sage deepen.
I jogged across the street and pushed into the vestibule. Everything seemed normal. The sickly fluorescent light in the hallway buzzed, and . . .
Wait. That wasn’t normal. You didn’t normally hear the buzzing of a lightbulb in an apartment building. Normally you heard the muffled sounds of TVs and radios, of dogs barking, of people talking and laughing. I had definitely not noticed a buzz last time I was here.
I heard nothing but the buzz.
The thought that I should have brought Detective Martinez with me edged in, and I batted it away. It was too late now, so why did it matter? I’d faced a lot of things without him. I’d battled Luna in her backyard. I’d gotten away from the Basiles in my own kitchen. I could face many more. When had I gotten so dependent on him? On a cop, of all things?
I swallowed my misgivings and climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time to prove to myself that I wasn’t scared of what I would find at the top.
Before I knocked on Ruby’s door, I pressed my ear to it. Maybe she was asleep. Or working with someone who wanted to keep things quiet. Only one way to find out. I knocked, spearmint clouds puffing into the air each time my knuckles made contact. There was no answer. I knocked again, harder. Nothing. I pounded. Still nothing.
I stepped back and leaned over the stair rail to see if maybe Blue was peeking out at me again. But her door, too, remained firmly closed.
“Ruby?” I called. “Everything okay?” I listened. Nothing. “It’s Nikki Kill. I just wanted to talk to you.” There was still no response, and once again I was stuck with the dilemma of following my green, green, deepening green hunch and going inside, or just turning around and leaving well enough alone.
But still. There was something wrong. I could feel it. The door swirled with all the colors of green that told me so. But the floor underneath my feet began to tell me something else. Yellows, oranges. Boiling. Bubbling like lava.
I was going to go in, whatever was on the other side of that door.
Which meant I had yet another lock to pick. Great. This hadn’t gone all that well before, not to mention that Blake Willis currently had my penknife in a plastic evidence bag, anyway.
I bent to assess how secure the dead bolt seemed. Looked pretty tight. Only the best for Bill Hollis secrecy, of course.
But the doorknob was about as beat up as the door itself, the gold color dulled into rusty brown, the keyhole scratched within an inch of its life. I decided to jiggle it to see how sturdy it was.
And was shocked that it turned in my hand. I stood in the hallway, my hand still outstretched as if I were reaching for that knob, though the door had squeaked open into a dark apartment.
“Hello?” I called. “Ruby?”
But I could tell by the way my voice came back to me, before even reaching in to turn on the light, that the room was empty. I swallowed, my throat tasting like gravel. The fire colors had receded a bit, but they were still there. I took a breath to fan the flames a little, to talk myself into stepping through that doorway.
I pushed the door open all the way and fumbled along the walls on either side until I found a switch. I flicked it.
Nothing.
Not a stick of furniture. Not a single ashtray or discarded bra or even so much as a staple poking into the wall. I walked from room to room, pushing open doors and turning on lights, the whole time bracing myself for a punch or a bullet or God knew what else might be waiting for me. Every room, empty. Not just empty, but the kind of empty that looked like it had never been anything but. Like Ruby had never existed at all.
“Ruby?” I called one last time, though I knew it was fruitless. There was literally nowhere that she could be hiding. And why would she be, anyway?
I left the lights on and the doors open and jogged down the stairs to Blue’s apartment. I only knocked once this time. When it wasn’t answered, I tried her door. It, too, pushed open easily. Her apartment was bare. Not even a single dragon tear left behind. I realized only distantly that her floor wasn’t actually red, but that ragemonster red that had begun to creep through me like a sea of angry ants, trying to drive back the black and gray. My fists clenched and unclenched. My jaw tightened.
They were gone.
I had talked to them, and now they were gone.
Just as Luna had made Peyton disappear and Dru disappear. Problems had a way of disappearing around the Hollises. Even problems that had heartbeats.
I burst back out into the hallway and raced through it, throwing open the doors to all the apartments. Each and every one was the same. Deserted, hollow, echoey. An abandoned building, just like the one where Peyton had been beaten.
I finally stopped in the foyer. Sweat ran down the back of my neck. My entire body felt rigid, tense. I was taking in long, steady breaths through flared nostrils. I was supposed to be scared. But I was tired of being scared.
“I’m not scared!” I yelled to the ceiling. “Do you hear me, Luna? I know you want to scare me, but I’m not scared!”
But the gray that tinged the very tops of the walls told me otherwise. I might have been the tiniest bit scared—I was just covering it up with other, bolder colors. I’d done this before, so many times in my life, especially after Mom died. I lied to myself. I shielded my colors with other, more distracting ones. And I told myself those distracting colors were the truth.
Because being afraid and being alone in that fear would tear you up inside if you let it.
I shoved my way angrily through the front door, turning around to stare at the building, as if it had answers written across the front. The group of teens was still hanging out at the corner, so I made a beeline for them.
“You guys know who lives in there?” I called while I was still several steps away. They looked startled, cupping the weed in their hands protectively, the smoke drifting up between their fingers. Nobody answered. “You know Ruby and Blue?” One of them shook his head, so quickly it almost looked like a shiver. “I don’t suppose you know what happened to them, then, huh?” Again, they all looked at me with slack mouths and slumped shoulders. “Of course not,” I said. “Why would you?”
I turned and walked to my car.
The back tire was flat. Of course.
Damn kids.
31
WHEN I WOKE up the next morning, my mind was bursting with had-to’s. I had to find that white van. I had to find Rigo Basile. I had to talk to Brandi Carter. I had to go to Oildale. I had to find out how close they were to arresting me. How much time was left.
I quickly showered and dressed, guzzled two cups of coffee, speed-smoked a cigarette in my window, then went downstairs and pulled up Dad’s computer. I wrote down the address for Lighthouse Dimensions Chapel and crammed it into my pocket. I also printed out a photo of Brandi Carter, and then cleared my search history. Dad didn’t need to know what I would be doing today. He wouldn’t like it. He would get in the way.
My stomach was growling, but there was nothin
g in the house. I would have to stop and grab something on the way to Bakersfield.
I poked my head into Dad’s bedroom. He was stretched out on his bed, head and shoulders propped up on the headboard, his glasses halfway down his nose as he read a book. “Hey, I’m leaving.”
He popped up, surprised, and checked his watch. “It’s early. For you.”
“I’m going to the beach,” I said. “Morning sun is the good sun.”
“Got it.” He went back to the book. “God forbid I should stand in the way of a good tan. Have fun.”
Fun. Did I even know what that was anymore? I wasn’t going to have fun. But with any luck, I would finally have answers.
“Will do.”
I was ready to go. Except for one thing.
One more had-to. I had to let Detective Martinez in on my plans to find Brandi Carter. Even if I didn’t exactly want to.
I turned on my phone and sent him a text.
You got a few hours? I need you.
Only a few seconds later, he replied.
Not really. Urgent?
Isn’t it always? I texted. And then, NVM I’ll do it myself. If you don’t hear back from me by tonight, go to Bakersfield.
I knew that would get him moving.
I’ll clear my day.
Yep, I was right.
Be here in an hour.
I HOPED AN hour would be long enough to do what I needed to do. I pointed my car toward the city, my palms sweating around the steering wheel. Butterflies gnawed at my stomach lining and I tried my hardest not to think about where I was going. There was bold, and there was stupid. Sometimes I wasn’t sure which one I was. I would never ask Detective Martinez which one I was. I doubted I would like his answer.
I had never been inside the big brick-and-glass district attorney building before, but somehow I knew where it was anyway. I was probably courting all kinds of personal headaches just by thinking about going inside, but when did that ever stop me, right?
I sat in my car until the heat drove me out, my shirt sticking to my back. I wiped my palms on my jeans a few times, coaching myself through the conversation I was about to have, and then got moving.