“I have to have something to trade. Something solid that will lead the police to the sources Cormac and Renee used to set up their jobs.”
“But you already said that you don’t have that stuff.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t. Not really.”
“So what will you do?”
I thought about Marcus. “I don’t know.” I sat at the other end of the couch. “I made a list of things I remember—phrases, names, anything that might be a clue. But it’s not much.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said, anxious to change the subject. The furrow on the bridge of Selena’s nose told me she was thinking about my problem, and that was the last thing I wanted. “What’s going on here? How is everyone?”
She sighed. “Let’s see . . . Olivia’s secretly seeing her private volleyball coach, and—”
“Wait!” I stopped her. “Seriously? How old is he?”
“Only twenty-two, but it’s still a big deal.”
“No one knows?” I asked.
“Well, we know,” Selena said. “But her parents definitely don’t.”
My heart stuttered a little. I could see them now, everyone included in that we: Olivia, Harper, Rachel, Liam, Raj, and David. And of course, Selena and Logan. Still, I was happy Selena had remained part of the group after I left. When I’d first come to Playa Hermosa, she’d been a bit of a loner, and while she had seemed content, I knew that you could never have too many friends in this world, something that seemed even more true when you didn’t have any.
“What about the others?” I was hungry for information about them. I wanted to picture Olivia’s contagious smile, the expression on Harper’s face when she thought hard about something, Raj’s mischievous grin.
“Harper’s still . . . well, she’s Harper,” Selena said. “You know how she is. She tries to play along with everything, but I think she’s really sad inside. I haven’t really figured out why. Raj’s parents are making him go back to India for the summer, and Liam is going to some surf camp in Puerto Rico.”
“Are they all ready for college?” I asked. It was hard to imagine it: everyone going out into the world, making new friends, changing and evolving into the adults they would all become.
“Yep. Olivia got into Brown. Harper’s going to USC.”
“What about you? Looking at schools yet for next year?”
She nodded. “I’m thinking Berkeley. But I’m volunteering in Nicaragua this summer, so who knows? I guess anything can happen.”
“Wow . . . that’s awesome,” I said. “You’re finally going to travel like you always wanted.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty excited.”
“What about David?” I asked. “Are you still . . .”
She nodded, and a secretive smile appeared on her lips. “We are.”
“How’s that?”
She hesitated. “Pretty amazing.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I said. “Really.”
“Thanks.”
I hesitated. “How about Rachel?”
She seemed to think about it. “Not very different from when you left. Just a little more self-righteous.”
“She has a right to be.” I was surprised that I wasn’t mad. Rachel’s snooping wasn’t what had done us in. We’d done that all by ourselves. She had just been looking out for Logan. I could never be angry at her for that. “She knew what I was before anyone.”
Silence settled over the room as we avoided discussing the one person we were both thinking about.
“Will Logan be okay?” I finally asked. I wanted to be told that I hadn’t ruined him and his family completely. That there was still hope for them to be like they used to be. I knew that probably wasn’t the answer I would get, but I also knew that I couldn’t hide from what I’d done.
Selena looked down at her hands, picked at the loose skin around her thumbnail. “I’m not sure we should talk about Logan. It will only make you feel worse.”
“I want to know.”
“He’s . . . I don’t know. He does all the same stuff. You know—he surfs with the guys and meets us at Mike’s and comes to parties. But he bows out a lot, too. I think it’s because of his mom. Because he’s worried about her being alone.”
“And?” I prompted, sensing there was more.
She sighed. “He’s just sad. He tries to hide it, but I know it’s true.” My chest felt excavated, cleared out of everything that had made me whole.
“Will his dad be okay?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Logan doesn’t like to talk about it.”
I wanted to ask about Parker, if Selena had heard anything about him. If she knew he was okay. But it didn’t seem right to show my concern for Parker on the heels of talking about Logan. Was I allowed to care about them both?
She sat up straighter, the brightness in her eyes seeming a little forced. “Have you heard about the peacocks?”
“No, but I saw one the other day. Out on the street in front of your house.”
She nodded. “There’s going to be a vote on what to do about them. People are really fed up with the noise and stuff.”
“What’s going to happen to them?” I thought about their eyes, those brown eyes that seemed to hold so much knowledge, to know exactly how I felt. Both of us outsiders.
“It depends,” she said. “They’ll either get to stay, or they’ll be moved to some kind of animal sanctuary up north. Everyone’s really worked up about it. I went to a meeting with my dad and thought a brawl was going to break out. Who would have thought a bunch of birds would cause the devolution of movie executives and tech millionaires.”
“Crazy,” I agreed softly.
Selena stood. “I better get inside,” she said. “My dad will be home soon.”
“Thanks for coming out to check on me. It was . . .” I hesitated, not wanting to make it weird. “It was nice talking to you.”
She headed for the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”
There was so much I wanted to say, but nothing came. I was paralyzed by my own guilt, by the feeling that I didn’t have a right to say anything. That I’d given up the right to even exist in the same space as Selena and the others, to breathe the same air.
So I didn’t say anything. I just watched her go and wondered how many more times I’d have to say good-bye.
Eighteen
The next afternoon I walked cautiously to the Town Center and took the bus to Redondo Beach. I wasn’t crazy about being so visible, but I couldn’t stay locked up in the pool house if I wanted to help Parker. Besides, the odds of Detective Fletcher being at the Town Center on two consecutive days were slim, and I was craving the ocean. Like an addict who’d taken one hit, I was jonesing for my old life in Playa Hermosa, trying to connect with it in the only ways I could.
I’d known the moment I opened my eyes what I had to do, and I got off the bus and headed for the cluster of shops in an area called the Riviera Village. I was still being paranoid, and I made a mental note to ask Marcus about the cell phone and whether a pay-as-you-go could be traced. The thought caused me to relax, not because I trusted Marcus, but because I’d finally have someone to commiserate with, someone to ask all the little things I didn’t know about being on the run.
The marine layer was back, a damp blanket overhead that turned everything a muddy shade of gray. I ducked into a secondhand store, where I overpaid for two pairs of capris, three T-shirts, and a sundress. I would have preferred a Goodwill or Salvation Army—that was where the really cheap stuff was—but hell would freeze over before the locals would agree to have a real thrift store in their midst.
I left the store with my purchases and walked west, sitting on one of the benches that overlooked the beach. In front of me, a long retaining wall stood above the water with a steep set of stairs every hundred feet or so that led to the strand. The waves were calm, and I watched a few surfers catch the gentle swells, riding them
a few feet before sinking slowly into the water.
Finally I took out my phone and dialed the number Marcus had given me, before I could change my mind. Someone picked up on the second ring.
“Yeah.” The voice was male and gruff.
“Hello, I’m calling for Marcus.”
“Number?” The guy sounded bored, like I was calling for a taxi or something. Remembering Marcus’s instructions, I recited my cell phone number. The man hung up without saying good-bye.
I looked down at the phone and waited. It rang less than a minute later.
“Hello.”
“How are you on this fine day, my dear?” Marcus asked the question like he cared about the answer, like he wanted to know that I was enjoying the weather.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m calling to say yes. I’ll work with you.”
“Wonderful,” he said. “Let’s meet to discuss the details, shall we?”
“Sure. Where?”
“Where are you? I’ll come to you.”
I tried to think of a way to explain my location without being too obvious, just in case I was wrong about the phone. “A little north of where we were yesterday.”
“Ah,” he said. “I understand. Are you near the road?”
I glanced behind me, like I needed to make sure the street was still there even though I could hear the cars whizzing by at my back. “Yes.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He disconnected the call before I could say anything else.
I watched the seagulls fly circles over the water, turning and dipping, sometimes dropping to pluck something off the surface. I should have been nervous. I’d just agreed to work with Marcus, a man I didn’t know at all. His desire for revenge and my desperation to save Parker were the only things that united us. Not exactly the makings of a solid business partnership.
But I couldn’t muster the energy to care. Being afraid was exhausting, and I’d been afraid more often than not the past few months—probably the past few years, if I was honest. Now a kind of peace settled over me. I needed help, and I’d called the only person who was offering it. If he turned out to be a traitor or a liar, well, how much worse could things get?
About ten minutes after I’d hung up with Marcus, the sound of traffic behind me changed, the whoosh of cars driving by fading against the soft purr of an idling engine.
I turned to see a familiar blue Range Rover next to the curb. A moment later, the passenger-side window retracted with a hum, and Marcus’s face appeared from the across the front seat.
“Get in,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere more private.”
I picked up my stuff and walked slowly to the car. This was it. Moment of truth. For all I knew, Marcus would drive me right to the police station or hack me to bits and dump me in the nearest ditch. Not that it mattered.
I got in the car and shut the door, and Marcus merged into the traffic along PCH.
“I’m glad you called,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have a choice? You are my last resort? Neither seemed like a good way to start our partnership.
“I just want to get Parker out of jail,” I said. “The sooner the better.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“Where are we going?” I asked as he turned toward Playa Hermosa.
He glanced over at me, his blue eyes clear and alert. His crazy hair was hidden under a bucket hat, the kind old men wore fishing in movies, and he had on another obnoxious Hawaiian shirt. “I’m taking you home. My home,” he clarified. “I have a feeling you haven’t had a decent meal in a while, and I’ve found that being hungry affects decision-making capability. Can’t have a hungry partner now, can I?”
“I guess not,” I said weakly. I couldn’t tell if he was just nice or if it was some kind of act, like a creeper trying to get a kid in a van by offering him a lollipop.
We wound our way up the peninsula, passing Camino Jardin. I looked back as we passed the road we’d both lived on in the fall. “I thought you said we were going to your house.”
“We are. My new house. I couldn’t risk staying on Camino Jardin. Not if I hoped to find you and enlist your help. The house Cormac rented while you were here is still vacant, and the police were still doing drive-bys after you left.” He turned onto a street called Colina Verde. “I wanted to be close in case you reappeared, but if you did, I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention, which is why I rented another place on the peninsula.”
I turned in my seat to watch a peacock strutting calmly down the side of the street.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked.
I nodded.
He pulled the Range Rover into a driveway behind a nondescript sedan. “Here we are.” He turned to look at me. “You did a good job with your hair and makeup. We wouldn’t have recognized you if we hadn’t been looking, and I don’t think anyone else will either.”
I didn’t have time to ponder his use of the word we as I got out of the car and followed him to the front door of a bungalow-style house. It was small but cute, with wood siding and large windows. The front yard was boxed in with towering trees and large bushes covered with tiny blue flowers. A winding stone pathway led to a carved wood door that was at least seven feet tall.
Marcus inserted a key into the lock and turned the knob, then held the door open so I could enter the foyer first. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out. His voice held a note of silliness that seemed strangely in character.
The interior was cool and dim, the trees and bushes outside blocking most of the murky daylight. I looked past the two-story foyer, the curved wrought-iron staircase leading to the second floor, wondering who else was in the house.
“Be right there!” a muffled voice called from somewhere beyond the hallway.
Marcus turned to me and winked.
A moment later footsteps sounded from the back of the house. I peered through the shadows at the approaching figure until a man appeared, holding a dish towel. He was younger than Marcus, tall and broad-shouldered, with skin the color of roasted coffee beans. He smiled, flashing teeth so white he could have been in a toothpaste commercial.
He leaned in to kiss Marcus on the cheek. “Did you get the lemons?”
Marcus handed him a bag that I hadn’t noticed before. “You say ‘jump,’ I say ‘how high,’ remember?” He didn’t seem unhappy about the arrangement.
The man favored Marcus with a smile before turning to me. “You must be Grace.” He held out his hand. “I’m Scotty. Come on back to the kitchen. You’re probably starving.”
Nineteen
Scotty bustled around the kitchen, finishing a salad while Marcus took steaks and corn on the cob to the grill on the back deck. I was tongue-tied by the strange situation, although I don’t know what was weirder, the fact that I was in an unfamiliar house witnessing the kind of domestic intimacy I’d only ever seen at the Fairchilds’ or the fact that we were all con artists. Or Marcus and I were, anyway.
“So every day he drove twenty miles over the speed limit on that road,” Scotty was saying, “and three days in a row I gave him a ticket. Finally I said, ‘Either you’re going to ask me to dinner or I’m going to have your license revoked.’ And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“You’re a police officer?” I said, my heart tapping out a frenzied rhythm in my chest. What was I doing here? I didn’t know these people. What had I been thinking?
“Was,” he corrected. “And don’t let that scare you. I know all about Marcus’s previous . . . endeavors. We went clean together.”
“So Marcus isn’t grifting anymore?” I asked.
“That was our deal: I quit the force, Marcus quit the business, and we started over.” Scotty set tongs in the salad and tipped his head at the French doors leading to the deck. “Let’s eat. Those steaks smell done, and if we don’t stop him, Marcus will grill them until they’re like charcoal.”
I followed him outside. Th
e backyard was green and lush. Flower beds curved along each side, a riot of red, purple, white, and orange. Jasmine bloomed close to the ground, releasing its scent across the lawn, and bird-of-paradise, an odd-looking flower with pointed petals that resembled a beak, jutted up from behind peonies and roses. A Buddha statue, serene in the lotus position, was visible behind some of the bushes. Bird feeders swung from the trees at regular intervals. I could picture Marcus filling them as he talked to the parrots.
“Did Scotty tell you?” Marcus said, turning away from the steaks still on the grill. “I traded a life of glamour and excitement to play house with a cop.”
Scotty removed the tongs from Marcus’s hands and pulled the steaks off the grill. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”
We sat around the outdoor table, and Scotty loaded my plate up with a giant steak and two ears of corn. My mouth watered as the steak’s aroma rose from the plate, and I tried to restrain myself from cutting giant bites and shoving them into my mouth faster than I could chew. I was hungrier than I thought.
While we ate, we talked about Playa Hermosa, about the peacock controversy, and about Southern California beaches. I knew they were steering clear of Cormac and Renee, of the Fairchild con, trying to give me time to relax and eat, and for just a little bit I felt normal. Like I could be anyone, just an average girl having dinner with family friends.
Scotty was pouring more wine when Marcus finally spoke. “I’ve been looking into Parker’s situation, and I’m guessing we have about six weeks before he goes to trial.”
The words washed away my contentment as quickly as a rogue wave. Six weeks. That was all the time we had to figure out Cormac’s sources, to come up with something to trade for Parker’s freedom.
I set my fork down on my plate. “That’s not very long.” I looked around the backyard, nervous about talking outside.
Marcus glanced from me to the radio playing softly on the deck. “As long as we don’t talk too loudly, the music will block our conversation outside, and we have a signal jammer in the house that prevents listening devices from picking up anything. But you don’t have to worry here. I’m squeaky clean. Have been for years.”