Read Online Dead Girls Don't Lie by Jennifer Shaw Wolf - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Shaw Wolf
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in front, and the shed have all been tagged with red graffiti—circles full of the same eye shapes painted in red. I don’t know what they mean, but they’re familiar enough to make me shiver.
Rachel had the front bedroom because Araceli worksnights and it was easier for her to sleep in the back of the house. I expected a bullet hole, or maybe two, but the front of the house is peppered with them. Rachel’s bedroom window is shattered. The leftover bits of glass line the frame like jagged, gaping fangs. The window is covered by a quilt, tacked on the inside. I wonder what I would find if I went inside Rachel’s bedroom.
Dad reaches for the door handle and rests his hand there without opening the door. “I’m sorry. I would have never brought you here if I’d known it looked like this.”
I should have told Dad I was still sick. I don’t want to face Rachel’s mom, or go to a house Rachel will never come back to, but my conscience got to me, so I said I would come. After everything, visiting Rachel’s mom felt like the least I could do.
I’m half a breath away from asking him to take me home when the front door opens and a man in a dark suit comes out, followed by Rachel’s mom. For the first time I notice the blue car parked in front, too clean to have spent much time in Lake Ridge. Araceli looks small, alone, and lost. She’s wrapping what looks like a dish towel around and around her hand. Dad opens the door and climbs out. He stands between my door and Araceli’s porch, like he’s trying to be a human shield between me and the awfulness. At the same time I know he’s waiting for me to get out. I force myself to open the door. When I reach him, Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders and we walk toward the house.
We’re almost up the stairs before the man on the porchturns. “It looks like you have visitors, Ms. Sanchez.” His eyes fall on us only for a second, but in that second I can feel him measuring our guilt and innocence, like someone who does that kind of thing on a daily basis.
“Jaycee, Travis.” Araceli says our names with a mixture of shock and relief. “I’m so glad you came.”
Dad steps forward, and since his arm is still around me, so do I. He kind of herds me up the steps to the front porch and toward the door. I keep my eyes on Rachel’s mom, the only thing about this place that feels familiar anymore.
“This is Rachel’s best friend, Jaycee Draper,” Araceli says. The title makes my stomach twist around itself. As soon as I’m within reach she pulls me toward her, the way she did at the funeral. For a second I don’t think she’s going to let me go, but as soon as she does, I want to bury my face into her chest again, anything to avoid the hard black eyes of the man standing next to her.
“Rachel’s best friend.” The man repeats it slowly, like being Rachel’s friend makes me a criminal.
“Since kindergarten,” Dad says, pulling me away from both of them. He reaches his hand to Rachel’s mom. “Araceli, I want to extend my deepest sympathies.” I’ve never heard Dad talk to Rachel’s mom so formally, but when he extends his hand Araceli takes it as if he were keeping her from falling into a bottomless pit.
“If you’re Rachel’s friend, maybe you could answer some questions for me.” If the man speaking has a complete face, I can’t tell. All I can see are his eyes drilling into me.
“We haven’t been friends for a while,” I blurt out. To the left of the dark eyes, the pain lines on Araceli’s face deepen. I feel the weight of my disloyalty, but it feels like an association with Rachel spells guilt to the eyes in front of me. “I mean for a few months. We stopped hanging out about six months ago.”
“Oh? Why?” His stance stays stiff, and his eyes don’t leave mine.
I lick my lips, but I can’t find an answer that would satisfy his accusation.
“Rachel and Jaycee just took different paths,” Dad intervenes. “You know how teenagers
Rachel had the front bedroom because Araceli worksnights and it was easier for her to sleep in the back of the house. I expected a bullet hole, or maybe two, but the front of the house is peppered with them. Rachel’s bedroom window is shattered. The leftover bits of glass line the frame like jagged, gaping fangs. The window is covered by a quilt, tacked on the inside. I wonder what I would find if I went inside Rachel’s bedroom.
Dad reaches for the door handle and rests his hand there without opening the door. “I’m sorry. I would have never brought you here if I’d known it looked like this.”
I should have told Dad I was still sick. I don’t want to face Rachel’s mom, or go to a house Rachel will never come back to, but my conscience got to me, so I said I would come. After everything, visiting Rachel’s mom felt like the least I could do.
I’m half a breath away from asking him to take me home when the front door opens and a man in a dark suit comes out, followed by Rachel’s mom. For the first time I notice the blue car parked in front, too clean to have spent much time in Lake Ridge. Araceli looks small, alone, and lost. She’s wrapping what looks like a dish towel around and around her hand. Dad opens the door and climbs out. He stands between my door and Araceli’s porch, like he’s trying to be a human shield between me and the awfulness. At the same time I know he’s waiting for me to get out. I force myself to open the door. When I reach him, Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders and we walk toward the house.
We’re almost up the stairs before the man on the porchturns. “It looks like you have visitors, Ms. Sanchez.” His eyes fall on us only for a second, but in that second I can feel him measuring our guilt and innocence, like someone who does that kind of thing on a daily basis.
“Jaycee, Travis.” Araceli says our names with a mixture of shock and relief. “I’m so glad you came.”
Dad steps forward, and since his arm is still around me, so do I. He kind of herds me up the steps to the front porch and toward the door. I keep my eyes on Rachel’s mom, the only thing about this place that feels familiar anymore.
“This is Rachel’s best friend, Jaycee Draper,” Araceli says. The title makes my stomach twist around itself. As soon as I’m within reach she pulls me toward her, the way she did at the funeral. For a second I don’t think she’s going to let me go, but as soon as she does, I want to bury my face into her chest again, anything to avoid the hard black eyes of the man standing next to her.
“Rachel’s best friend.” The man repeats it slowly, like being Rachel’s friend makes me a criminal.
“Since kindergarten,” Dad says, pulling me away from both of them. He reaches his hand to Rachel’s mom. “Araceli, I want to extend my deepest sympathies.” I’ve never heard Dad talk to Rachel’s mom so formally, but when he extends his hand Araceli takes it as if he were keeping her from falling into a bottomless pit.
“If you’re Rachel’s friend, maybe you could answer some questions for me.” If the man speaking has a complete face, I can’t tell. All I can see are his eyes drilling into me.
“We haven’t been friends for a while,” I blurt out. To the left of the dark eyes, the pain lines on Araceli’s face deepen. I feel the weight of my disloyalty, but it feels like an association with Rachel spells guilt to the eyes in front of me. “I mean for a few months. We stopped hanging out about six months ago.”
“Oh? Why?” His stance stays stiff, and his eyes don’t leave mine.
I lick my lips, but I can’t find an answer that would satisfy his accusation.
“Rachel and Jaycee just took different paths,” Dad intervenes. “You know how teenagers
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