Dead Girls Don't Lie (12 page)

The cross has the answer
.

That’s what Rachel had written on the back of the loyalty pledge. I pull the cross out again and look at it closer. It looks like it was broken once and glued back together. I slip my fingernail in the side again, and again I pull back just when the two halves start to separate. It feels like a sin to desecrate a cross, especially Rachel’s cross.

The cross has the answer
. I thought it was a religious thing,
but maybe she meant it literally. I pick up the cross again. This time, breathing a prayer that God and Rachel will forgive me, I slide my nail between the pieces and try to pry it apart. I almost break my nail and it still won’t separate. I slide out of bed and get a nail file out of my dresser drawer, slip it in the crack, and pry hard. The cross breaks down the middle. The file slips; one side flies across the room and lands under my bed, the other falls at my feet. Something drops out and bounces under my dresser.

I drop to my knees and reach under the dresser. I pull out half of the cross and then my fingers brush against something tiny and square. I pick it up, still kneeling on the floor, and hold it up to the light. It looks like a computer chip, but for what, I’m not sure. It’s only about the size of my fingernail, probably too small to fit into the card slot in Dad’s computer.

It’s tiny, but whatever it is, it’s important. Important enough that those two guys were looking for it. Important enough that Evan came to my house to see if I had it.

I need to find out what’s on it.

Chapter 13

Day two of ankle-induced incarceration and I’m making myself crazy trying to figure out how to read what’s on the chip. I wish for dumb, easy things that other kids have—my cell phone back or clear access to a computer. The only one we have is in Dad’s office, and I have to ask permission to use it. Only he has the password.

I’ve already compared it against the slot on Dad’s computer. I was right. It’s way too small to fit in the card reader. I have no clue how to get into Dad’s computer anyway. I’m contemplating a long hobble to the library when the phone rings.

“Hey, you up?” Skyler’s voice makes me blush and smile at the same time.

“Yeah,” I answer back stupidly.

“What’s going on? I’ve been trying to text you for days, but you haven’t answered.” His voice is a mix of irritation, insecurity, and maybe even worry.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you. That cop took my phone,” I say.

“Cop?” Skyler’s voice goes up a notch.

“The FBI agent, the one from Spokane. He needed to get Rachel’s number, and he took my phone as evidence.”

“Oh …” He’s quiet for a long time. Finally he says, “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So … I was thinking … I could come over, or we could go to lunch or something? If you want to.” He sounds so unsure of himself, so opposite from Evan. There’s something adorable about it. “I thought maybe you’d want to get out of the house.”

I do want to get out of the house, and I do want to see Skyler. Maybe I can get him to drop me off at the library. There might be a slot in the computers there that’s small enough to fit the chip, or at least I could look up things on the Internet. “Sure. I mean, you had me at ‘get out of the house.’” I bite down on my lip, wondering if that sounds desperate.

“Cool. I’ll be over around eleven.”

That gives me about forty minutes. I take the chip back to my room and put it in my purse. I hobble in and out of the shower quickly, put on a T-shirt that Skyler said he liked once at lunch. Then I start on my hair and makeup. Before I’m finished, his truck pulls into my driveway.

Unlike his brother, Skyler waits for me to limp over to answer the door. Then when I do, he stays outside. “Hey,” he says, digging his hands into his pockets. “I was thinking Norma’s.”

“Sure. That sounds great.” I grab my purse, close the door
behind me, and start across the porch, awkward on the too-tall crutches Dad borrowed from someone at church.

He watches me struggle for a minute. Then he kind of laughs. “I only have about a half hour for lunch. Dad flips out if I’m late.”

“Sorry.” I blush. “This isn’t as easy as you might think.”

“Hold on.” He takes the crutches from me and carries them toward his truck.

“Stealing my crutches isn’t going to make me go faster,” I call after him.

He puts the crutches in the back of his truck. “Guess I’ll have to carry you then.” He comes back to the porch and scoops me up. I start to protest, but he shakes his head. “What? Do you think I’m a wimp?”

I bite my lip. “I’m not saying that … just that …”

“That you don’t trust me?” He hoists me almost over his head so I have to wrap my arms around his neck to keep from falling. He grins.

“I’m not sure.” I know we’re just teasing each other, but the words from Rachel’s note come back to me.
Don’t trust anyone but E
.

I shake off that thought as Skyler pulls me close against his chest. “How about now?”

My heart pounds against his chest, our eyes lock, and he leans in to kiss me. I close my eyes. This time the kiss is soft and slow, but long enough to take my breath away. I pull away, but he doesn’t put me down. I glance around, wondering if anyone might have seen us kissing.

“Is something wrong?” He looks around too. “I didn’t think your dad was home.”

I wiggle out of his arms. “He isn’t. But he has spies everywhere.”

He puts me down, like he’s afraid. “Maybe we shouldn’t go into town, then.” I was kidding about Dad having spies, but Skyler seems to be taking it seriously.

“Actually, I was hoping you could drop me off at the library.” I want to sound casual, but I’m thinking of the consequences of getting caught alone with Skyler at my house. This is new territory for me and Dad and I’m not sure what to expect. Maybe I should have read the books he left me.

“The library? Why? Do you need something to read?”

For a horrible second I wonder if Evan told him about the books Dad left for me. “No,” I say quickly. “I need a computer.”

He gives me a funny look. “You guys don’t have a computer?”

My heart sinks. This is where I admit how weird my family is. “We only have one computer, in Dad’s office. And I don’t have the password.”

“Seriously? Wow, your dad is strict.”

“Or just weird.”

“I bet I can get you into it. I got into the school’s computer once.”

“Seriously?” Now it’s my turn to be shocked. “What did you do?”

“Nothing too bad, just excused some absences my dad didn’t know about.” I’m not sure if he’s telling the truth or trying to
impress me. “If you make me a sandwich, I’ll hack into your dad’s computer.”

“I don’t know.” I hesitate, wondering if Dad is coming home for lunch. “How long will it take?”

“I bet I can do it in less than five minutes.”

“I don’t think—”

“Trust me.” He opens the front door before I can stop him.

I follow him inside, trying to keep up without my crutches, guilt and fear churning in my stomach, but I need to figure out how to read the chip. Besides, it would be nice to use the computer any time I wanted to. I could find out more about Rachel’s murder and the other murder and the gang signs. That’s not exactly something I can ask Dad to use his computer for.

I stop in the kitchen and set down my purse. I’m still not sure I dare let him into Dad’s office. “What kind of sandwich, PB and J, grilled cheese, or turkey?”

“How about one of those famous PB and Js?”

“Sure.” I shared my lunch at school with Skyler a couple of times because he said he’d forgotten his.

He looks around the empty house. “So where is your dad?”

“At his office in town, I guess.” I reach for the jam on the counter. Suddenly Skyler is behind me with his hands on my waist. With him so close, I’m painfully aware of the stack of dishes that are left in the sink and the countertop that still has crumbs from last night’s dinner. I slip out of his grasp and move toward the cupboard where the peanut butter is. “We should probably hurry.”

Skyler looks around, avoiding my eyes like he’s embarrassed. “Right. What can I do to help?”

“The peanut butter is on the top shelf.” I gesture above my head. Skyler leans toward me as he reaches up but purposely doesn’t touch me. He smells like hay and sweat, barely covered by the same cologne. I wonder if he put it on as he drove here. The idea that Skyler might be worried about how he smells around me makes my stomach clench, but in a good way. He gets the peanut butter, retrieves a knife from the drawer, and starts spreading it on the bread I’ve laid out.

“Yuck,” I stare at his hands, streaked with what looks like grease. “You need to wash your hands if you’re going to make something I have to eat.”

He looks at his hands sheepishly. “Sorry.” He walks over to the sink and slides the sleeves of his shirt up. As he reaches for the soap, I notice the scar I saw on his wrist goes all the way up his forearm in a long, jagged path. He catches me staring and pushes his sleeves back down fast.

My mind races; the scar looks like someone cut him. “What happened?” I try to keep my voice even, like it’s no big deal.

“Nothing.” He pulls away and dries his hands on a towel hanging on the stove. “I shattered my wrist playing football. I had to have surgery to put the bones back together.” His face clouds with a look I’ve never seen on him before. Anger? Pain?

It looks too jagged to me to be a surgery scar, but then again, I don’t know what a surgery scar is supposed to look like. “Is that why you were gone so long last year?” I had
forgotten about it until now, but Skyler missed almost the entire first term last year.

“Yeah,” he says, but he won’t look at me.

“You must have really screwed it up. You were gone for a long time.”

“I dove for the ball and someone else dove on top of me. My wrist was twisted around nearly backward.”

I cringe. “Ouch.”

He reaches for the knife again. “Thus ended the illustrious reign of the Cross boys over Lake Ridge High sports.” The peanut butter tears through the bread as he spreads it harder than he needs to.

I reach for a bowl. “I usually mix the peanut butter and jam together, so it’s easier to spread.” I get a spoon out of the drawer and scoop a glob of peanut butter into it. “So you couldn’t play after that?”

He throws the shredded pieces of bread into the garbage. “I probably could have this year. But I don’t really want to.” He leans against the counter and watches me stir the jam and peanut butter together. “That looks kind of gross.”

“But this is my secret recipe for making them taste so good.” I spread the mixture on two new pieces of bread. “Why didn’t you want to play football anymore?”

“Football was Dad’s thing, and then Eric’s thing, and then Evan’s. I was never as good at it as they were. I’m not the hulking mound of muscle that they are.” His face goes dark again. It’s obviously a sore subject.

I top off the sandwiches and then cut them in half, trying
to think of some way to make him more comfortable. It was easier when we talked at lunch, but I guess we weren’t technically alone. “So what is your thing?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.” He says it seriously, like I would honestly laugh at him.

“I won’t laugh.”

“Photography.” He pauses like he just delivered the punch line and I’m supposed think it’s funny.

I slide the sandwiches on a plate. “Photography?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a real geek, huh?” He takes the plate from me.

“I don’t think so. Actually, I think that sounds really cool.”

“Thanks.” He looks relieved. “I’ll have to take your picture sometime.” He takes a bite out of his sandwich.

“No. No way.”

“Why not?”

“I hate having my picture taken. I always come out looking too pale and with a dumb look on my face.” I take a bite of my sandwich and chew.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do. Every. Single. Time.” I point to a picture of me on the wall. “Case in point.”

“That’s just because you’re trying too hard to pose, and the photographer didn’t know what he was doing.”

“And you think you could do better?”

“I know I could.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He opens it and takes out a picture. When he sets it on the counter I gasp. It’s a picture of me.

My stomach does flip-flops. I’m not sure what to think. Not only does he have a picture of me that I didn’t know he took, but he keeps it in his wallet. “When did you take this?”

He suddenly looks embarrassed, like he shouldn’t have shown me the picture. “On the last day of school, when you were walking home.” He rubs his hand across his scar nervously. “Do you like it?”

I look closer at the picture. It’s black and white; the wind is blowing my hair over my shoulder, the light is just right. I don’t look too pale or stiff. Actually it’s the best picture I’ve ever seen of myself. “Is it vain if I say I do?”

His face breaks into a relieved grin. “No. It’s honest.”

“You’re really good. I mean, really. This is the first picture I’ve seen of myself that I’ve liked since before middle school.”

“Thanks.” His whole face is lit up, both dimples creasing his cheeks. He takes the picture from me. “We’ll have to do portraits for real, sometime soon.”

I make a face but don’t comment.

He puts the picture back in his wallet and looks at his watch. “We need to hurry if we’re going to get into your dad’s computer. Where is it?”

“In Dad’s office, but I’m not sure …”

He waits. “If you don’t want to …”

“No, let’s do it.”

I pick up my purse, and Skyler follows me into Dad’s office. He sits down at Dad’s desk, and I discreetly push away a stack of books with titles similar to the ones Evan saw, except these all begin with
A Christian Parent’s Guide to …

If Skyler notices, he doesn’t comment. He brings up Dad’s log-in screen. “Okay, what might your dad have for a password?” I shake my head, clueless. “Hmm, we’ll start with the obvious, how about your name?” He types it in. “Nope. When is your birthday?”

“April 24.”