One In A Million (The Millionth Trilogy Book 1) Page 24

  No. Don’t blame him. You’re the little bitch who had to go outside and puke, not the rookie.

  Napoleon sighed heavily. “You got anything on a Victoria Duncan or a Victoria Brasco over there? Or anything on Monterey?”

  Shaking his head, Parker looked up. “Nothing over here but searches on UTI infections, the Louisiana Purchase, training bras and different cheat codes for Halo.”

  “Then this is it. He’s gone north, most likely to Monterey. Maybe he’s been banging this broad too. Maybe not.”

  Parker walked over to him and peered at the screen. “Who the hell is she?”

  Napoleon scratched his ear and began taking notes. “You’ll never believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  “His high school sweetheart.”

  Parker laughed. “Are you shitting me?”

  “Told you you’d never believe it.”

  The rest of the lights in the library were still off, and as a result they were enveloped in a cloud of computer screen glare that cast their faces in a blue tint. Kendall was whistling softly somewhere out in the lobby, and Napoleon noticed that Parker’s face was slightly twisted in confusion. Napoleon laughed in spite of himself. “You poor bastard.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. Your… first… damned… case.”

  Parker chuckled, the glare exaggerating the weariness around his eyes. “No shit. So, why the high school skirt?”

  “Like everything else in this, who knows?”

  “Maybe he’s a serial killer. He offs the latest love, and now he’s decided to off one of the first loves?”

  “Shit, Parker. That’s a bit grim, even for me.”

  “What can I say? You’re starting to wear off on me.”

  “Ya think?”

  “So?”

  Rubbing at this three-day beard, Napoleon shook his head. “Nope. I’m done guessing on this one. I only know one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re going to Monterey.”

  CHAPTER 26

  When Victoria came into the Starbucks at a quarter to ten she was like a walking time machine, taking Kyle back to simpler days, rooted in nostalgia.

  She was more casual today, wearing a white plantation blouse over blue capri pants with white canvas shoes, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing small blue-and-white earrings that swung back and forth as she walked.

  Kyle saw her in the here and now, yes, but he could’ve almost sworn that he’d seen her dressed just like this once before in high school, perhaps in her locker bay the day he had starting shutting her out, or maybe before that, on one of their earliest dates. He couldn’t quite place it, but right now she wasn’t any “new” Victoria, she was more like his Victoria—and for that reason, because of the memories she brought through the door with her, it hurt more to see her this time. A lot more.

  Longing welling up in his heart, he diverted his attention to the barista Victoria was here to see. His name was Sebastian. Kyle had made sure to get his name earlier, while placing his own order. Sebastian was a little over six feet, still with his piercings and styled hair, but this time Kyle noticed black eyeliner around his eyes and scruff on his face.

  And Sebastian had noticed Kyle as well.

  He seemed to project a negative vibe as soon as Kyle had arrived at the pickup counter. The friendly Sebastian from yesterday, who was chatty with all the customers, and especially with Victoria, had been giving Kyle sideways glances all morning.

  Occasionally their eyes met, and Kyle waited for the transformation he expected, for Sebastian’s face to melt away into some monstrosity looking back at him, for his perfect white teeth to turn into fangs.

  Instead, Sebastian just smirked at Kyle and looked away as if dismissing him.

  But now, with Victoria’s arrival, another version of Sebastian appeared—that of the hunter. He saw her come in but coyly looked away, not waving at her eagerly this time, but making as if he was steaming some coffee cups clean.

  As Victoria made her way through the line and ordered, Sebastian glanced repeatedly at her out of the corner of his eye, and then Kyle watched with fascination as Sebastian sped up the orders ahead of hers. Being a guy, Kyle knew exactly what Sebastian was doing: setting things up for a proper window of conversation. Opportunity didn’t just happen—it was made.

  Victoria, meanwhile, was nervously making her way down the length of the counter after paying the cashier, glancing coyly in Sebastian’s direction, but then upon not catching his eye, looking quickly away again.

  It was an awkward dance, but finally Sebastian saw her, and she saw him, and Kyle saw the specter of sin settle in between them. It was all he could do not to just stand up and scream at them to stop, but something told him this wasn’t the time to make his intervention.

  “Hey, you,” Sebastian said softly, smiling and bobbing his chin up in Victoria’s direction.

  “Hey,” Victoria said, smiling back and playfully tilting her head. Moving a few strands of hair from her face and pushing them behind her ear she asked, “How you doing?”

  “I’m good. Better now that you’re here.”

  “Ah.” Victoria giggled. “Real smooth.”

  Sebastian nodded towards a second barista, a tall thin Asian kid with his cap on backwards and who up until now had been on pastry. On cue, the new barista took over drinks as Sebastian sidled off to the end of the counter.

  Kyle was sitting in a leather chair opposite where he’d sat yesterday, but he was easily within earshot of the counter. Still, he had to strain to hear when Victoria and Sebastian lowered their voices.

  “We still on for tonight?” Sebastian asked.

  “For dinner?” Victoria said, both firmly and flirtatiously limiting his expectations.

  Sebastian raised his eyebrows, and the smile turned into a grin. “Yes. Dinner.”

  Victoria folded her arms, but loosely. “Then, yes. I’d love to.”

  To Kyle it was obvious that they both knew where this was heading, even now, and that the dinner plans were just a formality, to either add a little challenge to Sebastian’s usual kill strategy or some dignity to what Victoria had decided to do.

  They made their plans as Kyle took mental notes. She didn’t want him to pick her up at the wine shop. She’d meet him at the restaurant at six, a place called Bella Cuore. Then they exchanged an awkward, almost nervous goodbye.

  Kyle held his breath the entire time, as if he were watching a pending car crash from a far off distance, and he felt himself finally exhale deeply when Victoria turned to walk away.

  Except this time, as she did, she looked right at Kyle.

  Sitting in his chair with one leg over the other in a nonchalant pose and his head partially down, he pretended to look at yesterday’s sports page, which he’d found in the bin just inside the door, realizing the move was so cliché.

  Kyle had looked a little too long, and been flat-out spotted. Clear as day.

  AS SOON AS the words came out of her mouth, Tamara knew her friend wouldn’t buy any of it. She sounded too nervous, and her… dream from last night was still hanging on her like bundled rope, tripping her up with every mental step she tried to take.

  “So. You want me to watch the kids while you… get away… for the night?” Trudy asked, standing with her cup of coffee cradled in one hand, steam rising from the brown mug as she looked at Tamara intensely.

  “I need a break. This is all too much,” Tamara replied as she stood across from her friend in the kitchen.

  “A break…” Trudy let the words trail off, incomplete.

  “Yes.”

  Tamara looked up to see Trudy still looking at her. Trudy had showered, and her hair was up in a towel. She adjusted the knot with her free hand and squinted at Tamara. “Bullshit.”

  “What?”

  “What’s going on? This is exactly what you said yesterday, to go off for lunch. Is it this Ben guy, again?�
�� Trudy asked. “Is that really how you’re going to handle all this?”

  “What? God, no! It’s not that at all.”

  “I hope not Tam-Tam. I mean, it’s a little too soon for the revenge lay, don’t ya think?”

  “Oh my God!” Tamara put her hands on her hips. “How could you say that to me?”

  Trudy shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  Tamara felt her jaw drop and her face flush with anger. She expected that this conversation could go a number of ways, but never this way. She was about to unleash a string of expletives when Trudy said, “How does it feel?”

  Tamara was dumbfounded. “What?”

  “How does it feel to have your best friend lie to your face?”

  A silence crept in between them and sat down like a stray cat.

  Trudy went to refill her coffee cup, turning her back on Tamara in the process. The ball was obviously in Tamara’s court now. She swallowed hard, and again pushed thoughts of the dream from her mind. It didn’t work. Her mind argued back.

  If it was a dream, then why were there scratches on your breasts this morning?

  Tamara felt a pressing impatience welling up inside her. Implicating Trudy with the police was the last thing she wanted; but the lie wasn’t working. It was past ten and she had to get on the road, and get to Kyle, before it was too late. At the heart of her impatience was a pending sense of doom that something bad was going to happen.

  “Trudy… I’ve gotta go. Please let me. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you why.”

  “Bullshit. Again. You can tell me why. You just don’t want to.”

  Tamara took a few steps forwards. “Please. It’s for your own good.”

  Trudy spun around and folded her arms across her chest. “Please!” she said sarcastically, with an edge of hurt to her voice.

  She was forcing Tamara’s hand, and it was obvious she wasn’t going to let it go.

  “Trudy. Fine. I just don’t want you to get in trouble and…” Tamara paused and caught her breath as her emotions began to get the best of her. The fear of this situation was being fueled by the still-burning embers of her fear from last night. She felt her lip tremble and her eyes swell with tears.

  “Hey.” Trudy stepped forwards and hugged her. “Tam. What’s going on? Please tell me.”

  So Tamara did. She told Trudy about Kyle’s letter, the yearbook, the internet search she’d done and where she thought Kyle was headed. She didn’t bring up the thing that had visited her bed the night before though, fearing that it might shred any credibility that her story could have.

  “Jesus, Tamara.” Trudy sighed. “And you didn’t call the police with any of this?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  Tamara hesitated before blurting out, “Because I want a head start.”

  Now it was Trudy’s turn to look shocked and dumbfounded. “Oh, Tamara. You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.”

  “After what he’s done? Seriously? Let the police handle it.”

  Tamara broke their hug and stepped back. “What did you say?”

  A look of shame flashed across Trudy’s face. “Never mind.”

  “No. No I won’t just ‘never mind’! You said ‘after what he’s done’… You think he’s guilty, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Are we still talking about lies and truth here? You want to rephrase that?”

  Tears welled in Trudy’s eyes now. “Fine. I said it. But I didn’t mean it… Look, I didn’t…”

  Tamara covered her mouth, waiting for Trudy to finish.

  “Tamara. It doesn’t look good. That’s all I’m saying.”

  A sense of rage came to visit Tamara’s impatience. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Yes, but what? Yes, but he’s my husband? Yes, but we said our vows? Better or worse, Trudy? Isn’t that what we said?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were standing right next to me. You heard the words, right?”

  “I did, yes, but—”

  “No. No ‘buts,’ Trudy. He’s had an affair. I get that. It sucks and it hurts. I don’t know how I’ll ever get over that. But I don’t believe that he’s murdered anyone and I cannot and will not abandon him, do you understand?”

  Tamara was shaking now, almost uncontrollably.

  Trudy rushed forwards and hugged her again, this time with such force that the rage in Tamara was pushed out. They held one another and cried together in the quiet stillness of the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” Trudy finally said. “Of course you won’t abandon him. I know that. It’s what makes you such a good person, and such a good friend. I’m sorry, Tam.”

  Tamara reached up and took the end of the towel in her friend’s hair and used it to wipe at her tears. “I can’t lose my best friend now, too. Right? Please, Trudy.”

  Trudy took Tamara by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Never.”

  “You understand then?”

  “Yes, at least as much as I need to, and that’s all that matters. Go ahead and go.”

  “The police…”

  “I know nothing. No deposition would ever change that.”

  “I’m going to call them. I promise. I just want a—”

  Trudy nodded. “A head start. I get it. Now go already. Just say goodbye to the kids first.”

  An hour later, Tamara exited the house and walked into the still morning air. She’d explained to the kids that she had to go and run an errand that would likely take all day. Seth and Janie had promptly burst into tears at the idea of her leaving. The only way she’d gotten them to calm down was to tell them that she was going to help Daddy.

  Thank you, God.

  Knowing that her children would be safe with Trudy was the final thing she needed to make the next step, even if she had no idea where it would lead.

  Once in the car, she set the GPS for the address of a woman who once held her husband’s heart. It was going to take just over five hours to get there. She didn’t know what she was going to do when she got there, but she decided to figure it out when she arrived.

  Pulling out of the driveway, she noticed the news vans; they were fewer in number now. The worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life was no longer as big a story. She made her way past them and through the side streets that took her to the freeway. She decided one more thing too: that she would call the police, namely the Hispanic detective, at some point along the journey. She fumbled around in her purse and was relieved to find that she still had his card.

  Napoleon Villa.

  What an odd name. He’d seemed fair the night he and his partner had come looking for Kyle, but all business too. In another life maybe he could’ve visited her home without offending her, and she in turn could’ve made fun of his name and asked him why, in a million years, his mother had named him after a French general.

  But in this life he was the man after her husband and there had been a bit of deadness in his eyes that had scared her. He would hurt Kyle if he had to. There was no doubt at all in her mind about that.

  She merged into the traffic on the 210 freeway and headed to the 2, which would get her to the 5. Then, she felt a chill run up her spine. She reassured herself that Kyle would be fine as long as she got there first, and, after all, she would have a good head start on them before she called the police.

  She had no way of knowing the detective with the French general’s name had just left the library in Beaury, CA, which meant he was already closer to her husband than she was by a good two hours.

  CHAPTER 27

  His grandmother’s hands were both soft and worn, so that when you looked at them as she folded them in her lap, they showed her age, but when she opened them and held them out to you, to welcome you into her home or to nurse a cut, they showed her love. For Napoleon, they had always been open.

  Until the day he let the pigeons loose.<
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  He was ten years old, in his new black Vans with white trim, skittering about on the rooftop of the small three-unit apartment building that his grandmother owned and that was behind her house. She used the rooftop to grow her herbs and medicines, including marijuana, and to house her small flock of pigeons, which some of her customers from South America demanded as sacrifices in some of their healing rituals.

  Having grown up in Jalisco, Mexico, on a farm, she was not at all shy about killing animals when it needed to be done. Since the bird had to be killed in the presence of the person in need of healing, and since it was a measure of last resort in most cases, his grandmother typically would go to the person’s home to do it. As such, Napoleon rarely saw the practice.

  But one late Saturday afternoon a family that was leaving town had come by the house and begged for her help; the mother had contracted a painful skin disease. His grandmother tried to urge a simple approach of some ginger mixed with aloe, but the family would have none of it. The sick woman was convinced she had skin cancer, and with wild eyes she pleaded for more urgent action.

  Napoleon knew his grandmother well; she did not suffer fools gladly. But two of the three units had been vacant that month, one family having moved to Montebello and the other to North Hollywood. The fridge was sparsely stocked, she needed the money and the family was willing to pay well for the ritual, so she obliged their request.

  She asked them to follow her to the backyard and up to the rooftop and told Napoleon to stay in the house and watch cartoons.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. In Napoleon’s mind he had to, simply had to, see this mystical ritual that was whispered about in the neighborhood and made some call his grandmother bruja, witch, even though she was the most religious person that Napoleon had ever known.

  His grandmother held front row at church every Sunday, rain or shine, in sickness and health, until death did its part. “Now that your grandfather is gone,” she told Napoleon one day, “Jesus is my husband.” And so it was.

  The truth was that she considered the rituals and more superstitious elements of the Hispanic community a bit too much to take at times, including Día de Muertos; but her main interests were healing and helping people, and so in most cases she deferred to their beliefs, if that was what it took.