by Zara Lisbon
I didn’t think Ruby had crow’s-feet, and I told her as much.
“You know what, Justine?” she said. “Thank you.”
She wore palazzo pants striped with blue, pink, and white, and a mustard-yellow front-tie crop top. I’d have loved to be able to pull something like that off, but how could I when even the briefest of lingering gazes turned me into an uncomfortable, shameful, stiffened, insecure, frigid, self-loathing stone? I was deep into my sixteenth year of craving attention and finding that I couldn’t handle even a little bit of it.
There was a quick knock at the door and Dr. Silver strode in. “Hello, hello!” he announced himself, kicking the door shut with the polished toe of his shoe and holding out one big, almost oversized, hand to Ruby. “I’m Dr. Silver, pleased to meet you.” He grinned ear to ear, dimples pushed out to the far sides of his face. I was stunned by how good-looking he was. I’d been expecting some old and ugly creep, a blatant and professional predator. But although he was older, I guessed somewhere in his sixties, he was easily the most handsome man I’d ever seen. And maybe he’d only said nine words to us, but so far there was nothing creepy about him.
“I’m Jordan.” Ruby readopted her British accent and gestured to me. “This is my sister, Rosalind.”
“Hi, Rosalind.” He held my hand in both of his and gripped it gently. His eyes were radiant, sizzling green and bookended by fine, friendly crinkles. They looked directly into mine and idled there for a moment. My heart thumped and I prayed he wouldn’t know who I was.
“How can I help you today?” He sat down on a leather stool and looked from me to Ruby, then back to me again. It occurred to me that he looked more than a little like Dennis Quaid, and I wondered if his cheekbones and jawline were naturally so sculpted, or if he’d had them done. This was the world of plastic surgery, after all, a world where you could cut and sculpt yourself to perfection, and then far past the point of perfection into the surreal, and then into the grotesque.
“Oh, it’s just me,” Ruby explained. “Rosalind’s only here for moral support.”
“Okay then.” He rolled up his starchy white sleeves and I noted the impeccable alignment of his teeth. “What improvements are you looking to make for yourself?”
“Where do I even begin?” she laughed.
“You tell me, gorgeous.” He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and moved to get a closer look at her. “Though I can’t imagine what you’re unhappy with. I mean, look at this bone structure.”
“Oh, thank you.” Ruby pretended to be very flattered by this wooden compliment, or maybe she really was flattered; I hadn’t known her long enough to tell. “But it’s really just my lips. I can’t stand how thin they are.”
“Ah, well.” He tilted his head from side to side, appraising her mouth. “Your lips are perfectly fine, but of course I can help if you’d like to add a little extra volume. No harm in that.”
“See?” Ruby stuck out her chin to me, triumphantly, as if I’d told her otherwise. “A little collagen injection never hurt anyone.” She turned to Dr. Silver. “Rosalind’s been telling me if I get my lips done I’ll look trashy, or like a duck, but I don’t see why that would be the case. I mean, lip injections never looked trashy on Eva-Kate Kelly, so why should they look trashy on me?”
I flinched at her name. I braced myself for his reaction. His jaw clenched. A vein pulsed from his temple.
“She had beautiful lips,” he said, his smile faltering, deflating at the corners.
“I hope I don’t sound disrespectful.” Ruby was batting her eyelashes. “But do you think they were, you know, fake?”
“I don’t like that word.” He forced his smile back into place. “I prefer enhanced. And yes, hers were. Eva-Kate was a client of mine.”
“Oh.” Ruby pretended to be surprised. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I was surprised he’d been so willing to admit it. She had just been murdered; shouldn’t he be playing his cards so much closer to his chest? Shouldn’t he pretend he didn’t know her? I would, if I were him.
“Thank you, that’s all right.” He clapped his hands together and held them there. “Now, should we get down to business?”
“God, I mean, it’s just so sad,” Ruby went on, pretending not to hear him. “Someone dying so young. Do you have any idea what happened to her?”
“Um…” He stalled for a second. “No, we weren’t close. I don’t know anything about what happened.”
“You sure?” Ruby pressed. “I mean, if you knew her, maybe you knew who might have wanted to—”
“Like I said,” he interrupted, “we weren’t close. Believe me, I wish I knew what happened. It’s awful knowing someone is out there who cut her life short. Nobody deserves to die so young, and so violently. But I don’t think now is the time to discuss—”
“When was the last time you saw her?” There was an almost chipper bounce in Ruby’s voice.
“I don’t know.” He grew stern. “But I’m not talking about this now. I’m happy to continue the consultation but I’m afraid I won’t be discussing Eva-Kate Kelly any further.”
“You know,” Ruby said, reassuming her American accent, “we have somebody who says they saw you come by her house the night she died.”
“Excuse me?” He crossed his arms, recoiling like he’d been slapped. “Who would say that? That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Ruby raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. It is. And who are you? Who are you to come in here and start accusing me like this? You should leave.” He pulled the door open and jerked his head into the open space. “Now.”
Ruby didn’t move.
“We should,” I told her, standing up. “We should leave. Let’s go.” I had stood up too quickly. The baseball cap toppled off my head, letting my hair cascade in tangled, chaotic waves.
Dr. Silver squinted at me. Then his eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the girl who killed her,” he said. “You’re all over the tabloids!”
“I did not kill her,” I said, the word kill coming out choked and broken. “I wasn’t even there when she died. But you were. London Miller saw you. And I’m sure the security footage will confirm it.”
He shut the door. “London saw me?” he asked. His voice was calm, though his body tensed like a jungle animal’s. “She said that?”
“Yep.” Ruby smirked. “So, is it true?”
“I may have been there.” He put his hands up as if to say don’t shoot. “But I didn’t hurt her. I came by, yes, but she wasn’t there. She texted me, said to come over, so I did. But nobody came to the door, and she wouldn’t answer her phone. I guess I was too late. I would never hurt her. I … you don’t understand … I love her.”
“That’s disgusting,” I said. “She was only sixteen.”
“Oh, come on.” He rolled his eyes. “You knew her. She wasn’t exactly your average sixteen-year-old.”
I couldn’t argue with him there; I had often felt the same way about her.
“And you didn’t care that when kids and teenagers seem older than they are it’s because of some horrible trauma?” asked Ruby.
“I didn’t … that hasn’t been proven, has it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ruby said. “The point is, she may have not been like a sixteen-year-old, but she was sixteen,” said Ruby. “So it’s still statutory rape.”
“Whoa, whoa,” he said, stepping back. “Who said anything about—I mean, we never … I never tried anything like that with her. Sure, she flirted, and yeah, I had feelings, but I know the law.”
“Okay, so, she texted you that night and said to come over. We’ll never know why she did that, or if she really did, but either way you ended up there, hoping something might happen. I mean, right, why else would you go to a young girl’s house at night besides hoping you might get some action?”
“That’s not—”
“But then when you made a move, she rejected you. Humiliated, you freaked out and things got out
of hand. Maybe you didn’t mean to kill her.”
I flinched. If her theory was true, then what would stop him from taking us both out right then and there?
“Girls, listen to me,” he said instead. “I did go over that night, but by the time I arrived, nobody was there. Or at least nobody came to the door. The place was empty.”
I had left by then, that was for sure, and maybe so had everyone else. Including whoever killed her. Maybe he really had no idea that Eva-Kate hadn’t come to the door because she was floating facedown in the water outside.
“You need to tell the police that you were there,” I said. “That she texted you but wasn’t there by the time you arrived. That could help them figure out what really happened.”
“I don’t think so. They’d assume I did it. Right now they think it was you,” he said. “If they knew I’d been there, who do you think they’d pin the whole thing on? The tiny manic pixie whatever girl, or the six-foot-tall man making a late-night house call?”
“So you’re going to let me take the fall for something I didn’t do?”
“How do I know you didn’t?”
“Because I wasn’t there. I was at the Ace Hotel.”
“If you have an alibi, then why’d they arrest you?”
I curled my lips under my teeth. “Because,” I said, “I hadn’t technically gotten to the hotel yet. But I was on my way, I swear to God.”
“Didn’t they find your fingerprints on the weapon?”
“Yes, but … I mean … how does that prove anything? She let me hold it just a few days earlier!” My breathing was getting shallow. My chest felt dry and tight. “But I didn’t do it!” A tear slid down my cheek. “How could I? I’m just a tiny manic pixie whatever girl, you said so yourself. And if you don’t come forward about being there that night, I’m going to go to juvy until I’m eighteen. Or if they decide to try me as an adult, I could spend the rest of my life in prison. Do you know what they do to you in there? They do cavity searches on a regular basis. I’ll get shanked. Look at me, jail would end me. So, I mean, did you see anything that night? Anything suspicious? Or maybe you can just tell them what you didn’t see. You didn’t see me, right? Can’t you tell them that?”
I was full-on crying then. I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t stop. I realized the champagne buzz I’d had was gone and wondered if we could stop at the liquor store on our way home. The wall clock read 3:02 P.M., which meant I had a little under an hour before my mom would be finished with her patients and notice I was gone.
“Please don’t cry.” Dr. Silver pressed his hands into a pathetic prayer position. “We can figure this out. I’m sure we can find some middle ground that would be good enough for both of us. Some way I don’t have to confess to being there that night, but you also don’t have to be found guilty.”
“How?” I asked. “I don’t see how that could happen.”
“Well.” He paused, tapping his nose with one still-gloved finger. “What if I told you who I think did it? What if somehow I could drum up the proof you need?”
“You mean … you don’t think I did it?”
“Not really. No. I don’t know, you just don’t give off killer vibes. You definitely don’t look like one. What do you weigh, like ninety pounds?”
“I’m not telling you my weight.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “But you’re right. I couldn’t have done what they said I did.”
“I don’t know if you could, but I don’t think you did. Mostly because you don’t have a motive, and I know somebody who did.”
“Who?” Ruby perked up. “Tell us.”
“The girl’s sister.”
“Liza?” Ruby blinked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope. Not kidding. She and Eva-Kate never had a good relationship.”
“Understatement,” said Ruby. “But that was nothing new. And she didn’t hate Eva-Kate enough to kill her. I saw her at the funeral. She was destroyed about it.”
“Are you sure about that? Eva-Kate’s not the only talented actress in that family.”
“You think she was pretending to be sad? Why would she want Eva-Kate dead?”
“The top three reasons people commit murder are revenge, jealousy, and greed,” he proclaimed. “I’d say for Liza it was a little of each.”
Liza had told me that when the show decided they only needed one twin playing Jennie, they offered it to Liza first, but she had turned it down because she knew how badly Eva-Kate wanted it. But what if that had been a lie? What if they had given it to Eva-Kate and fired Liza? What if Liza had resented Eva-Kate this whole time, watching her sister rise to stardom while she faded away in the San Fernando Valley? What if she hated her for it? What if, all along, it had been Liza who hated Eva-Kate, quietly plotting revenge under the radar?
* * *
“I have to go home,” I said as Ruby took us west on Santa Monica and onto the 405 North. “Where are you going?”
“You can’t go home yet! We have to talk to Liza.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” I begged. “That is a bad idea, Ruby.”
“You still want to get to the bottom of this, don’t you? You still against going to jail?”
“Yes, but…”
“Then we need to talk to her. Immediately. Same plan as before: I’ll do the talking and record everything on my phone. You don’t have to say a word. And also, you don’t have a choice. Unless you want to roll out of my car onto the 405, you’re coming with me.”
* * *
I trailed behind her as she marched up to the McKelvoy front door. I chewed methodically at the inside of my lip, breaking off tiny pieces of skin from the bottom left corner until blood broke through.
“Liza?” Ruby called, pounding on the door with the heel of her palm. “Liza? It’s Ruby. I need to talk to you.”
The curtains were drawn but I peered through the middle slit and saw that all the lights were off inside.
“I don’t think they’re home,” I said.
“I bet they are. They just don’t wanna talk.”
“If they don’t want to talk, they don’t want to talk. Let’s go.”
“Not so fast.” She brushed me off, then screamed at the top of her lungs, “LIZA MCKELVOY, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE. I’M NOT LEAVING UNTIL YOU DO!”
Just then, the door swung open. It was Debbie, freshly platinum haired and spray tanned.
“Stop screaming,” she said. “Ruby, what do you want? And what the hell are you doing here?” She pointed at me. “I don’t want you on my property.”
I took a few steps back, getting ready to run if I had to.
“Debbie, I just need to talk to Liza, it won’t take long.”
“She’s not here,” she said, glaring over Ruby’s shoulder at me.
“Can you tell me where she is?”
“I actually have no idea. Rob came by last night and in the morning they were gone.”
“Rob?” said Ruby. “I thought they broke up?”
“Yeah, well, they’re back together now. And God only knows where.”
CHAPTER 11
JUSTINE CHILDS—A SEMESTER WITHOUT SCHOOL?
September came and the unlucky among us went back to school. It was decided for me that I’d take the semester off, something I’d prayed for more than once in my lifetime. What a dream, I’d always believed, to be that rare thing, the kid who doesn’t have to show up for orientation, the kid who’s just gone. Finally, it was my turn to be gone, but in being gone from the world, the world was gone from me. I was a Rapunzel of my own making, hidden away with nothing to keep me company but my own ruminations. I chewed on memories like bubble gum: Eva-Kate’s laugh ringing out into the air, crisp and metallic and one of a kind. We were supposed to be friends forever. We were supposed to be even more. Where had she gone? And where had it gone wrong? There was that voice mail from my mom, for one. The athame, for another.
On Instagram I saw Riley and Maddie and Abbie drinking milkshakes at Cafe 50�
�s, laughing hysterically in their gym clothes, riding Bird scooters on the Third Street Promenade. In an alternate universe I was right there with them: a universe where I had never met Eva-Kate, a universe without Cobalts or Crimsons, without Ruby or the Roosevelt or the flashbulbs. I shuddered to think of it, how easily we can take a slight turn that leads us so dramatically away from what would have been. It happens all the time.
On Instagram I saw Riley and Maddie and Abbie spending Thanksgiving with their families, the cranberry-colored decorations and wrinkled relatives, the turkeys in their helplessness looking bloated and obscene. I filled with dread on their behalf, the turkeys, that this was what it had all come down to for them, that they’d lived and died to be a greasy centerpiece of an American lie.
On Instagram I saw London and Olivia letting Thanksgiving pass them by entirely, poolside in bikinis and fur coats drinking champagne out of the bottle, kissing on the lips. Was that just how things were in their world, I wondered, a constant charade of intimacy? Was that what it had been with me and Eva-Kate? Was that all it was? I chased that lurking thought away with whiskey I’d started hiding in a teal-blue Hydro Flask under my bed, and I watched Donnie Darko on repeat, because the more times I saw it the closer it came to making sense, and all I really wanted was for things to make sense. I wanted to make sense.
I read and reread a text from Rob that I’d received the day Ruby and I learned he and Liza were gone:
Hi Justine,
I know you know I left town with Liza, and you’re probably thinking that it looks shady. I know you’re going to be reading way too much into this, so I just wanted to clarify: We didn’t leave town because we have anything to hide, we left town because Los Angeles is a sick, sad place. It killed Eva-Kate and it was killing us too. I hope you understand that, and I hope one day you get out too. Rob
And when Ruby came around with wildfire theories about where Rob and Liza were hiding, I’d hear her out, and I’d share my whiskey, even though she never came any closer to tracking them down. I knew with my luck, she never would. And so what if she did—could they have done this? Would people ever believe that?
