Kill You Last
Page 6
I understood what he was saying, but there was something else. “But the girl on TV this morning said you never got her any jobs. Have you ever taken money from a girl who you knew had no chance of becoming a model?”
The skin around Dad’s eyes tightened. “Seriously, Shels? It’s not my job to judge who can and can’t be a model. That’s for magazine editors and ad directors to decide. My job is to give girls the best shot I can. I mean, if they want to give modeling a try, who am I to stop them?”
“What about the girls Janet approached in a mall?” I asked.
“What about the ones who never even thought about being models until she gave them her card and told them she thought they could do it?”
Dad placed a hand flat on the table and looked off. “Come on, sweetheart, doesn’t every girl dream of being a model at some point? That’s not an idea Janet put in their heads for the first time.”
I sipped my espresso and stared down at the tabletop, feeling my face grow warm with frustration. Did he really expect me to accept that explanation? Did he think I was that stupid? Or naïve? The more I thought about it, the more upset I felt. I didn’t want to hear his rationales and justifications, just like I didn’t want him to be a man who preyed on young girls. But if that’s what he was, I just wished he’d come out and admit it. The fact that he couldn’t be honest with me hurt. My eyes began to well up with tears. I sniffed, wiped them away, and stared across the photo studio at the autographed photos on the wall, unable to look at him. “Dad, please just tell me the truth.”
He finished his espresso, turned the little cup upside down on the saucer, and sighed. “Okay, Shels, you want the truth? Maybe we did stretch it a little with some of the girls to cover our expenses. But think about who I was doing it for—for us. For our family, our house, our cars, our vacations, clothes, you name it.…You have no idea how much money it takes to live the way we do.”
“Couldn’t you have just told us to cut back?” I asked. “Mom and I would have done it in an instant.”
Dad spun the little cup around in the saucer. The rattling sound echoed through the empty studio. “You mean, admit I was a failure?”
That caught me by surprise. “No! You’re not a failure. You’re a success. You’re amazing. You take beautiful pictures. You run a photo studio and a modeling agency. I mean—” I waved my hand toward the photos of successful models and actors whose careers he’d helped launch. “I mean, look at the people you’ve worked with.”
Dad snorted derisively. “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.”
“You should have told us,” I said, feeling terrible. “I don’t need to live in a big house with a swimming pool. I don’t even need to have a car.”
“And college?” Dad asked.
“I’ll go to the state university.
Dad hung his head. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should have told you. I just…It’s not like we set out to con anyone. It just…happened…gradually. First it was one girl. Then two. Then a few each weekend. The money was coming in, and after a while we just stopped thinking about it.”
“What about Janet and Gabriel?” I asked. “They had to be in on it, too, right?”
Dad shrugged. “Janet probably noticed that I wasn’t turning anyone away, so she got less discriminating about who she picked. She knew that before I could pay her, I had to cover the travel and hotel expenses, and that the more girls she chose, the more chance there was that she’d make money. I mean, we were working weekends, Shels. People expect to make some money.”
He gave me a quizzical glance, as if my reaction was important. Then he added. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I truly am.”
It may have been strange to feel relief at a moment like that, but I did. I put my hand on his and squeezed it. “Dad, everyone makes mistakes. I can forgive you for that. I’m just glad you told me the truth.”
His eyes got glittery. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re the best. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
Chapter 16
WAS I DISAPOINTED? Yes. Did I feel Dad had let me down? Yes. There was no way around the fact that he’d been dishonest. But misleading those girls—even making promises he couldn’t keep—was a far cry from physically harming anyone. Now that I had the answer I’d needed, it would be best not to get marked absent from my afternoon classes. I’d just let myself out the back studio door when Gabriel drove into the parking lot. I braced myself. He’d gone on those weekend “fishing” trips with Dad and had seen the girls who’d come to the hotel for head shots. So he, too, had been in on the scam.
He stopped his car and lowered the window. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I said, deliberately monotone.
He tilted his head at the green sedans. “The cops again?”
I nodded. Gabriel gave me a long searching look, which made me feel uncomfortable.
“I have to get back to school,” I said.
“Wait. I really have to talk to you.” He got out and shoved his hands into his pockets. The breeze played with his hair. “Look, I just want to say I’m sorry.”
“For…?” As much as I didn’t want it to, a little part of me inside started to melt.
“What we did.” He tilted his head at the studio. “And for coming on a little too strong last night. For everything.…It’s just that I’ve kind of…liked you for a really long time, but because I work for your dad…and because of what was going on here with the head shots…I didn’t feel like I could do anything about it.” He gave me another searching look. “You understand, don’t you?”
I nodded. It was what I’d always suspected. He’d been wary about getting involved with the boss’s daughter. Plus, he hadn’t wanted to be in the position of dating someone from whom he would have to keep the secret of Dad’s scam.
He put his hand on my arm. “So maybe…now that you know…if you still felt like it, we could see each other one of these days?”
I felt myself stiffen. Even as attracted to him as I felt, I’d have to think hard about that. He’d been part of the scam. Part of something that was unseemly and unethical, if not outright illegal. It was one thing to forgive Dad, whom I loved. But it was something else entirely to get emotionally involved with a guy who was capable of doing what he’d done. “I…I need to think about it,” I said honestly. “But I really appreciate everything you just said. Really. We’ll talk later, okay?”
Most people react to good news in the same way. But you can learn a lot about someone by how they react to bad news. Gabriel didn’t appear annoyed or resentful. Instead, he accepted what I said and even seemed a little regretful. “Yeah, I guess I understand.” He pursed his lips and gazed away.
He looked sad, and suddenly, I felt the urge to kiss him. Not on the lips, but just a peck on the cheek, which I did. “Hey, I didn’t say no. I just said I needed to think.”
The peck and the words clearly caught him by surprise. He looked up and gave me a sheepish grin. “All right…Thanks.”
Back at school I didn’t see Roman until study hall in the library last period.
“What happened?” she asked.
Even though she was my best friend, I didn’t feel comfortable telling her everything I’d learned. It was too personal. So I gave her an edited version—about how Dad had to charge more for his head shots because of the travel expenses involved, but how his agency offered the girls much more in terms of helping them get into the modeling business, and how it wasn’t his job to decide who could be a model or not.
“Hmmm.” It was a relief to hear her hum and know that she had something else on her mind. “I’ve been reading about serial killers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Those girls are probably still alive somewhere. And they live hundreds of miles away from each other.”
“Exactly,” Roman said, as if that was an argument for and not against her idea. “That’s the way serial killers work. In a broad geographical area so that the police in all those diffe
rent towns won’t connect the dots.”
“You are whacked.”
“I am serious.”
Sometimes she could really be exasperating. “Seriously, Romy? My guess is that if you study every serial killer who’s ever lived, you’re bound to find one who operated in whatever way fits your latest theory. I mean, there’s probably a serial killer who wore a chicken suit. And one who only killed on Thursdays. And what about the famous vegan killer who only killed people who ate meat?”
Roman harrumphed. “Forget it, Shelby. Just remember, when it turns out that I’m right, I’ll be glad to accept your apology.”
I couldn’t deal with this right now. Not after the day I’d had. “Can we please talk about something else?”
She doodled on the cover of one of her notebooks. “You know, there’s a party at Courtney Rajwar’s on Saturday.”
“Not interested.”
“What are you going to do all weekend?”
“How about hide?”
Roman rolled her eyes disapprovingly. The bell rang. School was over, and she started to pack up her books. When I stayed seated, she said. “You’re not going home?”
“Not yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Everyone else to leave. Just wait ten minutes?”
“Oh, I can’t,” she said. “When you left school before? I didn’t know if you were coming back, so I asked David Curlin for a ride.”
She left, and I read InStyle until I thought most of the kids had gone. Then I went out to the parking lot. There were still plenty of cars around, mostly belonging to kids on the various sports teams. Because I’d left school at lunch and then returned, I’d had to park my car in a far corner of the lot, in a spot where some low-hanging pine trees cast deep shadows. It was a place that was hard to see from the school building and, as a result, flattened cigarette butts were scattered around the asphalt.
I was lost in thought about Dad and how, even though he’d admitted that those “fishing trips” were at least partly a scam, it was important to remember that for many of the girls who had gotten their head shots from him, it was completely legitimate.
There had to be some girls who’d gotten modeling jobs, right?
I wished I’d asked Dad about that.
That’s what I was thinking when I got to my car…and felt a presence behind me.
Chapter 17
I SPUN AROUND.
It was Whit. He stopped when he saw me jump.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
My heart fluttered, but unlike the fluttering it did for Gabriel, this was caused by fright. I hadn’t realized how jumpy I was.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Nonstudents weren’t allowed on school property.
“Trying not to partake in pack journalism.” He saw the scowl on my face and explained: “It’s when they all bunch up and go after a story together. Like those crowds that hang out in front of your house and your father’s studio every day.”
That reminded me of something. “Thanks for writing that article about not rushing to judgment about my dad. As far as I know, you’re the only one who’s said anything in defense of him.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And…I’m sorry I threatened to call the police.”
He grinned. “I probably would have done the same thing.”
“Only now that you know what was on the news this morning, I bet you regret what you wrote.”
“No way,” he said. “I wrote about the rush to blame him for the missing girls. I still stand by that.”
There was something honest and disarming about him that made me want to talk. “Can we go off the record?”
Whit’s lips parted into a wry smile. “All right. What’s up?”
“What do you know about serial killers?”
A few lines between his eyebrows bunched. “Not much.”
“You know why I’m asking, right?”
“Sure. And if it turns out that one’s involved in this case? I won’t be totally surprised.”
“You won’t?” I replied, caught off guard by his answer. “But no one knows what’s up with those girls. They could still be alive.”
Whit studied me. “You really believe that?”
He was right. “It’s seriously wishful thinking, isn’t it?” I admitted.
Whit nodded. “Off the record. I’ll tell you something…if you swear not to share it with anyone.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve spoken to either the family or friends of all three girls. Everyone’s willing to talk because they hope that the more news there is and the more times those girls’ photos are shown, the more likely it is that someone will recognize one of them or know something helpful. The common thread that comes out is that none of them was having problems at home or was in any kind of situation that would make you think they’d want to run away. I mean, not that life was perfect or anything, but two of them have serious boyfriends who they never said a word to about going anywhere. And the other one was totally focused on taking her GED test. She’d dropped out of high school the year before, and everyone I spoke to agreed that all she wanted in life was to get that high school diploma.”
Whit paused as if he knew I needed a moment to digest what he’d said. Then he added, “That’s going to be my next story.”
“But won’t that imply that my dad’s somehow involved?” I asked.
His eyebrows dipped as if he didn’t see the connection. “I don’t even plan to mention him in the article. All I’m going to say is that, based on the interviews I’ve done, it appears unlikely that the girls ran away.”
I felt myself getting upset. “Everyone already thinks my father’s the number one suspect, and now you’re going to write a story that says they weren’t the kind of girls who’d run away. So that implies that something bad must have happened to them. It’s just going to make it worse for my dad.” I almost added, Especially after this morning’s news from that girl claiming Dad was running a scam, but I decided against it.
“I honestly don’t think people will see it that way,” Whit said.
“Oh, come off it,” I snapped angrily. “You and I both know that’s exactly the way they’ll see it!”
Whit didn’t reply. He just stood there like a big dumb galoot. I got into my car, slammed the door, and peeled out of the parking lot.
Mom wasn’t home when I got there, so I went online to check the latest developments. There was nothing new in the local news, and I was secretly glad to see that the papers in Scranton and Trenton had beaten Whit to the story about the girls not being the type to want to run away. Good, maybe he’d give up on becoming a journalist and go away.
When I heard the back door open downstairs, I went down to the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the table, reading the Soundview Gazette. I glanced at the oven and realized there was a frozen pizza inside. It was hard to remember the last time she hadn’t prepared dinner herself.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked.
“How was your day?” she asked back.
“Difficult.” I told her how I’d gone to the studio at lunch and had seen the detectives going through Dad’s files. And how Dad had admitted that Janet looked for modeling prospects at the malls and sometimes picked girls who didn’t really have a chance at a career. “Dad said he did it for us.”
“What?” Mom’s voice shook with consternation.
“He was trying to make enough money so that we could live the way we do,” I said. “That’s true, isn’t it? I mean, about his not being able to make enough money from the work he gets in the studio? Two days ago, he was doing a Chinese food menu.”
Mom made an odd motion with her head. “I suppose.”
“I just wish he’d said something to us. I don’t have to have my own car. I could have done with less. I guess men are funny that way. If he couldn’t make enough to support us, it was like admitting he was a failure.”
The kitchen phone rang. Mom studied the readout, then picked up the receiver. “Yes? Uh-huh. Okay.” She hung up and turned to gaze out the kitchen window. By now it was dark, and all I imagined she could see were the streetlights.
“Mom? What was it?” I asked.
Without turning she said, “Your father. They’re taking him to the police station…for questioning.”
Chapter 18
THE NEWS WAS jolting. “Questioning? But yesterday, Chief Jenkins said he wasn’t a suspect. He said they had no evidence….”
Mom didn’t answer. It was understandable, since she probably knew no more than I did. But I had to believe that something about the investigation had changed. With all those police departments and media people involved, new information must have been turning up all the time. Just because Dad hadn’t been a suspect yesterday was no reason to think he couldn’t be one today. Once again, I felt my eyes grow watery.
“I don’t understand,” I said anxiously. “I mean, Dad might have done some things wrong, but he can’t actually be a suspect in the disappearance of these girls, can he? I mean…seriously, Mom, can’t you tell me what you really think?”
The timer in the oven binged and seemed to snap her out of a trance. She pulled on some oven mitts. “Sorry, what did you say?”
I repeated what I’d said, while she sliced the pizza and took a bowl of salad out of the refrigerator. “No,” she said, bringing the salad to the table. “I don’t think he could really be a suspect.”
She started to eat a slice of pizza while I pushed my salad around with a fork. Once again it came to me that just because we didn’t think Dad could be a suspect meant nothing as far as the rest of the world was concerned.
My BlackBerry buzzed. I quickly looked, then felt a sickening sensation when I saw that it was from vengence13773288@gmail.com: Hope ur enjoying the news. xoxo!