Malice. Lisa Jackson
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Kristi, it’s Olivia.”
Perfect.
“Hi.”
“How’re things at school?”
What was this? Olivia never called. “All good,” Kristi said tentatively.
“And the wedding?”
“Everything’s on target.” Kristi kicked out a chair at her café table and sat down. “How about with you?”
“Good.”
Time to cut out the crap. “So why’s Dad in L.A.?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t really say,” Olivia admitted, “but it seemed like something he had to do.” Her voice faded for a moment, as if she were looking away from the phone. Kristi’s heart began to drum as she anticipated what was to come: that her father and Olivia were getting a divorce. “He didn’t tell you about it?”
“He didn’t tell me anything. Just some BS about old cases in L.A. and that he’d be back soon. It all seemed bogus and I was wondering what was going on. Thought maybe there was something wrong between you.”
A beat. No answer. Kristi’s heart hit the floor.
“Your dad…he’s struggled since the accident. Can’t stand sitting around here, so I think he needed to do something to give himself a new perspective or…think things through.”
“What things?” Kristi asked cautiously. There was an undercurrent to this conversation she didn’t understand.
“I’m not sure. I don’t even think he knows, but when he does, I’m sure he’ll tell us.”
I wouldn’t bet on it.
“Anyway, I was calling to see if you wanted to get dinner sometime, or coffee? Maybe the next time you’re in New Orleans.”
“Sure.” It wasn’t as if Olivia hadn’t tried to bridge the whole stepmother gap with her before. They’d done some things together, but usually Dad was along. This was a little out of the ordinary. “I’m coming down in about a week,” Kristi offered.
“Then let’s make a date. If your dad’s back, maybe we’ll let him join us.” She paused a second, then added, “But maybe not.”
“You got it.” Kristi hung up. If your dad’s back, Olivia had said. So she was in the dark, too. Kristi didn’t like it. Whatever her father was going through, it wasn’t good.
After a long day of classes Laney Springer threw her books onto the tiny café table one of her roommates had donated to the cause of their shared apartment. God, it had been a day from hell, starting with Professor Williams’s dullsville lecture on the Korean War. Why she’d ever thought Modern History: American Politics in the Twentieth Century would be an interesting way to fill her schedule was beyond her. Thankfully, the semester was wrapping up. Professor Williams would soon be history—literally.
She walked to the refrigerator and peeked inside. The contents were pathetic: dried-out pizza in its box, the pieces of pepperoni already picked off. A bag of celery was turning brown beside some half-drunk bottles of Diet Pepsi.
Gross.
She shut the door and decided she shouldn’t eat anyway. Not if she wanted to fit comfortably into her tight, tiny, shimmery silver dress tonight. And she did. If nothing else, she wanted to look hot, hot, hot.
Forget the old pizza.
This was her big night. Well, technically not just hers, but her twin sister Lucy’s, too.
At midnight both of them would turn twenty-one. Finally legal!
Of course there were still over six hours of waiting until the clock struck midnight. The witching hour. Kind of a reverse Cinderella syndrome. She had fake ID, but tonight, she was going to burn her fraudulent Oregon license.
The good news was that she wouldn’t have to wait an extra fourteen minutes after her twin sister took her first legal sip. Lucy always lorded it over Laney that she had been born at 12:47 while Laney hadn’t come along until 1:01. But tonight it didn’t matter. It was the date, not the time.
There was going to be a big party; all her friends would be there, even Cody Wyatt, the really cool guy in her English Lit class. Good. Because she knew she’d have to put up with Lucy’s creep of a boyfriend, Kurt Jones. What a loser! A thirty-year-old high school dropout who had never married the mother of his kid and, according to Lucy, didn’t want anything to do with his three-year-old son. Now Kurt was hanging out with Lucy and she was making all kinds of excuses for him. No doubt he was her dealer. Lucy was really getting into weed and who knew what else.
It worried Laney.
A little marijuana was one thing; the other stuff could be a huge problem. But tonight, if Kurt showed up, Laney figured she’d ignore the prick. Who cared what he did?
Weed, meth, coke, pills, he does it all.
She hoped Lucy would dump his ass.
For good.
Keyed up, she decided to work out, stretch muscles that had been cramped into uncomfortable desks all day. She’d get enough cardio tonight on the dance floor, but she wanted to tone her body. So first she’d lift some weights, then she’d pop in her yoga DVD and stretch out. Afterward, she’d take a long shower and wash her hair and spend as much time as she wanted with her makeup. It was, after all, almost her birthday. Correction. Make that their birthday. Hers and Lucy’s.
She found her iPod in her book bag and slipped the player into the sound system her roommate Trisha owned. The music was loud, but all the renters in the triplex were college kids; no one complained about music, parties, or even pets that were strictly forbidden.
On her way to the bedroom she shared with Trisha, Laney grabbed the communal free weights from the bookcase. Kicking a clear spot on the rug in the small space between the foot of her unmade bed and Trisha’s dresser, Laney started working on her arms to a song by Fergie. No flapping wings for this girl. Not ever. If she had to do a thousand triceps curls when she was eighty, so be it. Eighty. Wow. Like sixty years into the future. Fifty-nine as of tonight!
The reps came easy at first and she closed her eyes. The song and mood changed. She got lost in the beat and melodies of Justin Timberlake, then Maroon 5…
One more set; she was really feeling it now.
Come on, come on, she encouraged herself as the music pounded through her brain. You can do it; don’t give up.
She was breathing hard, sweating big-time.
Once her biceps and triceps were screaming, she stretched out on the floor and started with leg lifts.
She thought she heard someone come in and yelled, “I’m in here!” over the throb of bass and a long keyboard riff, then kept working out until her body was covered in sweat and her legs ached.
Only after doing all the reps she’d planned did she spring to her feet. Good girl! Way to go! She grabbed her towel and headed to the living area where the music was still blasting. Time to stretch these muscles. Besides, she wanted to give Trish or Kim a chance to wish her a happy birthday.
But she didn’t see either of her roommates flopped on the secondhand couch Kim had found. And they weren’t nuking popcorn or boiling ramen in the kitchen.
Odd.
Hadn’t she heard one of her roommates return?
Dabbing at the sweat on her face, she strode over to check Kim’s room. Empty.
Snap!
A strange sound. Muted.
Had her iPod skipped?
She backed out of Kim’s room, pulled the door shut behind her, and headed back to the living area. On her way to the stereo she noticed a hint of cigarette smoke in the air.