The Row Page 20

  I give a soft sigh, but I can’t even imagine disagreeing with him right now. “Okay.”

  “Any more questions?” His smile is just rueful enough to make me laugh. And I know one thing for sure: Jordan is needed far more than he knows. Because despite our different pasts, there is no one else that I would want with me when I uncover my family’s hidden truths.

  29

  I SIT AT THE TABLE with Mama on Friday afternoon. The dark circles under her eyes have lightened a bit since this morning, but it’s fair to say that her hangover has mine after the park incident beat by a long shot. She was browsing through potential job openings; now her laptop sits forgotten in front of her as she stares at me in confusion.

  “Why do you still want to go?” she asks with a tone that says she wonders if I’ve lost my mind.

  “Because I want to confront him. I want the chance to ask him why he would do such awful things to our family. I want to understand what the hell he’s been thinking,” I say as I stuff my sunglasses and phone into my purse with much more force than necessary.

  Mama closes her laptop. “Then I’m going with you.”

  “No,” I respond so fast her eyebrows shoot up. “I think I need to face this on my own. Plus, seeing him right now is probably the last thing you need.”

  Mama looks slightly offended. “I can handle him.”

  “Please, Mama.” I reach out and grab her hand. “Just let me do this alone.”

  She hesitates a moment more before answering. “Okay. Let me know if you want me to pick up some ice cream for after. We might need it.”

  When I walk out to my car, I see a folded-up paper stuck under my windshield wiper. I can tell immediately from how tightly it’s folded that it isn’t a flyer and I sigh. Great. These kinds of secret messages are always super friendly.

  Even bracing myself, my shoulders cave in a bit as I carefully open up the paper. I’m so tired of being surrounded by this kind of crap all the time. My eyes go first to the dark lines in a drawing at the bottom of the page. I can’t make it out at first, but when I realize I have it upside down I feel a little sick.

  As I turn it over, the details become clear. At the top now is a drawing of a man in an electric chair. Jolts of electricity zing through his body and his eyes bug out of his face. This isn’t even the worst thing I’ve seen, but the timing makes me furious. Then I finally look down at the bottom half of the page and growl under my breath as I study it.

  This one is much more direct. It’s me this time—a common theme; I’m his daughter so obviously I should be punished, too—my brown hair is stringy around the caricature depiction of my face, a hangman’s noose tight around my throat.

  Crumpling it up, I look at the houses in the neighborhood around us. I think I spot the movement of a curtain or two, but nothing I can be sure of. Mama usually tries to watch out for them first and get rid of them before I see.

  But this one was left on my car, with my picture on it—being hanged.

  This one feels personal. I stick it in my jacket pocket, send a heated glare for a moment at each house in sight, then get in my car and drive away.

  * * *

  I only make it three blocks before I come up with a plan.

  I still want to go see Daddy, but this time, I’ll take Jordan with me. It had been Jordan’s idea to come with me to see Mr. Masters, but maybe he’d been onto something.

  After all, I am only abiding by one of the universal truths that Daddy taught me about chess—get your opponent off balance with an unanticipated move and you’ll force them to backpedal and change their plan. Push them out of their comfort zone and you can control the game.

  Daddy is obviously more deceitful than I’ve ever given him credit for. Knocking him off his game may be the exact thing I need to do to get a closer look at the truth.

  Now I just need to convince Jordan to go along with my plans.

  I call him on the Bluetooth Mr. Masters had installed in my car while turning around to head toward his house. He answers on the first ring. “Hi. Just a second.” Then I hear the sound of him walking and a door closing behind him.

  “Your dad is home?” I ask, hoping this won’t get in the way of what I want to do.

  “Yep,” he says, but his tone is much more relaxed now than it was before.

  “Feel like escaping for a couple of hours right now?”

  I can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. “Absolutely.”

  “Good.” I hesitate to explain where we’re going, but I decide that springing our destination on him later might not be the best of ideas. “I think you should come with me—for a visit.”

  When he is silent for a few seconds, I know I don’t need to explain further. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. So I move straight into the next step, convincing him that it’s a good idea. “Maybe we can surprise him. Shock him enough that he might reveal something he hasn’t before.”

  I deliberately don’t clarify that I’m hoping he’ll be honest about his affairs and maybe finally reveal his true alibi. I’m hoping he won’t give me any more information that could indicate his guilt. God knows I’ve seen enough of that already.

  Jordan still hasn’t spoken, and I worry he might be upset at me for even suggesting this.

  “Jordan?” I speak his name quietly, kicking myself for not having this conversation in person so I could see his reaction and read the emotion in his eyes.

  “I’m in,” he answers so quickly and quietly now that I’m not certain I heard him right.

  “You are?” Considering the situation, it seems smart to doublecheck.

  “Yes. Don’t sound so surprised. I just hope it goes the way you think it will. My dad is heading my way. Where should I meet you?”

  “The park.” I can’t help but feel like this conversation is ending too quickly. I feel like there is more I should say, but I don’t have a chance now. “I’ll be waiting. Come as soon as you can.”

  “See you soon.” And his end of the line goes dead.

  * * *

  I’m at the park within ten minutes. I park at the end of the lot, then close my eyes and rest my head against the steering wheel. I know this is a terribly risky idea. Ever since the phone call with Jordan, I feel like this whole scenario could be one giant mistake. What if Daddy gets furious at me for even bringing Jordan and refuses to talk to us? What if this is one of the last times I get to see him and it goes horribly wrong? What if Daddy says something to Jordan and Jordan decides I’m not worth the baggage that I come with? What if—

  Rap—Rap—Rap—

  I throw myself back against my seat, eyes wide. Jordan is standing next to my door, his face split between warring emotions: half an apology and half stifled laughter.

  I catch my breath and then wave him around to the passenger side, jamming my thumb into the Unlock button harder than is necessary. He’s still chuckling when he climbs in but he follows it with a quick “I’m sorry, Riley. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  His dark curls fall forward against his forehead as he fumbles under the front of the seat, looking for a latch to slide it back. His knees are crunched into my dashboard, his body looking disproportionately long in my passenger seat. I try to think of who sat in it last and then realize that it was me. Mama and I went for groceries this morning and we took my car, but Mama drove. I’m five feet seven inches and Jordan has a good six inches on me. I sit back, laughing quietly to myself as he keeps searching under the front of the seat for the latch that I know is on the right side.

  He whips his head up and his warm eyes glint at me in the afternoon light. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “Very much.” I smirk. “You scared the crap out of me. This feels like swift and sweet karma.”

  He shifts to face me and bangs his knee against the dash, wincing. “For knocking on your window? I didn’t even try to sneak up on you. You just weren’t paying attention. This is hardly fair.” Then he reaches to the far side o
f his seat, finds the right lever, and the entire seat shoots all the way back.

  Jordan stretches out like a cat and then smiles. “Much better.”

  I turn the key and put the car in gear.

  He grabs for his seat belt and raises his eyebrows at me. “So, you’re sure about this?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  My phone rings next to me, the number unknown, so I answer it.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Miss Riley.”

  “This came up with an unknown number instead of your normal one,” I say.

  “Yes, sorry about that,” Mr. Masters says quickly. “Just trying to be cautious. I may get you a different phone to use for a while as well.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Jordan asks when there is a pause in the conversation.

  I sigh at the silence on the other end. “Sorry, I should’ve mentioned. Jordan is here with me.”

  Mr. Masters speaks directly to Jordan this time. “Don’t dig up more snakes than you can kill, Mr. Vega. You’ve seen the evidence in this case. If we assume that the killer is, in fact, not in jail already and he or she finds out that you two are poking around, which of the three of us most resembles one of his victims?”

  Jordan’s eyes widen and dart over to me before he swallows hard. “Fair enough.”

  I frown and try not to show the sudden biting chill that slithers down my spine. “I’m not even blond, and I’m too young—not his type.”

  “No, but sometimes anyone who’s in the way will do just fine.” Mr. Masters’s voice lowers and he waits for his words to sink in. “In all your haste to find your truth come hell or high water, you should try to remember that and be careful.”

  I don’t say anything until Jordan gives me a pointed stare and I roll my eyes. “Noted.” Then I decide to change the subject. “I’ve learned some new information. I’m not sure if you already know about it.”

  “What did you find out?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but then hesitate. Everything Mama told me still feels so raw and personal, it’s hard to make myself repeat it.

  Mr. Masters doesn’t seem to need an explanation for my reluctance. “Miss Riley, now isn’t the time to start chewing your bit.” His tone is kind, but there is a slight edge of impatience behind it.

  Jordan watches scenery outside his window, but when I glance his way, he meets my eyes and gives me the tiniest nod of encouragement.

  “Okay.” I speak up. “I’m not sure if this has anything to do with Daddy’s case, but I found out something about my parents last night.”

  I can hear Mr. Masters frown through his voice. “Like?”

  “It’s about an accident Mama was in.” I listen for a reaction, but there is none. “Apparently she was twenty-three weeks pregnant at the time. The baby—my brother—died in the accident and it doesn’t sound like Daddy took it well.”

  Mr. Masters’s voice sounds distant when he says, “Thank you for telling me. Anything else?”

  “Yes. I talked to Mama about the affair, but apparently she thought I was talking about his affair with Stacia, not Hillary.” I hold my breath, but everything on the other end sounds calm, no reaction. I’m not sure if that means he already knew or that he can hide his surprise well. I decide to just come out and ask. “Did you know about that?”

  “I suspected.” His voice is cold and hard. It’s so strange to hear from him. “You’ve been busy. Is there anything else I should know about?”

  “Not yet.” I listen closely, anxious in case he decides not to tell me the information he promised.

  Mr. Masters doesn’t say anything else, so I clear my throat. “And your update?”

  He waits like he’s unsure whether to really tell me the rest. “I believe your father might have hidden something in our offices, but I haven’t found it yet, and I’m not sure what it was.”

  “He hid something? Like what? Why do you think that?” I glance over at Jordan, but he looks as confused as I feel.

  “It’s half a hunch and half based on old memories.” Mr. Masters’s voice has dropped down low, like he’s telling us an important secret. “I remember him staring at a wall panel when we were in his office during a meeting once. And when I came back later, he was pushing around the corners of it—like he was trying to get it to move.”

  “Well, have you checked that panel?” I ask as my mind tries to sort out what this could mean.

  “It’s been almost thirteen years since that happened. I didn’t even think about it until recently—”

  I cut him off. “How could you have never thought of it before now?”

  He gives an exasperated sigh. “Miss Riley, have you forgotten that I’m a criminal defense attorney? If I start snooping without my clients’ permission around every case, it’s just as likely that I might find something incriminating to my clients as something that could help them. Sometimes it’s smarter to forget details like this one.”

  “Oh.” This brings me up short. “So why are you looking into it now?”

  His voice softens. “You need the truth. You deserve it. And I’m going to give it to you if I can.”

  I’m filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. It’s been so long now that I’m not certain I remember which side of the room he was on, let alone the specific panel,” Mr. Masters says, sounding frustrated. “To make it plain: I’m working on it and hope to have answers soon. Even if I find this hidden panel, though, it could be anything—from a key to solving this case to a journal of his escapades with his mistresses, or something much worse that we wish we hadn’t found. In any case, it could help us find the truth that you’re after.”

  I feel ill at that last thought and don’t speak.

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt, Miss Riley, but I thought you’d want to know.” Masters listens for a response even though he didn’t technically ask a question.

  “Thank you, Mr. Masters. Apparently my father had far more secrets than I gave him credit for,” I murmur quietly, keeping my eyes glued to the road in front of me. “Please let me know if you find anything. Good luck with the panel.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, and I need a favor.” I bite my lip, hoping that he’ll say yes.

  “Such as?”

  “Can you call Polunsky right now and have them leave a one-day pass at the front desk for me to bring in a visitor?”

  He’s quiet for several seconds, and then he starts laughing. “Oh, Miss Riley, after what we did to him on Wednesday, are you sure you want to go in there and start a ruckus like this plan is bound to do?”

  I glance over at Jordan, who is staring out the window, his jaw clenched.

  “I’ve seen him when he’s prepared, and I’ve seen him with you. Now I want to catch him off guard a bit.” I try to make my voice sound as sure as I want to be.

  “Well, showing up with Vega’s son ought to do it.” He laughs one last time. “I’ll call the jail as soon as we’re off the phone.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem.” Masters doesn’t hang up. His voice muffles a bit and it sounds like he’s moving. “But be careful, young lady. Something about this whole mess is crooked as a barrel of snakes.”

  Before I can say a word, he jumps in with his final advice. “Do me a favor. Don’t trust anyone.” And the line goes dead.

  30

  THE VISITING ROOM AT POLUNSKY is no more than eight feet long, but I can’t hold still. If anyone had asked me an hour ago who was more nervous for this visit, I would’ve said Jordan, but on the drive it’s like all the anxiety seeped out of him and found its way into me. Jordan sits at the table, his hands clasped in front of him, looking totally relaxed.

  Only a few twitches from him hint at the truth. His hands clasp so tight that the skin beneath his fingers stands out white next to the rest of his olive complexion.

  We tried several times during the drive out here to come up with a plan for
our visit. What questions did we want to ask? What should we do? How do we best convince him to answer?

  But we gave up when we realized that we don’t have a clue if he will even stay to talk once he sees Jordan. If we can’t anticipate how he’ll react to Jordan’s presence, how can we hope to guess how he might respond to our questions?

  The guard opens the door and leads Daddy in. His face is tense from the moment he enters, but when his gaze lands on Jordan, it’s clear that throwing him off balance is a tame way to put it. His eyes go so wide they seem to bulge out, and he actually stumbles over the guard’s foot, landing with his shoulder against the guard’s chest. Even though it is immediately obvious that this was an accident, the guard reacts as though Daddy just pulled a knife.

  He grabs onto the front of my father’s jumpsuit and slams him hard against the doorframe. The guard shouts directly into Daddy’s face, “Don’t move!” Which seems redundant since the force of being slammed against the frame has obviously knocked the wind out of his body.

  Jordan comes suddenly to his feet, eyes wide. I slide quickly over, grab his shoulder, and gently push him back down into the seat. “Be still. If you do anything it will only get worse.”

  We’d learned that the hard way over the years.

  The guard turns Daddy around and shoves his face against the wall with enough force that his cheekbone starts to swell immediately. I want to shout at the guard, to scream and claw his back. Anything I can do just to make him stop, but I’ve tried that before. I was escorted out of the building, and Daddy wound up in the infirmary.

  I’ve spent years trying not to focus on the problems with prisons, but it’s impossible not to recognize how messed up it is. Daddy has lost fifteen pounds in just the last year. He’s been served rotten food or not received his meals at all. The skeletal body he has now barely resembles the pictures of him before his arrest. He’d been healthy and strong and now he’s becoming sickly and weak. Which only makes it easier for the guards to “keep him in line” like this. Guilty or not, people are people and shouldn’t be treated worse than animals.