“Did you go to church before? With the...” She doesn’t saypeople who tookyoubut I know it’s there. She shakes her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask—”
For some reason I decide to answer her. Interrupting before she can finish her apology.
“I think so,” I say. “I know guinea pigs don’t go to heaven.”
“Bullshit.”
I turn to her, and she seems annoyed. Then she softens when she realizes I might believe in heaven—which I don’t even know if I do. If there is one, though, I definitely won’t get in because I’m lying to a family whose son has most likely been murdered. And, yes, I’m trying to solve his murder, but even my motivation for that is selfish.
She puts a gentle hand on my upper arm. “I mean it’s bullshit thatyour pets wouldn’t be in heaven. I don’t know what I believe, honestly. Some days I think life is random and meaningless, other days—like the day we got the call that you’d been found—” That actually breaks my heart. She’s so sincere, and I can’t look at her while she says the next part. “Those days I believe maybe there is something out there. And if there is, and it involves the afterlife, why wouldn’t the people, and animals, you love be there with you?”
The sincerity in her voice comforts me. My real parents were always quick to talk about people whowouldn’tbe in heaven, but for Valencia, it’s an open place for all our loved ones.
And that does sound nice.
My mind allows that thought for exactly three seconds before clouding over with suspicion. Because someone here knows I’m not Nate. If they killed him, they know I’m faking it, so they’re manipulating me. They’re dumping paint on cars, and killing flowers, and leaving the gas on so I look careless. Framing me for small things to raise suspicion.
Or they’re sincere, and maybe Easton moved the paint and didn’t want to get yelled at. And maybe I was careless and left the gas on a teensy bit. And maybe the flowers really were blighted. Then I’m being a complete dick for no reason. But I don’t let myself think that for long because that’s how I’ll end up dead.
“Well, if there is an afterlife, I hope you’re all cool with me bringing guinea pigs around all the time.”
“Of course. It was Marcus who hated them anyway. But if it is paradise, I’m sure he’ll have worked through whatever rodent revulsion he has.”
The red flags are up in an instant. Marcus again.
She laughs but avoids looking at me, instead turning her attention back to the remains of Nate’sthreebeloved dead guinea pigs. If guinea pigs are supposed to live five to seven years, it is strange that Nate lost three of them. If he was in kindergarten when he got the first one, he was five, then he disappeared when he was six, so he had three dead guinea pigs in a year. Dead pets. Sure, that’s not suspicious at all. But also, why doesn’t Valencia think so? If she did, she wouldn’t be telling me all this.
It reminds me again why I’m here. I’ve gotten too comfortable with Valencia and forgotten that something bad happened to the real Nate. And now there are dead animals to add to that.
Maybe the guinea pig deaths were payback. A way for Marcus to get rid of the rodents he hated and take something his son loved as punishment for making him angry. Physical abuse could be reported. But guinea pigs dying in their sleep...
Definitely something a psychopath would do. And he’d know how to get away with it. Just like he’d know how to get away with murdering a person.
Thirty-Two
The morning of the barbecue I go downstairs to find Valencia making pasta salad. She smiles at me and walks over to the fridge, taking out two tubs of Cool Whip and placing them on the island in front of me.
“Oh. I think I’m good with cereal for breakfast, but thanks?”
She laughs. “You told Gramma you’d make her Watergate salad. Better get to work so it can chill before this afternoon.”
Okay, but I didn’t think a salad would haveCool Whipin it. Valencia goes over to a lemon-printed tin and pulls off the top. She flicks through the recipes inside and takes out a handwritten note card.
Gramma Sharon’s Watergate Saladis written at the top—there are even little cartoon skulls and crossbones drawn around it. Valencia tells me the drawings were Easton’s addition. I read over the recipe:
Two tubs of Cool Whip
One large can crushed pineapple (undrained)
One bag miniature marshmallows
¾ cup crushed pecans
Two packs pistachio instant pudding mix
Step one: Mix everything in a bowl and chill. Step two: Serve.
“The wordsaladis doing alotof heavy lifting here,” I say.
