CHAPTER SEVEN

I don't know how I manage to get my work done today. At any moment, I expect to collapse to the ground and start shaking again. I expect to start screaming and crying, or maybe shouting. When I finish one house and move on to the next, I expect to instead drive out of Autumn Downs, all the way to South Central or maybe Huntington Park, somewhere I can find a fix and drown out the image of Lila Kensington face down in her pool. I'm pretty sure the only reason I don't go home is that going there means I really will get a fix, and then I can kiss this job goodbye.

Part of me thinks that might not be a bad thing. How much more of this can I really take? For God's sake, it's my third day, and I've already witnessed a murder.

And there's no doubt in my mind it's a murder. Lila Kensington might not have been at the top of her emotional game, but she definitely wasn't suicidal. Suicidal people don't give a shit if the damned pool boy is staring at them, and they definitely don't go outside to flirt with that pool boy.

Someone drowned her. Or they killed her and then made it look like she drowned. And I got to be the lucky asshole who saw her.

Clara's face flits across my mind. The fake smile she wore over a mask of rage, despair and hate. I know the feelings all too well. Rage at being trapped in a life you can't stand, despair that you'll ever find your way out and hate for the person responsible for keeping you there. I thought that Julian was the person Clara hated, but now I'm wondering if maybe Lila was the person they both hated. Maybe Lila wasn't doing well in school, and they thought she would be living at home for the next ten years eating into their chance at a life to themselves. Maybe she did drugs or had an eating disorder, and…

Yeah, that might be it. She didn't look too thin when I saw her yesterday, but after talking to Vivian, I was in a pretty sex-crazed mood, so I'm pretty sure seeing any girl half-naked would have set me off. And her arm did look really thin when I shook her hand.

"All right, wonderful! Thank you so much, Nate."

I smile at the plump, overly dressed woman in front of me and remember her name at the last possible instant. "Of course, Mrs. Lalonde. I look forward to being of service to you in the future."

Mrs. Lalonde beamed and said, "Aren't you a darling. Have a wonderful day, dear."

"You as well."

This time when I leave, I remember to take the vacuum with me.

That reminds me of making an idiot of myself in front of the cop.

That reminds me that things are even worse than I've been thinking. I'm not just a witness to a murder, I'm a damned suspect. Like the cop said, she walked up on a dead girl and a pool boy the same age as the victim who admitted to hopping the fence into the backyard without telling the homeowners. If I was in her shoes, I would jump right to the conclusion that Mr. Pool Boy was a liar and a murderer.

I get to carry that pleasant thought with me as I start work on my next house. This one is inhabited by the Inohamas. Mrs. Inohama doesn't even speak to me. She has her housekeeper show me the way to the pool but makes sure I see the disgust in her eyes when she looks me up and down.

That"s fine with me. The less I know about everyone here, the better. If you want to drown someone in your pool, go ahead, but leave me the fuck out of it.

Lila's smile flashes across my mind, not the crazed image from my fever dream the night before, but the real one: the amused, playful smirk she wears when she teases me for catching her in her underwear.

No, she definitely wasn't suicidal. She was sad, but she wasn't the kind of sad that overdoses and belly flops into the family pond. She was just a little lonely, and she came outside to see if the only person her age probably for miles wanted to help her ease some of that loneliness.

And I was too worried about my job to even give her the time of day.

Guilt stabs me through the chest at that thought. I had a chance to be the last person to show Lila some kindness, and instead I blew her off.

My thoughts drift back to the murder. I can't help but wonder if Clara and Julian really killed her. It seems utterly insane that they would kill their own daughter, but it's not like they'd be the first parents to do that.

And Clara did lie about that party. I left the question open for the cop because I didn't want to get dragged into the middle of that conversation, but I know for a fact she wasn't telling me the truth. Even if they had a team of cleaners ready to make the place spotless the moment the party ended, there's no way that everything would look exactly the same as it did when I left. No fucking way.

And thinking back to Clara's attitude when she was telling me about the party, I don't think it was ever going to happen to begin with. She had looked at her husband while she mentioned it. She was saying that for his benefit. See honey? Look how much shit I have to put up with. See how nothing goes right in my life. This is your fault. You're supposed to make everything perfect for me.

And Julian… I put his disinterest off to a practiced superiority, but now I wonder if he also is just tired of his life. He's certainly tired of his wife. There was no attraction at all when he looked at her, and not even a hint of tenderness. He despises her.

Maybe he despised Lila too. Maybe he saw an opportunity and took it.

And I just gave him the best possible scapegoat. His lawyers probably make enough money to live here. They're going to be all over the suspicious pool boy who returned to their home a day after spying on their daughter through a window and viciously murdered the poor girl for turning down her advances. Meanwhile, my bored public defender is going to tell me that I should plea no contest to murder in the second and get parole after twenty-five instead of life without.

God, this is bad.

"Thank you," Mrs. Inohama's housekeeper says. She makes sure to lift her eyes a little higher than mine so she can look down on me—after all, she's a more important servant than I am—and finishes with, "that will be all."

"Of course," I say. "I hope to be of service to the Inohamas soon."

I leave the house and check my list. Four houses down, two to go. Then I get to go home and try to convince myself not to use.

"Nathan? Nate?"

The voice startles me badly enough that I jump completely off the ground. I spin around and see Vivian Chase recoiling slightly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Lovely.

I feel heat climb up my cheeks and say, "No, it's okay. I'm just… it's been kind of a rough day. Um… what are you doing here? I mean…" I mean exactly what I said, so I just let my voice trail off instead of trying to think of something more polite.

"I was looking for you. I heard about what happened. Are you okay?"

There's no sultriness in her expression. The seductive, early-middle-aged goddess act she wore the other day is gone. There's only genuine concern. I'm so desperate for actual human contact that I almost melt down in front of her, but I pick up on something that gives me serious pause.

"How did you hear about it? It happened four hours ago."

She gives me a smile, and some bitterness leaks into her compassion, though that bitterness isn't directed at me. "That's an eternity in a neighborhood like this. To directly answer your question, though, the cops came by and asked about it. Then they asked if I knew you." her smile turned just a touch flirtatious, and she added, "They were very interested to know why I invited you into my house. It took a while to convince them that all we did was share a glass of lemonade."

"Yeah, I'll bet." I manage a smile of my own, but only for a second.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I open my mouth to say no, but the flirtation and bitterness is gone, and I want nothing more than to say yes.

But I still say, "No. I mean, thank you. I really appreciate it, but I still have two more pools to clean."

"How about after? Dinner, at my place?"

I really should say no. I might only be nineteen years old, but I'm not stupid. The sultry look has come back into her eyes now. She's trying to hide it, but she's not doing a very good job. If I go to her place for dinner, I'll be staying for dessert, and I don't mean cake and ice cream.

"Yeah," I reply. "That sounds good."

She smiles again, and I feel another rush of heat. "Okay. I'll see you later, Nate. Don't worry about going home after work. You can shower at my place."

I try not to think about what else I'll be doing at her place. I don't succeed.

But for a moment, at least, I have an image of a living woman in my mind and not the images of two dead girls.