“He told Lola the same thing,” Roxy whispered thickly. “The nights he got her alone. Same deal. So she gave in thinking she was saving me, and I gave in to save her . . . And we were both damned, just like that.”
“You loved each other. You looked out for each other. That matters,” D.D. said. She patted Roxy’s hand. I’d never seen the softer side of the detective before. It was strangely unnerving. At that moment, I could see her in my survivors group, dispensing thoughtful advice. And we would all love her.
“Tell me about the photos, honey.”
“I guess I wasn’t surprised that he had some. Of course he’d try to blackmail us. But”—Roxy frowned—“the photos were a double-edged sword. If they really were of Lola and me . . . I was eleven, she was eight. They were child porn. Roberto would get in far more trouble for sharing them than we would. Like felony-level, spend-the-rest-of-his-life-in-jail kind of trouble. I tried to explain that to Lola. But she was too angry. She wouldn’t be weak. She wouldn’t let Roberto hurt her or me ever again. The next day, she joined Las Ni?as.”
“What about the school,” D.D. pressed. “My understanding is that they learned of the shared image. What did they do?”
“The story is that the principal called Roberto into his office. Roberto handed over his phone. There weren’t any pictures on it. Principal had to let him go.”
“I heard that, too,” I volunteered from the floor. “From the guidance counselor, Ms. Lobdell Cass.”
“Just because the photos were no longer on Roberto’s phone,” Roxy said hotly, “didn’t mean he didn’t still have possession. He could’ve uploaded them to an external drive, or the cloud, or even a second burner phone.”
“Ms. Lobdell Cass wondered the same.”
D.D. returned her attention to Roxy. “The school didn’t push?”
Roxy shrugged. “Roberto died. Then there was nothing to push against.”
“Do you believe he shot himself?” D.D. asked evenly.
“The police said he committed suicide.”
“You suspect your sister was involved in his death.” My turn again.
Roxy turned toward me. Frowned.
I repeated: “You suspected that your sister and her gang arranged for Roberto’s shooting.”
“She was never going to be the victim again,” Roxy said stiffly.
“Did she seem happier, more relaxed after that?” D.D. asked. “Did Roberto’s death solve her problems?”
Roxy blinked, seemed to consider the question. “No. I thought it would. Immediately after the news, maybe. But then, she grew subdued again. Nervous. She started pulling at her hair, picking at her scalp.”
“Las Ni?as Diablas denied any involvement in Roberto’s suicide,” D.D. said.
“Sure. Like they’re really gonna tell the truth to any cop.”
“She didn’t ask the question,” I said. “I did.”
Roxy shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“In hindsight, Roberto’s death feels too coincidental to be a suicide,” D.D. said slowly. “I’ve already left instructions to reopen the investigation. But for now, I’m willing to believe your sister and her friends weren’t involved either. Which leaves us with . . .”
Roxy appeared genuinely bewildered. “I don’t know. Roberto mostly hung out with Anya. And with Anya always starring in some production, school was just where they passed the time until rehearsals began at the community theater. Roberto worked as stage manager. At least, last I knew. I wrote . . .” She paused, caught herself. “Um, there was a school essay assignment.”
“The perfect family,” I murmured, stroking Blaze’s silky ears. “I heard about that.”
She didn’t look at me. “I already turned in the first two. Mrs. Chula, my teacher, she seemed to really like them. The writing. But she got worried about me. Wondered if maybe we should call in my mom, have a meeting. I’ve written more, a lot more actually, including a piece on the community theater. But I never turned them in. I’d already reached the assigned page count. I didn’t want to attract any more attention. And it occurred to me, if Lola found out what I’d written, she’d be upset. I’d broken our promise. I was writing about things we’d both agreed to leave forgotten.”
“Do you have those essays?” D.D. asked. “The ones you wrote but didn’t turn in? I’d like to read them. I’d like to understand better what happened five years ago, because I can’t help thinking it has something to do with what’s going on now.”
Roxy nudged the battered blue folder across the table. D.D. took it.
“Roberto died,” D.D. said, “but things didn’t get better, did they? If anything, your sister grew more agitated. And then you, too.”
“My mom.” Roxy barely got the words out. “She meant well. I know she did. But there’d been some incidents with Lola, and then getting called to the principal’s office over the photo . . . She started asking questions. Pressing both of us. She kept saying she just wanted to know the truth. But we couldn’t . . . We wouldn’t.”
I got it. “You thought she’d think it was all her fault. You were afraid learning what had happened to you and Lola at Mother Del’s would drive her to drink again.”
Slowly, Roxy nodded.
“Other than the photo Roberto distributed, do you know of any other evidence of what happened during your time at Mother Del’s?” D.D. asked.
Roxy shook her head.
“What about Mother Del?”
A rough smile. “That woman could sleep through a train crash.”
“Did she hit you? Threaten you? Engage in any inappropriate behaviors?”
Roxy shook her head.
D.D. chewed her lower lip, considered. “Who do you think shot your family?”
“I don’t know.”
“No. You do. Everyone we’ve been talking to has commented that you’ve been stressed these past few weeks. You’ve been afraid, Roxy. Of what?”
“I don’t know,” Roxy repeated, starting to sound agitated now. “When Roberto died, I thought life would get easier. Lola would relax. But instead, she’s been more . . . erratic. Mom’s questions upset her. Something with her new gang had her on edge. Maybe she thought they’d killed Roberto, or were angry that they hadn’t. I don’t know. I followed her one day to the community theater. She wanted her part back, she said. It took me a moment to realize she meant the Little Orphan Annie role she should have won years ago, before Roberto and Anya showed up.
“I caught Lola screaming at Anya in front of the director, Doug. Anya was calling her a slut, and Lola was yelling that Anya would get hers. Doug was just standing there, not knowing what to do.”
Or enjoying the show, I thought, especially given that he was apparently sleeping with Anya.
“I dragged Lola away. But she was . . . vibrating. She kept repeating under her breath over and over again, ‘I will not be a victim, I will not be a victim.’ Then: ‘They will get theirs.’
“I was frightened,” Roxy said. “Lola has always been melodramatic. But this. I felt like she was becoming unhinged. I was still trying to figure out what to do, how much to say to my mom. Then, yesterday . . .”
“When you saw the police, your first thought was Lola,” D.D. said evenly. “You knew she was unstable. And you knew she still had a gun.”
“I should’ve thrown it away. Dropped it in a dumpster. Something.”
“Did you think she’d killed your family?”
“I thought maybe she and my mother had gotten into a fight. In which case, if Lola felt trapped, she might grab the gun. She would shoot first, think second. And Charlie, of course, would try to protect my mom.”
“What about Manny?” D.D. asked.
Roxy shook her head. “She wouldn’t harm Manny. Never. That’s the part that makes no sense. Lola is angry and impulsive. But she would slit her own wrists before harming a hair on our little brother’s head. He is all that’s good in the world. When we were at Mother Del’s, our weekly meetings with him, watching him light up when we walked into the room, that’s the only thing that gave us hope.”