Ava looked at her father, then quickly turned away. She wanted desperately to tell him the truth. But even if she did tell him, Leslie would make up something to get herself off the hook and figure out a way to punish Ava for it later. What was the point?
“It was an accident,” she muttered. “Just some dumb thing at school.”
Ava’s father just looked at her, his eyes wide and sad. “You’ve become so different,” he said. “So . . . withdrawn. It’s like I don’t know you anymore. Leslie is worried about you.”
Ava stared at him. Leslie had him so convinced, and she was freaking sick of it. Something inside her cracked, like a dam breaking. “I’m not different!” she burst out. “You’re the one who’s changed! You’re the one who doesn’t spend time with me anymore, or give me the benefit of the doubt, and it’s like you’ve just forgotten Mom, and—”
A loud, sickening thump cut through Ava’s words. Ava and her father jumped off the bed and ran to look out the window—where the sound had come from. Ava gazed out across the yard but saw nothing amiss. Then she looked straight down, and screamed.
Leslie lay limp and still on the grass. Her body had fallen at an awkward angle, her knees pointing one way, her torso the other. Her neck was twisted in a sickeningly unnatural direction.
Ava made a small gurgling sound at the back of her throat. Mr. Jalali pushed around her at the window. When he saw his wife, his face paled. “Dear god,” he whispered. His knees buckled, and he clutched the windowsill to keep himself upright. Ava pulled him to his feet, and together they raced downstairs and outside.
The ground was wet with early evening dew. Leslie was in the same crooked position, but up close her face looked lined and haggard, and a thin dribble of chardonnay bubbled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh my dear,” Mr. Jalali said, dropping to his knees and throwing himself against her chest. “Oh my sweet, sweet dear.”
“Dad, don’t touch her!” Ava screamed. “You could hurt her!”
Mr. Jalali backed up, his eyes full of fear. Ava knelt down and put her ear to Leslie’s mouth, listening for breath. She heard a faint inhale, then a wheezing exhale. “Call 911,” she said shakily. Then she looked up at the house. Above them, the doors of the master bedroom balcony were wide open, as if they’d been flung outward. Had Leslie stepped out for some air? Lost her balance, toppled over?
Ava looked back down at Leslie, who had turned a ghostly shade of gray. Her heart began to pound as she remembered her words about Leslie from that day in film studies. Maybe she could fall off her balcony after she finishes her nightly bottle of chardonnay.
Someone had done this.
And then something else gripped her: That same someone might still be in the house right now.
Ava jumped back up and faced the front door. Something moved at the corner of her eye, and she turned. Was that a shadow, creeping toward the backyard? Stumbling forward, Ava rounded the rose bushes at the corner of the house and burst onto the patio, which was half-decorated with elegant tables, place settings, flowers, and candles in elegant silver candlesticks, all for the party. But there was no one there.
Everything was still. Ava sucked in deep, gasping mouthfuls of air, terror and confusion and horror coursing through her. She wanted to tell herself that it was an accident—that she hadn’t seen anything at all back here.
But she knew, deep down, that this wasn’t an accident.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JULIE SAT ON A SWING in the playground a few blocks from her house. It was attached to a church, but only a few kids ever visited, so she always had the place to herself. She came here when she was feeling especially stressed, or when it felt like the walls in her house were closing in on her—which was, admittedly, quite often. Just sitting and swinging usually calmed her down, especially with the backdrop of the orange-and-purple sunset glittering through the clouds. But not tonight. Maybe not ever again. She felt scattered and horrible. She couldn’t stand to be at home—with all the cats gone, her mom had done nothing but wail loudly about how it was all Julie’s fault—but she couldn’t go anywhere, either. Apparently, Social Services had been notified that there was a minor living in the cat-riddled house, and someone was supposed to come out and interview Julie soon, but that didn’t make her feel better, either. So what—they’d send her to foster care? That hardly seemed like an improvement.
It felt like the whole world was closing in on her. She pulled out her phone and tried Parker one more time, but there was still no answer. Where was she? And what had she done?