Dangerous Lies Read Free

Stella?” the woman said, jerking me out of the flashback.
    I felt myself sway, and Price caught me by the elbow. “Let’s get her inside. Long day of travel. A full night’s rest will do a world of good.”
    Regaining some of my senses, I ripped out of his hold. “Don’t.”
    “Stella—”
    I whirled on him. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to drink lemonade and act like any of this is normal? I don’t want to be here. I didn’t ask for this. Everything I know is gone. I’ll—I’ll never forgive her for this!” The words came choking out before I realized it. My whole body felt tight and slippery. I swiped at my eyes, refusing to cry. Not until I was alone and could risk falling apart. I pressed my fingernails deep into my palm to draw the pain out of my heart and focus it somewhere manageable.
    Before I dragged my luggage up to the house, I saw the woman’s—Carmina’s—mouth pinch at the edges, and Price flashed her an apologetic grimace as if to say there was no accounting for teenage behavior. I didn’t care what they thought. If they believed I was selfish and difficult, they were probably right. And if I made this summer a living hell for Carmina, maybe she’d let me move out early and live on my own. It wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever had.
    Price trotted up the porch steps to hold the screen door for me, and Carmina said, “Maybe we’ll put off a tour of the house until tomorrow. Bed might be just the thing.”
    “I can’t be the only one who’s dog-tired,” Price readily agreed.
    I wasn’t tired, but I wanted to close myself behind a door just as badly as they did, so I didn’t argue. I didn’t care if it made me look compliant. Carmina would find out soon enough that even though the Justice Department had given me a cover story and a new life, I wasn’t going to pretend like anything about this was okay with me.
    Inside, the house smelled like rosewater. Dainty flower–printed wallpaper peeled away from the walls, and I caught a glimpse of the sofas in the living room—battered blue corduroy. There was an antlered head of some species of deer mounted above the fireplace. I’d never seen anything so backwoods or tacky.
    Carmina led the way up the worn staircase. Nail holes pitted the wall going up, but the portraits had been taken down, and for the first time, I wondered briefly about Carmina. Who she was. Why she lived alone. If she’d had a family, and what had happened to them. Instantly, I shut off the questions. This woman meant nothing to me. She was a government-issued stand-in for my mom until I turned eighteen at the end of August and could legally live on my own.
    At the top of the stairs, Carmina pushed open a door. “This is where you’ll sleep. Fresh towels on the dresser, basic toiletries in the bathroom next door down. Tomorrow we can swing by the store and pick up anything I missed. Breakfast’s at seven sharp. Any dietary restrictions I need to know about? Not allergic to peanuts, are you?”
    “No.”
    She gave a satisfied nod. “See you in the morning, then. Sleep tight.”
    Carmina closed the door and I lowered myself onto the edge of the twin bed. The springs squeaked an off-key note. The window was open, letting in a warm, muggy breeze, and I wondered why Carmina wasn’t running the AC. She wasn’t going to leave the house windows open all night, was she? Was that safe?
    I shut and locked the window and yanked the blue cotton curtains shut, but right away the hot, stuffy air felt suffocating. I lifted my hair to fan the back of my neck. Then I peeled out of my clothes and flopped back on the bed.
    The room was small, barely wide enough to hold the bed and an oak dresser. The pitched roof made the walls seem to squeeze even tighter around me. My eyes traced the patchwork of blue rectangles on the faded ceiling where posters, now gone, had preserved the original paint color. Blue paint, blue curtains, blue sheets. And a dusty baseball glove on