Incriminated (10 page)

“Grace already left to play beach volleyball. So she won't be able to wait in for the IKEA delivery.” Candace helped John-Michael set the dining table, carrying over steaming plates of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and hash browns.

Lucy collected three different bottles of hot sauce from the cabinet and set them on the table. “Oh, it's fine, Ariana said she'd do that.”

“Oh, well, that's just lovely,” Candace said, her tone flat. Dryly she added, “Are we expecting Ariana to eat with us?”

“She's taking a hot bath,” Lucy replied. “She said her back hurt from sleeping on the futon.”

Candace said nothing, but locked eyes with John-Michael for a moment. He shook his head very slightly, amazed. “How about Maya?” she asked.

“Still in bed. She's nocturnal, that girl.”

John-Michael laughed. “So are we. Breakfast at two thirty in the afternoon?”

“Dude, it's summer vacation,” Lucy replied. “Maya's probably asleep because she worked until dawn.”

“It's that app,” Candace said. “‘Gotta keep moving, like a shark.' Isn't that what she always says? Well, you know what they say about all work and no play . . .”

“Says the girl who spends all her free time working on a TV show,” Lucy commented. “Or can we presume you have an ulterior motive there? 'Cause I've been hearing rumors.”

Candace arched a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow at Lucy as she helped herself to bacon and eggs. “Guys, I'm
dreaming
about Yoandy now.”

Lucy poured out three glasses of ice water. “Do tell. Or are we talkin' R-rated dreams here?”

“Those'd be the only kind of dreams I'd have about Yoandy Santiago,” John-Michael admitted.

Candace gave a wicked smile. “We were totally doing it, if you must know.”

“Goddamn dream-hussy, I knew it!” John-Michael said, pointing an accusing finger.

“Hmm,” Candace responded lightly, “look who's talking.
He
calls me
nena linda
,” she added with a softness to her voice that surprised even her.

Lucy's interest perked up. “In real life? Or was that in your dream?”

“In real life, of course.”

John-Michael clutched a hand to his heart and said passionately,
“¡Nena linda, te quiero, cuanto te quiero!”

Lucy sniggered, but Candace merely flicked a lump of
scrambled egg at her. “
Silencio
! I've decided it's romantic.”

“
Nena linda
isn't bad,” John-Michael added. “I've heard Maya's aunt call her that.”

“But I think he has a girlfriend . . .” Candace said, sighing.

“A guy that hot probably has more than one,” Lucy agreed.

Candace continued, somewhat reluctant, “I mean, he says they're not together, but . . .”

“You suspect you're being lined up as number two,” chuckled John-Michael. “Although I gotta tell you. Kay Alexander doesn't seem like his type. She's one of those weird Hollywood enigmas. Famous for being Dana Alexander's sister, and not much else.”

“She did a reality TV show,” observed Candace. She'd researched Kay quite a bit since learning of her connection to Yoandy. None of it made her feel any more secure.

Lucy stopped in mid-reach for the SunnyD. She seemed a little shocked. “Yoandy Santiago is dating
Dana Alexander's sister
? I did not know that.”

“Oh, you've been taking an interest?” Candace said flatly.

“In Kay Alexander? Not particularly,” Lucy said, a little cautiously. “But Yoandy Santiago I've heard of. I didn't know he could act.”

“He's great at stage combat,” Candace admitted. “Acting—I guess I'll find out later today, at the table read.
Prepped
is meant to be his big break.”

After their spectacularly late breakfast, Candace showered and brushed her teeth with careful precision. She held her own gaze in the mirror and remembered the dream.

She hadn't been totally honest with her housemates. She and Yoandy hadn't been having sex—or at least, they hadn't gotten to that part before she'd woken up. In her dream, he'd been removing her clothes, slowly, staring into her eyes as he did so, and she'd simply waited, trembling at his every touch.

Who knew that a few softly spoken words could have such an effect on her subconscious?

Maybe it was because he spoke in Spanish. In English, she'd probably have laughed at him. But the Spanish lent him a sincerity that was hard to deny.

She drove her newly serviced Prius to the studio and parked, swaying her hips as she strolled through the lot, conscious of the fact that at any moment, Yoandy might appear. She wanted to appear gracious, feminine,
hot
. But she didn't see him until they'd already taken their places at the table, because once again, he was the last to arrive for the late-afternoon rehearsal.

When the pages were handed out, Candace scoured them for scenes where her character, Annika, appeared with Yoandy's character, Sebastian. When she found a scene, she pored over the lines, for any hint of sexual tension. The production team was keeping any future developments under wraps, so she had no idea whether a relationship between Annika and Sebastian might be explored. But she
could hope. Hope fueled her fantasy.

Prepped
was going to be screened on cable. She'd already seen that the language they used was fairly adult. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that she'd have to record a bedroom scene with Yoandy. Even with the “no nudity” clause in her contract, Candace knew she could be asked to push boundaries. She imagined the tension from acting such a scene. Would it spill over into their real lives?

For some reason, boys her own age didn't interest Candace. She'd certainly gotten their attention, especially in the past two years. Her curves gave her a whole new look, away from the skinny athleticism of her childhood. She'd even had a couple of boyfriends. Hooking up with a high school boy, though—it wasn't all that.

Yoandy was twenty-one, and those few extra years made all the difference.

She was positioned almost directly opposite Yoandy at the table, on a very slight diagonal. When they read their scenes together, he'd obviously memorized his lines. And he looked her straight in the eye as Sebastian spoke to Annika:
If you were mine, you wouldn't have been alone.

“What makes you so sure I was alone?”

The intensity of his attention was unnerving. It took her by surprise. Fumbling her own line, Candace flipped the pages back and forth, her cheeks burning hot as she realized that she'd somehow missed this exchange in the preparation. Or at least she'd missed the potential for romantic tension.

“Annika,” the director said wearily, “could you maybe try that with a little more
pizzazz
?”

Candace stared at the line. She turned to the director, keenly aware of Yoandy's eyes on her. “You want me to say that kinda flirtily?”

“Would it be too much trouble?” the director replied, politely sarcastic.

She cleared her throat and faced Yoandy. The combination of lust and tenderness she saw in his eyes shook her to the core. “If you were mine, you wouldn't have been alone,” she said.

“Which is a very nice delivery, Miss Deering,” sneered the director, “of Sebastian's line.”

There was a general snickering from the rest of the cast, apart from Ricardo Adams, who, Candace noticed, looked positively frosty. For a moment, she caught Yoandy's reaction—a hopeful smile.

“Shall we take five? I could use a cigarette,” the director said, pushing back his chair.

Everyone but Candace rose to their feet. She remained in place, unsure if her legs could be trusted to carry her. It was as though she'd been poisoned. Her pulse was racing, palms sweating. She'd embarrassed herself in front of the entire cast of a brand-new TV show, possibly her best chance to get her career off to a decent start.

When she looked up, however, there was Yoandy, offering a hand.

“It happened to me,” he confessed, “the first time I had
to sing in public. I forgot the lyrics.”

She allowed him to help her to her feet. When he didn't release her hand right away, she tried to relax. “Okay, so we're holding hands now, are we?” she mumbled nervously.

“
Nena
, it's all right. Breathe.”

She tried to laugh and pulled her fingers away, leaning against the table for support. “You're the newbie,” she murmured. “I shouldn't be the one making mistakes like this.”

“Newbie? Me?” He shook his head, smiling. “Candace, I've been singing and dancing in front of people since I was thirteen. You have any idea how vulnerable some of my lyrics make me feel? It's like reaching into my chest, pulling out my heart, and slapping it down on a plate for everyone to eat.”

Candace didn't know what to say. She had no idea what his songs were about, but she could guess. He looked at her for a moment, as though coming to a decision. Then with a brief grin, he turned and took off toward the recording equipment. She watched, baffled, as he moved between the technical crew until one of them nodded and handed something to him.

Yoandy turned to her, microphone in hand. When he spoke, his voice echoed in the studio space. “Candace, this is for you.”

“Oh God,” she whispered, clutching the edge of the table. “Don't
sing
to me . . .”

“Jigg-a-lypuff. Jigg-a-lypuff!” he sang, loud, his voice a perfect, soulful tenor. He didn't break eye contact with
Candace, despite peals of amazed laughter in the studio. He continued, “Jigg-a-ly—puff—Jigg-a-ly . . .”

“Oh good grief,” Candace muttered. Her nervousness vanished, like smoke.

Yoandy couldn't finish the song; he was overwhelmed by uproarious laughter from the cast and crew. From outside where he'd been smoking, the director yelled at them. A few minutes later, Yoandy was back at the table, guiding her back to her seat and beaming with glee.

“Jigglypuff.” She smirked. “Really?”

“I was eight years old when I came to this country. Pokémon became
my life
,” he answered earnestly. “Someday I'm gonna show you my collection.”

Candace propped up an elbow, rested her chin on her hands. “Pokémon? That's actually hilarious,” she drawled. “Your favorite thing about America is actually Japanese.”

“Everyone gets nervous,
nena
,” he told her, tenderly, taking her right hand in both of his and massaging just beneath her thumb. “One day you'll look back at this and you'll laugh.”

“One day?” she said, trying desperately to take her mind off what he was making her feel with his touch. “I'm thinking of you singing the Jigglypuff song and I'm laughing
right now
.”

Maya dug her fingers into the pillow, trying to calm her thoughts, trying to focus on what she'd actually heard Dana Alexander say on the phone to Ariana earlier that morning. It was a blood-freezing notion.

“Bloody well make friends with them.”

Ariana was obviously well aware of the fact that she wasn't getting along with the rest of the housemates. She'd retreated into the bathroom to take a nice long bath, precisely when they were about to eat breakfast together. Their irritation was finally getting to her.

“Find that bottle of nail polish.”

What nail polish? For Maya, this was an entirely new element to the whole mystery. What if something about nail polish featured in some unpublished clue, something that hadn't been raised at the murder trial? Something that only the real killer would know? Could something as seemingly insignificant as a bottle of nail polish link Dana
Alexander to the murder of Tyson Drew?

Maya sat up on her bed, opened her computer, and scoured her collection of data from the Hollywood murder of which Grace's father had been convicted. Nail polish hadn't been mentioned in any of the articles she'd dredged up. Given that Tyson Drew was supposedly drowned by Alex Vesper—a guy—it seemed like a stretch.

But she simply couldn't think of any other reason why Dana would go to such lengths to plant someone else in their home. Why she'd make such a big deal over some nail polish.

Or why she'd plant Ariana in Lucy's life from the start.

With a mounting sense of helplessness, Maya faced up to the fact that Ariana hadn't been brought in as a stranger to the house, not like Maya. Ariana had been friends with Lucy for
years
. They'd been rehab buddies.

Had Dana Alexander arranged all of that, too?

Maya twisted in the bedclothes, listening for the flush of the toilet to signal Ariana getting ready to leave the bathroom.

Just how powerful was Dana Alexander?

Maya had to stall for time to think things through. If she blew Ariana's cover now, Maya would need to come clean about her own role as a spy.

Any trust in Maya would be gone. Her housemates might even throw her out. Then Dana would find out that she wasn't cooperating. The woman might even make good
on her threat to tell immigration that Maya and her mom were in the United States illegally. Then it would be back to Mexico City.

No more Venice Beach house. No more introductions to Silicon Valley business angels.
No more kissing Jack.

On the other hand, Maya didn't want to do a single thing that might actually help Dana Alexander. She'd eventually have to expose Ariana to her housemates. Before Maya made her move, though, she had to at least try to mediate the blowback. Maybe get some evidence against Dana Alexander herself, something that Maya could use as leverage?

Rat me out to immigration and you'll have to deal with me, Alexander.

It was a lot to think about.

Maya heard a creak in the floorboards and became aware that she was not alone in the bedroom.

She stared up at the open door to the triple bedroom, feeling woozy.

Ariana stood there in her bathrobe, looking inquisitive. Naturally.

Maya was about to rearrange her scowl into a sweet smile, when it struck her that Ariana might get suspicious if Maya suddenly altered her behavior toward her. Of all the housemates, Maya was the one most inconvenienced by Ariana's arrival. Maya's habit of coding on the sofa, or at the kitchen table, long after everyone else had gone to bed,
had set the two in competition for the same space. If anyone was allowed to be snarky about Ariana, Maya figured it could be her.

With the same friendly grin that she used each day to greet the housemates, Ariana said, “Hey, Maya. Can I get you a coffee?”

Maya emitted something like a snarl and rolled over, facing away.

“How's the app coming along?” Ariana asked lightly.

Maya grunted. “Not great. I'm supposed to show an alpha version soon. I'm gonna have to work all day and night to get it done. Where is everyone?”

“Work,” Ariana replied vaguely. “The beach.”

Maya forced her voice to remain even, casual. “So, you're staying home today?”

“I'm waiting for that delivery from IKEA.”

Maya's eyes registered surprise. “That's today? Oh, I'm here all day. You can go out, if you have something you need to do. I'll stay in for the delivery.”

Ariana smiled slightly. “It's okay,” she began quietly, but was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

Maya checked her watch: 3:27 p.m. Jack! She'd forgotten all about her meeting with him. She leapt to her feet, dressed quickly, grabbed a pair of beach shoes from beneath her mattress. She was dragging a brush through her hair and checking her makeup as Ariana made her way downstairs to let him in.

A few moments later she was in the living room and
letting Jack kiss her on both cheeks, super-polite as ever, barely any indication that they'd ever taken it further. Before Jack could say anything to betray either of them, Maya called out, “This is my tutor, Jack Cato.” She made an informal gesture in Ariana's direction. “Jack, Ariana.”

“Hello, Jack.” Ariana smiled, appearing at the edge of the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee? Juice? Milk?”

“Actually, a tea would be brilliant if you've got it—milk, no sugar,” he replied. To Maya's relief, Ariana disappeared back into the kitchen.

Maya led Jack to the green futon.

“You guys have a hugely privileged situation, you know that?” Jack said. “What I'd give to live on this beach, be able to walk down to the ocean for a swim. Or a run.”

Maya smiled at him mischievously. “Just hypothetically—what
would
you give?”

Jack seemed to have some difficulty framing his reply. Minutes later, Ariana reappeared. She handed Jack a mug of tea, then sidled away. Maya turned and watched Ariana pop two earbuds into her ears before she made herself something to eat.

“How's your tea?” Maya asked.

“Hot,” he said, blowing across the surface of the tea. “It'll do. Lord knows I could use it after that traffic. The state of the roads in this city is nobody's business!”

Maya wrinkled her nose. “It's a long drive from Pasadena, huh?”

“It's not exactly around the corner,” he agreed. “But
today I've come from the airport.”

Maya couldn't stop her eyes lighting up. “Your ex . . . ? What happened to doing a course at UCLA?”

He grinned, delighted. “Her uni emailed last night and said it's a no-go. So this morning, off she popped, back to the UK.”

“Oh,” Maya said, a little deflated. All that getting annoyed, for nothing. Or—had it just been an excuse? “So you're really not into her anymore?”

Patiently he said, “Maya, she booked the flight months ago, when we were still together. It would have been pretty mean to abandon her in LA.”

“I guess that's true.” Hesitating slightly, Maya said, “About the drive from Pasadena, if you ever need a place to crash one weekend, there's a bed here. Don't look so shocked—I didn't mean my bed. I meant this futon. Ariana's only supposed to be staying for a few more days.”

A slow smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You certainly managed to crowbar ‘bed' into the conversation.”

“Oh please,” Maya said with a gentle slap of the back of her hand to the thigh that was almost touching hers. “It was written all over your face.”

He laughed and leaned closer, until she realized that he was going to kiss her. Maya pulled her face away from his lips and whispered, “Not here. Ariana is watching.” Before he turned to look, she hissed. “Don't look!”

Disappointment clouded Jack's features. It was a cute look for him, she decided. Puppy-dog-like, very sweet.
“Not a fan of the PDA?” he asked.

Maya produced a small smile. With a sigh, Jack leaned over to pick up his brown leather messenger bag and withdrew a MacBook. He flipped it open and began to talk once again, the playful tone now banished.

“Okay, so the news is that one of the angels has dropped out. But not to worry—we do have an offer on the table: Kyle Joseph, who used to work at Google. I've had a bit of a chat with some of the guys in the entrepreneur society. They reckon the offer isn't bad—pretty much in line with what he mentioned at the presentation. He's offering a hundred K for twenty percent—subject to due diligence.”

Maya shook her head in wonder. “Wow. One hundred thousand dollars!”

Jack smiled, pale blue eyes like a wading pool. He leaned closer and whispered into her ear, “Sweetheart, you are seriously smart. And I for one am going to do my utmost to see to it that you go a very,
very
long way.”