Valley of the Moon (7 page)

He moved down the hall to the family photographs. Me as a baby. Me at three. Me at four. Me at five. Me at six. Me at seven.

My mom was the designated family photographer. There were no photos of me after age seven.

Caleb stood in front of the last picture on the wall.

“Is that your mom?” In it, we’re sitting on the front porch of the house, a few weeks before she died.

“Yeah.”

He looked over at me. “I guess it runs in the family.”

“What does?”

“Strawberry blond hair. And gorgeousness.” I opened my mouth to respond but I forgot what I was going to say, because right there in our creaky hallway littered with dusty photographs, standing right where I’d stood a thousand times in my pajamas, he kissed me. Kissed me like he needed it.

He pulled away and blew out a breath. “This is officially the best house tour I’ve ever had. Is there anything else you’d like to show me?” I tried to pull my thoughts together, but they’d scattered to bits.

“Um, no, that’s pretty much it. Except for the bedrooms.”

“Oooh, I love girls’ rooms,” he said.
How many has he been in?

He tapped on my door. “This one, right?” I nodded. “I can always tell.” Nerves zipped up and down my spine. My brain scanned a frantic mental checklist:

Embarrassing/unflattering photos of myself stashed under bed? Check.

Pre-teen novels removed from bookshelf? Check.

Computer web browsing history cleared? Check.

Yes, I had prepared a little, just in case. He opened the bedroom door and gestured to me. “After you.”

He went right over to the crammed bookshelf next to my desk.

“I haven’t even read half of these. But, I’m not going to start now.”

He pulled me over to the bed and half tossed, half pushed me onto it. I landed, laughing, and tried to get myself into a less compromising position. Before I could sit up and straighten myself out, Caleb was leaning over me, one hand slipping under me and around my waist, the other pushing the hair out of my eyes. He hoisted me up a little and pressed his body to mine. I closed my eyes and our mouths met. I pulled his head down to mine. He let out a soft groan. His hand slid up my back, under my t-shirt, and I felt his fingers graze the strap of my bra.

“How long till your dad bursts in here with a shotgun?” he whispered, his face buried in my hair.

“Probably an hour. Longer if he stops to buy the shotgun.” Our faces were just inches apart. I stared at the individual lashes around his bright eyes and raked my fingers through his hair.

“Oh Lana,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re killing me.”

“Should I stop?”

“Absolutely not. Do not stop.” He gripped me tighter and his mouth was everywhere—my neck, sliding down my neck to my clavicle. My shirt buttons became unbuttoned. My hands were lost in his hair, and my mind was lost in the sensation of lips on skin. His hands moved up the side of my body, swept under my thin t-shirt and over my bra. One hand stopped and cupped my breast.

Heat swept over me and my stomach muscles clenched tight.

“Caleb, wait.” His mouth covered mine again. My brain was lolling in a waterbed of pure bliss. I did not want him to go further. Well, I did, but not now. Not here. Not with my dad coming home soon.

“Caleb. Wait!” I gripped his hair in my hands and pulled his head back a few inches.

“Okay, okay.” He stared at me, a look of delight on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His fingers traced the edge of my shirt again. He leaned down to kiss the V where the last button on my shirt was still valiantly defending my honor.

“Do you kiss a lot of boys in this room?” he asked. I sat up and buttoned my shirt.

I shook my head.
This is going to suck.
“You’re the first.”

“Oh.” He looked chastened.

“Ever.”

He looked confused.

“First guy you kissed in your room?”

“First ever…anything. Anywhere.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Wait, so, you mean, you never—?”

“Right.”

He looked like he’d discovered I was a vampire. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. He let out a deep breath and chuckled. “That pretty much makes you a unicorn at Briar. I thought so. We all start out that way, right? I’m glad you told me.” I didn’t bother asking
him
if he was a virgin. Pretty sure I could guess the answer.

I heard a car pull up the driveway.

“I think my dad’s home.”

Caleb winked. “To be continued.”

***

Wolf House in Jack London Park was a wrecked castle of stone and shadows. Jack London’s towering dream house he built for his beloved wife, Charmian. The roof burned away in a fire days before they moved in. Massive three-story stone walls supported open-air walkways in the sky that were half-hidden by towering trees. Rounded doorways led to nowhere. A thick pelt of emerald moss carpeted the ground inside. Twin stone chimneys stood guard at the entrance, fifty feet tall. A sunken reflecting pool was now a deep lake of brackish rainwater that dominated the inner courtyard.

I thought I knew everything about Wolf House, but I hadn’t known it was such a perfect place to make out with a boy. The few tourists wandering around didn’t notice the teenage couple kissing in a shadowy corner of the ruins.

“I really did miss you, Lana,” he said. “You have no idea.” His words sent tendrils of warmth through my body. His kisses crept from my neck to my lips. A haze of pheromones and heat radiated off our bodies and all rational thought shut down.
This is what physical attraction feels like.

It was like discovering a new drug. I was becoming addicted to Caleb Weaver.

He suddenly broke away. There was a weird look on his face.

“Lana, don’t turn around,” he said, “but that fat guy over there is staring at us.”

“What? Where?”

He nodded his head in the direction of the reflecting pool. “Be casual.” I crouched down and pretended to tie my shoes. A portly man wearing a raincoat, wireframe glasses, and a 49ers hat was staring at a map. He had a brown cigarette clamped between his teeth. I caught a whiff of the smoke. It smelled like cloves.

The man kept glancing at us and back to his map. Then over at us, and back to his map. When he caught me looking at him, he wandered away.

“Weird. What was he doing?” I asked.

“Obviously checking out the best-looking girl in Sonoma County. Come on, I should get you back.” Gray clouds were spooling across the valley, swallowing the sun. We walked down a rustic pathway. Rays of light filtered through the trees. It gave the misty air an unreal, dreamy quality.

A loud crack of thunder rang out and raindrops started pelting us. We ran to his car.

I knew I was falling in love with Caleb Weaver. But I didn’t experience girlish joy or giddy delight or whatever you’re supposed to feel when you’re falling in love for the first time.

I just felt dread.

***

Once we made it to my driveway, it took a good twenty minutes to say good-bye to each other in his car. By the time I got the door open my hair was all mussed and my cheeks hurt from kissing. Caleb had to head back to the city—his parents were throwing a big party in San Francisco for his little brother and his entire class.

It was still raining, so I ran into the house holding my jacket over my head.

I didn’t notice the rose bushes.

When I stepped inside, the fragrance hit me like a wall.

“Dad, are you here?” There was no response.

My throat tightened up. I dropped my bag at the door and scanned the kitchen and den. I didn’t see anything out of place.

I took a step forward and heard a muffled crunch. A rose from the garden lay crushed under my shoe.

I screamed when I saw the rest of them.

There were roses strewn from the front door down the hallway to the bedrooms. Not strewn—someone had carefully placed a rose every couple feet. All the roses were pointing in the same direction, like arrows.

Ghost, was this you?

I forced myself to pull my phone out of my pocket. I dialed 911 and my finger hovered over the Send button. I forced myself to follow the roses. They curved to the right and ended at the door to my bedroom.

A single rose hung from a noose made with a man’s black leather belt.

Not leather—some kind of reptile skin.

The loop was cinched tight below the blossom. The rose murderer had held the belt against my bedroom door and stabbed a slender knife through it, so the terrifying thing hung at eye level.

It was no ghost. My body went rigid and I tried to scream again, but only a strangled whimper emerged.

The phone in my room rang. I forced myself to turn the knob and fling my door open.

Whoever had broken in had trashed my room. Someone had emptied every drawer onto the floor. Clothes, school papers, books, shoes—all my worldly possessions, in a few jumbled heaps on the floor. My jewelry box was overturned on my desk.

The phone rang again and I nearly leaped out of my skin.

“Hello?”

“Hi honey, it’s me. How was your date?” I fell apart.

“Dad! Someone broke into the house. They went through all my stuff, ruined mom’s garden. We have to call the cops.”

His voice turned ice cold. “No. Do not do that. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

***

My father yanked the knife out of the door. The belt clattered to the floor, beheading the rose. Severed from its stem, the rose blossom tumbled across the floor.

I stood with my arms crossed in front of him. Adrenaline pumped through my body. He picked up the belt and examined it.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or should I call the cops?”

His face contorted in a way I’d never seen before. He grabbed me by my upper arms and shook me.

“Under no circumstances can you go to the police, Lana! Do you understand?”

I stared at him.
Not again. This can’t be happening again.
I was in danger again, because of him. More than when we lived with the Crawfords, possibly.

“Let me guess,” I snapped. “Your wonderful investor Victor is actually some kind of loan shark and he wants you to start paying up. You can’t. So he’s trying to scare you.”

He released my arms and sank to the floor in front of my room. “Maybe.”

I shook my head in disgust. “You were just telling me how great he was.”

He let out a tremendous sigh. “We had a deal. He changed the terms on me.”

“So let’s sell this stupid house already! We can make enough to pay him back and we’ll have plenty to live on.”

“Stupid house? What happened to ‘over my dead body’?”

“I didn’t mean it literally!” I went to the kitchen and found the broom in the utility closet. I started sweeping up the broken stems and leaves and crushed petals littering the hallway.

He held the scooper for me. I carefully swept the destroyed roses into it. “Anyway, it’s too late to sell,” he murmured.

“What?” I gasped. “What do you mean?” He gave me a halfhearted smile.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s all going to be okay. Don’t worry, honey.”

It was pretty far from okay.

But I just kept sweeping.

Do NOT tell me what he looks like
with no shirt on again,” I pleaded. “I get it.”

I needed to keep my mind on my notes—I had a history quiz after lunch on the French Revolution but Piper kept right on describing Wyatt’s upper body in rich detail, including his extensive collection of tattoos. It was a warm day for early February. We were sitting in our usual lunch spot and the breeze was ruffling my skirt. The scent of flowers wafted up from the vineyards on the hillsides around school. The pear tree next to our bench was in full bloom with dazzling white flowers. They floated down on us whenever the breeze rattled its limbs.

Spring fever was percolating. The end was near and we all felt it.

“Piper, enough!”

“Sorry, sorry. Hey, Valentine’s Day is this weekend. Should we all do something? Do you and Caleb have any plans?”

I slammed my notebook shut. “Caleb has a water polo game,” I lied. “In San Diego.”

“He has one, like, every weekend. Can’t they give him one day off?”

“I guess not.” The rest of the afternoon I was in a horrid mood. If I had to hear about Valentine’s Day one more time I would kill someone.

At senior assembly, things got worse. Olivia Miller, the class social chair, announced the theme of the prom.

“This year’s spring formal will be at a fabulous hotel in downtown Sonoma. The theme is
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. You have six weeks to find those dates, ladies! We want 100% participation this year. No excuses.” She pointed her finger around the room like she meant it. But I had an excuse. I had a quasi-boyfriend who didn’t know he was my boyfriend.

I made a mental note to tell Justine I’d be available to work that night. My bad mood turned black.

As we walked out of assembly, Piper was still gushing.

“I still can’t believe we have boyfriends just in time for the prom.” She had been repeating this for days on an endless loop. “I just wish Maya and Evan could go with us!”

I fought the urge to stab her with a pencil.

“Oh, you have a boyfriend now, Piper?” Cressida and Ginger materialized behind us. Ginger sneered. “Who’s the lucky dork this time?” Ginger cackled. “Last year your formal date was what, thirteen? That fat kid, remember, Cress?” Cressida smiled her too-wide smile and looked like she was about to swallow something whole.

Cressida cleared her throat. “Lana, I hear the prom committee is looking for some valet parkers. Maybe you’ll get to go this year.”

I smiled back at Cressida. “I’m going with my boyfriend, too. He’s a freshman. In college.”

If I asked him. And he said yes. Which I doubted.

But I’d work out the pesky details later.

Ginger put a finger to her eye and dragged it down her cheek, tracing the track of a nonexistent tear. “Aw, imaginary friends don’t count, Lana.”

Piper let out a tremendous hoot. “Ha-ha! The joke’s on you, Cressida, ’cause—” She bit her lip and grabbed my elbow. “Aw, forget these losers, Lana. Let’s go.”

I stood my ground on the bottom step as hordes of girls streamed past. I was over their mockery. Their condescending attitude. It had to stop. And Piper—if she hadn’t chosen to be my friend, they would never have dared to tease her like that.

“Please command your minions to apologize to Piper,” I said. Cressida’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up. Ginger’s face turned from gloat to surprise. Piper’s mouth dropped.

Cressida’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Lana.”

“Why? What are you going to do? Send Mommy to spank us?” I said coolly. “She’s not my mother anymore, Cressida. Thank God.” Her face turned to granite and her pale blue eyes frosted over. I stared back at her, a thrill of power coursing through me.

And maybe a tiny twinge of panic, too. I turned and glided up the stairs to class, feeling their eyes on me.

I walked as slowly as I dared. But my instincts told me to run.

***

I pulled into the empty parking lot behind the shop. An engine light had blinked on in my Golf that morning and I knew Cesar would fix it for me. I slunk down low in the front seat to change out of my school uniform. I refused to go out in public in it

I pulled on a pair of jeans, and then unbuttoned my uniform skirt and blouse. I quickly shrugged my blouse off and pulled on a t-shirt. Finally, I laced up my sneakers and shook my hair loose from its ponytail. I grabbed my keys and phone and stepped out of the car.

When I got to the open door of the garage, I peeked inside.

“Cesar?” I called. “Do you have time to look at my car today?”

But the garage was empty.

Not empty—more like deserted in a big hurry. A half-dismantled Mustang sat in the corner. There were parts everywhere. A radio was playing, tuned to a Spanish music station. The acrid smell of gasoline stung my nostrils. But no Cesar.

I turned to head over to the main building.

That’s when I saw the man standing by the back door of the shop. He took a long drag off a cigarette. Where did he come from?

He was broad and barrel-chested and sported an unusual outfit for Glen Ellen. Black jacket, black pants, and black shoes made of some kind of reptile skin. A shiny black dress shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned. A round medallion on a gold chain nestled in the pelt of chest hair that went all the way up to his clavicle. A neck tattoo peeked above his collar. He was bald, but there was a ring of buzzed stubble around the sides.

Deep-set eyes locked onto me as I walked towards him. His face was tan and weathered and his jaw was covered in gray stubble. His nose was dented across the bridge, like he’d taken a frying pan to the face edge-on. He looked like he could snap a man’s femur in half with a swift chop. He was handsome in a brutal, terrifying way.

“Hello.” He smelled like he bathed in gasoline and cologne.

“Hello, Lana.” That accent. I’d heard it before. Was this Victor? “I like your uniform better.”

The polite smile froze on my face.
He watched you change.
I swallowed and shifted nervously on my feet.

“Oh, I didn't think anyone was out here,” I managed to squeak. He tried to smile but his face didn’t seem to know how to accommodate the unusual request from his cheek muscles. His lips parted, displaying small yellow teeth. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and squashed it with a reptilian loafer.

“Much prettier than your school picture,” he said. “Not so many freckles.” My picture? I stared at him dumbly. He was in my dad’s office. Checking out my photo.

Cold fingers of fear curled around my insides. I ducked into the shop.

The man had not come alone.

Two other guys loitered in the middle of the showroom. They were younger than the smoker and in much better shape. They were both dressed in black jeans and tight black t-shirts. The taller one had close-cropped dark hair and complicated tattoos running up both arms that disappeared underneath his shirtsleeves. The shorter guy had a wispy ponytail of dark hair that hung down to the middle of his back.

Heels clicked across the glossy floor. A woman stalked in a circle around a light blue vintage Mercedes convertible. The sound of her heels was like a metronome in the quiet showroom. TICK TICK TICK TICK.

Or like a bomb about to go off. She had long reddish hair curled into mermaid waves flowing down her back. She was petite, her slim legs on display in a tiny black leather miniskirt. She wore enormous platform high heels covered in a leopard-print pattern.

She stalked closer and I realized her hair wasn’t red at all. It was an unusually peachy strawberry blonde.

Almost the exact shade as mine.

She drummed her fingers against her crossed arms. One of the guys, the shorter one, called out to her in whatever language they spoke. The tall guy laughed and hooted. I watched the woman’s eyes narrow. She TICK TICK TICKed over to him and slapped the short one right across the face. The tall guy cracked up.

The phone in my back pocket rang. All three whirled to face me. I fled to my dad's office.

I stopped outside the door and listened.

“No, Stan, I need it paid TODAY. I delivered your vehicle six months ago. Yeah, well, I don’t care WHAT you have to do to get it. I’ll be here until six.” Silence. “Stan, please. This is my business on the line! This is my—Stan? Stan!”

A few seconds later I heard a click.

I waited another beat and knocked on the door.

“Victor? Uh, come on in,” he called out. Victor
.
The one who broke into my house, scared the living daylights out of me, and ruined my mother’s roses. Black alligator skin belt. Long, thin knife.

And he’s right outside the shop.

I opened the door slowly and peeked in.
Pretend you didn’t hear anything. Play dumb.

“Hey, Dad, surprise!” His face went white.

“Lana! What the hell are you doing here? Get in here and close that door!”

“An engine light came on in the Golf and I thought Cesar could take a look. Dad, what’s wrong?”

“I gave him the day off.” He exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut. He rubbed his forehead with his palms.

I caught a whiff of cologne. Had he been here?
Yeah, checking out your school photo.

“Dad, there are some people in the showroom. Foreign.”

He blinked at me. “Russians.”

“Are they buying cars?”

My dad stared out the window. He pressed his lips together. “No, Lana.” He turned to look at me.

“So that’s Victor outside? Your new pal?”

A strange look flashed across his face and a deep well of terror opened up in my stomach.
He’s such a bad judge of character. What has he done?
But the shadow left and he leaned back in his ancient desk chair. Wind rattled the window.

“Yes. The others are Victor’s…business associates.” Out the window, I could see the warm spring afternoon getting blown out of the sky by dark streaks of clouds moving fast and high above the valley.

“Is he here to apologize for breaking in to our house and trashing my room?”

He stood and rooted around in his front pants pocket and pulled out his car keys. He walked over to me.

“Apparently that was the work of his associates, who got a little carried away. All he asked them to do was deliver a message, and they went too far. It’s all taken care of, okay?”

I almost laughed, but my blood went cold. In the dim light, his face looked thinner than usual. So I just nodded. I didn’t want to stress him out even more.

“Now listen to me very carefully. Go out the side door. You’re taking the Ferrari home. It’s parked on the street in front. Leave me your keys.”

“You’re letting me drive the Ferrari again?”

He slowly pulled his office door open. He stuck his head into the hall and looked both ways.

“Okay, go. Go straight home. Call me as soon as you get there.”

“You’re making me really nervous, Dad. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing! I’m finishing a pretty big deal here today. We’re working everything out, so don’t worry. Really.”

I handed him my keys. “I love you, Dad. See you at home.”

Outside the emergency exit, wind whistled through the alley.

The heavy door started to shut behind me.

Victor caught the emergency exit door closing behind me with the toe of his shoe and held it open a crack.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there.”

“We didn’t get chance to meet before. I am Victor Savitch. I’m doing business with your father.” He held out his hand, so I had to shake it. It was like shaking a raw steak. A giant gold watch flashed on his wrist.

“Nice to meet you. I have to get going now, Mr. Savitch. I have…homework.” He gave me a tight smile. His dark eyes regarded me like I was a mouse with its tail caught in his paw.

My dad’s car was parked half a block down from the showroom. There was a huge SUV parked behind it that looked like it had five coats of black piano lacquer. Behind the SUV was a black Lamborghini Aventador.

My mouth fell open. I had actually parked one once at a black-tie event in Napa. It was like driving a rocket ship. All the other Dolls that night had refused to touch it.

Maybe because an Aventador cost something like four hundred thousand dollars and had scissor doors that opened straight up like a Delorean’s.

The license plates of the SUV and the Lambo matched: SAVITCH 1 and SAVITCH 2.

A slender female arm hung out the open window of the Lamborghini. Fingers drummed on the outside of the car door. The long talons sported leopard-print polish.

It was the woman from the showroom. She was beautiful, but in a hard way. Up close, her makeup had cracked around her smile lines.

But she didn’t look like she smiled very much. As I walked by, she rolled her window up.

It was amazing to drive the Ferrari again. The sun came out and the interior of the car warmed up, but it couldn’t do anything about the cold pit in my stomach.