Problem Child (Jane Doe #2) - Victoria Helen Stone Page 0,77

you’ve seen in your life, but I’m not at all interested in an incestuous relationship with a child. I don’t need to steal your false innocence in order to feel power. I’ve got more than enough of my own. Got it?”

My speech only warrants an eye roll. Damn. I thought it was pretty good.

“I’d like to find out if there’s anything more to you than this menagerie of sexual tricks you trot out at every given opportunity. Do you think there could be something more in there?” I point toward her chest.

She blows a huge purple bubble before sucking it back into her mouth and cutting her eyes to the side. “If Brodie’s dead, I definitely can’t stay here. Give me a minute to clear my shit out.”

“Fine.”

I use my jacket sleeve to open the fridge and grab another icy can of Coke. When I spot my previous can still in the trash, I fish it out to toss later along with Nate’s cell phone. No point in leaving my fingerprints in plain sight, just in case.

Fifteen minutes later Kayla is back with a backpack and a garbage bag full of clothes. She seems ready, flip-flops on her feet and everything, but she’s studying her phone as she meanders slowly across the living room. “Kevin says he was stabbed just outside of town yesterday.”

“Which town? Here or there?”

“Here. In Jenks. Other side of the river.”

“Hm. You said you thought he was going to Enid.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I heard him talking to someone, planning to meet them.”

“You didn’t ask who?”

“I did, but he was already out the door and told me not to worry about it.”

“Selling you out?” I guess.

“If he was, the deal didn’t go through.”

“Let’s get going, just in case.” It makes sense. He thought I was coming with two hundred dollars in exchange for Kayla. That deal would’ve taken Kayla off his hands, but it wouldn’t protect him from Morris. That big bald guy would still be waiting for him when he got home. So, instead of handing her off to me, he decided to upgrade and turn her over to Morris’s guy for more money. He was smarter than I gave him credit for.

No. Of course he wasn’t smart. He tried to be smart, but now he’s dead and he failed to actually pull off his scheme. No money, no safety, no life at all.

We’re in the car and pulling out of the driveway within a minute, though I check my mirror until we actually make it out of the tree-shaded neighborhood. “The first time I came to Tulsa, I couldn’t believe how green it was,” I say. “It’s still nothing like where I live now, though. In Minneapolis there are trees everywhere. Lakes everywhere. Waterfalls and rivers. It’s gorgeous.”

“Isn’t Minneapolis like . . . Siberia?”

“No, it’s not like Siberia.”

She kicks off her sandals and props her feet on the dashboard. The tacky glitter pink polish on her toes has chipped off to the middle third of each nail. “Where are we going?”

“The Skirvin in Oklahoma City. You ever heard of it?”

“No.” She blows another bubble.

“Want to put on some music or something?”

“No.”

Unlike most teenagers, she doesn’t seem to have earbuds constantly shoved into her ears. I imagine that, like me, she doesn’t identify with the emotions in songs. And she doesn’t seem to need a way to shut out the world. Other people don’t affect her. Other people really don’t affect her. She hasn’t shown a hint of emotion about her dead friend.

“What’s this?” she asks, picking up the Lladró figurine I stashed in the cup holder of the center console.

“It’s art,” I answer. “Put it back.”

“I think Brodie has these things at his house.”

“Had them.”

She sets it back down as I glance at her face for any reaction. There is none. “Do you think Morris had Brodie killed?” I press.

“Probably. They threatened him with a gun and beat the shit out of him already. Who else would it be?”

“And just so things are clear between us . . . you don’t seem torn up about his murder.”

“Why would I care when he was meeting that asshole to betray me? That doesn’t even make sense.”

It doesn’t make sense to me either, but it’s not how most people would respond. Certainly a normal teenage girl would be more upset. More scared. And more sorry. This whole business was her idea, after all. Her moneymaking scheme. She dragged Brodie into it as muscle and now he’s dead