States of Grace by Mandy Miller (great novels of all time .TXT) 📗

to a pill mill. You know, one of those places addicts go to buy drugs. They’re always on the news.”

“Do you know which pill mill?”

She swallows hard. “Florida Center for Pain, on Sunrise.”

The fear in her eyes conveys only one thing, the one thing she feared the most—nothing will ever be the same. But she has no choice. The secret she must now share will change her life, her family, forever.

She wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Joe saw my dad there. And Mr. Sinclair.”

“What were they doing?”

“He said they came out the back together.”

“What else?”

“He said there was another guy there too. A big dude loading a bunch of bags into the trunk of my dad’s car and—”

“Did he say what kind of bags?”

She sits back, eyes half closed, trying to recreate the conversation with Joe in her mind.

“Red garbage bags. Joe said the big dude dropped one of the bags and it burst and a whole bunch of cash fell out. That Dad slapped the guy and made him and Mr. Sinclair pick it all up.”

“And did they?”

“Yes.” Her face turns ashen. “And Dad drove away with all the money.”

“They only accept cash at pill mills.”

She lowers her head onto the table and starts to cry. “I thought my dad was a plastic surgeon.”

I stroke her hair. “Did Joe say why he wanted to tell you about that?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know your dad has been lying to you?” I hesitate long enough for her to add, “That he’s a drug dealer? That the house we live in, the cars we drive, the vacations we take, they’re all paid for with money from selling drugs that kill people?”

She raises her head, a deluge of tears raging down her cheeks, spattering onto the hoodie. “Sam’s drug problem’s tearing his family apart. Maybe Joe wants to tear mine apart. Maybe that’s why he told me.” She lets out a sob so gut-wrenching it shakes me to the core.

“Oh, Zoe, I doubt that. He was your friend,” I say, but she might be on the mark. Addiction can turn those closest to us from decent folks into avenging angels when they run out of options to save their loved ones from themselves. “He probably was at the end of his rope, didn’t know what to do to save Sam.”

“Maybe. He said he wanted me to know what my dad was doing, that he didn’t want me anywhere near that shit. That’s what he said, but he might have been lying just like everyone else.”

“I understand this is all incredibly upsetting, but why didn’t you tell me before? Your life is on the line.”

“I did. I told you I wasn’t there when Mr. Sinclair was killed.”

“But you didn’t tell me the whole truth. You have an alibi. As far as I know, no one knew to talk to Joe. He didn’t give a statement. Not yet, anyway. I need to let the State Attorney know immediately.”

“This is going to sound stupid. Now things have gotten even worse, but I didn’t want my dad to get in trouble. I just thought things would work out in the end.”

“Oh, Zoe,” I say, the sad irony of her protective impulse a punch to the gut. “You should have told me.”

“I didn’t kill Mr. Sinclair, and I thought Joe would say I was with him and it would all be over with and no one would have to know about Dad.”

“In my experience, no matter how much we might want to keep secrets, the truth comes out sooner or later.”

“I guess,” she says, her tone resigned, yet freighted with regret.

She slams the cuffs into her forehead. “I was so stupid to ever think I could have a real family!”

I grab her cuffed hands. “You’re not stupid, Zoe. You deserve a family. We all deserve people, our people, people who love us no matter what,” I say, the force of words so strong, I’m out of breath.

She opens her mouth to say something but stops herself.

“What is it, Zoe?”

I stand. “I’m going to track Joe down and get him to talk.”

She turtles her head into the neck of the hoodie, muffling her voice. “Grace, do you think me telling you about the pill mill was the right thing? I mean, my mom and dad, I mean they—”

I rest a hand on her shoulder. “One thing I learned in the Army is sometimes doing what’s right hurts.”

Her eyes pop open. “You were in the Army?”

I stand at attention and salute. “Yes, ma’am, Specialist Grace Locke reporting for duty.”

“Wow! So that’s where…” she points at Oscar.

“Yep, that’s where.”

I signal the guard to unlock the door. “Want to know the other thing I learned in the Army?”

She nods, unblinking eyes still trained on Oscar.

“That things aren’t always what they seem.”

“I think I’m learning that, too.” Her gaze loses focus. “So, who do you think killed Mr. Sinclair?”

“I have no idea. And finding out is not my job. My job is making sure the wrong person doesn’t go down for something she didn’t do.”

The tension in her shoulders slackens under my grip.

“And do you know why I want to do that?”

“Why?”

“Because you matter, Zoya. You matter a whole lot.”

Chapter 29

“Kinda tight, don’t you think?”

Vinnie rolls his eyes and squeezes the Crown Vic in between a Porsche Carrera and a Maserati Quattroporte.

“You live in the city long enough, you learn to park by Braille. A little bump here, a little shimmy there, never hurt no one.”

“Nice work, Vin. I wasn’t sure this tank would fit.”

“We were gonna fit, sweetheart. Or I was gonna make us fit.”

He twists the rearview mirror to face him and rakes his downy crown of white hair with a black pocket comb like the one my father always carried in his pocket.

I step out and shield my eyes from the sun. It’s a bluebird day, not one cloud in sight, a day more suited to a beach chair and a trashy novel than a funeral.