Killing Ruby Rose by Jessie Humphries Read Free Book Online Page A

very worried about you, honey.”
    Objection: Badgering the witness. I’ve told her a million times to stop calling me honey.
    “Jane! I said I’m fine.” Two could play the name game—she hated when I didn’t call her Mom. “I’ll see you tonight. That is, if you get home before midnight.” Switching the focus to her always won the argument.
    “No, I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. We need to talk. You’d better be home then, too.” She hung up.
    As I pressed “End,” I wondered what wrong button of hers I’d pressed. She never wanted to talk. She was never home before nine or ten. And she never hung up on me .
    Great.
     

CHAPTER 5
     
    I practically inhaled my chocolate shake—and it soothed every hot corner of my soul. Albeit temporarily.
    I flung my backpack off my shoulder and collapsed onto my bed. I felt sick. Sick from the chocolate overdose, sick from my fight with Alana, sick with images of that sketch, sick with light-headedness from fainting, and sick with dread of the impending interrogation by my mother.
    What was I going to tell her? The truth? Ha. She would feel obligated as an officer of the court to inform the appropriate authorities of all my missteps. Plus, my full and not-yet-entirely-disclosed side of the story was insane:
     
So, Mom, I didn’t mention it before, but I had more of a hand in the killing of LeMarq than you thought, due to my OCD hobby of following killers in my spare time. And, oh yeah, there might be a chance that one of the other killers I was following is connected to the dude who lured me to that warehouse on Water Street. Oh, and now he’s sending me messages through the school art show. But don’t worry, it’s all good. Let’s just pretend none of it happened.
     
    Uh, no.
    I crammed a pillow over my face so I could scream. But mid-scream, I realized that was about to turn into a throw-up, and I stopped.
    The rumble of the garage door below let me know I had to get a grip on myself. I ran into the bathroom and washed my face with cold water, scrubbing off all my eye makeup in preparation for the inquisition. I would be stone faced. I would be savvy. Mom might have known how to intimidate criminals and suspects. But I knew how to box her out.
    “Rue-girl,” she hollered from downstairs. “I’m home.”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    I stared myself down in the mirror and whispered, “You can do this.”
    I met my mom in the kitchen, where she still had her sunglasses on like she was some kind of hungover rock star. Even her stylish little A-line bob was askew. It looked darker than usual, so black that it maybe even had a hint of blue. She’d been going progressively darker since last year’s polling data showed her darker hair produced a better Latino vote. If she thought I was a disappointment in my choice of guns over dolls, I felt the same way about her choice to embrace her Mexican heritage because it was convenient for political points. I’d never even met one member of her family. Her mother died when she was in law school, before I was born, and despite the fact that her father was still alive and unwell somewhere in San Diego, she hadn’t spoken to him since he walked out on them when she was eight. I knew she had extended family spread across Southern California, but I stopped asking about them years ago when I learned my questions put her in a dark mood.
    She was pouring herself a glass of wine. Liquid courage. Not fair—I didn’t get any.
    “Mom, it’s only two o’clock.” I grabbed an apple off the counter—Granny Smith was my only ally here. “Should I be worried about you ?” I had to stay on the offensive.
    “Ruby,” she said, putting down the bottle. “Let’s not do that.”
    “Do what?” I asked innocently, sitting down on a barstool across from her.
    “Let’s not shift attention to me, when this is about you.” She finally took off her Gucci sunglasses, revealing puffiness around the eyes I wasn’t expecting. She