watercolor killer

Part Two - Gianna

"Oh, no!" Mom panics. "Turn on the TV!"

My little sister, two-year-old Emmy raises her eyebrows. "What, Mom?"

I'm thinking the same thing. Nothing ever fazes Mom.

Dad clicks the TV on to the local news and I see why Mom was freaking out.

Another girl in our area has been killed. Someone named Paislee.

That's super weird. Even though we live in the suburbs of a dangerous area, there's not much crime in what once was our perfect beach neighborhood. Nobody had ever been killed her until a couple of months ago. And now it's happening again. Another girl, around the same age as the first, dead.

"Oh, no!" Emmy squeals, clapping her hands together.

"I think-doesn't Vera know this girl?" Mom asks, referring to my nineteen-year-old sister who was currently living with us, seeing as she'd dropped out of college.

Dad shrugs. "Vera knows a lot of people."

"A lot of people I don't want to know about," Mom adds.

Mom is still bitter about Vera's 'rash decision made under the influence of peer pressure and zero adult supervision'. We all questioned Vera's choices, but Mom despised them. It was Dad who convinced her to let Vera live with us while she got some idea of where she would live and work after this summer.

I was glad Mom let Vera live with us. Without her, it's just me, Emmy, and my twelve-year-old brother that is addicted to video games, Callen. It can be a little lonely, especially when Emmy's napping. It's nice to have Vera around.

"Somebody should probably tell Vera," Dad says.

I nod, staring at my cereal.

We hear footsteps plodding down the stairs. Vera appears, dressed in leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and her UGG slippers. Her hair is tightly braided, which gives her a firm and serious look. "Good morning."

"Morning, Vera," Dad says cheerily.

Mom refuses to look at her.

"Um," Vera clears her throat. "I've decided to get a job. I have an interview today."

Mom finally looks up. "In those clothes?" she mutters under her breath, but everyone hears.

Vera shakes her head.

"Where have you decided to interview?" Dad asks.

"Um-I'll be a..." she trails off. "If I get the job, I'll be a secretary. At a law firm."

"Wonderful! You've always loved organizing. And talking on the phone," Dad jokes.

Vera gives him a small smile. "Mom? Gia?"

Mom doesn't speak, so I say, "I think that's a great job for you." And I mean it.

"Well, bye. I-I have to get ready," Vera says. She turns around, and Mom finally speaks up.

"You need to eat before your first job interview," she says, going into full Mom mode and shoving a plate with a banana, omelet, and a mug of coffee into Vera's hands.

"Thanks." Vera disappears again.

I finish my Cheerios and put my bowl and spoon in the sink, heading upstairs. I pause in front of my bedroom door but continue down the hall to Vera's room.

I knock, my knuckles tapping the wooden door three times.

A pause. "Who is it?" Vera asks softly, muffled from inside her room.

"G-Gianna," I stammer.

"Come in!" she says.

I walk in and realize I haven't seen her room in years. Nobody thought to go in for the nearly two years Vera was at college, and I hadn't been in since she'd moved back home.

The walls are still the same white they were, with the one blue-gray accent wall. Vera's queen bed still has plain white sheets and a blanket, but she'd gotten a new navy comforter.

Vera's sitting at her vanity, applying her lip gloss. I sit on the edge of her bed, careful not to dent her bedding. Vera hates when people mess up her bed.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she replies. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Um, did you hear about the girl? The one who got killed?" I ask.

Her voice becomes thick. She swallows. "The one they think got murdered by the same person who killed Lowen Dawson? Paislee?"

"Did you know her?"

Vera's eyes well up a little. "We've been friends for a couple of years. She lived down the hall from me at college. I think she came home for spring break."

I nod, not wanting her to cry.

"I only found out a few months ago at Christmas that we lived in the same neighborhood. I've never invited her over because - you know how Mom is about my college friends."

I feel so bad for Vera. One of her friends, murdered.

She turns around to face me. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wondered," I answer. "Thanks, Ver. Good luck today. Text me."

She nods. "Thanks, Gia."