AMANDA
TUESDAY, JANUARY 23
I brush aside the curtain and peek out the bank of windows that line the Shaws’ parlor, but the only thing I can see is the reflection of the fire crackling in my living room window. Perfect. If I can’t see Rosalie, no one else can see her either. Watching. Waiting for Ben to make a move.
I turn away from the windows and walk across the room to stand behind Carter, who’s surrounded by well-wishers. He’s stationed on one of the Shaws’ stiff parlor sofas in makeshift formal attire: suit pants, shiny gray striped tie, white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows to accommodate his cast. The bandages are gone, and even with the cast, he looks healthy, almost back to normal. He’s deep in conversation with his Aunt Patricia, who flew up from Miami for her nephew’s homecoming, but he reaches for me absently with his uninjured hand, his fingers closing around mine.
For a minute, I stand behind the sofa, my hand in Carter’s. I touch my neck out of habit, but the skin is bare where his onyx heart used to be. When this is all over, when Ben Gallagher is behind bars and Carter and I finally get a chance to talk, will he be heartbroken when I tell him it’s over? Or will he be relieved?
I release Carter’s hand and reach into my bag for my phone, but then I remember it’s with PI Krausse. I’m naked without it. I lean down to give Carter a quick kiss on the cheek, then walk over to my mother, who’s standing with Krystal Shaw by the bar. Naturally.
“Any news?” While I’m phoneless, she’s supposed to be on high alert for any word from the PI. He has our home number and my mother’s cell. But of course there’s a glass of bubbly in her hand and her phone isn’t even out.
“Oh, Amanda, no. I promise I’ll tell you if he calls.” She gives me a look that demonstrates exactly how seriously she’s taking this. As far as Linda Kelly is concerned, I brought last night upon myself. Not only did they find two prescription drugs in my bloodstream, but there were three loose pills rolling around the bottom of my clutch. The irony of my supposed substance abuse problem is so bitter it’s almost funny. Now she’s threatening treatment for real; I have an appointment later this week at a private center with a name like Serenity Grove or Coral Vista.
I leave my mother and Krystal to continue dissecting last night’s best and worst dressed and turn to my next task: Ben. For most of the party, he’s been out in the great hall, kicking it with Graham. They’re standing in the same corner they took over on New Year’s, talking about lacrosse or skydiving or comic books like everything’s normal. But all night, Ben’s been checking his phone.
I leave the parlor and stroll across the hall. “Gentlemen.”
Graham folds me into a hug. He’s wearing gray slacks and a pale pink shirt. He looks dashing, as always.
“How you feeling?” he asks.
“Never better.” I turn to Ben and try to keep my voice level. “Expecting an important call?”
“What?” He looks at me blankly.
“You can see the screen flashing from across the hall. It’s like a beacon.”
“Oh.” Ben shoves his phone into the pocket of his cargo pants, and I scowl. A quip about the dress code dances on the tip of my tongue—the invitation said cocktail party, not trucker casual—but I bite the words back. All this time, I’ve been hard on Ben for the wrong reasons. He put Carter in the hospital, and yet he has the nerve to be here drinking the Shaws’ booze and joking around with Graham. I can feel the anger spark and flare across my face.
“I guess I’m just a little preoccupied,” he mumbles.
“That right?” I raise my eyebrows. Ben may have a good five inches on me, but tonight I’m almost at eye level in my heels. I lock his eyes with mine and lean in. “It’s a party, Ben. Lighten up.”
“Jesus, Amanda.” Graham steps between us and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Think you could take a bit of your own advice?”
Ben scowls into the floor panels and I let Graham ease me back a step. Ben looks sufficiently cowed. I’m either riling him up, or calling his bluff.
“You’re right,” he says suddenly, scowl wiped from his face. “Who needs another drink?”
“I’ll come with you,” Graham offers. “Amanda?”
“No, thanks. I’m not drinking.” Since I woke up in the hospital, I’ve gone over and over last night’s events. Anyone could have dissolved the pills in my drink at the trustee table; the glasses had sat out untouched for at least fifteen minutes before the toast. And anyone could have slipped a few extras into my clutch when I left it on Table 14. In a way, my mother is right. I did bring last night upon myself. I won’t make that mistake twice.
Ben and Graham walk across the hall toward the parlor bar. I’m about to duck into the powder room to check my mascara when Carter’s dad appears in front of me.
“Amanda, glad I found you.”
I smile up at him. “This is such a lovely party, Winston. I know Carter’s so happy to be home.”
“Thank you.” He places a hand lightly on my arm, just above the elbow. “Amanda, I need to ask you for a favor. The pharmacy texted; Carter’s prescriptions are ready. Krystal and I are parked in. It would take us all night to get our cars out of the drive. Can you make a quick run to CVS?”
My eyes flicker across the hall to Ben. Trina’s with him now, snapping a selfie. Across the room, Adele’s settled in on the couch, demanding Carter’s full attention. No one’s looking at me.
“Of course. Not a problem.”
“They’ll ask for Carter’s date of birth—”
“Winston,” I interrupt with a smile. “I’ve got this.”
“Of course you do.” He runs a hand through his hair, blond like Carter’s, and starting to thin in patches. I duck out and accept my coat from the woman running a coat check in the entryway. Then I slip across the street.
“Just me.”
Rosalie’s sitting on the living room couch, phone in her lap, exactly as I left her. She has a floppy knit cap pulled down over her ears, mostly covering her hair. It actually looks kind of stylish.
She leaps up when she sees me. “Is something wrong?”
“All quiet at the Shaw estate. I just have to run a quick errand.”
She sinks back into the couch and curls her legs into her chest. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Nathaniel called, half an hour ago. Paulina and her brother were on their way into Logansville. They must be here by now.”
“At Carter’s?”
“No—I don’t know. He just said they were headed into town, and he was following.”
“Why is he following them? He’s supposed to be working on the numbers.”
“Right, I know.” She takes off her glasses and starts scrubbing at the lenses with her shirt. “I called him, earlier. I think Pau’s involved.”
“Like working with Ben?” I duck into the hallway and grab my car keys from the hook. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to think it was true.”
She looks tiny and miserable balled up on the couch. Something unlocks inside my chest. It’s impossible to be mad at her.
“Fine. I have to run to CVS to pick up Carter’s prescriptions. It’s two blocks down from the high school. I’ll be right back.”
Rosalie nods.
“Keep watching Ben’s car. And if I’m not back in twenty minutes, call PI Krausse.”
“Got it.”
For a minute, we both stare out the window. The trickle of new guests has slowed, and except for two of Carter’s cousins smoking on the front lawn, illuminated in the porch light, everyone’s inside.
I head down to the garage and get in the coupé.