39
Teagan needed to fortify, as she put it, so Victoria directed her sister to the basement where she could pilfer their wine reserves to her heart’s content while Victoria went upstairs to change. Glasses poured, they set up on the couch in front of a fire roaring and watched the flames dance, each lost in her own thoughts.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had an occasion to think about who would want me dead,” Victoria said.
“Congratulations, you’ve entered your Taylor Swift era.” Teagan sipped her wine and clicked the home screen on her phone. She’d done it five times since they’d sat down and Victoria wondered if it was just nerves. The need to do something with her hands.
“Maybe I’ll get a snake tattoo to commemorate this outstanding milestone,” she joked, drawing a looping line along her wrist with the tip of her finger. “Isn’t that what people do? Memorialize their suffering in ink and stories?”
“Someone’s been reading poetry again,” Teagan hummed. “I swear you were one skull and a little black eyeliner away from being an emo English major.”
“This is why half of America is illiterate: people like you shaming others for liking to read.”
“Okay, before you start soapboxing your presidential platform, can we refocus? It’s getting late and I have a full schedule tomorrow.”
“Fine. Okay. So. We need to . . . think about . . . who we know that could’ve wanted Warren dead.”
The good-natured ribbing deflated and they reverted to their quiet reflection, the only sounds the crackling from the fire and the settling of the house.
“It’s funny,” Teagan said after a moment.
“What is?” Victoria asked.
“Well.” Teagan drew her knees to her chest. “Okay, I know this might not be the nicest thing to say.”
“Never stopped you before.”
“But before Warren died, you guys didn’t seem to be on the best terms. Sometimes it seemed like you didn’t even like him.”
“And?”
“And,” she continued, “if you had asked me to do something like this before, you know, think of people who’d want Warren dead, I would’ve put your name at the top of the list.”
Victoria tensed. Perhaps Teagan was more observant than she gave her credit for. “Every marriage has issues, Teagan. Couples fight and make up. Go through periods where they can’t stand each other and then remember why they fell in love.”
“So, love. That’s why you’re going to all this trouble?” she asked.
Love had little to do with it, she thought, but love was complicated. Had her feelings for him worn thin throughout the years? Sure. Was her desire to find X solely based on self-preservation? A sliver of doubt worked its way through her tough exterior like a splinter. She wasn’t heartless after all.
“Warren didn’t deserve to die like that,” she said.
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”
“Maybe you’re not listening hard enough.”
“Victoria,” Teagan huffed.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“When have I ever taken the easy way out?”
Victoria curled her legs beneath her on the couch and balanced the glass on her knee, carefully choosing her words. “Warren and I . . . we may have been in a rough patch, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care—that I didn’t love him.”
“Okay, so you loved him, and that’s great,” Teagan snapped. “But you can love his memory and stay away from danger now. Seems like a no-brainer. You don’t need to chase down a killer to prove anything. Nobody’s expecting you to do that, Tor.”
“I want answers,” she said. Oh, how she wanted answers, just not to the questions that Teagan wanted to ask. “I have so many things I’ll never get to say to him.”
“But . . . you still won’t get to say them,” Teagan pressed. “Unless X is a psychic medium.”
“I need to know, one way or the other. There’s no other option. I need to know who killed him. Period.”
“What are you going to do if you find him?” she asked.
Victoria fixated on the flames. That was an interesting question. “Kill him of course.”
Teagan’s glass faltered on the way to her mouth. “Victoria.”
“I’m totally kidding,” she said.
“Right,” Teagan said.
“I believe you,” she said quickly.
And yet it didn’t sound like Teagan believed her.
She pushed that doubt further into the recesses of her mind. Paranoia lingered at the edges, and Victoria’s burgeoning insecurities threatened to engulf her. She didn’t like being on unsteady ground. Teagan had no reason to be suspicious. Victoria had done nothing wrong.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I find him,” she admitted. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“Right,” Teagan said. “Sounded like you were serious for a minute.”
Their eyes met again, the unspoken words remaining unsaid, carefully tucked away in the dark. Victoria chose to keep them hidden. Sometimes it was better to pretend.
Victoria had already been mentally compiling a list of suspects. The entirety of Kent Wood Manor could make the cut. Between the funeral reception and subsequent drop-ins, everyone had made their way through the front door. The Sparrows. The Knottiers. The Connors. Not to mention the Livingston staff.
But she wanted Teagan’s take, so they worked through anyone who might have held a grudge against Warren too. “There’s a reason I said we should leave this to the cops,” Teagan groaned, stretching the stiff muscles in her neck.
“By your reasoning, aren’t they on the list too?”
“A cop would have been smarter about the whole thing.”
Victoria tapped her nose. “That’s what they want you to think. Maybe it’s an elaborate setup.”
“What’s that saying about the simplest solution? Take off the tin hat and join me on level ground.”
At the end of their brainstorming session, however, they weren’t any closer to a viable suspect pool, and Victoria’s head was swimming with wine and motives.
Teagan checked her phone and yawned. “It’s late, I’m going to head out.”
“Could just crash here.”
“As much fun as a sleepover sounds, I’m good. Wouldn’t want to push my luck. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow night. Don’t worry.”
Victoria walked Teagan to the door and watched her silently put on her boots.
“What?” Teagan asked, shaking into her coat.
“You’re a good sister,” she said. “I don’t tell you that often. Ever, if I’m being honest. I could try harder with us, I know that. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . hard. I don’t give you enough credit. Thank you for tonight.”
With that, she stepped forward and slowly wrapped her arms around Teagan.
A hug. Victoria was hugging her and not spontaneously combusting. Craters didn’t open up beneath their feet. She wasn’t swallowed into oblivion.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d initiated a physical act of affection with Teagan. With anyone really. When had Warren last hugged her?
It was . . . nice. No, it was fucking strange. But it was also nice, like petting a lion.
“Anytime,” she said, patting her back and separating. “Get some sleep, all right?”
“Sure.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll try to sleep.” Teagan opened the door and stepped onto the porch, tightening her coat against the cold.
“Will do.”
“Good girl. Drink some water. I’ll—”
Teagan’s voice dropped off as her gaze settled on the side of the house.
“Teagan? What’s wrong?” Victoria was in motion before her head could catch up. The wind cut through the thin material of her leggings, but she hardly noticed when she saw what had drawn Teagan’s attention.
Scrawled across the siding in black spray paint, the word KILLER couldn’t be missed.
Beside her, Teagan cursed under her breath and paced, ordering Victoria to get back inside. To not touch anything. That she was calling the police.
She stared at the accusation until the outline floated behind her eyelids every time she blinked. It took her a second to realize that the vibration against her leg wasn’t anger thrumming through her system but her phone.
One new message from X.
We’re only getting started.