“And then we kissed,” Candace said. She was grinning as she took a seat on Grace’s bed, forcing her stepsister to move over to make space.
“Who kissed you?” Grace inquired absently. She sat up, a little put out to be interrupted by Candace entering her quiet room. She put down her copy of Drown, which she’d been reading since she and Paolo had returned from getting the tattoo, several hours ago. She checked her watch. It was almost five in the afternoon.
Candace rolled her eyes, demanding attention. “Yoandy.”
Just the same, Grace barely heard the reply. The day was almost over, and still Lucy hadn’t returned from her visit to the police station. That’s assuming she’d even gone at all. Grace wouldn’t have been surprised if Lucy needed more time to think—the hypnosis had clearly been a traumatic experience. Since her father had been jailed, Grace had been forced to learn significant patience. Part of her understood that one more day couldn’t make much difference to a legal process, at least not two weeks from the execution date.
But another part of Grace had been reawakened by a newfound hope. By the evidence—finally—that someone else might know what really happened that night at the party on Mulholland Drive. That side of Grace’s personality was suffering an ordeal. Every extra minute of uncertainty felt like agony.
What would she do if Lucy hadn’t gone to the police? Grace wasn’t sure she’d be able to contain her frustration and rage.
She glanced up at her stepsister, trying to focus on what Candace was saying. “You kissed . . . who again?”
Candace looked faintly annoyed. “Urgh. Yoandy Santiago! Try to listen. We were at the TV studio, earlier on.”
“And then what?”
“Not much,” conceded Candace. She sounded frustrated. “He’s gotten cautious.”
“Uh-huh,” Grace said, trying to sound interested. “Why’s that?”
“I’m gonna take a wild guess that it was the fear of having Kay Alexander shredding his clothes maybe. Scissors supplied by her big sister, Dana.”
Grace put down her book slowly. The mention of “Dana” sent a prickle along her spine. “Why . . . would she do that?”
“Who can say?” Candace said. “God only knows what Kay is like.” She sighed. “For some reason, the woman thinks that she is Yoandy’s girlfriend.”
“Candace,” Grace said unsteadily. “Are we talking about Dana Alexander?”
“Yeah,” agreed Candace. “Lady Macbeth is a big deal, it turns out. Which is why I gotta be careful—real, real careful that Dana doesn’t find out. Apparently, Dana is the one who recommended me for the part of Annika. Now it sounds like she thinks I owe her, big-time. She seems to think I’m gonna take Yoandy from her sister, Kay.” She gave a crafty grin. “I tell you, owing Dana—honestly? I don’t see it.”
Grace couldn’t speak for a few moments. Then, struggling to remain calm, she said, “You . . . are connected to Dana Alexander, the British movie star? She’s the one who got you into Prepped?”
“I know,” Candace said, now thoughtful. “I thought it was odd, too, especially after what you told me yesterday about Lucy kicking out our delightful ol’ houseguest, not to mention the whole Tyson Drew thing.” As though an idea had just occurred to her, she added, “Hey, did you know that Maya’s aunt works for Dana Alexander?”
This additional piece of information hit Grace like a slap in the face. “Who—Aunt Marilu?”
“That’d be the one.”
“No,” Grace murmured. “I did not know that.”
Unreal. Impossible. How deeply had Dana Alexander insinuated herself into their lives?
Dana’s sister was dating a guy who Candace also liked. She’d recommended Candace for a part on a new TV show. Dana Alexander might be the true killer of Tyson Drew.
And now—it turned out that Maya’s aunt actually worked for the woman.
“This is too much,” Grace mumbled. “It’s—no. This is too many coincidences.”
“It really is,” mused Candace, “I mean, Hollywood can be kind of incestuous and all, but . . .”
She stopped abruptly when the door flew open and Maya came bounding into the room, throwing her messenger bag onto her bed and flopping down next to it.
“Guess what?” Maya said, her eyes bright with excitement. “Jack and I met with Alexa Nyborg today, up in Napa.”
But Candace just groaned. “Give me an actual break! Maya, could you knock first? We’re trying to have a private conversation here.”
“It’s my room, too,” Maya said with surprising levity. “If you’re having a private conversation about me, maybe include me?”
“You clearly don’t understand the rules of gossip,” Candace said with pronounced irony.
Grace waited for a moment. “And? How did the meeting go?”
Maya drew herself up even straighter, her bare knees pressed almost daintily together against the edge of the quilt on her bed. “And she made me an offer.”
Both Candace and Grace now faced Maya, managing to keep their sighs of irritation to a minimum. After a moment Candace said impatiently, “Come on, Maya, let’s hear it!”
Maya opened her messenger bag, removed the laptop, a sphinxlike grin playing about her lips. As the MacBook started up, she glanced at them in turn and said, “Alexa has this amazing little casita up in Napa. It’s all mission-style, white adobe walls and arches. The garden is full of tangerine and lemon trees, pink and white hibiscus flowers everywhere and the most beautiful swimming pool I’ve ever seen.”
“Sounds great,” Candace said with more than a hint of eye roll. “But what did she actually offer you?”
“I’m telling you about the casita,” Maya said, her smile ever more mysterious, “because that’s part of what she offered me. Alexa hardly ever goes there. These days she’s usually flying somewhere every weekend. She said I could stay there whenever I like. Even offered to let me stay this weekend—July Fourth. She was planning to fly out by private jet right after our meeting ’cause she’s going to be in Washington at some event with the president.”
“She offered to loan you a house in the Napa Valley?” Candace said, her mouth falling open.
Maya grinned, typed something quickly, and said demurely, “I said no, thanks. After all, we’re having a barbecue and fireworks here, right? Just the six of us. But Nyborg was actually pretty insistent. Said if I change my mind, the key is with a neighbor.”
Candace responded with an amazed grin.
There is something very badly wrong in this house, Grace thought as Maya prattled on about her app. Too many sudden connections to Dana Alexander, to a person who she now realized was not only getting information through Ariana, but who had found a way to keep tabs on the housemates via Maya and Candace, too.
Why?
Grace could understand why Alexander might want to spy on Lucy—a buried memory that threatened to expose the woman’s secret, possibly even that she was a murderer.
But Maya? Candace? What possible threat could they be?
A cold, crawling sensation ran through Grace, as though an ice-encrusted spider was walking along her spine. Lucy wasn’t back from talking to the cops yet; she’d ignored the two, hopeful texts that Grace had sent: Hey just checking in. How’s it going? Any news?
Technically, no news was good news, yet Grace’s instincts told her it wasn’t good. She felt her chest muscles clench around her ribs, and wondered fleetingly where Paolo had gone. His embrace had been such a comfort to her earlier today. If he was here, she’d feel safer. Grace didn’t feel safe around Maya and Candace, not right now. Not until she understood their connection to Dana Alexander.
Maya continued to chat: Alexa Nyborg this and Napa that . . . until Grace simply couldn’t tolerate it any longer.
“That’s just great, Maya,” retorted Grace, and her tone was so uncharacteristically sharp that even Candace flinched in response. She paused, waiting until she had Maya’s complete attention. “But let me ask you this: why didn’t you ever mention that your aunt was Dana Alexander’s driver?”
Maya simply froze for several seconds. Guilt was written all over her face: guilt and shame and regret.