I snapped another shot of Trafalgar Square, trying to get the huge column in the center of the photo, and then glanced around. The place was thick with tourists despite the wind whipping around, swirling up tiny tornadoes of loose trash. I tapped the arm of a Japanese tourist and held my phone up, miming in an exaggerated fashion that I wanted him to take a picture of me.
“Sure—where do you want to stand?” he asked in perfect English, making me feel instantly embarrassed. I wished I could have taken the picture myself, but I was there alone and needed enough background that you could easily tell where I was. That was my plan: upload the pic to Instagram and hit the location tag. The square was iconic and situated almost in the center of the city.
If Nicki wanted to find me, I couldn’t have made it any easier, short of holding up a giant sign with an arrow pointing directly to me. Especially since I’d taken every privacy setting off all my social media accounts. If my mom found out, she’d have a cow. She saw me as exactly the kind of person who would fall for some Internet catfish and end up in a teen sex slave ring. But it wasn’t some online fake Romeo I was trying to attract. If Nicki was looking for me, she’d have no trouble now.
“Can you get me with that?” I passed the tourist my phone and struck a pose in front of one of the four large metal lion statues that circled Nelson’s Column. I didn’t bother to clamber onto one of their backs the way other people did. This wasn’t about capturing the perfect vacation moment.
Once I had the picture, I posted it, not bothering to doctor it up with filters, and added the caption: loviN quICKIe visit to trafalgar :). Hopefully, the heading would draw Nicki to me. The capital letters spelled out her name, and I was counting on the idea that the smiley face would let her know I didn’t mean her any harm. It struck me that with her love of puzzles, she’d spot the clue right away, but it wouldn’t stand out to anyone else. It’s not as if social media posts are known for great spelling and grammar.
I jammed my hands into my pockets and paced the large square, scanning faces as I went. This had to work. I had no other way to reach her.
I walked around for more than two hours, checking my phone for the time every few minutes. Nothing. There was no way to know if she’d even seen my post, or been too busy to come, or felt like leaving me to hang a bit longer simply to prove that she was in control. I had to decide how much time I was going to give this plan before I acknowledged it hadn’t worked and I had wasted the whole day. I could tell that people in my Student Scholars group thought it was weird I didn’t want to hang out with them. I couldn’t keep slipping off to do my own thing.
A woman wandered around, offering to read people’s palms. Her teeth were stained—they looked like antique piano keys—and her hair hung in greasy strands. I watched her closely. I was pretty sure she was using the excuse of wanting to tell people’s fortunes to get close enough to pick their pockets. I wished she did have psychic abilities. Then I could ask her what to do about Nicki.
Eventually I plopped down onto the cement stairs that led to the National Gallery, sitting alone in the crowd of people who had also stopped to sip a coffee, relax, or wolf down a snack. I scrolled through my phone to look busy. I’d have to try something else. Maybe I’d put up a post about where I planned to visit tomorrow.
A text popped up from Alex: Want to grab some Thai?
I fidgeted. I didn’t know how long this quest to find Nicki would take. Busy now, maybe later?
I hit send and hoped he wouldn’t think I was blowing him off. I could tell he was worried. I’d caught him this morning at breakfast looking at how I’d picked at my fingernails.
Meet you at Thai place at 4. Everything okay?
Just checking some stuff out.
This isn’t about that girl, is it?
I chewed my lip. I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t want to lie to him. At least not any more than I already had.
Did she contact you again? Then less than a second later: Kim? Tell me you’re not trying to find some weirdo stranger you met on a plane.
Don’t worry, everything’s okay, I texted.
Hands slapped over my eyes. “Guess who?”
I choked off a scream and rocketed up from my position, almost dropping my phone. Had she seen what Alex had written?
Nicki laughed, throwing her head back. “You should see your face.”
“You came,” I said.
“Of course I did—you invited me.” She held up her phone, wiggling it back and forth inches from my nose.
“You sent me that note.” I’d planned for my voice to come out stern, but it wobbled. “I need to know what you want.”
She nodded. “Let’s go get something to drink and sit down where it’s not so hot. I can’t sit in the sun. I burn too easily. There’s a cute place just a block or so away.” She headed off without waiting to see if I followed.
Nicki wound her way through the crowds on the sidewalk. Most people in the square were wearing shorts and T-shirts with sneakers—perfect for sightseeing. Nicki had on a loose black boho dress, gladiator sandals, and giant sunglasses. She was like a different creature from the rest of us. I hated myself for admiring her.
She turned down a street and ducked into a pub. I caught the sign above the door: MR. FOGG’S GIN PARLOUR.
When I stepped inside, it took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. The wait staff were dressed up like they were on a break from a steampunk cosplay event. Every inch of the walls was covered in Victorian-style flags and knickknacks. I felt off balance, as if I’d wandered into a Disney film. I half expected to see an animated character behind the bar mixing drinks—maybe a toad with a cravat and a pocket watch. Nicki had already swooped in and nabbed a table from a couple who had gotten up. She waved me over.
“Two gin and tonics,” Nicki said to the waiter, who glided up just as I dropped into the seat.
He touched the brim of his top hat. “Any preference on gin?” Nicki glanced at me, but realizing I didn’t have a clue, she answered. “We’ll take Monkey Forty-seven.” She turned back to me. “It’s my favorite.”
“Nice choice.” The waiter gave us a crooked smile, making his waxed handlebar mustache tilt. “We’ve got steak and kidney pie on special.”
I wrinkled up my nose at the idea of eating kidneys. “No thanks,” I said. He tipped his top hat at us and then moved off.
Nicki pushed the tiny glass bowl of nuts toward me. “Want one?”
I shook my head. “Why are we here?” I asked.
She glanced around as if half-surprised to find us wedged into the corner table. “I like this place. Besides, it’s loud—no one’s going to pay us a bit of attention and we can chat.” She leaned in. “Plus, no extra eyes.” Her glance darted up to the ceiling. “So many of the corporate pubs have security cameras now. It’s almost impossible to walk around this city without being recorded. They keep making it harder and harder to be sneaky.”
“Were you sneaking around with Connor?”
Her right eyebrow arched. “Beg your pardon?”
“Did you and Connor go out? Back in Vancouver? I know he was seeing a British girl.” I crossed my fingers under the table and hoped she wouldn’t realize that I was bluffing. I needed to come across as stern, get her to admit what she’d done so we could figure out what to do next.
Nicki gave a dismissive sniff. “He may have dated someone, but I can assure you, it wasn’t me.”
I searched her face, trying to tell if she was lying. “Your name isn’t Nicki.”
Her face broke into a huge smile as if I’d just told her she could have a pony for her birthday. “Clever girl! Well done, you. How’d you figure that out?”
“There was no one on the plane with that name.” I realized I was sitting at the very edge of the wooden seat and slid back. I needed to give the appearance that I was under control. “I checked.”
Nicki nodded at the waiter, who placed our drinks down and disappeared. She took a sip, pulling out the sprig of rosemary that had been placed inside and sucking on the end. “Lovely. Gin is all about the botanicals, you know. Change them up and there’s a completely different flavor. This brand has won all sorts of awards.”
“I don’t give a shit about the gin,” I snapped, blowing my effort to look relaxed.
She raised one eyebrow as if I’d disappointed her, as though I were a puppy who’d peed on her floor. “I’m simply trying to introduce you to something new. That’s what you said you wanted. Tackle fears, experience new things. Isn’t that the point of travel, after all? Meeting people, expanding your horizons.” She waved her hands to encompass the bar, then leaned forward. “Now, tell me, however did you get the plane manifest? What are privacy laws for if they’re passing that kind of information around?”
“I know someone at the airline.” I didn’t mention Alex’s name. I didn’t want Nicki to know who he was.
She nodded slowly. “My father always used to say: ‘Never underestimate the value of a good network.’ Being able to call on the right people makes all the difference.”
“So, what’s your real name?”
“Does it matter?”
I took a sip of the drink to have something to do with my hands. The mix of spice, pine, and bitter washed over my palate. The cocktail tasted strong, like what it might be like to suck on a car air freshener. “It matters to me.”
“Names are weird, aren’t they? They define a person. I mean, if you hear that a girl’s named Gertrude, you get a picture in your mind of what she’s like, don’t you? Much different than a Penelope. So, given how important names are, isn’t it rather silly that your parents choose them? You’re basically an unformed blob when you’re born. They select a name based on who they want you to be, not what fits you. It seems to me that a person should get to pick their own name once they reach something like fourteen or sixteen. You know who you are at that point. I always saw myself as a Nicki, much more than what my parents came up with.” She took another drink, the ice tinkling against the glass. “You’re another perfect example. I wouldn’t picture you as a Kim. Too pretty, not serious enough for you. Kimberly.” She drew out my name, somehow managing to fill it with extra syllables.
I’d never liked my name either, but I didn’t want to give Nicki the satisfaction of knowing she was right. Kimberly had been my mom’s favorite name and it didn’t fit me at all. “What sort of name do you think suits me?”
Nicki clapped her hands. “Oooh, this is fun.” She rubbed her chin, regarding me very carefully. “I think it should be a touch old-fashioned—you’re an ancient soul. Not too girlie, but not butch, either. Irene, maybe.” She shook her head, dismissing the idea as quickly as she’d said it, and then whacked her hand down onto the table, making our drinks jump. “I’ve got it. Ada.” She waited for me to respond. “You know her, right? Ada Lovelace? She was a countess way back in the 1800s, a mathematician.”
“I know who she was. She was one of the creators of Babbage’s Analytical Engine.”
Nicki nodded. “The first computer, when you think about it. How perfect is that for you?” She looked proud of herself. She cocked her head to the side. “Yes, you’re definitely an Ada. I’d change your name if I were you. You’ll be a completely different woman as an Ada.” Her hands flitted through the air. “It will alter your entire destiny.”
Meeting Nicki had changed my destiny enough already. “You still haven’t told me your real name.”
She sighed. “You’re focused on the wrong things.”
I lowered my voice. “And would the right thing be that you murdered Connor?”
“Of course not—that’s already done and dealt with. No point in chatting up that topic.”
I blinked.
Was she completely insane? I assumed she’d deny it, but she didn’t. She acted as if it were no big deal, as if we were discussing what we’d had for lunch, or the score of a football game. There wasn’t anything in her voice that hinted at panic or desperation. “Then what should I be focused on?”
“How you’re going to kill my mother.”
My ears began to ring and I could hear the rush of blood inside my head, drowning out the voices of the other people in the bar. “What did you say?”
“You owe me a murder.”
I choked on my drink and put it down quickly.
She leaned back, regarding me. “Oh, come on, now, you’re acting like we didn’t have an agreement. Is that why you asked if I dated him? I told you, then there’s no point—a person shouldn’t have a motive. Don’t you remember? You wanted to get rid of Connor, and I need to be rid of my mum.”
“I never agreed to that.”
Her hands were flat on the table as if we were having a business negotiation. She spoke slowly as though I were a small child. “Yes, you did. We had quite a nice long chat about the whole thing. It really is the perfect plan. You can’t go and back out now that I’ve done my part. You knew this would happen.”
What she was saying hit me. Oh my god, this is all my fault. I was having a hard time breathing; it was like sucking air through a tiny cocktail straw. My lower lip started to shake.
Nicki rolled her eyes. “Jesus, pull yourself together. You’re disappointing me. I thought you and I were alike, that we got the way the world worked. The boy was a total waste. You’re acting like I took out the Dalai Lama. I can assure you, the last thing the world needs is one more boring, self-entitled teen guy.”
“How can you say that?” I shook my head rapidly as if I could toss her words out of my ears. “I’m nothing like you.” I’d wanted to be like her when we met, how she was so confident and brave, but all of it was just a pretty, plastic veneer over her ugliness.
Nicki sighed and leaned back. “Check out the gentleman over there.”
I turned slightly, catching the patron’s reflection in the mirror above the bar. He was in his early thirties, with floppy brown hair that was supposed to look casual but probably took a lot of effort and expensive product to get that way. He was wearing a suit and what looked like a thick gold watch.
Nicki continued. “I’m guessing he works in finance—he’s too well dressed for tech.” She looked him up and down. “Family money too, I imagine. That suit is Savile Row.”
“So what?”
“Do you remember the woman in the square? The one hustling for money, saying she could tell the future?”
“What does she have to do with anything?” I asked.
“Do you think she’s worth the same as the guy at the bar?” Nicki leaned forward in her seat.
“She may not have the same amount of money, but of course she is.”
Nicki picked out a cashew from the nut bowl and popped it into her mouth. “Really? What do you base that on? Tell me what she provides. Not tax dollars—I can guarantee she’s not declaring what she makes or steals. She doesn’t work in a job that helps people or moves the economy forward. She doesn’t create art or music to lift the human spirit.” Nicki scoffed. “Hell, she didn’t even smell good.”
The contents of my stomach rose up in revolt. “That’s a disgusting thing to say about someone.”
“No, that’s the truth. Some people are simply more valuable to society. I’m not saying she’s worthless, just that she’s not worth as much. Pretending that everyone is the same so we can all feel better is foolish. We talked about this at the airport—about how we’re smarter than other people. I thought you got it.”
“Being smarter than someone else doesn’t make us better.” My passion wasn’t about being politically correct, it was about what was right. Deciding some lives were worth more than others was . . . repulsive.
“Of course it does.” She leaned forward again, elbows on the table. “Imagine you need to have surgery and the hospital offers you two doctors. One’s a specialist with thirty years of experience and a degree from Harvard. The other is a new grad from some mail-order medical school and doesn’t even has his zipper up when he comes out to meet you. Which doctor would you select?”
“This is stupid,” I said.
“No, I’m making a point. You’d choose the experienced doctor, right?”
“Yes, but that’s not the same thing as judging people by race or gender.”
Nicki threw her head back in annoyance. “I don’t give a fig whistle about race or gender—I’m talking about value. Connor was of very limited value—he was shallow, vain, and a wanker. And even if you don’t want to admit it, the scientist in you knows it’s fact. Some things are worth more, and so are some people. Deep down you think you’re better.”
“No, I don’t.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And even if I did, that doesn’t mean you can just”—I made myself lower my voice—“kill someone you don’t see as useful.”
“Well, certainly not everyone. Just the ones in my way.” Her voice was light, as if she were discussing a church social.
“Connor wasn’t in your way!”
She pointed at me. “No, he was in yours. My mother’s in my way, which brings us full circle to what we started to discuss. You owe me a murder.” Nicki tucked her hair behind her ears, the curls springing free. “She drinks all the time—I think it will be fairly easy to make it look like an accident, but you need to pick a time when I have an airtight alibi. The police will look at me otherwise—I’m dripping with motive.”
I pushed back from the table so quickly that the chair made a loud squealing protest. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I bolted toward the back of the pub, following the tiny WC signs.
The door to the restroom banged open and I was relieved there was no one else inside. I bent over the toilet, certain I was going to puke, but nothing came up except sour spit. After a minute, I went to the sink and splashed cold water onto my face.
She was completely insane. I’d thought it was bad enough that she might have killed Connor to get back at him if he’d hurt her, but to kill him for no personal reason at all was sick.
I stood looking in the mirror, trying to figure out what I should do. I suddenly had the perfect idea. I’d get a photo of her, and then I could at least show it to Alex. Maybe that would prove that she existed, and we could somehow connect her to the newspaper article she had sent me.
I burst out of the bathroom and nearly plowed into a waitress carrying a large tray. I dodged around a group of people clustered at the bar, holding my phone out in front of me as if it were a stop sign, ready to snap the picture. Then I froze in place, my arm sinking slowly back down to my side.
Our table was empty except for our two drinks, the condensation on the glass puddling around them. My jacket still sat on the back of the chair, but Nicki was gone. I looked around, searching the faces of the packed pub, but she wasn’t there.
“She took off,” I said softly.
“Here you go.” A waitress placed a bill down onto the table.
“Did you see the girl who was sitting here?”
She shrugged. “No, sorry.”
I shoved past her so I could see the bar. “Where’s the guy who was our waiter? Dark hair, mustache?”
“Simon? His shift’s over. He left.”
I wanted to grab her by the shoulder and shake her. “I need to talk to him.” He’d seen Nicki—maybe he’d even overheard some of the stuff she’d said.
The waitress smirked. “Sorry, love, I happen to know he’s got a bit on the side already.”
“I don’t want to date him—I have to ask him a question!”
She wiped her hands on her apron. “You can leave a note if you like, and next time he works, he’ll get it.”
I dropped into the seat. There was no point. “Never mind,” I mumbled.
She tapped the bill on the table with her long fingernail. “You want another drink or would you like to settle up?”
Nicki had left me with the bill. The gin she’d chosen was expensive, too. I slapped bills onto the table. Of all the things I imagined spending my summer job savings on, this wasn’t it. I had to be smarter next time we got together. I had to get proof so someone would believe me.
She’d be back. That was the one thing I was certain of—she felt I owed her. She wasn’t going to give up, but neither was I.