Oh, how I wish I could tell you it ended there, me the triumphant heroine of my own story, striding out of the party with my head high and everyone admiring me for my spunk and courage. Except, again, fate had other ideas.
As I emerged into the front entry, I realized I couldn’t just make my grand exit because there was no sign of Vivian. Which meant I was on the hunt for my friend now, kind of ruining any chance I had to solidify my epic victory and ride off into the New York night like the superheroine I was.
I quickly checked the downstairs bathroom to no avail and, now worried, asked a few partygoers if they’d seen the gorgeous woman in white. It wasn’t until I spotted Simone with Jasmine that I clenched my teeth and waved at the young lawyer for assistance, only to have her sister shove Simone off and stomp toward me, still drunk and with a full head of steam on that meant I might have avoided a messy and public dustup with Ryan but wasn’t going to be so lucky with Jazz.
“You think you’re all that.” She tried to snap her fingers in my face, but her lack of coordination thanks to her level of sobriety fell short, her gesture almost smacking me in the face as she wobbled. Not that it stopped her from carrying on her harangue. “Well, you’re not, Fiona Fleming. You left New York, you left all of us, so don’t you judge us for what we did.” Was she talking about herself in third person? “You don’t get to judge me.” She jabbed an index finger in her chest, only Simone’s hands on her keeping Jazz from toppling into me from the force of her motion. It was horrible to witness, honestly. I had loved Jasmine Alexander like a sister, the tall, loud and brilliant woman who’d been there for me no matter what. This staggering, hurt and diminished creature whose expression harbored all the pain she carried, all the guilt and knowledge—oh, it was written all over her—that the man she chose wasn’t who she’d hoped was a reflection of who I’d been six years ago.
Only I’d been a fool, honestly. Had no clue. But Jazz? She knew.
So, why was she still with him?
“Get out of my city,” she snarled. “Leave Ryan alone. He didn’t do anything to you.” She froze as she said that, like she realized she’d outright lied, before gathering herself again to grumble. “He’s mine and you have your own life, so leave us alone.”
So be it. “Simone.” I completely ignored Jasmine then, turning to her sister. The poor young woman was obviously distressed, trembling as she held her drunk sibling still, clearly hating to be in the middle of this mess, and I hardly blamed her. Didn’t blame her at all because it wasn’t her fault her sister was an idiot who chose a proven cheater as a partner. “I can’t find Vivian. Have you seen her?”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll be leaving now.” I turned and walked away for good this time, hoping I could spot Vivian on the way out and deciding I’d leave her behind if I had to. Because I wasn’t spending one more moment at that party.
I was done and out, see you never, ciao.
There was no sign of the queen in white, so I exited the house and only stopped when I reached the sidewalk, dialing Vivian’s number. My call went to voicemail. Crap. I texted her then, hesitating and unsure of what to do, when I finally received a message back.
Studio, was all she sent.
What was she doing there? What’s going on? Another alarm maybe?
No answer. Okay then. Studio it was.
It was a good thing I remembered the code she’d used to get in the night before because she’d stopped answering my texts and refused to pick up. Which had me worried all over again and, in near panic, punching the numbers into the panel before hurrying to the elevator. What if the killer had come back and found her there? Lured her, perhaps, to murder Vivian, too? I imagined her in a pool of blood, dying or already dead, anxiety so ramped up by the time the doors opened I ran to the door to her studio.
“Vivian!” I cried out her name as I pushed open the unlocked door into the dark space, a single light from the far corner drawing me to it. Where I found Vivian, not at the mercy of a killer, thank goodness, but slumped over the desk of designs, her phone upright and shining, the source of illumination, tears tracking down her cheeks.
“Viv.” I paused next to her, touched her shoulder. She let out a little scream, thudding both fists against the surface of the work desk, hanging her head while I glanced at her phone.
And read the message there.
You’re next, it said.
Margot Crestridge wasn’t the source of the threats after all.
***
I took Vivian home, got her into bed, prepared to spend my second night in New York on her couch yet again, the hotel really wasted on me. And, although it was after nine by then, I called Daisy.
Who answered immediately. “Fee!” She sounded so cheerful I could barely stand it after what I’d just endured. “How’s Vivian?”
She had to ask. “Did you find anything out, Day?” I sighed into the phone. “I need a win, here.”
“Oh, Fee,” she said softly. “That bad?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I did uncover something interesting about Bentley York. Did you know he worked for that designer on your list? Wells Worth?”
That I didn’t know. “He never mentioned it,” I said. Did Grace know? She couldn’t have.
“It’s possible he’s the mole,” she said. “From what I uncovered talking to other assistants, he has a bit of a reputation.” That was what I loved about Daisy’s mode of investigation. I tended to barrel into the source with both guns blazing, but she liked to befriend those in the know on the periphery. Daisy seemed able to get anyone to tell her anything which made her the perfect person for the job. “I’ll keep looking, of course.”
“Thanks, Day,” I said. “Anything else?”
“I might have a line on something to do with Quentin Harling,” she said. “But I should know more tomorrow. Sorry, is that okay?” She was still so hesitant about her abilities, and I wished she knew how awesome she was. I’d told her often enough, but it hadn’t sunk in yet. Her half-sister, psychopath Rose Norton, had so much more than what she’d gone to prison for to answer to, but I’d have to leave that up to karma.
“Get some sleep,” I said, yawning myself. “I’m going to crash. It’s been a long day. Thanks, Day, you’re the best.”
Funny thing about being tired and wanting to sleep. It was still a long time coming. When I did wake in the shining sunlight coming through the windows, I started at the sight of Vivian, dressed and made up and at her pristine best, whose expression had returned to her default of cool collection.
“I’m done being a victim,” she said crisply and with rancor. “I’m going to work. And you have a job to do.” She turned and headed for the door before pausing to turn back, face softening. “Thank you, Fee. Just find who’s doing this.”
I let her go without comment because she’d brought me here for a reason and so far? I’d let her down. I was done with that, too.
***