Twisted Palace (25 page)

“Everything okay here?”

Saved by Satan.

I’ve never been more relieved to see Jordan Carrington in my life, and maybe that’s why I lay a hand on my date’s arm as if she’s
actually
my date.

“Everything’s fine,” I say tersely.

But Abby viciously shakes her head. For the first time since I’ve known her, pure anger blazes in her eyes. “Everything is
not
fine!” she snaps at Jordan, and it’s also the first time I’ve ever heard her raise her voice. “I can’t believe you came with him tonight! How could you, Jordan?”

Her friend doesn’t even blink. “I already explained why I—”

“Because of your stupid
image
?” Abby is seething, her cheeks redder than apples. “Because you want to be crowned the queen of some stupid dance? I told you I didn’t want you to go with him, and you totally ignored my feelings! What kind of friend does that? And who cares about your stupid social status!” She’s shrieking now, and nearly the whole room is staring at us. “I was with Reed because I love him, not because it helped my reputation!”

Again, Jordan is unfazed. “You’re making a scene, Abigail.”

“
I don’t care
!”

We all cringe at the deafening pitch of her voice.

“You don’t deserve him!” Abby yells between panted breaths. “And neither do
you
!”

It takes me a second to realize that Ella is at my other side.

“Why did you have to move here?” Abby growls at Ella. “Reed and I were doing fine before you got here! And then
you
showed up in your cheap clothes and your trashy makeup and your…your…
whore
ways—”

Jordan snickers.

“—and you ruined everything! I
hate
you.” Her desperate, furious gaze swings back to me. “And I hate you, too, Reed Royal. I hope you rot in jail for the rest of your stupid life!”

Abby finishes in a breathless rush.

Silence has fallen over the room. Every pair of eyes is glued to my unhinged ex-girlfriend. When she realizes it, she releases a horrified gasp and slaps a hand over her mouth.

Then she runs right out the door, her pink fairy princess dress flapping behind her.

“Well.” Jordan sounds amused. “I always knew she wasn’t the meek little thing she pretended to be.”

Ella and I don’t respond. I stare at the doorway Abby just barreled through, a weird lump of pity forming in my throat.

“Should we go after her?” Ella finally asks, but she doesn’t sound like she wants to.

“No,” Jordan answers for me, her tone haughty and her head held high. She possessively clutches my arm and yanks me away from Ella. “Come on, Reed. I want to dance. It’ll be good practice for when we’re crowned king and queen.”

I’m still too stunned by Abby’s outburst to protest, so I just led Jordan lead me away.

“
S
o
. That was…intense,” Ella murmurs when we walk into my bedroom a couple of hours later.

I stare at her. Intense? Talk about an understatement.

This entire night was a disaster, starting with the photos Jordan and her parents made me pose for and ending with Abby falling apart in front of a room full of people. I almost fell over in relief when Jordan didn’t press me about taking her to the after party. I guess the stupid Snowflake Queen tiara was enough to satisfy her, and luckily I didn’t even have to participate in the nausea-inducing king and queen waltz, because Wade beat me out for the king title. The only highlight of the night was watching Wade grope Jordan’s ass during their big dance, while she kept hissing for him to stop.

Ella and I were able to escape by ten o’clock, and since Steve’s not picking her up until eleven, we have an entire hour of alone time. But we’re both a little shell-shocked as we sit side by side on the edge of my bed.

“I feel really fucking bad for her,” I admit.

“Abby?”

I nod.

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Ella says bluntly. “I hate to say this, but I think Abby might be a tad delusional.”

I sigh. “A tad?”

“Okay, a lot delusional.” Ella squeezes my hand. “But it’s not your fault. You broke up with her. You haven’t led her on since. She’s the one who isn’t able to move on.”

“I know.” But I still can’t erase the image of Abby’s grief-stricken eyes from my mind.

I’ve run through these last few years with little regard for anyone but myself. I was proud of being an unfeeling asshole. Is this karma? Is me going to prison for five years punishment for the guys I’ve beaten, the girls I’ve hurt?

I’ve tried to act like nothing’s wrong. I’ve gone to classes, played football, went to Winter Formal. I’ve acted as if every day is an ordinary day in the life of a high school senior. But I can’t pretend anymore that everything is okay. Abby’s not okay. Brooke’s murder is not okay. My life isn’t okay.

Every night, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, wondering how I’ll survive inside a prison cell. It’s the wait that’s the hardest.

“Reed? What’s wrong?”

I take a breath as I meet Ella’s worried eyes. No amount of sweet words is going to take the sting away, so I speak abruptly, like pulling off a Band-Aid. “I’m going to sign the plea deal early.”

She whips around so fast, she loses her balance. I reach out and steady her, but she jerks out of my grip and shoots to her feet.

“What’d you say?”

“I’m going to sign it early. Agree to start serving the sentence starting next week instead of the first of January.” I swallow. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“What the hell, Reed?”

I rake a hand through my hair. “The sooner I go in, the sooner I’m out.”

“This is bullshit. We can solve this. Dinah paid off Ruby Myers, so that means there’s new evidence—”

“There’s no new evidence,” I interrupt.

It kills me that she’s holding on to this dream that something’s going to magically appear to get me off. Her inability to accept me going to prison or to understand why I want this sentence over with tells me all I need to know.

I can’t keep asking her to wait for me for five years. I’m a selfish jerk for even entertaining that idea. She’ll miss out on everything. What kind of senior year will she have with everyone believing her boyfriend is a murderer? What about college? I may be an asshole, but I’m not this big of one. Not to her, at least.

I brick up my heart, the useless, shitty thing, and stare down at my feet because I can’t look into her pale, beautiful face while I say the rest of the words that are galloping around my head.

“We should take a break. I’ll be inside and you’ll be out here.”

The bedroom grows so quiet, I can’t help glancing in her direction. She’s frozen in place, a hand to her mouth, her eyes as wide as platters.

“I want you to enjoy your time at college. It’s supposed to be the best time of your life.” The words taste bitter, but I push them out. “If you meet someone, you shouldn’t be thinking of me.”

I stop then, because I can’t get the rest of the lies out. The ones where I’m supposed to say that I won’t be thinking of her. That she was just a convenience. That I don’t love her.

If I say those things, it’ll truly be over. There’d be no coming back from it. No way she’d forgive me.

Be a man
, I tell myself.
Let her go.

I take another deep breath and gather up some more courage. But before I can open my mouth, Ella flies into my lap and mashes her lips against mine. It’s not so much a kiss as it is a slap across my face. A scolding for everything I just said and every awful thing that sits in my throat.

And while I know I shouldn’t, my arms close around her waist and I hold her, letting her kiss me.

The tears fall, sliding between our lips. I swallow her tears, my words, our despair, and kiss her back until she’s crying too hard to keep kissing me. I press her face against my chest and feel the tears soak my shirt.

“I don’t want to hear that crap from you,” she whispers.

“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t feel guilty about moving forward with your life,” I say gruffly.

She stabs her finger into my chest. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel. No one does. Not you. Not Steve. Not Callum.”

“I know. I’m just saying...” Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t want her to date anyone else. I don’t want her to move on. I want her thinking about me the entire time I’m thinking about her.

But I also hate the idea of her being alone, wanting me and not being able to have me, all because I did something stupid.

“I’m trying to be a better person,” I finally say. “I’m trying to do right by you.”

“You decided what was right for yourself without asking me,” she says flatly.

I struggle to find the words to explain my position, but then her hands tangle with my belt buckle and all my good intentions fly out of my head.

“E-Ella…” I stammer. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she taunts. Her hands deftly unzip my tuxedo trousers, sliding inside to hold me in her palm. “Don’t touch you?”

“No.” This time I’m the one backing away. My body throbs with need, but I’m not going to put my own selfish desires ahead of hers.

“Too bad. I’m touching you.” She grabs my wrist and holds it against her stomach. “And you’re touching me. Do you really want someone else to touch me like this? Are you really going to be okay with that?”

The images her words conjure in my head are terrible. The hand I have planted on her ass curls into a fist. “Don’t,” I choke out. “Don’t say that to me.”

“Why? You said it to me. I would never, ever be okay with you ‘moving on’ to another girl. That kind of betrayal would ruin us. Not you going away for five years. Not a raft full of Daniels or Jordans or Abbys or Brookes. You moving on, even for a day, for an hour, is what I’d hate.”

“I’m trying to do right by you,” I repeat. Dammit, every waking thought I have is about her these days.

“Right by me is not rejecting me. Right by me is not dictating how I’m supposed to feel. I love you, Reed. I don’t need to be told that I’m too young to know my own feelings. Maybe there is someone else out there that I might love, but I don’t care about that person. I love you. I want to be with
you
. I want to wait for
you
. What do you want?”

Her fierce declaration makes it impossible for me to stick to my guns. My own declaration bursts out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“You. Us. Forever.”

“Then don’t push me away. Don’t tell me how to feel, what to think, who to love. If you’re really taking this plea deal, then you can’t be too embarrassed to see me. You can’t stop writing me. You can’t turn away from my visits. This is our countdown. This is our wait. Every day brings us closer together. We either do this together or not at all.” Her blue eyes flash like molten sapphires. “So what’ll it be?”

Man up
, is what she’s really telling me. Man up and act like a member of our team. The Ella and Reed team.

I grab her chin with my free hand and kiss her hard. “I’m all in, baby.”

Then I rip her expensive dress off her body and show her exactly how
in
I’m going to be. For the rest of our freaking lives.

O
n Saturday morning
, Steve announces that we’re moving back to the penthouse. Today.

“Today?” I echo dumbly, setting down my glass of orange juice.

He leans his elbows on the kitchen counter and beams at me. “Well, tonight, actually. Isn’t this great news? Now we won’t be stuck in these five rooms anymore.”

Truthfully, the idea of leaving does sound enticing. Living in this hotel has grown old, which is something I would’ve never said a year ago, but Steve’s right—we do need more space from each other. Steve and Dinah have started to fight constantly. While I might’ve had a trace of sympathy for her at the beginning, I’m sick at the sight of her. Not only did she pay off Ruby Myers, but I know she’s involved in Brooke’s death somehow. I just can’t prove it, damn it.

Reed told Callum about my suspicions, but so far Callum’s army of investigators have come up with nothing. They need to find it
soon
, because if Reed has his way, he’ll be signing that plea deal on Monday morning and going to prison the moment the ink is dry.

Maybe the penthouse holds some clue.

Steve tilts his head. “What do you say? Are you ready to move out?”

He gives me a hopeful, puppy smile that reminds me so much of Easton. Steve’s not all bad. He tries hard, I guess. I can’t help but smile back. “Yeah. That works.”

“Good. Why don’t you go pack a suitcase with your necessities? The hotel will send the rest of the stuff over. Dinah’s called to get the place cleaned before we arrive.”

I’m about to answer when my phone buzzes. Reed’s calling, and I discreetly cover the screen with my hand so Steve can’t see the display. “It’s Val,” I lie. “I bet she wants to know how Winter Formal went.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Steve says absently.

“I’ll talk to her upstairs so I don’t bother you,” I say before darting out of the suite’s kitchen.

He nods, off in his own head to another topic. Steve’s biggest flaw is that if the conversation doesn’t involve him, he quickly loses interest.

Once I’m alone in my room, I answer Reed’s call before it goes to voicemail. “Hey,” I say softly.

“Hey.” He pauses. “I spoke to Dad about the waitress. Figured I should let you know.”

“The waitress—oh,” I say, realizing he means Ruby Myers. My pulse instantly speeds up. “What did he say? Do we have proof that someone paid her off?”

“She took out a loan,” he says flatly. “Her mom died unexpectedly and had a small life insurance policy. Myers used that to put a down payment on the car. No signs of any wrongdoing there.”

I swallow a frustrated scream. “That can’t be true. Dinah all but admitted she paid Myers off.”

“Then she did it in a sneaky way, because I’ve got a copy of the loan papers.”

“God, I know Dinah’s involved in this.” Panic ripples through me. Why aren’t these investigators making any progress? There
has
to be something that doesn’t point in Reed’s direction.

“Even if she did, Dinah’s plane didn’t land until hours after Brooke’s time of death.”

Tears fill my eyes and tighten my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth, but a muffled sob filters through.

“I have to go,” I manage to say, my voice only wobbling a little. “Steve wants me to pack so we can be back in the penthouse tonight.”

“All right. I love you, baby. Call me when you get settled.”

“I will. I love you, too.”

I hang up quickly and then bury my face into my pillow. I close my eyes and let the tears flow, just for a minute, maybe two. Then I tell myself to stop feeling sorry for myself and get up to start packing.

Brooke died in that penthouse. There
has
to be some kind of clue there.

And I intend to find it.

H
ours later
, Steve hustles me into the lobby of the swanky high rise. Dinah’s already inside waiting for the elevator. She barely said a word on the ride over. Is she nervous about revisiting the scene of her crime? From the corner of my eye, I watch her avidly for any signs of guilt.

“I’m going to put you in the guest room,” Steve babbles as the three of us step into the elevator. “We’ll have it redecorated, of course.”

I frown. “Isn’t that where…” I lower my voice, even though we’re in a cramped space and Dinah can hear every word, “Brooke was staying before she, ah, died?”

Steve frowns back. “Was she?” He turns to Dinah.

She nods stiffly and answers in an even stiffer voice. “She sold her apartment after Callum proposed, so she was staying at the penthouse until after their wedding.”

“Oh. I see. I didn’t realize that.” Steve looks back at me. “Are you all right staying in that room, Ella? Like I said, we’ll have it redecorated.”

“Yeah. It’s fine.” Morbid as hell, but it’s not like Brooke died in that room.

Nope, she died right
there
, I think as we enter the posh living room. My gaze instantly lands on the fireplace mantle, and a shiver runs up my spine. Steve and Dinah are both looking in that direction, too.

Steve is the first one to turn away. He wrinkles his nose and says, “It stinks in here.”

I inhale deeply and realize he’s right. The air
is
kind of stale. The apartment smells like a weird mix of ammonia and old socks.

“Why don’t you open the windows?” Steve suggests to Dinah. “I’ll crank up the heat and light a fire.”

Dinah is still staring at the fireplace. Then she makes a distressed sound and runs down the hall. A door opens and then slams shut. I stare after her. Is that guilt? Crap, how do I know what guilt looks like? If I killed someone, I’d run to my bedroom, too, right?

Steve sighs. “Ella, can you get the windows?”

Glad for something to do that takes my attention away from the crime scene, I nod and quickly move to the windows. Another shiver overtakes me when I pass the fireplace. God, it’s creepy here. I have a feeling I won’t be getting a wink of sleep tonight.

Steve calls in a delivery order, and it arrives about fifteen minutes later, filling the apartment with a spicy aroma that might have smelled good if my stomach wasn’t churning from anxiety. Dinah doesn’t come out of the bedroom, refusing to answer Steve’s summons for dinner.

“We need to talk about Dinah,” Steve says over a plate of steaming noodles. “You’re probably wondering why I haven’t divorced her yet.”

“It’s none of my business.” I push a green pepper around my plate, watching it make tracks through the soy sauce. I haven’t given the marriage much thought. I’m too obsessed with Reed’s impending imprisonment.

“I’m arranging things,” he admits. “And everything needs to be in order before I start the paperwork.”

“It’s really none of my business,” I repeat more forcefully. I don’t care what Steve does with Dinah.

“Are you going to be okay living here? You look…”

“Creeped out?” I supply.

He smiles slightly. “Yes, that’s as good of a word as any.”

“I’m sure I’ll get over it,” I lie.

“Maybe we’ll find something else. You and me.”

I’ll be gone to college in a year, but I reply with, “Sure,” because I don’t want to see Steve’s disappointment. Right now, I can’t handle anyone’s emotions but my own.

“I was thinking that you could take a bridge year and not go to college after you’re done with school. Or maybe we could hire a tutor and go abroad.”

“What?” I say in shock.

“Yes,” he says, sounding increasingly enthusiastic. “I enjoy traveling, and since Dinah and I will be divorced, it’d be great if you and I went on a few trips together.”

I stare at him in disbelief.

He flushes slightly. “Well, think about it, at least.”

I clamp my lips tight around my fork so I don’t say something hurtful. Or worse, stab him with my fork for such a ridiculous idea. I’m not leaving the state of North Carolina until Reed can.

After dinner, I excuse myself. Steve shows me to the guest room down the hall from the dining area. It’s nice enough—all cream and golds. The design and setup isn’t much different than the hotel room we left. I have my own bathroom, which is nice.

The only downside is that a dead woman once slept in this bed.

Pushing aside the thought, I unpack my school uniforms, a few T-shirts, and jeans. My shoes and jacket go in the closet. Next to the bed, behind the nightstand, I find an outlet for my phone charger. I plug in my phone and then lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

Tomorrow I’ll look for Gideon’s stuff. I doubt it’s in this room, though. Dinah wouldn’t let the blackmail evidence far from her sight.

But…maybe if Brooke was sleeping on it, it would be just as safe?

I hop off the bed and look under the frame. The hardwood floor is clean, and none of the boards seem to be loose, which would be a telltale sign that something might be hidden underneath them.

How about between the mattress? It takes a few pushes to get the mattress on its side, but there’s nothing underneath it but the box spring. I let it drop down with a thump.

I do a quick search of the nightstand, where I find a remote, four cough lozenges, a bottle of lotion, and a spare set of batteries. The dresser has extra blankets in the bottom, extra pillows in the middle drawer, and nothing in the top one.

The closet is empty. Dinah or the cops must’ve had Brooke’s clothes taken away.

I run a hand along the wall and stop to inspect the bland abstract painting hanging over a thin console table across from the bed. There’s no secret safe behind the painting. Frustrated, I collapse on the bed. There’s nothing in this room but normal items. If no one had told me that Brooke slept in here, I would’ve never known about it.

With nothing to search for, my thoughts drift back to Reed. The large room suddenly feels oppressive, as if a heavy fog settled into the space.

Things are going to be okay, I tell myself. Five years is nothing. I’d wait twice that to have Reed back. We’ll be able to write letters to each other, maybe even talk on the phone. I’ll visit him as much as he lets me. And I do believe he can control his temper, if he wants. He has a huge incentive—good behavior equals less jail time.

There’s a silver lining in every cloud, Mom always said. Granted, she said that mostly when we were leaving to go to some new place, but I believed it then. Even when she died, I felt like I’d survive. And I did.

Reed’s not dying, even though it feels like I’m losing someone yet again. He’s just…going on an extended vacation. It’d be like if he went to college in California and I was here. We’d have a long-distance relationship. Phone calls, texts, emails, letters. It’s pretty much the same thing, right?

Feeling marginally better, I get up and reach for the phone. Except I forget I didn’t put my suitcase away, and end up tripping over it. With a squeaky cry, I fall into the console table. The lamp on top of it teeters. I grab for it, but I’m too far away and the damn thing crashes to the ground.

“Everything okay in there?” Steve asks from the hall, sounding concerned.

“Yeah.” I look at the shattered remains of the lamp. “Well, no.” Sighing, I walk over to open the door. “I tripped over my suitcase and broke your lamp,” I confess.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re redecorating, remember?” He holds up a finger. “Don’t move. I’ll get a broom.”

“’Kay.”

I bend down and start chucking the big pieces in a nearby trashcan. Something white pokes out from underneath one shard. Confusion wrinkling my forehead, I ease the paper out. From the way it’s hastily folded and tucked against that one piece, I realize someone deliberately slid it inside the white porcelain base. Maybe it’s the instructions for the lamp? Yeah, probably.

My hand is halfway to the trash bin when the word
Maria
catches my eye.

Curious, I unfold the paper and start to read.

Then I gasp.

“What’ve you got there?”

My head swivels to the door, where Steve is standing with a broom in his hand. I want to lie and say “Nothing,” but I can’t get my vocal cords to cooperate. I can’t hide the paper, either, because every muscle in my body is frozen.

Looking concerned again, Steve leans the broom against the doorframe and marches over.

“Ella,” he orders. “Talk to me.”

I look at him with wide, frightened eyes. Then I hold up the paper and whisper, “What the hell is this?”