by Skylar Finn
“Ah.”
“Ah, what?”
The man adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses balanced on his narrow nose. “That was Riley Watson, wasn’t it? That means you must be Lucia Star.”
I crossed my arms. “Who are you?”
He held open the door to the conference room, where the officers sat at the table waiting for me. “I believe we’re all here to discuss the same thing. After you.”
I filed in, unsure of where this was going. The man in the tan suit let the door drift shut, placed his briefcase on an empty chair, and went to get a coffee from the break room.
“Have a seat, Miss Star,” Officer Fuentes said.
I took the rolling chair closest to hers. Graham didn’t acknowledge me. He had his nose buried in a thick folder, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. The man in the suit bustled about in the break room.
“Almost ready, Earl?” Fuentes called.
“Just as soon as I locate the sugar.”
“First drawer on the left.”
The drawer creaked open and silverware tinkled.
“Ah, thank you.” He doctored his coffee and emerged from the break room, ducking under the door frame to accommodate his height. He sipped his coffee, shuddered, and sat in the chair directly next to mine. “Disgusting. I added a full tablespoon of sugar to make it palatable.”
“Why drink it then?” I asked.
“Have you ever tried to make it through a morning without coffee?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
He raised his disposable cup as a salute. “There you have your answer. Shall we get started?”
“Who are you?” I asked him again. “You didn’t clarify in the hallway.”
“I’m Earl,” he said. “But I’ll let the officers take it from here.”
Officer Graham finally set down the folder, revealing his bulbous nose for the first time since I’d walked in. “Miss Star. You have quite the record, I see.”
“Excuse me?”
“Truancy, petty theft.”
I reached for the folder, but Graham snatched it away. I folded my arms. “That stuff happened when I was a kid. I liked giving my mother a hard time.”
“Vandalism?”
A lump formed in my throat. “Fine, that was more recent.”
“You threw a TV out of a third-story window,” Graham read off a report.
“Yeah, but it was my TV, so does it really count as vandalism?”
“Apparently, it nearly fell on the head of another resident in your apartment complex?”
“Nearly being the key word there,” I said. “No one got hurt. Are we really here to discuss a bunch of dumb accidents that happened so long ago?”
Graham checked the file. “The TV thing was three months ago.”
“You know what I mean.”
Fuentes rested her callused fingers on my forearm to calm me. She had this Good Cop thing down pat. “We’re trying to get a comprehensive view of your life, Miss Star. It will help us get a better handle on this investigation.”
“What exactly is this investigation?” I asked. “After everything that happened at King and Queens, I’m burned out. No pun intended.”
“Ultimately, we’re looking at everything that’s happened over the past three weeks or so,” Fuentes explained gently. “Starting with Thelma Watson’s death. Anything you can tell us about your stay at King and Queens would be greatly appreciated.”
“So I’m not being charged with anything?”
Fuentes and Graham exchanged a confused look.
“Should we be charging you with something?” Graham asked. He consulted his notes. “According to Miss Watson, you did everything in your power to protect the people at King and Queens. Should we rectify that statement, Miss Star?”
My heart swelled in my rib cage. Riley hadn’t condemned me to the cops. She’d done the exact opposite. The bubble of happiness popped. I’d treated her like crap. She deserved more from me. She deserved a real explanation at the very least. I just wasn’t sure if I could give that to her yet.
“No,” I said. “You don’t need to rectify it.”
Fuentes leaned in, keeping eye contact with me, unlike her partner, who seemed more interested in my old juvenile delinquent records. “We’ve gathered you’ve experienced trauma in the past, Miss Star. That’s why Earl is here.”
Earl waved from across the table. His bowtie was printed with a funky pattern of miniature bow ties. A gold wedding band glinted on his finger. Maybe his wife had bought him the ugly bow tie, and he wore it to appease her.
“Earl has yet to clarify who he is,” I said.
“I’m the trusty local psychiatrist,” he replied.
“I’m out,” I announced, lifting myself from the chair.
Fuentes stopped me by kicking the wheels. The chair caught me behind the knees, forcing me to sit down again. “At least hear us out.”
“I didn’t come in here to have my head shrunk,” I said. “I had enough of that as a kid. I thought you wanted my help with the case at King and Queens, not to commit me to the mental ward.”
Graham poorly disguised an eye roll. “No one’s being committed.”
“Truly, Miss Star,” added Earl. “We only want to talk.”
“About what?
“About the truth,” Fuentes said.
For a second, I thought they already knew about everything. They clearly had details about my past. That folder was stuffed full for a reason. Other than my youthful indiscretions, it probably included the full rundown on my father. Before his death, the police had been to my family’s house countless times to break up one domestic dispute or another called in by the nosy neighbors. What else did the cops know?
“I don’t need a therapist,” I announced.
“Earl’s not here to judge,” Fuentes said.
“Just to evaluate you,” Graham added. Fuentes elbowed him.
“You think I need to be evaluated?” I asked. “What about Riley? Did you give her a psychological assessment?”
“I’ll be speaking to Riley alone later,” Earl said.
“You sure as hell won’t,” I said. “She’s my responsibility right now, and you won’t speak to her without me present.”
“Miss Star,” Graham said, a weary sigh in his exhale. “I’m afraid Miss Watson is a ward of the state now. There’s nothing to indicate that her parents would have made you her legal guardian.”
“Someone has to look out for her,” I said.
Fuentes tried the Good Cop act again. “We’ll make sure Riley is well taken care of, Miss Star.”
I glared at her. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
“Can we get started?” Graham adjusted the armrests of his chair. “We have a lot of ground to cover. Then we can discuss whether or not Miss Star should consult with Earl or not.”
“I don’t need a consultation!”
Fuentes stood up. “No, what you clearly need is coffee.”
3
After three and half cups of the watery blend from the break room, the cops and Earl finally let me go. Surprisingly, they didn’t accuse me of anything. They just wanted to know every detail of my stay at King and Queens. I played stupid for most of it. Yes, Mr. Watson had hired me to “fix” his haunted daughter. Yes, I was the Madame Lucia, infamous for my unintentional final stand on YouTube. Yes, I’d been present at King and Queens for all of the murders except Thelma’s. But did I have any additional information that might help the cops pinpoint the murderer? Nope.
When I finally emerged from the office, Jazmin accosted me without hesitation. “Well?” she demanded. “What did they say? What did they ask you?”
“Everything. You’re up. Keep it simple.”
“But we should talk.”
“Later. They’re getting impatient, and we need Riley.” I looked around, but the twelve-year-old was nowhere to be found. “Where is she anyway?”
“She went skiing,” Jazmin said. “I told her it was fin
e. It’s probably good for her to blow off some steam.”
“I don’t want her out there alone.”
Jazmin pointedly glanced at the mountain, where tons of skiers and snowboarders covered the slopes. “She’s definitely not alone.”
“You know what I mean.”
Fuentes poked her head out of the conference room. “Jazmin? Am I pronouncing that right? We’re ready for you now.”
Jazmin shot me a knowing look before disappearing behind the conference door. I wandered over to the glass lookout, ignoring the nosy gazes of the people around me. I did not look like the rest of the vacationers, with their fluffy cashmere sweaters, tailored jeans, and designer boots. I wasn’t the type of person who could afford to stay at White Oak, so my eccentric style—especially the silver hair—stood out. I gazed across the slopes, squinting into the sun as it rose high into the sky. Too many neon jackets dotted the slopes. Even Riley’s garish yellow ski coat wouldn’t stand out amongst the others. After several minutes of scanning the side of the mountain, I finally spotted her signature posture as she weaved in and out of the less experienced skiers. She flew past the others, more confident in the snow than anywhere else. When she reached the bottom, she took off her helmet, shook out her ashy hair, and glanced up toward the lookout. We locked eyes. The cold wind dusted pink streaks across her cheeks. Her breath caught the breeze and floated away. She was too little to be on her own, and yet her defiant stance, helmet tucked under her arm, said that she could handle herself. She had to.
She looked away first, but I watched her the entire time as she joined the line to the ski lift, hopped on with practiced ease, and rode into the sky again.
Riley stayed on the slopes all day, long past the point of exhaustion. By her final run at dusk, when the ski lift powered down for the night, her usual swagger was gone. She lazily coasted down the mountain, curving wide paths to delay her eventual return to the lodge. Most everyone else had already gone in, the sun no longer bright enough to warm them. When Riley reached the bottom, she unlatched her skies and stepped out of them. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she lifted the skis to her shoulder and marched off to return them to White Oak’s rental shop.
“Still here?” Jazmin knelt next to the cozy armchair I’d dragged over to the lookout earlier in the day to keep an eye on Riley. “I thought you’d have gone up to the room by now.” She caught sight of Riley at the bottom of the slope. “Ah, I get it now.”
“She’s been avoiding me all day,” I said.
Jazmin patted my arm. “She’s got a lot to process.”
“Mm-hmm. We need to talk. All of us.” I uncurled my legs from where they were folded beneath me. “Can you grab Riley when she comes in? She might be more willing to listen to you.”
A few minutes later, Jazmin met Riley at the lobby doors, draped a casual arm across her shoulders, and led her toward the elevators. When I dropped into step beside them, Riley quickened her pace, forcing Jazmin along.
“You know we’re all going the same place, right?” I reminded Riley. She winced with every step, the long hours on the slopes catching up with her. Tomorrow, she was going to feel like she got hit by a truck. “You can’t run from me. What happened to your hands?”
Dried blood coated her skin. She rubbed it off. “A blister popped an hour ago.”
“And you didn’t think to see first aid?”
Riley shrugged. “It’s just a blister.”
“I ordered room service,” Jazmin announced as the three of us stepped into the elevator. She was good at breaking up the awkwardness. “I hope everyone likes teriyaki salmon.”
It was Riley’s favorite, but once in the suite, she turned up her nose at the hot meal and stomped off to take a shower instead.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered. “We can’t be like this. Riley needs to cooperate.”
“Ignore her. She needs time to process.” Jazmin popped the lid off one of the room service platters, revealing a perfectly crisped slice of salmon on a bed of spinach and orzo. “Plus after all day outside, she’s due for a shower. Open the wine, would you?”
The salmon was so delicious that I considered eating Riley’s portion too, but she eventually came out to claim her dish. When she tried to carry it off to her room, Jazmin raised her voice.
“I don’t think so, young lady,” she said, snapping her fingers at Riley. “You’re going to eat right here at the table like the rest of us.”
“You’re not my mom,” Riley declared.
“No, but we’re the best you have right now,” Jazmin countered. “And we have things to discuss. Take a seat, slick.”
Jazmin had two modes. Mostly, she nursed an eternal good mood, light and carefree, accommodating toward everyone, but on rare occasion, she employed a tone of voice that very deliberately said, “Don’t even try to mess with me.” I was familiar with that tone. Jazmin used it on me every time I got ahead of myself, whether it was with Madame Lucia’s web show or some other crazy idea I had. But Riley wasn’t familiar with Jazmin’s stern face, so the severity of the order caused her to hesitate.
“Right now,” Jazmin said.
Riley sat, plunking her plate next to mine. She pressed the flat of her fork at an angle across the top of the salmon and pushed so that all the layers separated themselves from each other.
“I don’t suppose I can have a glass of wine,” she remarked.
I handed her mine. She eyed me with suspicion before taking a sip.
“Gross,” she said, pushing it away. “I hate red. You’re supposed to drink white with fish.”
“You’re twelve,” I reminded her. It was low-hanging fruit. I knew Riley hated to be reminded of how young she was. “What do you know about wine?”
“Apparently more than you if you’re drinking red with fish.”
“I picked the wine,” Jazmin chimed in. “Now shut up, both of you. We have things to talk about. What did the cops share with you?”
“They didn’t tell me squat,” I said. “But they tried mighty hard to convince me to go to therapy.”
Riley snorted into her orzo.
“Something to say?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Riley,” Jazmin said, diamond-sharp again. “Did they tell you anything about what’s going on at King and Queens?”
Riley spun wilted spinach around her fork. “Yeah, they did.”
“And?”
She rested her cheek in her palm, squishing her skin up to her eye. “They sent the fire department’s recovery crew out there, but there wasn’t much to recover. The fire burned the whole place down. They found two sets of remains.”
“Shouldn’t there be three?” I asked. “Tyler, Daniel, and—”
“My dad,” Riley finished. “Yeah, I asked the same thing. They found Tyler in the freezer and Daniel in the hallway. They don’t think Dad made it out alive though, especially after I told them about the ice pick. Their guess is he’s buried in the rubble somewhere.”
I bristled. “They shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.”
“Why not? I asked.”
“It’s not appropriate for a kid.”
“I wanted to know,” Riley said. “It was my right to know. Besides, I’m not upset. It’s actually kind of a relief.”
Jazmin, who had been swirling her wine around in the glass, went still. “What is?”
“King and Queens is gone,” Riley said. “All of it. That includes the old wing. No more old wing, no more ghosts, right?”
Jazmin’s eyes met mine over the table. I shook my head.
“Did they tell you what’s going to happen to you now?” Jazmin asked.
“Yeah, kind of,” she said. “Foster care, right? Sounds like a blast. They aren’t going to enter me into the system until they clean up the mess at King and Queens though, so I have some freedom to kill.” She finished off the last bite of salmon and shoved the orzo off to the side of the plate. “Can I go now? I told you everything they told me.
I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”
“Yeah, go,” I said.
She didn’t need me to tell her twice. Her damp hair whipped around as she left the table, showering me with lemon-scented droplets. As she disappeared into her room, I refilled my glass of wine to the top.
Jazmin reached across the table to clutch my hand. “She’ll get over it. Don’t worry.”
“It’s not her I’m worried about.”
I slept in the next day and still woke up groggy and disoriented. Like yesterday, the sun hit me like a punch in the face, searing my eyelids and casting a hot glow across my skin. My ever-present nausea roared its ugly head again. I drew the blinds shut and pulled the covers over my head, letting the cool sheets soothe my flushed skin. Was I getting sick? Had I come down with the flu what with all the wet, cold weather and horrible stress? Or was it something else?
The suite was serene. Neither Jazmin nor Riley bustled about in the kitchen. Both bathrooms were quiet. No water ran to indicate that someone was in the shower or bath. I checked the alarm clock. It was eleven a.m. By now, both of my roommates were likely dressed and ready for lunch, whereas I was ready for a hot bath and another nap to take me under. I dragged myself out of bed and into the adjacent bathroom, where I filled the Jacuzzi tub with hot water and enough bubble bath to wash a horse, then slipped into the searing mixture. It helped with the nausea but not the stress. I sank deeper, letting the water fill my ears, then submerged myself completely, eyes squeezed shut to keep the suds out. I wished I could stay there forever, where the noise of the outside world was dampened by the weight of the water, and nothing existed except for me and my body.
“Trying to drown yourself?” a sardonic voice, clear as day, asked.
I made the mistake of gasping and inhaled a mouthful of bubbly hot bathwater. I lurched upward, splashing water like a tidal wave across the bathroom floor as I cleared the surface and hacked liquid from my lungs. Stella, still wearing that red ball gown, perched on the closed toilet, one limber leg crossed delicately over the other. She picked up her heels as the pink sudsy water rushed across the floor toward her, as if she didn’t want to ruin her nonexistent shoes.
