The valet came then with the tea service. While he was setting up and Sabrina was signing the bill, Bella heard her cell phone buzzing from her purse.
Picking it up, she saw it was a missed call from Peter. She’d call him later, she thought, not wanting to be rude to Sabrina. A second later, a text came through from Peter.
“Call me asap.”
“What sort of tea would you like?” asked Sabrina.
“Green?” She smiled, thinking of Peter.
Sabrina poured them both a cup and motioned for them to sit in the easy chairs by the fireplace. “It’s been such a long and sad week. I hated to leave town before they figured out what happened to her but now that we know I feel it’s time to go. Nothing but bad memories here.” She took a sip of tea. “I will never forgive myself for not hearing her that night. I go through it a hundred times a day. What if I’d just not used my ear plugs that night, would I have heard her screaming out? I guess I’ll never know.” She touched her scar. “It’s the same as the night I got this scar. I keep going over it a hundred times and wishing I’d done something different than I did.”
Bella didn’t say anything, nodding in a way she hoped translated her sympathies. She didn’t want to push the poor woman to talk about something traumatic if she didn’t want to and yet she was curious. What had happened?
“Tiffany was driving the car, you know,” said Sabrina, her eyes glazed over as if remembering.
“Was it a car accident then? I never knew.”
“Tiffany never wanted me to talk about it, afraid if it got out that she was the one who drove the car that killed our parents and left me disfigured it would be bad for her image. Of course I agreed.” She cocked her head to the side. “It was always about her career, which fed us both, I suppose.”
“She relied on you and trusted you. I hope that gives you some small comfort.”
Her eyes flickered. “I wish I could say yes, but I’m afraid not. I’ve wasted my life giving it to an ungrateful child whose carelessness cost me my dreams. I know it makes me sound terribly bitter but alas, it’s where I’m at these days. They say one of the stages of grief is anger, do they not?”
It was the feeling of coming upon an accident, the inability to look away, the hungry need to see, that came over Bella then. What had Sabrina’s dreams been? And suddenly she knew. “Did you want to be an actress?”
“I did.” She stood, smiling. “May I show you something?”
“Of course.”
She went to one of the drawers in the bureau and yanked it open, pulling out a scrapbook. It was tattered and faded. Sabrina put it on the coffee table and opened it. The first page was a newspaper article. “Local girl wins talent contest.” Was it a photo of a very young Tiffany?
As if she read her mind, Sabrina shook her head. “No, it’s not Tiffany. That’s me.” She pointed to a child in the background of the photo, holding onto a woman’s hand. “This is her with my mother.” She turned the page. There was another article, this time about a high school play. The caption under the photo, “Sabrina Archer, freshman, knocks them dead in a production of Oklahoma.”
“I was the talented one. She was always in my shadow, too shy to perform. Until the accident and then suddenly she comes up with this idea she wants to act. ‘We should go to Los Angeles,’ she told me. ‘We have nothing here now that Mom and Dad are gone. What do we have to lose?’ I told her, ‘Nothing. I already lost it all.’ But she continued her campaign for weeks. ‘It’s a chance for us to go somewhere that no one knows our sad story. And Beany,’ that’s what she called me back then, ‘it’s our only chance to get out of this town and make a life. If you had the talent, surely that means I do too. Twins share gifts.’ Turns out she was right. She was just as good and she was still beautiful, not a freak like me.”
Bella couldn’t think what to say. How sorry she was for this woman who felt her life had been robbed. “I’m sorry, Sabrina.”
Sabrina shook her head as if to dispel the cobwebs of memory. She closed her scrapbook. “Well, no matter. The future is ahead. I just need to figure out what’s next for me.”
Bella’s cell phone buzzed again. “I’m so sorry. Someone wants to talk to me, obviously.” She looked at the screen. It was a call with a 310 area code—Los Angeles. “Sabrina, this is a Los Angeles number. I should check my voicemail. It might be a work thing.”
“Of course. Take your time. I’ve tons of time to kill before I leave for the airport.”
Bella went to the window. Below, the news trucks and reporters still lurked about. What did they expect to find? Poor Tiffany was dead. It’s not like she was about to come out the front door. Idiots.
She listened to the voicemail.
“Hey, Bella, this is Austin Blu. I left a message for Peter Ball as well. I don’t know what made me remember this but I started thinking back on when I received the last call from the blackmailer and realized it was the morning after Tiffany Archer was killed, which was Friday. I checked my phone just to be sure and it said 8:27 a.m. on Friday. According to the papers she was already dead by then. I don’t know if it matters at all in the investigation but I thought I’d mention it, especially given when I read about Rawley Hough being arrested this morning. I had one of my sound guys decode the message so I could hear it without the distortion and I could swear it’s Tiffany Archer’s voice on the message, which is impossible so then I think maybe I’m crazy? But you know, that’s my thing, being able to decipher subtleties of tone and all. Anyway, yeah, well, I guess that’s it. Call me back if you need more information.”
Bella hung up the phone, still standing at the window, her hands damp from perspiration. Could swear it’s Tiffany Archer’s voice. Tiffany was dead by then. But Sabrina wasn’t. They sounded just alike. Was Sabrina the blackmailer? What had Sabrina said the morning after the murder? My sister can’t even get money out of the ATM, let alone figure out how to extort money. Had Sabrina made the call to Austin before she knew her sister was dead? No, that wasn’t possible. Bella had received the call from Gennie with the news closer to 8:00 a.m. She turned to look at Sabrina, feeling her heart pounding between her ears. Was Sabrina thinking only of money hours after getting the news of her sister? Or was Rawley Hough telling the truth? Had he raped her but left her alive? Was it possible for a sister to do the unthinkable?
She typed with shaking hands to Peter. “Got voicemail from Blu. With Sabrina now.”
“Everything all right?” asked Sabrina.
“Yes, just Ben wanting to know when I’m coming home. We’re so relieved, you know, that he’s in the clear. I’m just texting that I’m on my way home after our visit.”
Get her to confess. Why this thought came to her next she could not have said. Get her to confess. But it was there nonetheless. Prove who did this once and for all. Screw the haters. She and Tiffany had agreed the day before she was killed. Yes, she was a flawed woman, like we all are, thought Bella. Regardless, she didn’t deserve to die. Each day was a battle against her demons. Who is to say she wouldn’t have fought them down had she lived? Had her last thought been the knowledge that her sister wanted her dead? Was it a fight? Had Tiffany gone to her after the visit from Rawley and confronted her? Had she threatened to expose Sabrina? Surely it couldn’t have been planned? All these thoughts were roaring in her mind, a jumble of tossed thoughts. And then Peter’s voice in her head—get her to talk.
She opened the photo application on her phone, changed it to the recording setting and pushed the “on” button. Then she dropped it in the pocket of her sweater.
“You’re white as a ghost.” Sabrina was watching her carefully. “Come sit.”
Bella did so and picked up her cup of tea, trying not to spill it from the shaking in her hands.
“I thought you said it was a Los Angeles number that called.” Sabrina’s gaze was unflinching, watchful. Suspicious? Yes, suspicious. Get it together, thought Bella. Stay calm.
“Did I? I must have
been looking at the number below. I think Stefan called me yesterday—it was probably his number.” Talk about something that connects you. “Sabrina, I feel terrible about everything you’ve just told me. I know how it is to feel like everyone you love is gone. I lost my mother when I was only sixteen, just like you and Tiffany. And, of course, I’m sure you remember what happened to my little niece and her mother. Talking like this brings it all back.” She paused, acting as if she just thought of it. “Matter of fact, I could use a drink. Care to join me?” She went to the mini bar and pulled out two vodka bottles. “How does a screwdriver sound?” Screw the haters.
“You know, why not?” asked Sabrina. Her face had relaxed back into its usual placid expression. “As callous as it might sound, I’m ready to embrace a new life. Tiffany-free. Which means I can have a drink every once in a while.”
“Of course you’re ready to embrace a new life. Who could blame you? You’ve had to babysit your sister for so many years. None of us knew how you did it.” Bella glanced behind her. Sabrina had opened the scrapbook and was tracing her finger over the photo in the newspaper article. Bella poured both vodkas into one of the two glasses sitting on the minibar and added orange juice. Into the other she poured only orange juice. She handed the one with vodka to Sabrina.
Sabrina took a sip. “Strong.”
“Too strong?”
“Heck no. I have a car to take me to the airport. Might as well enjoy your company and this drink without worry. I’ll have enough of those when I get back.” She drank from the glass again. “Doesn’t taste as strong with the second sip.” Sabrina closed the scrapbook and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “You know, my mother was the one who asked Tiffany to drive that night. I’d wanted to but our mother insisted Tiffany be the one because I’d had all the spotlight that night and she was always worried about poor, sensitive little Tiffany’s feelings.” She took another sip of her drink. “It used to disgust me, the way she coddled her.”
“I can understand that. Must have been so hard for you.”
“It really was. Thank you for saying that. It feels good to talk about it.”
“You know what I can’t figure out is how someone as unable to function without you figured out how to blackmail those idiots. Not that I blame her for doing it. Those guys deserved everything they got from her. I’m just sorry, of course, that Rawley Hough killed her over it. I mean, what was it to him? A little cash he could probably easily afford to give her. No reason to give up his life for it. But I’m seriously impressed with our little Tiffany. I never knew she had it in her. The scheme was so complicated and well thought out. And the fact that she had the balls to actually steal the client list from Ms. Zinn? Genius and major guts. Don’t you think?”
Sabrina’s glass was empty. The drink had not seemed to relax her. Instead she was sitting forward in her chair now, twitching her foot and rocking back and forth slightly. Her eyes were piercing. “Yes, it is hard to believe.” She placed her hands on her knees. “How about another drink? That one went down very easy.”
“Sure. Same?”
Sabrina nodded. “Only make it a double.”
Gladly, thought Bella.
“You know what I find odd, though.” Bella handed Sabrina the drink. “Is that the client list book is still missing. Where do you think she hid it?”
Sabrina pulled on her ponytail, her eyes darting to her handbag next to the suitcases and then back to her drink. She shifted in her chair. She took another sip of her screwdriver. “It is odd. Guess it doesn’t matter now. Excuse me a moment. I need to use the restroom. Then, let’s order lunch from room service. Something bad for us. The menu’s on the bedside table there.”
As soon as the bathroom door closed, Bella jumped from her chair and bolted to the handbag on the floor. Kneeling, she opened it and there, nestled next to a wallet and a Kindle was a black leather book. It had to be the client book. Sabrina was the blackmailer. Had she also killed her sister?
“Find what you were looking for?”
Bella, heart pounding, came to her feet and turned toward Sabrina. She was standing five feet from her, aiming a gun right at the middle of her chest.
Bella took in a deep breath and held up her hands. “Hey now, no reason to get crazy. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Why is it I don’t believe that?” She motioned toward the chair with the gun. “Sit, while I think what to do with you.”
Sabrina paced in front of the chair, the gun pointed at Bella. “Did you really think Tiffany was smart enough to blackmail those guys? It was her fault we were broke in the first place, putting it all up her nose as fast as we could make it. I had to swoop in and figure out what to do, how to save us from ruin. She’d told me Zinn kept all her client names in a little black book on her desk, like something out of a bad movie, and I started thinking about it—couldn’t stop thinking about it—how this was the answer. I just needed to get my hands on that book and pick a few men who would pay for my silence. So I tagged along one night over to Jocelyn’s house and when they snuck into the kitchen to get high, like I didn’t know what they were up to, I took advantage of the fact they were totally out of it and snuck into her office. The book was on the desk, plain as day. I figured it was a sign from the universe or something. Boom—my plan was in action. And when Tiffany found out, was she grateful to me? No, the little bitch had the nerve to lie to me that Hough had beaten and raped her over it when God only knows she probably welcomed him into her bed like she did every other man in town. Oh, she loved the married ones. She had that in common with you, I guess. And meanwhile, here I am chaste and pure, uncomplaining when no man will come near me and my horrid face. No man has ever touched me, Bella. Not one.”
Bella kept quiet, hoping Sabrina would continue. She did, her eyes ablaze, the words coming fast with little pause between sentences.
“And then that night I woke up and felt like something was wrong—twins do that, you know—so I went to check on her. I found her curled up in the corner of her room, crying. ‘Hough came looking for that goddamn book and then he raped me for punishment when he couldn’t find it,’ is what she said. ‘He thinks it’s me doing the blackmailing. Do you realize what you’ve done?’ I asked her how she knew and she said the minute Hough accused her of blackmailing her that she realized it had to be me who’d taken Jocelyn’s book. She added that I always underestimate her, which isn’t true. She always lets me down. I told her that too. I said, ‘If you weren’t always so out of it with booze and pills we wouldn’t be in this mess.’ I tried to explain to her that I only did it for her own good since she blew all our money. I told her it was just like it always was—me cleaning up her mess. Well, that made her go crazy. Like certifiable, screaming that I’d gotten her raped and that she never wanted to see me again and that I was the devil. After all I’d done, this is what she says to me? She had the nerve to tell me it was her money, she’d earned it and it was hers to lose and I was nothing but a leech. Then she lunged at me. Can you believe that? She came after me. What was I to do but defend myself? We started fighting like when we were kids, rolling around on the ground like a couple of animals. I didn’t mean to kill her but my God she wouldn’t stop screaming.” She paused, tilting her head to the side and her voice was higher-pitched than the moment before, like a plaintive child’s. “I’m the victim here. Can’t you see that? My mother never could. No matter what I did. It was always Tiffany this and Tiffany that. I was the one who deserved the life she had. Not her. It was not supposed to be her.”
Outside came the sound of sirens. Peter had gotten her text and Austin’s voicemail. He’d figured it out as well. They were on the way.
Sabrina went to the window. She muttered an expletive and turned back to Bella. “Get up.”
There was pounding on the door. “Open up, Sabrina.” It was Peter’s voice.
Sabrina yanked Bella to her feet. She put the barrel of the gun into the small of Bella’s back. “March.”<
br />
At the door, they stopped. “I have Bella at gunpoint. Let me out of here or she gets it.”
Peter’s voice was soothing. “No reason to get carried away. We just want to talk to you, that’s all.”
“Bullshit, I know what you want. Move out of the doorway.” She pulled Bella close to her body, holding the gun at her neck now. “Open the door, Bella. Nice and slow.”
Bella inched open the door. “Peter, don’t shoot. She has a gun on me.” She was surprised how calm she sounded. Just keep thinking clearly and calmly, she thought. As long as no one made any sudden moves she might get out of this alive.
Peter and Fred stood in the hallway with their guns pointed at the door. Fred’s chest was moving up and down and his forehead glistened with sweat. Peter’s clear green eyes were sharp and unblinking. “Let her go, Sabrina,” he said.
“Get on the elevator,” Sabrina hissed into her ear. “We’re going to the roof.”
The roof? She’d told Sabrina she was afraid of heights. And she remembered.
Bella couldn’t breathe. She gasped for air. Her legs felt as if they might collapse under her. But it didn’t matter. Sabrina, probably with adrenaline coursing through her, seemed almost to carry her.
Her daddy had carried her like a sack of potatoes to the roof. Her mother’s cries were in the background. “Drake, call the police.” Her voice was high-pitched. It didn’t sound like her mother. Her voice was like a cold blue wave through the air.
They were at the elevator now. “Don’t come any closer,” Sabrina said to the men, pushing the gun harder into Bella’s neck.
Bella heard a cry of pain. It was her own, she realized. She tried to breathe but it felt as if her windpipe was being crushed. Sabrina shoved her into the elevator and punched the rooftop button. They went up, first to the seventh floor, then the eighth and finally to the button labeled Rooftop Terrace. The doors opened and Sabrina dragged her outside. It was raining; a puddle had formed where the floor dipped slightly and Bella stepped in it. Dampness soaked through her shoes and into her socks. Then they were on the edge of the building. There was a lip and a safety fence. Below, the news people were pointing upward, perhaps calling out to one another.
Riverstar Page 23
