by Kim Karr
A lay is a lay, and if I still need to get this strange feeling out of my system later, I know I can certainly find someone to help me take care of my needs without the last name of Lane.
Dropping the first load of dirt purposefully next to Will’s newly shined shoes, I hear his curse and laugh.
The dirt is soft and this time when I plunge the shovel, I go a little deeper, but the shovel stops. I must have hit a rock. Eager to be out of the spotlight, I expedite the process by bending down and using my hands to clear away the area. I fumble around. The rock is big and oddly shaped.
“Need help?” Alex offers.
I look at his hands, his uncallused palms and manicured nails, and shake my head no. “I got it.”
“You sure?”
I nod again. As I start to pull the item out, I consider throwing it at him but decide that won’t earn me any brownie points. Still, it was a good idea. My mind is still considering that option until I secure the item. And then every thought in my brain is gone.
It’s not a rock in my hand . . . it’s a shoe.
A very red shoe.
In a flash, everything around me seems to fade away. With both hands I frantically start digging in the dirt and when I do, what I feel isn’t hard at all.
It’s soft, with something hard beneath it.
My fingers sink into it.
I know what it is. Skin—flesh and bone.
I can’t stop myself from pulling it out.
Something gold glistens in the haze of the faint rays of sun breaking through the clouds.
Shocked, I drop it instantly and stumble backwards at the sight of what I’ve uncovered.
It’s a foot.
A woman’s foot covered in mud, with painted red toes and a gold ring around one of them.
Oh fuck.
Gasps erupt from the crowd.
I flinch.
Will’s grabbing me, pulling me up.
Fighting back nausea, I let him help me to my feet.
My knees are weak. Sweat stings my eyes. I wipe my face on the sleeve of my shirt and look at Will, who’s gone pale.
Someone yells, “Call the police!”
Someone else is asking, “Who is that?”
I can hear dozens more voices now, all shouting something different.
Screams.
Hushed whispers.
Shocked cries.
More screams.
The night before comes rushing back to me with dread. A strangely familiar face, big tits, a flat belly, and the curve of an ass I couldn’t ignore. Long, red hair. A mouth that had my cock inside it.
Oh fuck!
My heartbeat feels as though it is in the base of my throat, uncomfortable and loud. My palms are sweaty. I can’t fight the nausea creeping up my throat and turn to puke. When I do, I just narrowly miss a completely stone-faced Alex Harper.
There’s screaming, and I know one of those screams belongs to Charlie.
I’m breathing deeply, trying to slow my heart rate, to squash the panic rising in my chest. My eyes dart into the crowd, but it’s also a sea of panic.
People are moving in all directions as if they might be next. I can’t find her, but I know she’s there. Charlie. Shocked and afraid. I hate the thought.
“We need to move back,” Will tells me.
There’s no hesitation in my movement. Still in a state of shock, I do what he says.
As I take that step back and another and another, though, my eyes land on the red shoe. My mind spins. Red shoes at the party on the roof last night and then later red shoes in the penthouse, red shoes in my bedroom.
Were they both the same person?
Time seems to mash together.
Last night.
Even later last night.
Today.
My hands shake as much as my voice trembles. “Will, that is the same girl I was with last night.”
“Shhh . . . don’t say a fucking word right now. We’ll go down to the station on Monday.”
“Monday?” I whisper.
I feel sick again. I want to hang my head between my legs. “Yes, Monday with an attorney. I mean it, JJ—don’t say a fucking word right now. Besides, we don’t know for certain who she is.”
I do know.
I nod anyway.
“Stay here—I’ll be right back. I want to find out what’s going on.”
Drew and Jake are unusually quiet but move closer. Both seem to be going into a state of shock, too. I can’t believe this is fucking happening.
Flashes are going off. People are moving around. Eyes are on me. Like I’m the killer and not the unlucky asshole who just uncovered a dead body. I feel their glares. Too many to count. I try to look anywhere but into the swarm of people across from me and yet there’s one pair of eyes I can’t avoid. And they’re the pale ones that belong to Charlotte Lane, who is now standing just on the other side of the roped-off area with a look of horror written all over her face. Her hands are on her mouth. Her eyes are wide. Shock seems to engulf her every movement. Cole Reynolds has his arm around her and his lips haven’t stopped moving. He’s talking to one of the policemen.
Sirens wail in the distance.
The few cops and firemen who were already onsite are trying to control the hysteria.
This can’t be happening.
None of this seems real.
I can’t breath.
My lungs are aching for air.
Will returns and reinserts himself between Jake and me.
“What’s he saying?” I ask Will, pointing to Reynolds.
Will leans in and whispers, “He thinks he knows whose body it is.”
“How would he know?”
“His junior blogger from The Detroit Scene never showed up here for work this morning and she was last seen wearing red shoes.”
“It can’t be the same girl then. Drew would never let press into the party.”
Still whispering, he says, “I don’t think Drew was in any state to care who showed up. Girls were coming and going until dawn, Jasper.”
Bile rises up my throat and another wave of nausea rolls over me. I can’t fight it, and this time when I turn to puke there is no one behind me.
Alex Harper is long gone.
No surprise there.
As I straighten, I can’t block out the truth—the girl that I brought into my bed last night was the one wearing the red shoes. The same girl whose dead body is buried in the ground. And she was a member of the press.
I’m so fucked.
RED SOLES
Charlotte
LOUBOUTIN SELLS MORE than five hundred thousand pairs of shoes a year. It’s true. I looked it up after Eve left the room last night. They’re designed to be beholden. The sole of each is lacquered in a vivid, glossy red, which is meant to signal a sort of sumptuary code that promises a world of glamour and privilege to their wearer.
I laughed when I read that and thought, what a great marketing gimmick. Every time I see red bottoms, I will always know that person is wearing shoes that probably cost close to a thousand dollars.
I guess they’re somewhat iconic.
What I would do with that useless knowledge I hadn’t considered. Now, though, I can’t stop thinking about those red shoes with the red soles.
Eve.
She’s dead.
I can’t believe she’s dead.
“Come with me!” Cole snaps.
Blinking out of my shocked state, I follow without hesitation. I know what this is about—he knows who I really am.
He knows that I’m a Lane.
Not a generic Lane either.
That Lane.
The police figured it out right away when they asked me my last name. Cole never did though. The last name too common and the event too long ago. Embarrassment isn’t what kept me from telling anyone over the past two months since I arrived—it’s the wall they would put up as soon as they found out—the one that would have a sign on it saying I am that m
an’s daughter. The person I am would mean nothing. My abilities would be disregarded. My actions discarded.
Cole’s stride is fast and we cross the parking lot quickly. His bright yellow Corvette can’t be missed. There’s a double click and the doors unlock. He climbs in the driver’s seat and I walk around and get in the passenger side, ready for the tirade to begin.
The seats are low and I can hardly see over the dash. Yet I know, I know Jasper’s eyes are on me. I can feel his burning stare. I felt it the entire time I was being questioned. At times I think it’s one of comfort and at others, I wonder if it isn’t one filled with hatred. Still, he hasn’t left. He’s with his friends. Heated conversations between tense silences seem to be taking place. They all seem pretty shaken up.
We all are.
Cole and I were asked to stay.
To identify the body.
And answer some questions.
Hours ago the Crime Scene Investigation units arrived. They went right to work and put their yellow tape around the site. It took a little longer after that for them to fully uncover the body. I watched in dread and silence.
Because I knew.
I knew.
I knew it was Eve.
Even from a distance I could see it was.
Not that I didn’t know it the minute I saw the designer red shoe and that toe ring glistening in the sun. It was only further confirmed as the excavation proceeded. Even though her hair was coated with dirt, the hints of red still bled through. Her lips were stained with dark red lipstick and her eyes were smeared with that same smoky gray eyeliner she wore every day. My suspicions were correct: she must have never returned to the room. She was still wearing those short black shorts and although her blouse was no longer sheer white, it was the same one she had worn last night.
She might have been a bitch, but she didn’t deserve to die.
No, she didn’t just die.
She was murdered.
The thought makes me shiver.
My mind is spinning with that word.
“Charlotte, are you listening to me!”
I blink a few times and look his way.
“What the fuck are you up to?”
“Nothing, Cole, I swear.”
“You purposely neglected to tell me who you are. Why?”
I feel sick. I was wrong in trying to hide my identity. “I really wanted this job, and didn’t want to bear the stigma that went along with who I am in this town.”
Fury riddles his features. “Do you even know what you cost me by lying to me?”
No answer will suffice; I know this. Who I am will cost him the Storm account. The money will be lost, his reputation tarnished. Or at least I’m certain that is how he will see it. I avert his narrowed stare and slide my gaze anywhere but at his angry expression. To the mud on the mat beneath his feet, to his shiny shoes, to the bottom of his perfectly creased pants. “Eve is dead and you’re worried about what I cost you?”
That gives him a moment of pause. “Yes, she’s dead,” he says, his voice weak enough that I know he’s feeling the emotion of it all like I am.
“So we can finish discussing this later?” I ask.
His hand cuts through the air between us and forces my gaze up. “There’s no need. You’re fired!”
I squeeze my eyes shut and just nod.
He snaps his fingers. “Did you hear me?”
My eyes open. “Cole, please—this job means everything to me.”
The bitter laugh is hard to hear. “More than likely you just cost me the biggest job of my career.”
“I understand you’re angry, but I didn’t purposely set out to sabotage you in any way. Besides, you haven’t lost the account,” I reason.
“Yet,” he spits. “Just so we’re clear, you’re done at The Detroit Scene, and any other blog in this country if I have anything to do with it.”
“Cole,” I plead. “I didn’t keep my identity from you to hurt you. I only wanted a chance to prove myself first.”
“Well, that chance is gone.”
“Why? I don’t understand. Who I am won’t affect you.” I almost blurt out that Jasper knows who I am and he hasn’t fired him, but I don’t.
“You’re so naïve, Charlotte. It would better serve you to shed that skin. No one will trust a word I write about Jasper or the Storm once they know my assistant is the daughter of the man who caused this town so much pain.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. “It wasn’t his fault,” I whisper.
Pissed-off anger is all I can see on his face. “And that is what will cost me even more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You have an innocent take on life. You aren’t cut out for a job like this.”
“That’s not true.”
He points his finger at me. “It is, and I’m going to do you a favor and make sure you never work in journalism again.”
With that, I stop my pleading. There’s nothing else I can say to change his mind. His anger has overtaken him and there is no reasoning with someone like that. This I know all too well. I spent years dealing with my father, and his anger. It never changed anything.
I open the car door and get out.
Defeated.
Hurt.
Alone.
Words I hate to use but words that seem to fit the situation I’m in.
Holding my head up, I make my way across the rows of parked cars and head toward the tables that have to be broken down. I need to call a cab to take me back to the hotel.
About two car rows over are Jasper and his friends. Awareness of him takes over my senses. My gaze is purposeful. I don’t care, not even when it lands on him. His long, lean body is leaning against the side of the same car I saw him driving this morning. Will is sitting on the trunk with his hands behind his neck and his head down. Drew is in the passenger seat with the door open. And Jake is pacing.
They all know I’m staring. They have to. I just can’t stop.
Is Jasper okay? I hope so.
Am I?
No, not really.
Stumbling on the uneven terrain and hardened tire tracks, I finally make my way to the area where a few people are sitting. I take a seat at one of the vacant tables and pull my phone out. Getting a cab to come out here this late isn’t going to be as easy as this morning since I’m in a bad area of town, but finally I find a company willing to take the chance to drive over here.
Now I have to wait.
Listen to the whispering.
Ignore the comments being made under hushed breaths.
People know who I am.
As soon as I gave my name to the first police officer on the scene, he asked right away if I was related to Adam Lane. And not quietly. Those around me heard me answer, “Yes. I’m his daughter.”
I am not ashamed of who I am. I am, however, ashamed of this town and their quickness to brand someone as a villain without evidence.
But then again, that’s why I’m here.
I can feel those around me staring. Feel their leers and sneers. I make myself stop crying. Stop the tears for Eve. For me. For what happened in the past.
After all, I knew this might happen when I took the job in Detroit—that people would find out who I am and hate me. Still, I came here for the truth, and I’m going to find it out before I leave.
“Miss Lane, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The sun is setting and large spotlights have been set up to help with the crime scene investigation. Although the glare makes it hard to see, I can clearly distinguish the outline of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit.
“I’m Sergeant John Hill, the detective in charge of this case.”
I force my fingers to stop twirling a loose strand of hair into a tight rope. “Yes, Sergeant. I’m happy to help in any way I can. Although I don’t really know how much help I can be,” I tell him. “I didn’t know Eve that well. We worked together, but that was all.”
Salt-and-pep
per hair and a little more than slight creases at the corners of his eyes indicate that he’s much older than the officers I’ve already spoken with. I’d go as far as to say he must be close to retirement. He doesn’t sit down as he pulls out a notepad and a pencil. All of the officers who already spoke to me had electronic tablets, but since this man is a bit older, perhaps he is set in his ways. “I have to disagree. In this instance, you and Mr. Reynolds seem to be the closest to the victim.” He pauses for a beat, as if considering how to proceed. “Let’s start with last night. When did you last see Ms. Hepburn?”
Nerves rattle me. He’s more patronizing than any of the officers I already spoke with. “I already told all of this to the other officers.”
Cool, slate-blue eyes study me. “Yes, but if you could tell it to me that would be helpful.”
I cross my arms around myself to ward off the chill. “It was last night, before she left to go to the party.”
“About what time would you say that was?”
“I’m not certain. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“If you had to guess, what time would you say it was?”
“Nine, maybe ten.”
“Witnesses at the party say she arrived closer to ten thirty.”
“I didn’t think it was that late, but I honestly wasn’t paying attention to the time.”
The detective jots something down on his pad. “The two of you were sharing a room? Is that right?”
I nod.
“How did she seem?”
“What do you mean?”
“Her mood. How was it?”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” he repeats.
“Yes, fine.”
“And she didn’t say anything before she left that indicated she was worried or upset about anything?”
“No.” My voice is clipped.
“Are you aware of any physical relationships she might have been in?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Sexual,” he clarifies. “Are you aware of anyone she might have been involved with recently?”
“No, we weren’t that close. I already told you.”
Anxiety comes in a wave. I should tell him about Cole, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I shouldn’t know about him and Eve. I only know because Eve took me out one night under the guise of wanting to be my friend and instead warned me Cole Reynolds was off limits.
