Page 73 of Chandelier Enthralled
“She was a good swimmer.”
I swallowed hard.
I was closer to this man than I had ever been, and the need for more answers consumed me. “Where were you, when she died?”
“In bed. Asleep. Had no idea she was on my property. She had no key to the house. Atticus came over in the morning and we discovered her together.”
“Last Thursday?”
“Yes.”
That was five days ago. Recalling Greyson’s melancholy mood in the kitchen, me talking about stupid muffins, and coaxing him to play chess while he was freshly grieving her death. God, why couldn’t I read people better? Then again, he’d seemed sad instead of grief-stricken. I hadn’t known him well enough to explore why.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me then?” I asked.
“I was in shock.”
“Did you try to resuscitate her?”
“Atticus pronounced her dead. He’s a surgeon.”
I stared up at him. “Was she drinking?”
“We’re waiting on the tox report. Takes a while.”
I gave a nod, suddenly realizing the weight of his loss.
Greyson looked up at the ceiling, then back at me. “She was very…sweet. Complicated. Did some questionable things, but…”
“What was her name?”
“Amelia.” Greyson looked away as he recalled her. “She was special to me.”
“Thank you for sharing this.”
“We’re both grieving the loss of someone we loved. You with your boyfriend, and me with Amelia.”
Why did he have to say it like that, like he could reach out and touch my agony, like there was a connection between us that made it possible to cross this ocean of suffering together. Soothe it, somehow.
“This is not fodder for the press, you understand?” he said firmly.
“Of course, totally off the record.”
His expressive eyes bored into my soul, conveying a wealth of emotions with the subtlest changes.
“You didn’t have to share that,” I said. “Why did you?”
“Trust is an elusive thing. It’s honesty you need so you take what I have to say seriously. And you don’t return to Huntington Beach.”
A chilling sensation washed over me as I recalled something Chad had said about people dying—people tied to that club.
“Was Amelia a member of that club?” I asked, throat tight with concern.
“You are relentless.” Greyson walked away, toward an elevator.
He pressed the UP button, his finger lingering a moment too long. The doors slid open with an eerie smoothness, and he stepped inside, his deep brown eyes locking onto mine as he turned to face me. “Stay down here, if you like.”
“Where are you going?”
