Page 94 of The Lost Heiress
“It’s not,” Elena said. “Rosie and I, we talked on the phone most days. She told me about the people she met while working the front desk at the Duchess—celebrities, politicians, once, the Prince of Wales. She told me when you and Theo came in.”
Ransom grew very still.
“You probably didn’t notice her at first, didn’t think anything of her—but she took note of you,” Elena said. “You were quiet and aloof, she said, standing back from the desk, barely acknowledging her with a glance. There was a girl with you who didn’t speak, and you held on to her arm. Your brother, Theo—she thought he was handsome and charming. He smiled at her, asked her for her name. You can imagine what a rarity that is for a front desk girl. The next day, he came by himself to ask for directions, and he leaned against the front desk like he had nowhere else to be. They talked for half an hour. He seemed kind. Later, he called down for more towels, and she brought them up.It was the Lotus Suite you were staying in—do you remember? One of the nicest suites in the hotel.”
Ransom had a look of quiet panic in his eyes.
“Theo answered the door when Rosie knocked; he invited her in,” Elena went on. “You were playing cards around the coffee table in the sitting room—Go Fish, she said. It was you and Theo and that girl. Theo asked Rosie if she wanted anything to drink. She asked for a Coca-Cola, and the two of them stood out on the balcony, talking. She stayed for over an hour. When she had to leave, he walked her to the door. The three of you were going sailing the next day, on your yacht, to Catalina, he told her. It was Rosie’s day off, and he asked her to join you. She was so excited that night when we spoke on the phone. It was all she could talk about,” Elena said. “The next day, she was dead.”
Silence settled between them.
“I am very sorry about your cousin,” Ransom said. “Truly sorry.”
“I don’t need your condolences,” Elena said. “I need answers. You claimed it was just you and Theo and Rosie on the boat that day. Just the three of you—no mention of the other girl who was there, the one from the hotel room. Why? Who was she?”
Ransom didn’t answer.
“Your story—it’s not the whole truth, is it?” Elena said. “You’re leaving something out.”
Ransom took a deep breath. “If you don’t believe my account of things, then read the coroner’s report. He ruled it an accidental drowning.”
“He also said there was evidence of blunt force trauma,” Elena countered.
Ransom didn’t speak.
“Rosie never would have gotten into that dinghy without a life jacket,” Elena said. “She was terrified of the water. She didn’t know how to swim.” Elena leaned forward, pleading. “Ransom, please. You have to understand—this was the dearest person to me in the whole world. Rosie was like my sister. And the not knowing—I can’t do it anymore.Please. I’m not here to gather dirt on your family. I’m not here to take you down. I just need to know what happened that day. Whatreallyhappened.”
Ransom fixed her with a steely gaze.
Over the past several months that she had known him, he had been cold and prickly and aloof. But there had also been moments when she had seen something else in him—flashes of kindness and generosity, real moments of vulnerability. Moments that made her think—hope—that he was the type of person capable of telling her the truth that she was so desperately seeking, someone who could set her free from her torment of not knowing.
“I don’t think it was you who hurt Rosie,” Elena said. “It was Theo in the dinghy with her. And Theo, he had a history of—”
“Those were all unsubstantiated rumors,” Ransom said. “The girl from Vassar, she never pressed charges.”
Elena pursed her lips. “You said yourself Theo was many things.”
Ransom fell silent.
“I understand why you’d want to protect Theo when it happened,” Elena said. “He’s your brother, and you loved him, however flawed he may have been. But he’s gone now. What’s the use in protecting him anymore?”
“I’m sorry,” Ransom said, “but I can’t give you what you want.”
There was a finality in his voice, and Elena felt his words to her core—the cold, swift kick of denial.
“Coward,” she said, the ball of anger slipping into her belly. It was a fire that heated her whole body. She stood up.
She had come so far; she had gotten so close. She had never felt so angry and so helpless at the same time. She clenched and unclenched her hands.This can’t be it.This couldn’t be all there was. She hadn’t spent the past three months at Cliffhaven for things to end like this, to return home with nothing.
She grabbed her purse and stood up, walked toward the door. The whole time, her mind was spinning, grappling for an idea, a plan, toturn everything around before it was too late. There had to be something she could still do.
She paused at the door and glanced down at the purse clenched at her side. She thought of the hard, cold metal gun it hid. She had only ever brought it with her as a means of protection. She was going to live in the house with the very man who might have had something to do with Rosie’s death. She couldn’t walk into the lion’s den without a chair. She had never before imagined using the gun for harm or intimidation. But.
But. But. But.
She was desperate, wasn’t she? And she was out of other options. If he wouldn’t give her the truth, there was still something she could do to pry the truth from him, whether he was willing or not.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
