Page 11 of The Bridesmaid
Tears prick my eyes. I turn to Mark, fury blazing. ‘You told me one of your bridesmaids had been murdered,’ I accuse.
‘That’s correct.’ Mark gives a tight nod. ‘Simone was one of our bridesmaids.’
That’s too much data to process right now.
‘Howcouldyou bring me here without telling me?’ I demand. ‘Howcouldyou?’
‘You worked for Simone,’ he says, looking confused. ‘I thought you would be well placed to help.’
I twist around, filled with a sudden burning desire to slap his face.
‘What iswrongwith you?’ I’m so filled with anguish, it feels as though there’s nowhere for it to go. ‘We worked high-pressure crime scenes together for two years,’ I tell him. ‘Two yearswe were barely apart except to sleep. Simone was the first person to hire me out of college. She was theonlyperson in corporate law not to judge me on appearances.’
Mark blinks rapidly. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says sharply. ‘If you cared so much about her, why did you leave her company? Why did you stop taking her phone calls?’
‘Because I was angry with her,’ I say. ‘That doesn’t mean I didn’tcareabout her.’ The truth of this is hitting home far too hard, far too late. ‘I cared about her deeply,’ I say, more to myself than to Mark, who still seems to be struggling with the juxtaposition of anger and caring. ‘I couldn’t have been so angry at her, if I didn’t.’
It’s a horrible realization. My argument with Simone tracked back to the day she flew out to Elysium. For months she’d been meeting up with Adrianna’s shady nightclub-baron-father, Leopold Kensington, hatching a plan between them to unmask Adrianna’s stalker. The final straw came when she began working pro bono on Adrianna’s prenup, which involved flying out to the family’s private island.
‘Since when did you chase Caribbean vacations?’ I demanded. ‘You used to care about injustice.’ I’d felt cut out. Simone had always told me we were the same. Neither of us were raised with wealth or society manners. But she’d learned them, and she wantedto teach me how to join that world, like she had. Now she was being secretive and excluding me.
My mind slides hopelessly over all the missed calls. The messages I ignored. I was too angry and betrayed to let her in. Now it’s too late.
‘I’m leaving,’ I tell Mark. ‘Find yourself another forensic.’
‘I should have told you,’ he says, tonelessly. ‘I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t know how. But the police will be here soon. Do you really trust them to discover the truth?’
I swing back around, taking in the awful reality of Simone’s death. The way she died.
‘Don’t you think Simone would have wanted you to investigate her murder?’ he adds.
My eyes blaze fury. ‘Fuckyou,’ I whisper, turning on my heel. ‘Youasshole,’ I spit back over my shoulder. ‘How could you let me see her like this?’ I don’t trust myself to say any more. Tears are filling my eyes as I walk from the room.
Memories of Simone are flowing thick and fast. Eating cold pizza on her office floor, as we spread out case files, working late into the night, inventing ever more entertaining ways for her to host forensic revelations on her show. Following the clack of her heels, as she headed out to court, dressed to the corporate max. She always saw something in me that no one else did. True, she pushed too hard at times for me to pick up on rules that were completely alien to me. Standing straight, speaking clearly. Presenting evidence a certain way. She wanted me to be able to hold my own with the wealthy elite, and I never fit.
‘Wait.’ Mark jogs to my side, grabs my arm awkwardly. ‘Please.’
I stop, about to tell him where to get off, when I see his face.There is something emotional now in his cold eyes. Something childlike and tragic.
‘Please help us,’ he says. ‘You’re right, I’ve done this wrong. I’m not very adept with people. But, the police aren’t to be trusted. Not where Leopold Kensington is concerned.’
‘They think Leopold Kensington is involved in her death?’
‘No,’ says Mark. ‘Leopold was out in LA. They just don’t like him. The police are wasting time, trying to score points off him. And Adrianna is in danger.’ He frowns. ‘Whatever you feel about me, we need to find who did this. To Simone. Surely you want that too?’
Again, his eyes are missing something. Some depth of feeling.
‘More than anything,’ I admit.
‘Then please,’ he says. ‘Take a look at the scene. You’re good. You might find something the police missed.’
Chapter Ten
PETRA - THE BRIDESMAID
When I heard a bridesmaid had been murdered, I was only surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.
I’m walking along the marble-floored corridors of Leopold Kensington’s downtown Manhattan office, in what is widely known as my signature look. Ripped couture and designer shoes busted up with my own additions. White-blonde hair flipped to one side, shaved underneath. A trash-punk model style I’ve aced for over twenty years now. Long enough to transform my runway success into something iconic.
