Page 112 of Midnightsong
She zoomed in at the glint and stifled a gasp.
Her face wasn’t visible, but moonlight bounced off a woman’s nose ring. The same nose ring she saw in the photo Mia showed her just days ago.
Celia.
Angie checked her phone for what felt like the hundredth time the next afternoon, seeing if Celia had responded to her texts, or called her back from the night before.
Nothing except for messages between her and Ken, about her discovery that Celia was the missing diver.
She still hadn’t wrapped her mind around that the young woman was the one who might have betrayed them, and a slew of reasons flickered through her mind as to why.
But all she saw was a nose ring. Celia wasn’t the only person with a nose ring who was a diver, and she still had no definite proof.
But if it was Celia, why? To avenge her mother, Eva? It would make the most sense. But why now? Eva had died over two years ago, and Angie had bonded with her over losing their mothers. Last Angie heard, Celia was moving on and processing her grief with friends, family, and a therapist.
Then why would she choose to strike and break their peace agreement?
Treaties in war were such a fragile thing.
She checked the time as she finished her walk around the neighborhood. The sun was setting in an hour, and Angie tried one more time to dial Celia.
As she expected, her voicemail picked up, and Angie waited for the beep, wiping away a snow flurry brushing past her nose and eyelashes.
“It’s Angie again. Listen, can you call me back? I have to ask you something. It’s urgent.” Was Celia avoiding her? What if something bad had happened? Without answers, she ended the call and headed back inside Mia’s house.
Mia was coming home any minute now, and Angie waited for her, so she could ask to borrow her sister’s car.
Ten minutes passed, and Mia pulled into the driveway with Rosie in the backseat.
Angie stepped outside as Mia and Rosie stepped out, and Mia handed her car keys to Angie.
She had Celia’s address saved from when she visited for dinner twice before she left for Seattle, and she turned her GPS on, driving the forty-five minutes northeast.
Please be home.
After parking in Celia’s short driveway, she hurried up to the front of the single-family home and rang the doorbell. She waited, intertwining her fingers over and over and tapping one boot on the ground.
“Who is it?” Celia’s soft voice came through the door, and Angie perked up.
“It’s Angie. Can I come in?”
For an uncomfortably drawn-out moment, there was no response.
Then the door clicked open, and Celia stood before her, wrapped in a thick sweater and thermal sweatpants, her mid-back length hair pulled back into a messy bun.
“What’s up?” She opened the door wider so Angie could step in, and she absently placed an index finger on her nose ring.
She had the fireplace going, and the warmth was a welcome change from the chilled evening winds that had picked up as the sun sank into the horizon.
“Can I talk to you? About the Mer-Queen?”
Celia froze. “What about her?”
Angie wanted to ask her flat-out, but Celia’s guarded posture and voice told her to tread lightly. “I wanted to find out who killed Serapha. So, the mer stop their attacks.”
Celia raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest.
Angie stood straighter. “Do you have any idea who did it?”
