by Janna King
“Thanks.” Presley put a hand on her hip, batting her eyelashes at him. “Don’t be mad, Vincent. I had a moment.”
Vincent headed into the house, waving his phone. “So why am I getting called back for a Skype call with Lyndon? I was in the middle of dinner.”
Cole leaned into Mia. “I would’ve liked to watch the fireworks with you.”
Mia walked away from him and entered the house.
In the living room, Presley took the loveseat and patted the space next to her for Mia, who sat. Cole settled on the nearby ottoman, trying to connect with Mia. Vincent clicked on the TV with the remote and brought up the Skype screen. Lyndon appeared. She looked like she’d been crying, her eyes red and swollen.
“This summer is going to give me gray hair.” Lyndon touched her blond bob, her voice a tired rasp. “Where are Jade and J.P.?”
Everyone was silent.
Presley scrolled through Instagram on her phone. “Check Jade’s Insta.” She showed the post that featured Jade and Tatiana to Mia, Cole, and Vincent.
Lyndon scrolled through her smartphone. “They were at Maz’s Blue Bash. I should’ve known.” She clucked her tongue with disappointment. “She’ll never learn. And J.P. is throwing his life away like . . .” She trailed off.
“Are you okay, Lyndon?” asked Vincent.
Lyndon looked at them, her eyes welling. She took a deep breath.
“I don’t know how to tell you all this, but . . .” She held back her tears. “Grant is dead.”
“What?” gasped Presley, grabbing Mia’s hand.
Mia started to cry. She didn’t have to fake it. The flood returned easily. Cole’s jaw locked. Presley put her arms around Mia, her expression pure shock.
Vincent took some wobbly steps, then sat on the couch.
“How?” asked Presley with deep concern.
“No one is sure yet,” replied Lyndon. “From what the police told me, he was shot.”
Mia cried harder. Cole squeezed his eyes shut.
“He was found in the Wear National pool,” added Lyndon.
“Why was he at the Wear National party?” Presley looked at the others. “When did he go? He was with us at The Rabbit Hole.”
“The police are on the scene right now,” continued Lyndon. “I don’t know much else. Grace has been under the weather, and now she’s way too upset to be on this call, but we’re coming in tomorrow.”
Presley nodded, holding Mia tighter.
“Lock up tight,” said Lyndon.
“We will,” said Cole.
“I love you all.” Tears fell down Lyndon’s cheeks before the screen went black.
Vincent looked comatose, muttering, “It smells like vomit in here.”
“She got sick,” Presley mouthed to Cole, pointing at Mia in her arms. “I found her on my way back to The Hole after I changed. We decided to go to the beach for some fresh air and fireworks.”
Mia disengaged from Presley’s arms and sat back in the loveseat. She stared at the ceiling, sniffing.
Cole looked at Mia, puzzled. “You didn’t drink that much.”
Manic, Vincent leaped back up and clicked around the TV channels. “I don’t know about you, but I want to know what happened. Maybe there’s something on the news.”
“It’s almost midnight. TV news is done,” said Cole.
“This is one hundred percent fucking crazy.” Presley headed upstairs. “I’m going to get my iPad. Maybe there’s something online.”
Cole moved next to Mia. “Are you okay?”
“No. Grant’s dead.” Mia pressed her thumb against the tiny cut on her middle finger. It stung.
Presley brought down her iPad and placed it on the coffee table. She sat on the floor. Mia and Cole sat to the right of her as she scrolled through Twitter. Vincent paced. She searched the word “Nantucket” and found a host of Nantucket travel blog feeds, then one local news feed: @Nantucket411.
“There!” said Presley. The most recent tweet, twenty minutes earlier:
Lyndon Wyld seasonaire killed at Wear National party.
Hearing Presley read the words out loud, Vincent sat on the ottoman to look. The tweet had a video link to a Nantucket Channel 14 news story. Presley clicked it. In the grainy footage, the police were putting up crime scene tape at the Wear National estate. Otto drove up in a red ’63 Corvette convertible with Axel and the fishtail braid girls. He got out and jogged to the cops at the door. Although the conversation couldn’t be heard, the cops were clearly telling him about what happened.
“Noooooo!” Otto shrieked, his voice rising to an even squeakier pitch than usual. He fell to his knees and sobbed in his hands.
Mia thought his reaction was too quick to even register. It had taken her the last hour to even begin to understand what had happened.
“Who killed Grant?” Cole stared at Presley’s iPad screen.
“The story doesn’t say.” Presley played the video again.
Vincent pointed to Otto on the screen. “This is a huge crock of horseshit!”
“Why do you say that?” asked Cole.
“Convenient timing to be caught on film,” answered Vincent.
Presley turned to Vincent. “You think Otto had something to do with this?”
“Can I say he’s definitely involved? No.” Vincent rose, disgusted. “But I will say he’s capable of anything. He could’ve paid these nightcrawlers to be there for his theatrics.”
“What’s a nightcrawler?” asked Mia.
“A camera crew that films crime scenes to sell the footage.” Vincent paced. “They’re everywhere, even on Nantucket.”
Presley replayed the video. “He’s a horrendous actor.”
“Ça suffit!” Vincent stormed out of the house, slamming the front door.
“It was no secret that they were close,” said Presley. Her eyes were soft and sympathetic. “Oh, this is awful. That doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Presley’s acting skills were far more convincing than Otto’s.
“I can’t believe it,” whispered Mia. “Should we text Jade and J.P.?” She pulled her phone from her purse.
Cole noticed the cracked black screen filled with water. “What happened to your phone?”
Mia felt Presley’s eyes on her. “When I puked, I dropped it in the gutter.” She slid the phone back in her purse.
“This isn’t something you text anyway,” said Presley. “We should wait up until they come home.”
Cole stood. “Now I could use some fresh air.” He slid open a French door to the deck. Mia and Presley followed. They sat in separate deck loungers, staring out into the dark night. No one spoke. Mia tried desperately to picture Grant’s smiling face in the blackness—one of his shit-eating-grin selfies. But the image of Grant facedown in a blood tie-dyed pool of water was seared into her brain.
Presley fell asleep first. Cole moved to Mia’s chair, perching on the edge.
“I assumed you left, so I left,” said Mia softly.
“I didn’t,” replied Cole.
“I don’t care, Cole.” Mia shrugged, her arms listless. “We hooked up. Whatever.”
“I went to check on Presley.” Cole tugged on his right shirt cuff. “After she left, I had to take care of some unfinished business.”
“Cole—”
“I don’t want you to think I left because of you,” continued Cole. “It was because of you, but—”
Mia shook her head.
“I’m engaged,” blurted Cole. “I was engaged.”
Mia closed her eyes, her heart sinking.
“We broke it off last night.” Cole let the weight of his secret fall from his mouth. “I didn’t tell her what happened with us, but it wouldn’t have mattered. We were basically over.”
Mia opened her eyes, putting on a stoic front. “I wish you’d been honest with me before, Cole. But I told you that you aren’t obligated to tell me anything.”
“Stop doing that, Mia.”
“Doing what?” Mia
stared out at the beach.
“Making yourself unimportant. It’s fucking stupid.” Cole put his hand on Mia’s arm. “You’re important to me. I want to tell you.”
“Fine.” Mia pulled her arm away. “Tell me.”
Cole rubbed his forehead, his forefinger swiping his scar. “We had already put our wedding on hold after I took this job.”
“That’s too bad.” Mia sounded sarcastic, but she didn’t mean it that way. She winced.
“She hates social media. She doesn’t even have a Facebook page.”
“Is she Amish?” Mia sniffed. “My brother doesn’t have a Facebook page either, and I tease him that he’s Amish.”
“I had to respect that she didn’t want her world on display, but this was a good money gig and we’re young, so—”
Mia put her hand up. “Tonight has been . . . a lot.”
“I know.”
Mia scooted over and Cole nestled close. She was pissed at him, but now she was hiding secrets, too. She let herself nod off on his chest. The last thing she felt was him kiss the top of her head.
THIRTY-EIGHT
When the morning sun woke Mia on the deck, the stunning orange-pink haze made her wonder if last night had been a nightmare. A heavy rock sank in the pit of her stomach. What had happened was real. Cole was still sleeping by her side. The arm that had been around her dangled over the lounger. Presley was gone. Mia gingerly lifted herself and tip-toed inside.
Upstairs, she knocked on Jade’s door—no answer. She opened it slightly to find the room empty. The guys’ room was empty as well. Mia’s throat tightened at the sight of Grant’s Penn State backpack on the floor. She took a breath and padded to her room, craving a shower—like a hazmat type of scrubbing. Presley was sound asleep, wearing her pink satin sleep mask. She never left the door open, but maybe she was more afraid than she’d let on.
Mia snuck into the bathroom and started to unbutton her cardigan, then noticed—the long sea glass pendant necklace Jade gave her was gone. She ran out and down the stairs, scanning the living room floor. She rushed to the deck and surveyed. Cole stirred, mumbling incoherently before settling back into a quiet snore. Mia raced to the front, kicking the driveway’s gravel around the G, glancing inside.
“Shitshitshitshit!” She shot inside and took the stairs two at a time, scurrying along the hallway to her room. She shook Presley’s arm. “Hey,” she whispered.
Presley whined, “Noooooo,” and rolled away from Mia.
“Presley!”
“You’re not really waking me up are you?” growled Presley.
“My necklace, it’s gone!” Mia felt around the void where the pendant had hung on her chest.
“It wasn’t your best look anyway.”
“I searched everywhere—inside, outside, in the car. What if it’s at the Wear National house? I don’t remember feeling it fall off.”
“It could be anywhere, Mia.” Presley huffed as she sat up and lifted her sleep mask. “You can’t start doing this, worrying about every little thing.”
“It’s not ‘every little thing.’” Mia sat on the bed. “It’s my necklace. It’s bad enough that Ruby was wearing the bracelet I gave her.”
“That’s your bad, for sure,” remarked Presley. “Why you gave that to her is beyond me.”
“It’s a long story,” said Mia.
“Don’t tell me.” Presley yawned.
“She needed it.”
“Well, she doesn’t need it now.” Presley smoothed the covers over her. “Some prison guard is going to wear it or try to put it on her boyfriend as a cock ring.” She considered this for a moment. “Is that what a cock ring looks like?”
“Presley!”
“You have to have a sense of humor, Mia, especially in dark times.” Presley stretched her arms up.
“Are you kidding me?” Mia squeezed the back of her neck. Every muscle in her body was tense. “What should I do?”
“Whatever you were going to do before you realized the necklace was gone,” answered Presley.
“I was going to take a shower.”
“Good. Now please let me sleep.” Presley reached to the nightstand and pressed her smartphone’s Home button. The screen read 8:35 a.m. “It’s too fucking early.”
Mia saw a text from Jade before Presley clicked her screen to black:
#sorrynotsorry
“Have you heard from Jade or J.P.?” asked Mia, not wanting to seem like she was reading Presley’s texts.
“No.” Presley snuggled back into her pillow.
“Lyndon and Grace will be here in an hour,” said Mia.
“I need ten more minutes or I won’t to be able to focus.” Presley pointed at Mia. “You need to focus, too.”
“Right, focus,” replied Mia, deadpan, as she trudged into the bathroom.
She took a long, hot shower. Washing her hair twice, she inhaled the steam and the shampoo’s lavender scent. She scoured her body so hard with a loofah that her skin was red and raw when she got out. Blow-drying was too much effort, so she pulled her hair into a wet ponytail. She put on a Lyndon Wyld sundress with flat sandals and walked down to the kitchen, leaving Presley to sleep. Cole was there, pouring coffee into a mug. Mia grabbed an empty mug from the cupboard.
“Did you sleep?” asked Cole, pouring her coffee.
“Not really.” Mia sipped. “You?”
“A little.”
Cole put the coffeepot back on the maker’s warmer. He showed her his iPad. The news was now covering the murder, so he clicked on one of the many links. A video of a newscast played. To the right of the anchor were separate photos of Grant and Ruby, both smiling.
“Fourth of July fireworks turned into gunfire when a young man was killed at a party in Nantucket,” reported the anchor. “Grant Byrd, who worked as a brand ambassador for the popular Lyndon Wyld clothing line, was allegedly shot by a brand ambassador from competitor Wear National. The suspect, Ruby Taylor, was found beaten at the scene. She was taken to a local hospital and is expected to recover.”
“Ruby,” said Mia softly. She flashed on her friend, unconscious, beaten, and bloody.
“Jesus,” said Cole. “What happened with them?”
Mia took another sip. The coffee burned her tongue and her throat as it slid down. They sat in silence at the kitchen counter until a text buzzed on Cole’s phone. He looked. “They’re here.”
Presley joined Mia and Cole in the foyer, where they stood like a greeting line for the queen.
“Where are Jade and J.P.?” Cole whispered.
Presley shrugged. “Rude and wrong.” She centered the thin belt around the waist of her dress, her hair and makeup flawlessly applied as it had been every day since Mia met her. Mia felt like a jittery mess, smoothing flyaway strands back toward her ponytail. Caffeine wasn’t the brightest idea.
Through the thin horizontal window to the right of the door, Mia saw Lyndon and Grace pull up in the Tesla. Her heart beat hard and fast, ringing in her ears. Presley squeezed her hand once and let go. It did nothing to bring Mia’s heart rate down.
As soon as the sisters entered the house, Lyndon walked straight to Mia and hugged her. Presley scowled, then put on a practiced “sad smile” when Lyndon embraced her. Lyndon rubbed Cole’s arm.
Grace pulled a bottle of Belvedere from a silver lamé wine bag. “It’s early, but we need alcohol. Bloody Marys in the living room.” Off Lyndon’s glare, Grace’s eyes went wide. “Oh, that doesn’t seem right at all! I’ll make sunrises.”
She disappeared into the kitchen while Lyndon led the others to the living room, holding Mia’s and Presley’s hands on either side of her. She sat in an armchair. Mia and Presley took the couch, Cole the ottoman.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” said Lyndon, lifting a monogrammed handkerchief from her purse, which she had set on the side table next to her.
Grace brought in a tray of vodka sunrises. “We should start with these and a toast to Grant.” The cranbe
rry red blended into the orange juice, giving Mia a flash of the pool’s crimson. Everyone took a glass. Mia was the last.
“To Grant,” said Lyndon, lifting hers.
“Should we pour one out?” asked Cole. “That’s how we do it in my family.”
“This rug is hand-hooked and costs more than your salary,” replied Grace, pushing at the tufts with the tip of her tan suede loafer. “So that’s not happening.”
“Eyes, my loves.” Lyndon locked eyes with each person in the room.
Mia swallowed a gulp, praying the vodka would kick in quickly.
“I wish Vincent were here, but he’s very upset,” said Lyndon.
“Naturally.” Presley wore a look of concern. “We all are.”
“Where are Jade and J.P.?” asked Mia.
“They aren’t returning,” sniffed Lyndon, putting down her drink. “This tragedy made me see that neither of them feels a responsibility to the brand or, frankly, to you as mates.”
“I don’t believe that.” Mia looked into her drink.
Grace sat on the loveseat. “We need to be here for one another.”
Mia felt Presley’s leg against hers and when she moved, their skin stuck for a beat.
“We’re here for you.” Lyndon leaned forward. “It’s important for you to mourn this loss, so I’ve made an excellent grief counselor available to you. Her office is a bike ride away.”
“You should share your feelings openly,” added Grace. “Your fans will expect it.”
Mia put her hands over her face. “What are you saying?”
“Spread the Grant love on social media,” answered Presley, looking at Lyndon for affirmation.
Lyndon nodded. “We’re also creating a beautiful tribute for him at the store. We’ll put up Vincent’s fabulous photos. And yours, so send Grace your favorites.”
“I can’t,” said Mia, a bite to her tone. “My phone broke.”
“I drop mine every other week.” Grace waved her hand. “I’ll have a new one messengered to you.”
Mia stood, looking at Lyndon and Grace. “Can I talk to you both in private?”
“Of course, my darling,” replied Lyndon. She took Mia’s hand and led her toward the deck, with Grace following. Presley’s eyes caught Mia’s, either warning or pleading.