by Janna King
Mia pulled her wallet from her purse and retrieved her license, avoiding Cole’s gaze as she passed it to Miller.
Miller barely glanced at it. “Fake IDs were different back when I was young because we didn’t have fancy computer programs,” he said. “It was the job of an X-Acto knife and a laminator at Kinko’s.”
Mia looked at Cole. “When Mac and Eve were arrested, you knew?” she asked.
“Fitzpatrick here is a prince,” remarked Miller, scribbling information on the report. “He gave you a pass on this one. He could have told your boss. He still could tell your boss.”
“Presley Parker was there,” blurted Mia. She looked at Cole. “And Ruby told me something at the house.”
“What?” asked Cole.
“The last thing she saw was a blond woman,” answered Mia, her body buzzing with certainty. “Presley tried to push me in front of a moving car. She would do anything to stay on top.”
The washer sloshed. Presley was pulling clean whites out of the dryer when Mia entered the laundry room.
“I can’t believe you,” said Mia, her sharp inhale met with the fake flowery scent of fabric softener.
“Yes, it’s true. I’m washing clothes,” replied Presley, proudly shaking out a white nightgown and tossing it in the plastic basket on the folding counter. “Nadege has had as hard a time as anyone, so I decided to spare her our dirty laundry this week.”
“You’re hounddogdayz.” Mia shoved her phone at Presley, pointing to the hounddogdayz Instagram account.
Presley ignored the phone, instead scooping a pair of Mia’s white cotton underwear from the dryer. She held them up. “How do you wear these granny panties?”
Mia grabbed them out of Presley’s hand and chucked them in the basket. “You posted the video of Grant and Axel’s fight at The Rabbit Hole, and the one of me and Ruby at Nantucket Coffee Roasters.”
Presley reclipped a still-damp white camisole to the clothesline. “Lyndon likes to have eyes on her seasonaires. I’ve been that for her.” She straightened the camisole. “Vincent’s probably been watching me. But what the fuck, Mia? We’re all watching each other.”
Mia stepped in closer to Presley. “Mac’s arrest, that was because of you.”
“Mac did that to himself,” scoffed Presley, turning to lift the last item from the dryer, a lone sock.
“Did you take a photo of me with Ruby’s phone the night of the murder?” demanded Mia.
“I might love you more than anyone else here, but I needed collateral,” said Presley with a shrug. “In case you let it slip I was there.”
“You don’t love me.” Mia slammed her hand on the dryer, her silver ring clanking against the metal. “You tried to kill me yesterday.”
Presley glared at Mia, her mouth agape. “What? I tried to save you! That car would’ve hit you if I hadn’t shoved you out of the way!”
Mia and Presley were inches apart. “You didn’t want me here from day one,” growled Mia.
Sirens could be heard coming up the driveway. Presley’s eyes darted toward the sound.
Mia watched the police arrest Presley. She stood with Cole and Vincent in the estate’s driveway and she didn’t look away as Presley stared at her with pleading eyes.
“Mia . . .”
Mia had never seen Presley so afraid. She had never seen Presley afraid at all.
FIFTY-ONE
Lyndon stood by the fireplace as Grace handed Mia and Cole each an envelope. “The remainder of your wages.”
“Thank you,” said Cole.
“No, thank you,” replied Lyndon. “Both of you.” Lyndon smiled at Mia.
Vincent entered, his camera bag over his shoulder.
Lyndon put her hand up. “You’re off duty, Vincent. Although I’m grateful for these two gems”—she motioned to Mia and Cole—“I’m in no mood for photos.”
“Ça suffit.” Vincent lifted both hands. “I’m ready to snap the French countryside anyway. I’m taking a vacation in Marseille before I have to return to more chaos, which is the same word in French as it is in English.”
Lyndon shook her head. “I can’t help feeling like Presley should be here.” She turned to Mia. “I’m sorry, Mia. I know what she did to you and I know what she’s being accused of, but it’s unbelievable to me.”
“She wanted to trend on social and that’s what’s happening,” said Grace, scrolling on her smartphone. “Everyone from her neighbors to her sorority sisters are posting. ‘She had a smile that could light up the world,’ ‘A bright future snuffed out by injustice,’ ‘An angel,’ and quite a few ‘She’s hot’ comments with the fire emoji.”
Lyndon touched Grace’s arm. “That’s enough, Grace.”
“But you are not to talk to the press about the case.” Grace wagged a finger at Mia and Cole.
“Anything you say could further damage the brand’s reputation,” added Lyndon.
“I understand,” said Mia. “Believe me, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Lyndon put her hands on Mia’s shoulders. “We’re chomping at the bit to move forward with the Mia Collection. We’re going to show the world that we won’t back down on any front.”
Mia gave a small nod. Grace lifted a thick manila envelope from her work tote and handed it to her. “Here’s the new contract. We think you’ll like the terms, but it’s time sensitive, so don’t dillydally.”
“I’ll look at it before I leave tomorrow,” said Mia.
“This will be brilliant for you, Mia. I promise.” Lyndon embraced her.
“Smashing!” Grace grinned at Mia, rubbing her necklace’s sapphire solitaire.
Lyndon caressed Cole’s sleeve. “Don’t be a stranger, Cole.”
“I won’t,” replied Cole. Mia stared down at the hand-hooked rug.
The sisters left. Vincent followed them out.
“You’re good,” Mia quietly said to Cole.
“Thank you for keeping what you know about me under wraps,” replied Cole.
“I need a strong drink,” said Mia. “But I’m not going to have one.” She plucked a pen from the silver cup near the house phone and stepped outside onto the deck with the manila envelope. She settled into an Adirondack lounger and lifted out the contract. Staring at the stapled stack of pages, the words were a blur. She couldn’t process any of it. She slid it back inside and put it on the side table, then stared out at the beach. The little boy who had given her the broken shell at the season’s start ran past, giggling, his mom and dad traipsing behind.
“Lemonade,” said Cole, joining her outside with two beverages.
“When life gives you lemons,” remarked Mia as she took a glass.
“A lucrative contract doesn’t seem like lemons.” Cole sipped, nodding to the contract that stuck out of the top of the manila envelope.
Mia tapped the pen on it. “Then why doesn’t this seem sweet to me?”
“Maybe you need time to think about it,” replied Cole.
“I don’t think I have any,” said Mia, sipping. “Grace is strong-arming me.”
“She’s rougher around the edges than her older sister, but that’s their story.” Cole shrugged. “It’s good cop, bad cop.”
Mia stared out, then locked eyes with Cole. “Blond hair,” she whispered.
Lyndon smoothed her golden bob and waved her tray of tea off with the humbled flight attendant. She lifted her smartphone to reveal Maz on FaceTime, his face filling the screen. “We have a call scheduled,” she said to him. “Did you double book me, darling, just when we are having a rapprochement?”
Maz grinned. “I did, but I promise to make it up to you with some stellar news.”
“I expect nothing less,” replied Lyndon.
“Gotta jet.” Maz hung up.
Lyndon clucked her tongue at the cutoff call. In the seat next to her, Grace scrolled through Twitter on her iPad, munching from a bone china bowl of nuts. “Where is he?”
“I have no clue, but he owes me another bo
nsai.”
Maz slipped his gold smartphone in his slacks pocket and turned to pluck one of his albums from the shelves in the loft office. Young, hot, and pin-thin male and female employees slunk around the glass-and-chrome industrial space marked by walls with floor-to-ceiling Wear National logos.
“Let’s put on a little dance music to celebrate,” said Maz.
Otto, propped against the edge of a desk custom-built from a DC-9 plane wing, gestured broadly. “Mi casa es su casa, especially since you bought my company. Lyndon is going to crap her fancy pants.”
“You did sell it for a song.” Maz handed the album to Skullcrusher, who placed it on a turntable and cranked up the volume. Maz paced in front of Otto. “You know I bought it with the full intention of firing your ass.”
“You’re not gonna do that, boss.” Otto grinned and lifted a joint from a red ashtray.
“You’re such a greedy bastard that you actually didn’t consider why I would get into bed with you,” replied Maz. “You’ve fucked every poor soul who worked for you. You tried to fuck my daughter—”
“Tried?” Otto laughed.
Wrecking Ball pistol-whipped Otto on the side of the head, knocking his white-rimmed sunglasses off. Otto laughed even harder.
“And now I’m fucking you.” Maz pointed at him.
Wrecking Ball smacked Otto in the head once more. Otto dropped to his knees, the joint landing next to him. Blood dripped from above his temple.
“My friend here can aim a little lower,” Maz said, pushed his forefinger into Otto’s temple. “But someone else might like to do that.”
Jade strutted in with J.P. on her heels. J.P. shut the door. Jade took the pistol from Wrecking Ball.
“Meet one of my newest business partners.” Maz motioned to her.
Jade bent down to Otto. “I’ve done my due diligence on your management style, talked to some former employees, and watched a few videos. I had to wash my eyeballs,” she said with disgust. “I should put you out of your misery.”
“I’m not miserable.” Otto jeered. “I’m happier than a pig in shit, baby.”
“Don’t call me ‘baby.’” Jade pistol-whipped his cheek, breaking more skin.
Otto cackled, glaring at Maz. “Do you think I’ll just slink away with my cock between my legs?”
Skullcrusher smacked Otto on the back of the head. “Hey! There are ladies present.”
Maz stood over Otto. “I suggest you tap out gracefully, man.”
“You love lobster,” hissed Otto. “I love lobster. Bougie royalty loves lobster. Lobsters can lose their limbs, but they regenerate. I’ve gone bankrupt twice and came back bigger.”
“But now you have Ruby Taylor’s lawsuit,” said Jade. “And mine, along with the other men and women you’ve treated like trash.”
“I know a talented French fashion photographer who will also have a few choice words to say about you,” added Maz.
“My pap pal, Vinnie,” replied Otto. “Let him testify. Let all the whiny bitches testify.”
“That shit’s gonna stick. I’ll make sure of it.” Maz picked up the joint and exited.
“See you in court, motherfucker,” said Jade with a sharp heel to Otto’s kidney. She strode out in front of Wrecking Ball and Skullcrusher. J.P. brought up the rear, spitting on Otto before leaving.
Three pretty young women peered into the office at Otto, who was laughing and moaning. They walked away.
FIFTY-TWO
Lyndon crossed her sleek, professional-grade kitchen, holding a glass of Chardonnay as Grace cooked salmon with vegetables in a cast-iron pan on the eight-burner stove.
“You know I loathe fennel,” said Lyndon. “Yet you still try to sneak it in.” She slid onto the white leather bench in the breakfast nook and tucked her legs underneath her. She was barefoot and wearing a silk caftan.
“Fennel is fucking delicious,” remarked Grace, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Let’s hope your art of persuasion worked better on Mia,” chuckled Lyndon as she thumbed through a file sitting on the nook’s table.
“She won’t be able to resist that contract.” Grace sprinkled pepper into the pan. “And once you taste this, you won’t be able to resist it either. It’s a new recipe.”
The doorbell rang. Lyndon glanced up. “If it’s that sodding cow from below to harangue me about my renovations, cunt punch her, please.”
“With pleasure.” Grace turned the burner to low and walked out.
Lyndon heard an officious-sounding male voice. “I’d like to speak with you and your sister.” She pursed her lips and made her way to the living room in the modern and monochrome penthouse overlooking Central Park. Detective Miller stood in the center with two NYPD police officers.
“What’s going on?” Lyndon asked Grace.
“I’m Detective Miller.” Miller held up his badge. “I’m with the Nantucket Police Department. I’m sure you’ve both seen me around that lovely little enclave.”
“What can we do for you?” asked Grace, moving close to Lyndon, almost in front of her like a shield.
“I have some questions about your whereabouts on July Fourth. Can you tell me where you were that night?” asked Miller.
“In London,” answered Lyndon.
“And you?” Miller nodded to Grace.
“I was here at our home,” answered Grace.
Lyndon crossed her arms. “She was under the weather. We spoke on the phone throughout the day.”
Miller eyed the Jasper Johns painting on the wall. “Mia Daniels, one of your seasonaires, told you about bruises on Ruby Taylor earlier in the summer. Did you share that information with your sister?”
“I may have,” snapped Lyndon. “But that wouldn’t be surprising to anyone, given Otto Hahn’s history. He’s the one you should be questioning.”
“You both know what happened to Ruby the night of Grant’s death,” said Miller.
“Yes. She was raped.” Lyndon shuddered.
“She was, but not necessarily by a man.” Miller glanced at the vase of pink peonies on the credenza. “There was no evidence of that.”
“Presley Parker is being investigated.” Lyndon said, putting a hand on the top of the armchair next to her to steady herself. “I don’t believe that she would do that.”
“I don’t believe she would either,” remarked Miller.
“This is absurd.” Lyndon squeezed the armchair.
“Here’s what I believe.” Miller walked closer to Lyndon. “Otto got a text from Ruby asking him to come to the Wear National estate. But the number was unknown, a burner phone.”
Lyndon’s brow knit.
Miller went on, “Ruby was beaten to make it look like Otto was her attacker. Her assailant held the gun for her, waiting for Otto to show up. But he didn’t show up. Grant did—a surprise. Grant was shot accidentally, and the assailant fled, because it was so easy to leave Ruby holding the bag.”
“I demand an attorney present for this type of ambush!” Lyndon stomped.
“Someone wanted Otto dead and I think you know who that was,” said Miller.
The police officers made a beeline for her. Her eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open.
“No!” yelled Grace.
Miller held up his hand and the officers stopped.
Grace broke down, grabbing Lyndon’s arm. “I did it for you.”
“Grace?” gasped Lyndon, the blood draining from her face.
Grace looked at Miller. “My sister didn’t know anything about it.”
Miller nodded to the officers, who cuffed her.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Grace as Lyndon wept. Miller and the police officers led Grace out as the kitchen’s smoke detector went off. Lyndon stood there, stunned, smoke curling in.
FIFTY-THREE
Mia stood on the beach in front of the estate, staring out at the harbor. It would be the last time she looked at this view. Cole stepped up to her. “Presley was released,” he said.
> Mia exhaled. “Good.”
“Are you sure you’re okay dropping the charges?”
“Yes.” Mia let the water wash over her bare feet. “I’m not sure she tried to kill me. I’m not sure of anything anymore.” The tide slipped back out. “Actually, I’m sure of one thing. That I almost put away an innocent person because I couldn’t see past myself.”
Cole shook his head. “There you go again.”
“We’re all kind of assholes, Cole,” chuckled Mia.
“Okay, I’ll give you that.” Cole kicked the water that came in. “I am sorry the summer turned out this way.” He moved closer to Mia.
“It’s not what I imagined, that’s for sure,” replied Mia.
“What are you going to do when you get back to Boston?”
“I’m going to reapply to MassArt, now that I have some tuition money. I think that’s the right way to get what I want.”
“Is there a ‘right’ way?” Cole squinted into the bright horizon.
Mia shrugged. “I think signing the Lyndon Wyld contract is the wrong way. I wanted to go to college from the start. And my brother is going to help out with my mom.”
“Any chance you’ll be out here in the next few months?” asked Cole. “I’m going to be hanging around for a while, tying up loose ends.”
Mia brushed her hands together. “No chance.”
“Did this experience spoil your picture of Nantucket?”
“How can you spoil a picture? It’s not the real thing.” Mia started to walk in the direction of Brant Point. Cole followed. “You remember when I told you that I don’t like birds, on the way home from the bogs?” asked Mia.
Cole nodded.
Mia continued walking, the wet sand melting around her feet with each step. “Since my visit with the grief counselor, I’ve been thinking about my dreams. I had a recurring nightmare when I was a kid. A seagull sat on the foot of my bed.”
“Seagulls are cool.” Cole looked down the beach. There were no birds in sight.
“This seagull pecked out my eyes,” said Mia.