by Amina Akhtar
“Does Celia know? Greg?” she demanded.
“Who do you think approved it? Now you guys are going to have to work together, so—”
“Fuck all of you.” Sarah grabbed her bag and left.
Jack sighed. “Let her go. Ugh. Okay, so this is so major. Seriously, La Vie just got so chic, you guys.” Jack nodded his head as he said it.
Zhazha smiled. “It was all Anya’s idea. She’s been such a good friend.” Friend. Again. She kept saying the word. It made me feel strange. Warm and tingly. I had a friend. A fabulous friend. And her name was Zhazha.
“Anya, I’m so impressed. I knew there was more to you than what Sarah said.” Jack winked at me. See? Winking was cool. But what did Sarah say about me?
“Should we go get her?” I asked.
“Nah, let her throw her tantrum. She’ll be fine. Let’s order fries!” Jack could eat carbs and never gain an ounce. My envy levels were through the roof.
“Brillz,” I said, grinning at Zhazha. My friend.
* * *
Lists, according to Dr. M, were supposed to be used like a cheat sheet to help me move forward when I got stuck or overwhelmed. He made me do them so I could focus. Realign, he said. He’d been reading too much hippie wellness shit. Next he’d have me playing with Sarah’s crystals. But I dutifully made my list of everything I had to deal with. All the stresses in my life. He was right; it did help.
Realign. Change what you can, ignore the rest. The shard wasn’t my problem anymore. Lauren would have to deal with it herself. Mulberry would eventually stop getting invites to things—I hoped. Diana was on #TeamAnya and helping me out in the comments section (thanks, girl!). Cassie was no longer an issue, but I did need a new intern. I was fetching our mail myself. How sad.
That left Zhazha, Jack, and Sarah. One of those intrusive thoughts crossed my mind. What if they became the new trinity? Without me? I bit my tongue while thinking of it. Not in a figurative way. Blood filled my mouth. Was I supposed to swallow it? No, wait, I’d read that was bad for you. My debate was interrupted by Sarah screaming in her cubicle. I rolled my eyes, swallowed with a grimace, and drank more coffee. It tasted metallic.
She popped up to peer over my cubicle wall. “Oh my God. Oh my God!” Her shriek resonated through the office. It had to be serious. She was saying the actual words for once.
“Calm down. What, did you miss a party or something?”
Her face paled. “Cassie!” She gasped.
“Is she still not here? Have you called her apartment?”
“No, she’s dead!”
“What do you mean she’s dead?” I spit by accident, spraying bloody saliva at Sarah. She impatiently wiped her face, glaring at me. Smile. More coffee was needed.
“She’s dead.”
“You said that. Sarah, tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s in the Post.” She waved the paper at me. There on the front page was Cassie’s photo and the headline, “Intern Slain!”
“Holy shit.” I grabbed the paper and read everything: her dreams to work in fashion, her life at La Vie, and the possibility of a copycat killer. I had a feeling Detective Hopper was going to want a date soon.
“Wow, Sarah, that’s messed up.”
“I know. Now we really need a new intern.”
* * *
Celia made us meet and talk about Cassie, just so she’d have something to say to the press.
“Was she liked? Was she pretty? Who was her family?” she demanded. Sarah said nothing. I gave Celia the necessary info, and we went back to our desks. Before reaching them, Sarah suddenly grabbed my arm, shaking me. It was not a pleasant feeling—but she was touching me!
“Oh, God, Anya, do you think we’re, like . . . next? I mean, Mulberry, Cassie, Lisa—what if someone’s after us? What if it’s someone in fashion like Jack said?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see how they’re connected.”
“Well, they were in fashion, with us, and now they’re dead!”
“But they didn’t die in the same way. The police haven’t said anything about them being connected. They seemed to think an ex killed Lisa.” They hadn’t. It was all, “We can’t comment on ongoing investigations.”
“But what if they are?”
“I dunno. There are, like, two thousand active serial killers in the US right now. So it could be.” Sarah’s jaw dropped. I hadn’t helped. “Well, um, I could call that detective and find out what’s going on, if that will put you at ease.”
I dialed Hopper’s number while she watched. My heart skipped a beat when he got on the line. “Detective Hopper? It’s Anya St. Clair.”
“Hi, Anya. What can I do for you?”
“Is it true about Cassie Sachs? She was our intern.” He was quiet for a moment. I didn’t know how to interpret that.
“Yes, we identified her body.”
Took them long enough. She’d been dead for almost two weeks. Benson and Stabler would never let corpses rot this long. Someone gets killed and bam, they’re on the scene. Maybe Hopper wasn’t as good a detective as I thought. I felt both relieved and disappointed. I wanted a smart boyfriend.
“Oh, God. That’s awful! Is there anything we can do, or any information you need from us?”
“We’ll be coming up to your office tomorrow to ask some questions.”
“Okay. Um, well, we—that is, Sarah and I—were a little nervous. Two people from our office are dead. Are we being targeted, do you think? Should we be worried?”
“These are ongoing investigations, so we can’t comment.” Eye roll. “But it’s not a bad idea to be extracautious until we catch the perpetrators.” The perpetrators. Did he have any suspects? Was it me? Was I on his list?
He hung up quickly. No “Bye, Anya” or “Please don’t die, Anya.” He needed to work on his wooing just a bit.
* * *
We were on pins and needles waiting for Detective Hopper to arrive the next day. I’d changed my outfit three times that morning already. I needed a look that said innocent but hot.
“The police are here! They’re here!” Sarah waved her hands around excitedly.
“Did someone steal jewelry again?” Evie asked, testing out some new nail polish.
“No, they’re here to talk to us about Cassie,” Sarah snapped. “What if they want to question all of us?” She began pacing.
“Calm down, Sarah. What do you have to worry about? I mean, unless you did something?” I asked pointedly.
“No! I didn’t! They’re just scary. The police are, I mean. God, why does this always happen to me?”
“As opposed to Cassie, the girl who’s dead?”
Sarah turned to glare at me. “You know what I meant. Who could have wanted Cassie dead?”
“Probably some psycho. I read that her body was totally disfigured. Only a real crazy would do that,” Dalia chimed in. All eyes shifted to her. “What? It was in the Post.”
“This is why she should have gone to Europe with me. No one would kill us there,” Sarah said unconvincingly.
“Unless the killer also went to Europe, in which case . . .” Dalia replied.
Sarah gasped, clutching my arm again. I should definitely hug her.
My phone rang. “Hello? Yes, okay, I’ll be right there. Well, looks like it’s my turn to talk to the police. Let’s get this over with.”
“Tell me how it goes?”
I looked at Sarah and then at my arm before shrugging her off.
“Of course.”
* * *
Detective Hopper’s team had taken over the larger conference room. Greg wanted to give the appearance that we were doing everything in our power to help find the killer of our dear, beloved intern. (#SavetheIntern was trending on Twitter, incidentally. I might have started the hashtag. Who knew it would take off?) He’d even had a catered cart sent up with sandwiches, salads, low-calorie yogurt, sparkling water, and, of course, Veuve Clicquot. (“They may get thirsty!” he protested after I po
inted out it probably wasn’t a good idea to offer champagne to the police.)
I knocked on the glass door. Be calm. Be cool. You’re only upset about Cassie. And worried about your friends. That’s all. This has nothing to do with you.
“Hi, Detective.” Could he hear my heart pounding?
He didn’t look up from the file he was reading. Two other policemen sat in the room, eating from the cart. Officers, both in uniform. They seemed to be enjoying the spread, though the bubbles were untouched.
“Hi, Anya. Have a seat.” He still hadn’t glanced up at me. I needed him to notice my outfit, a black DVF dress that was superflattering. I needed to see him look at me. Then I’d know how he felt about me. Whether he thought I was a killer. “You know, it’s strange that three women you know have been murdered.” He lifted his head as he said it, staring at me. Daring me to admit I had done something.
Challenge not accepted, Detective.
I nodded, eyes wide. Only innocent people opened their eyes this much. “I know, and it’s terrifying. Any one of us could be next. Is this a serial killer thing?” He raised his eyebrow at me. It wasn’t overplucked, but it was still perfect.
“We can’t comment on that. Can you think of anyone who would want Cassie dead?”
“Well, she wasn’t the best intern here. There were . . . issues.”
He didn’t say anything. I knew that trick. Stay quiet so the suspect babbles and incriminates herself. They tried that when Meredith died. I hadn’t said anything then. I was the only person I could really trust.
The silence was getting uncomfortable. My skin felt like it was crawling with bugs.
“She and Sarah were having problems,” I finally said.
“Sarah Taft? Really? Because I heard you weren’t happy with her.”
Fuck me. Who was his source? Jack. He was spying on me! I opened my eyes wider. I felt like my eyeballs were going to pop right out.
“Well, no. But I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. I mean, her parents don’t need to hear bad things, do they?” I pasted on a concerned frown.
“No, but we need to know who had it in for her.”
“Just because I didn’t love her work doesn’t mean I had it in for her. At worst, I wasn’t going to give her a good recommendation. You know how it is. A young nobody gets a toe in fashion, and all of a sudden they think they’re Kate Moss or something. Demanding this or that. It happens to the best of us.”
“And that was happening with Cassie?”
I nodded, pacing each bob. Too quick and it was sketchy. Too slow and it seemed like I was making shit up.
“Yes. Instead of doing her assigned work, she wanted to get into the good graces of some editors here by becoming a personal assistant of sorts. You know, cleaning their apartments and getting their dry cleaning. Even walking dogs. We don’t encourage that at La Vie. Internships are supposed to teach you, not make you a slave. It kind of goes against labor laws, and we’ve had our hands slapped for that sort of thing. We’re already in the middle of a lawsuit, so we have to be really careful with our interns.” I had practiced this for hours last night.
“I see. And Sarah Taft was one of her side gigs?”
“Um . . . yeah, except Cassie wasn’t being paid.” I grimaced. Please don’t make me say more, Detective. I can’t point the finger at my BFF. I wasn’t betraying Sarah. I wasn’t! I was merely refocusing the police’s attention anywhere but on me. Self-preservation should be number one on anyone’s must-have list. And if they did suspect Sarah, well, that’d be a damn hoot. Sarah Taft, socialite and murderer. Couldn’t you just die?
“It’s important we have all the facts. I know you don’t want to stab anyone in the back, but this is about an innocent girl dying.” He reached over to cover my hands as he said this. It was just for emphasis, right? What if he meant to tell me something more? Was he asking me out? Telling me he really liked me?
“Well, Sarah was yelling at Cassie the other day. You know what? It may have been the last day Cassie was here. That’s probably a coincidence. But I did hear through the gossip mill that Cassie was getting really close to Greg Davies, our publisher.” I paused. “He and Sarah have been dating.” I leaned forward and dropped my voice. “Jack Archer said Sarah was filming Greg. Like spy cams.”
“There are cameras?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t seen them myself. But that’s what he told me.”
“What else can you tell me about Cassie and Sarah?”
I wanted to touch his forearm.
“Well, things had gone missing from Sarah’s apartment. They reappeared in Cassie’s desk. It was all so weird.”
He nodded. He was with me.
“And is Ms. Taft here today?”
“Yes, she’s waiting to speak with you. But please don’t tell her I told you. She isn’t someone you want to cross.” If I had to choose between Sarah and Hopper, who would I choose? The question made my head hurt. It’s like choosing between Valentino and Gucci. You just don’t.
“I see. Anyone else have issues with Cassie?”
I shook my head but stopped suddenly. “Not that I can think of. Maybe Greg? I don’t know what was going on with them personally. But there was something.”
“You seem to know a lot about Cassie’s life.”
“I like to know who’s working for us. I think she had some money issues too,” I lied. “Like, her family was cutting her off? You kind of need to have money to intern here.”
“And you? Are you wealthy? Your clothes look expensive.” He had noticed! Finally.
“I have some family money.”
He sat back and crossed his arms in front of him, watching me. It felt like forever.
“You know,” he finally said, “we ran background checks on everyone at La Vie after Mulberry von Gratz’s murder. Do you know what was on yours?”
Fuck.
This went beyond my Google hits. He had case files at his fingertips. Don’t panic. Shit. Do not panic. What would Dr. M say to do right now? Breathe. But don’t look like you’re breathing. Be normal. Just fucking be normal.
“Um, no? I’ve never seen what’s in one of those, to be honest.” That was the God’s honest truth. I’d never seen my police files. I’d run background check after background check—on me, on me as Mariana. But whatever the detective was reading was beyond my sleuthing skills. Shit, this was bad. What did it say about me?
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Like you don’t exist. Why is that?” He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were cold but curious. That hand touch earlier hadn’t meant anything. It was a trick. It always was with them. “Unless you had a mafia run-in, something isn’t right here. Or did you steal your identity?”
Tell him! Tell him your story. You’ll be okay. No. If he knew, he’d suspect me for everything. Trust no one. I shook my head. “I can’t say why it’s blank. That’s weird.” Keep going, be normal. You can do this. Sarah’s voice echoed in my ears: You’re such a freak, Anya!
“Did you kill Cassie?”
There. The big moment. The police like to drop the accusation, hoping to catch you off guard. Hysteria rose in my throat. He could do it now. Arrest me. Take me away. Lock me up. I’d forever be known as the psycho who killed people at La Vie. No, that couldn’t happen. I had to take control. That’s what Dr. M would say. Take control. Don’t be a victim, Anya.
“God, no!” I raised my voice. Indignant, be indignant. “Look, she was a pain in the ass, but killing her would be a bit extreme. She was only going to be here for a few more months. That’s how these things work.”
I felt dizzy. Was I going to pass out, right here in front of everyone? Would that make me look more guilty or less? I couldn’t decide.
“I’m keeping an eye on you, Ms. St. Clair. Or whatever your name is. If you’ve committed a crime, like identity theft, we will find out.”
He was majorly displeased with me. But did you hear what he said? They didn’t have any proof of anything. Whew. I was
dismissed. I walked out, waiting for one of the officers to tackle me. No one did. I was safe. Free. For now, at least. My heart was beating so hard, I thought it would pop out of my chest.
I had survived my first real interrogation by Detective Hopper. Sure, he’d asked me questions before. But that was different. I was maybe a witness before, someone with info. Now he was looking at me. Watching me. He probably had spies everywhere. But I had passed the test. Hopefully, he’d look into Sarah next. I didn’t want to put her in the line of fire, but I needed to deflect attention from myself. She’d get it. It’s what you did for friends. Shit, I should have expected the background check. What was I supposed to tell him? Dr. M would know. He knew how to handle everything.
“Well?” Sarah pounced on me before I even made it to my desk.
“Well what?”
“How did it go? What did they ask? Do they know who did it?”
“Sarah, take a fucking Xanax already.” She pouted and looked genuinely crestfallen. It was like kicking a (mean and gorgeous) kitten. I sighed. “It was fine. They aren’t sure who did it yet. But we talked about Cassie, what her duties were here, and her work with you—”
“With me?”
“Well, yeah. They knew she already worked with you, idolized you. So they wanted me to elaborate. Don’t worry, it was nothing bad. She adored you.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” She nodded.
“And he said it was gruesome, the way she died,” I said, embellishing a little. I loved having all of Sarah’s attention on me. I could talk like this for hours.
“Shut up! You’re serious?”
“Yeah, but New York is full of crazy people, and bad things happen all the time.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“I guess not. But the point is that it could have been a completely random attack.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, the detective is the same hot one from before.”
“Now that I can work with!”
It killed me when Sarah went to talk to Hopper. Would they talk about me? What would she tell him? Why hadn’t I thought about this before? Stupid, Anya. You’re fucking up left and right. You’re such a fucking loser.