“Where were you going?” Brett squirted more soap onto the washcloth. The scent of lavender filled the room.
“Well…” Amma thought a minute as she tapped her fingers on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I was getting ready for lunch at the club, and I realized that I hadn’t seen Margot in several hours. The house was quiet. Too quiet.” Amma splashed her toes in the warm water gathering at the bottom of the tub. “So I went looking for her.”
Brett washed the last of the dirt from Amma’s feet, then turned off the faucet and reached for a towel.
“I can do that.” Amma took the towel from Brett and began to dry her feet. “Did she make it home okay? Margot, I mean?”
The look on her face when she asked it was one of childish hope. Brett looked away when she answered, so she didn’t have to watch her grandmother shatter all over again.
“Margot’s dead, Amma. Remember?”
“What? When?” They were gasps more than words, splinters of sound that cut deep.
“She’s been dead twenty years,” Brett said the words slowly, so they had time to sink in. “The summer of 1964. She was murdered.”
Amma was silent for a moment, staring at her feet, pale against the dark blue towel. She whispered, “Does your mother know? Someone should tell her.”
But her words lacked enthusiasm, as if somewhere deep in the shadow places of her fading mind, she was remembering on her own that her daughter was dead too.
Brett gripped Amma’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Amma, I’m sorry.”
What she was sorry for, she couldn’t say—all of it and none of it. Sorry Amma was forgetting, every day losing herself in small pieces. Sorry Brett couldn’t protect her from this. Sorry, too, that she had to be the one to again deliver the terrible news about Margot, breaking her heart a second time, breaking it over and over. Sorry that she couldn’t take it all back, bring the dead to life, return Amma to a world that was whole the way it was before she started losing everything.
Amma covered Brett’s hand, so instead of holding her grandmother, her grandmother was holding her. She patted Brett gently. “We’ll be fine.” Then she let go, tucked her clean, dry feet into a pair of slippers, and stood up.
“You know, it’s getting late, and I’m really feeling quite tired.” She shuffled into the hallway, moving toward her bedroom. “So I think I’ll turn in early tonight if that’s all right with you. Be a dear and make sure the house is locked up and the lights are turned off before you go to bed, would you?”
“Sure thing, Amma,” Brett said. She didn’t have the heart to point out that it wasn’t even noon yet, the sun still high and shining brightly through the windows.
Chapter 20
To call Eli’s parents’ residence a house would have been an understatement. It was a mansion with two separate wings, gables, turrets, gargoyles, marble steps, and a sprawling, pillared front porch. When Brett pulled into the long driveway on Friday night, a valet took her keys, gave her a ticket, and drove her car around to the back of the house. With sinking dismay, she watched the taillights disappear. She was having second thoughts about coming.
She was worried about Amma, worried she’d wander off the way she had yesterday. Worried, too, about the way Amma had been shuffling around the house for the last twenty-four hours. She hadn’t changed out of her pajamas. She hadn’t brushed her hair or put on make-up. She swept through rooms like a ghost, with her nightgown fluttering around her ankles, not interested in any of her usual hobbies like painting or reading.
At some point this morning, Amma turned on the television and, by the time Brett was getting ready to leave for the Miller’s party, she still hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch. Brett told Amma where she was going, when she would be back, asked her if she needed anything. Amma flapped her hand and told her to go have fun. Brett hesitated in the doorway, wondering if she should stay. But she needed to talk to Zach, and Eli had promised her that he’d be at the party.
Standing in the Miller’s driveway, Brett straightened her sweater, which she’d chosen for its autumnal brown and orange stripes, then ran her fingers through her hair. She’d make this quick. Get in, find Zach, get out. She lifted a brass door knocker shaped like a lion’s head and pounded on the mahogany double doors. A few seconds passed, then the doors creaked open to reveal a butler who glowered at her a moment before sweeping his arm through the air and gesturing her inside.
As soon as Brett stepped into the ballroom, she realized her mistake. Everyone except her had come in costume. Tuxes and capes, top hats and elaborate walking sticks, sweeping ball gowns, glittering masks, feathers, elbow-length gloves, colorful make-up, and fancy wigs. Candelabras flickered at the perimeter of the room, and strings of lights looped across the ceiling, casting everyone in a magical glow. Waiters in white tuxes and red cummerbunds with matching red masks weaved through the room carrying trays of drinks and finger foods. The music from the string quartet was lively, and people danced in the center in a way that felt old-fashioned, yet somehow sensual. It was lovely and charming, and Brett was completely out of place. She backed toward the door, desperate to get outside again, away from the laughter and clinking glasses, the hidden faces, gazes flicking over her, casting judgment, finding her wanting.
Someone grabbed her elbow, spinning her around. A man smiled at her from behind a silver-and-white mask that had a nose hooked like a bird’s beak. She recognized him when he spoke. “You came!”
She took in Eli’s outfit, a burgundy velvet tuxedo jacket with lacy black cuffs and a high collar to match. Silver buttons glinted in the dim light. He wore the coat over a black shirt, and his pants were puffed like a pirate’s. His shoes were shiny and decorated with a silver buckle.
“You told me not to dress up,” she hissed.
“No, I told you, you didn’t have to.”
“Everyone else is.”
He scanned the room. “First year that’s happened.” When he looked at her again, he was still smiling. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s true! Most years, only half the people dress up. I guess everyone really liked the theme.” He waved one hand. “Masquerade.”
Brett sighed, exasperated. “I’m going home.”
“Wait, come with me.” He grabbed her by the hand and wove her to the opposite side of the ballroom. “My mother always provides extra costumes. Just in case.”
Inside a large closet, coats hung on racks alongside puffy-sleeved, taffeta dresses. Scarves and gloves spilled out of baskets on the floor. Another basket contained an assortment of masks. Eli took a midnight blue dress off the rack, then dug around in the basket of masks until he found one that shimmered blue and green and purple. Peacock feathers fanned the top. With a mischievous grin, he handed the mask and dress to her, then exited the closet. “I’ll watch the door,” he said and pulled it closed.
The dress was slippery, flowing over her body like water. The fabric was delicate, expensive, and decorated tastefully with small crystals around the hem and over the bodice. She had never worn anything as nice as this in her life. She smoothed the skirt, which was long enough to cover her clunky black shoes, then slipped the mask over her face. She folded her clothes in a neat pile and tucked them in the corner of the closet, then opened the door and stepped out.
Eli stared at her a moment too long.
“What?” she asked.
“You look beautiful.”
Brett ran her fingers over the feathers of her mask. “I feel ridiculous.”
A smile spread across his face. He pulled her through the crush of people crowding the center of the ballroom toward a waiter holding a tray filled with champagne. He grabbed two glasses and handed her one.
“Hey.” She leaned close so he could hear her over the music. “Did you tell Clara Trudeau about my case?”
He clinked his glass against hers and tilted his head back to drink. Brett waited until he was looking at her again. “Eli. Did you tell Cla
ra about Elizabeth?”
His smile faltered, but he pulled it tight again. “Want to dance?”
He plucked the still-full champagne glass from her hand and placed it on a nearby table, then tucked his arm around her waist and spun her onto the dance floor in a breathless rush. Brett tried to scan faces as they turned in circles, but the room was a blur, and the masks made it even harder to tell who was who.
“Where’s Zach?” Her lips grazed Eli’s earlobe.
Eli continued to twirl her, spinning her faster and faster and then suddenly bending her at the waist, dipping her low, and she couldn’t help herself. She laughed. His smile brightened. He pulled her upright again, and they kept spinning together.
“How’s your grandmother?” he asked.
“She’s fine,” Brett murmured against his chest. For a moment, she was swept up by the enchantment of it all. She gave herself over to Eli as he guided her in billowing circles, lost in the haunting melody of the string quartet, growing dizzy as the chandeliers spun to stars. Then she remembered why she was here in the first place, and she blinked the room straight again, stiffening in Eli’s arms. “We really need to find Zach.”
Eli sighed like he would rather talk about anything else, but then he brought his mouth close to her ear, his cheek warm against hers, and said, “I checked with the kitchen an hour ago. Zach is carrying the peach and prosciutto tray.”
He spun her away from him and tipped his head toward a waiter offering a tray to a woman in a salmon-pink ball gown. The waiter was tall and lanky, with long dark hair. Eli spun Brett back into his chest, tightening his grip around her waist. “My parents will kill me if we make a scene.”
“I can’t let him walk out of here tonight without talking to him,” she said.
“Be discreet. That’s all I’m asking.”
He lifted one hand and brushed his fingers over her hair. “You really do look beautiful, you know. The blue brings out the color in your eyes.”
He spun her again and, this time, let go of her hand. When she glanced back at him, he had vanished into the crowd.
Brett wandered off the dance floor, inching closer to Zach, who had moved on to a different section of the room and a different set of hungry guests. The song changed to something slow and romantic. More couples started to dance. Brett followed Zach, staying a few feet behind him. He moved with surprising grace, bowing to offer food, then straightening again, lifting the tray high enough so it wouldn’t get knocked from his hands by tipsy guests. When the tray was empty, Zach walked toward a closed wooden door that was nearly invisible between two large potted palms. Brett followed him into a hallway decorated with fleur-de-lis wallpaper.
Waiters moved back and forth from kitchen to ballroom, brushing past Brett as if she wasn’t even there. The sounds of the party were muffled through the closed door behind her. From the swinging kitchen door at the opposite end came the clattering of plates and orders being shouted. Zach ducked out of the way of another waiter who was carrying a tray of champagne. He seemed to be in no hurry to get to the kitchen.
Brett caught up to him halfway down the hall. She grabbed his arm and pushed him through the closest doorway.
“Hey!” He cried out, trying to slip her grasp.
She shoved him inside the room and closed the door behind her, then felt her hand along the wall looking for a light switch. The lights snapped on overhead, and Zach winced. He held his tray against his chest, like a shield. “What the hell?”
The room she’d pushed him into was some kind of game room, with a billiard table at one end and two pinball machines at the other. Board games and puzzles were stacked on a low shelf under the window.
Brett slid her mask to the top of her head so Zach could see her face. He gave no indication that he recognized her, so she said, “I’m a detective with the Crestwood Police. I need to ask you a few questions.”
His eyes narrowed, and he laughed nervously. “Yeah, right. Where’s your badge?”
“In the glove box of my car.” She pulled two chairs out from under a card table and pointed at one. “Sit.”
“I didn’t do anything.” But he did as she asked, perching tensely on the edge of one chair, while she sat in the other, directly in front of him, their knees almost touching.
“You can take off your mask if you want,” Brett said.
He slipped it off his head but kept hold of it, teetering both the mask and tray on his lap. His eyes darted around the room, settling on nothing.
“This won’t take long,” she said. “And I appreciate your cooperation.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I told the other cops already, I didn’t have anything to do with that dead guy.”
“Zach, were you at the Whitmore Mansion last Saturday night?”
He thought a moment before answering. “Sure, there was a party. It wasn’t a big deal or anything. Just a few friends hanging out, whatever.”
“From what I heard, it was more than a few friends. It seems a lot of people showed up who shouldn’t have been there?”
A frown tugged the corners of his mouth as he tried to figure out where she was going with this.
“People like Elizabeth Trudeau.” She studied his reaction.
Tension spread across his shoulders. He blinked, once, twice, then said, “Elizabeth who?”
Brett shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. The slit in the skirt of her dress went up to mid-thigh. Zach’s eyes drifted to her bare leg, then back to her face. She let the silence stretch long before asking an entirely different question, “Did you wear a costume to the party, Zach?”
“A costume?” He looked confused. “Sure. Sort of. Everyone was dressed up.”
“I bet you went as something badass. Did you go as something badass, Zach?” She uncrossed her leg and leaned her elbows on her knees.
His lips curved into a smile. “I was the Big Bad Wolf.”
She smiled back. “I knew it. I knew it would be badass. What was it? A full suit or just some black face paint? A pair of ears?”
“I just wore black pants, a black shirt, my black leather jacket.”
“And a mask?”
“Yeah, a wolf mask. Fangs and hair around the edge.” He moved his hands around his face, demonstrating.
“Bad. Ass.” She was still smiling at him when she asked, “Now what did you say your relationship with Elizabeth Trudeau was again? She’s your girlfriend? Or were you two just hooking up?”
The color drained from his face. “What? No. Who told you that? Was it Marcie? Did she tell you I was dating Elizabeth?”
“So you do know Elizabeth?” Brett lifted her elbows off her knees, straightening the skirt, so it covered her legs again.
“No. I mean, yes, but not very well,” he stumbled over the words. “I see her at school. She hangs around Marcie a lot, but we’re not, I don’t know her.”
“But you saw her at the party? You talked to her?”
His eyes darted toward the door, and he started to get up from the chair. “I’ve got to get back to work. They won’t pay me if they think I ditched.”
“Sit. We’re not done.”
He dropped into the chair, his grip tightening around the tray.
“Zach, did you have sex with Elizabeth at the party on Saturday?”
She was done pretending to be nice, but she still needed his cooperation. If she called what had happened rape, he would shut down, get up and walk out of here. And she’d be back at square one trying to figure out how to get what she needed to send this case over to the county prosecutors’ office to file charges.
He shook his head. “Who told you that?”
“Tell me what happened at the party, Zach. Between you and Elizabeth. I can help you, but only if you tell me the truth.”
“Help me? With what? I didn’t do anything. Nothing happened between me and Elizabeth.” He was revving up again, his voice growing louder with each
word. He stood from the chair.
“Sit down.”
This time he ignored her. He angled his body to bolt out the door. She stood too, blocking his escape.
“Marcie’s lying,” he said. “Whatever she told you, it isn’t true. I broke up with her, and she’s still pissed about it. It’d be just like her to try and get back at me like this.” He shook his head, like maybe this wasn’t happening, and maybe if he blinked hard enough, Brett would disappear. “I didn’t do anything to Elizabeth. Whatever Marcie might have told you, I didn’t do it.”
“You saw Elizabeth at the party, though,” Brett pressed him. “You can at least admit that.”
“Yes. She was there. I saw her.”
“You talked to her?”
“I talked to a lot of people.”
“Did you give her anything to drink?”
“It was self-serve,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I know I’m waiting on people tonight, but that’s only cause I’m getting paid.”
“I’m going to ask you again, Zach. Did you and Elizabeth have sex on Saturday night?”
Defiant, Zach tipped up his chin. “No. I swear to God. She’s a kid. I wouldn’t do something like that even if she wanted to.”
Brett studied his face for a second. He could have easily been lying as telling the truth, and she knew then, with a sinking in her gut, that this case was going nowhere. Not with Elizabeth saying one thing, Zach saying another, and no witnesses to confirm or deny either story. But that didn’t mean Brett was giving up on it.
“I’d like you to come down to the station on Monday,” she said.
“What for?”
On a Dark Tide Page 17