by Rae Vine
Emma didn’t know what conclusions to draw except that she didn’t like the sound of Gregory staying behind and her sister too, if Cindy had come home. In a bid to find out more about that night, she asked her, “You said something about a politician?”
“Someone mentioned it. I don’t even know who they’re talking about. Gregory says they asked everyone to leave soon after. The party was meant to go on until the early hours of the morning, but not long after midnight they cleared the whole mansion out. Completely. They told all the guests to go. People were angry because they were having such a good time and wanted it to carry on.”
“What time did Gregory get back?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Because he went back to his own place.” Her tone was defiant. Emma contemplated what Cindy had just revealed.
“Your boyfriend knows more than he’s letting on.” Maybe it wasn’t Cindy’s fault; maybe she didn’t have the whole picture. It wouldn’t surprise her that a man like Gregory kept his secrets hidden even from his girlfriend.
Instead of getting the closure she wanted, talking to Cindy had left her with a million more questions. She stared at Cindy’s red eyes and sorry face. The girl looked genuinely upset and Emma was beginning to think she didn’t know squat.
Either that or the girl was exceptionally skilled at lying. If she had any hope of getting any answers, it was going to be from Gregory and Emma wasn’t too hopeful about that avenue.
“Do you mind if I could have some time alone?” She asked, not caring whether her request sounded rude. She didn’t know how else to say it and she needed to be alone now, to think things through. Her head felt heavy and her chest seemed weighed down with a lump of lead.
Cindy got up slowly. “Sorry,” she said, and folded her arms across her chest again. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry, for your—” she stopped, unable to bring herself to say any more. Emma didn’t want to hear anymore.
“I know,” Emma said, looking at the floor. “I know.”
She continued to stare at the floor long after Cindy left.
Chapter 3
“It’s your fault!” she screamed. “Your goddamn fault.”
Emma had walked into the police station and was almost at the reception desk when the drama unfolded.
Having walked directly into the middle of the confrontation, she didn’t know where else to look, and so she stood silently, hoping to blend in with the wall. She couldn’t help but watch as tears stained the girl’s caramel colored skin.
She was young, either in her late teens or early twenties, it was hard to tell which since her face was heavily made up with too much mascara and her foundation was layered on thickly. She was both beautiful and angry as she pounded her fist down on the desk, venting her rage.
The officer behind the counter eyed her coolly and his attention fell briefly on Emma as she walked in. She thought she saw a faint glimmer of recognition behind his eyes. It was the same officer with whom she had spoken on her first visit—the man whose face had reminded her of a pale watermelon.
“I suggest you leave before you get arrested for disorderly conduct.”
“You’re all liars. Liars. You don’t care about people like us.”
“This isn’t helping you. I think you should leave.” Emma was shocked at manner in which the police officer spoke to the girl.
But the girl wasn’t backing down so easily. Like fury unleashed she vented her full anger. “Are you satisfied now that she’s dead? Maybe if you’d listened to me when I reported her missing, she might still be alive!”
“If you don’t leave now you’ll be in more trouble.” The officer threatened. Emma stared at him in disbelief.
“Screw you!” the girl yelled and rushed out. Her bright green almost feline eyes were full of mistrust as she marched out of the police station.
Dead? Missing? Emma raced after the girl. “Hey!” She yelled but the girl sped off, wiping her hands across her face as she charged along the street at break neck speed. She was hard to miss in her leopard print jacket and purple skin tight jeans.
Emma ran to catch up with her. It sounded too familiar. Too much of a coincidence. And she was desperate to find out more.
“Hey,” she said and pulled at the girl’s jacket, causing her to spin around. She didn’t too happy at the intrusion.
“Get lost,” the girl snarled and the blatant animosity in her eyes made Emma shrink back. The girl stood her ground taking a wide stance and her venomous green eyes defiantly staring at Emma.
She needed to talk to her—needed to win over her trust somehow. “I’m sorry he was such a jerk.”
“Why? What’s it got to do with you?” The girl tilted her chin up and eyed Emma warily.
“I—he—he was rude. He shouldn’t have spoken to you in that way.”
“Why the hell do you care?” The girl kissed her teeth and turned to walk away, dismissing Emma in the process.
“No, wait, please!” Emma raced to keep up. “Please. I need your help.”
The girl stopped. “You need my help?” she asked. Her thick high heeled black lace up boots gave her a good few inches over Emma and seemed to be an odd choice of footwear given the weather.
“You said someone was dead, and you’d reported them missing.”
“Why the fuck do you care?”
“Is that right? That girl, the one whose body showed up at the beach—is that who you were talking about?”
“Who are you? A reporter?”
Emma shook her head. “My sister is also missing. She disappeared a week ago.”
The girl’s gaze eased a little, and she appeared attentive. “And?”
Emma tried to figure out the connection between Stacy and this girl. “And I think the girl you’re talking about it my sister.”
The green eyes drew together. “Your sister?”
Emma’s lips trembled. “Yes. What’s your friend’s name?”
“Courtney.”
“Courtney? Are you sure that’s her name?” Emma didn’t dare to raise her hopes.
“I’m sure. But I doubt she’s your sister. I can’t say I see the resemblance.”
“Really?” She and Stacy didn’t look very similar but once people knew they were sisters they could usually see the resemblance.
“Look, girlfriend. I don’t know what’s going on but my friend’s dead and I feel kinda shitty. Now you turn up and tell me she’s your sister—I’m sorry for your loss. But I lost a friend. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you expect me to do. I don’t even know if I ought to believe you. And if I do, so what? She’s gone. I can’t do a thing to bring her back.”
“Wait,” said Emma. She pulled out her cell phone; there was only one way to resolve this. But the girl had grown impatient and had started to walk off again.
“No, wait. Please, please.” Emma begged and rushed to keep up with her. She thumbed through her photos. “I have to know.”
The girl stopped and turned to face Emma. She kissed her teeth again.
“Is this her?” Emma held her phone so that it faced the girl. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the girl’s face and she held her breath as she waited. Her heart was almost ready to climb out of her mouth. One word from this stranger could change everything.
Hope revived as the girl’s puzzlement deepened and her brows furrowed deeper.
“That ain’t Courtney.”
“Are you sure?” Hope fluttered inside her and Emma realized in that moment that the girl’s world had been shattered. She slipped her cell into her bag, unsure whether the deep breath she’d managed to take was due to a huge feeling of relief or whether it was just a momentary respite before her sister’s body turned up next.
Something strange was going on. There was a connection here of two similar cases. She had to know more before the next body became her sister’s but the girl had taken off again
and was already across the street. She walked so fast that that Emma struggled to keep up.
“Wait! Please, wait!” She called out and ran across the road, causing two cars to screech and brake hard. Angry beeps of the horn followed.
“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” The anger from earlier had gone, but the mistrust was still there.
“Please,” Emma pleaded. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s awful that this happened.”
“Are you a cop?” The girl backed up a little. Emma decided it was time to try a change of tactic. “That girl whose picture I showed you, that’s my sister, Stacy. She’s been missing for a week, and I’ve reported it to the police but they haven’t done anything. I heard about the body at the beach and I thought it was my sister.”
“Lucky you,” the girl folded her arms.
“I’m sorry. I really am. But don’t you want to find out what happened to her? Don’t you want to know how your friend died?”
“Is it going to change anything?”
Emma looked at her blankly.
“So there’s no point in me finding anything out, is there?”
“I can help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“But whoever did this might do the same thing again. Is that what you want?” This seemed to have some effect on the girl and Emma continued while she had her attention. “I’m certain your friend and my sister were at the same party. That’s where you were, weren’t you? At a party on Saturday night?” The girl eyed her warily but refused to say a word.
Emma rethought her option about the best way to get the girl to listen. “I’m just a girl looking for her sister. She went missing from a party at Starling Bay.” She watched the girl’s face for signs of recognition. At the mention of Starling Bay the girl leaned forward. She shook her head, “No. Never heard of it.”
Emma knew she was lying. “Something happened that night. There were a few high-profile people there, I heard. A politician from the US and some senior government people. At some point you were all told to leave quickly.” The girl looked faintly interested, and the fact that she had made no move to disappear, told Emma all she needed to know.
“Don’t you see? Your friend goes missing, my sister goes missing, your friend turns up dead. Something doesn’t sound right. Wouldn’t you agree?” She had no idea what she was implying, or what these facts pointed to—but she knew one thing for certain: two girls had gone missing, and one of them had just turned up dead.
The good news for her was that the dead girl wasn’t Stacy. And Emma had every intention of returning to the police station to speak to Ty.
The bad news was—Stacy was still missing. How long before another body turned up?
“You’re sure you’re not a cop?” The girl asked, looking all around her. Emma shook her head. “Do I look like a cop to you? I’m twenty-one years old. I’ve come here from England because my sister works here and she’s still missing.”
“What do you want me to do about it? I can’t help you.” The defiance was back, and the girl turned to leave once more.
Emma grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving. “I want you to tell me what happened at that party.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe between the two of us we might be able to figure out what’s going on.”
Chapter 4
“Just order whatever you want.” Emma told her as they sat across the table from one another.
“I ain’t no charity.” The girl told her.
“I never said you were. But I’m hungry, and you said you were too. I’m happy to buy you breakfast, or lunch or whatever you want to call it. I just want a few minutes of your time.” And if it took buying breakfast for her to get that time, she was willing to pay.
The girl examined the menu and hadn’t looked up once to acknowledge that she was listening to Emma. Emma looked around her; she was back at the same diner where she’d seen the TV clip of the newly discovered body on the beach. Her whole world had shattered at that moment and now, a day later, she carried a small flame of hope within her.
This girl in front of her might be her only chance of uncovering what had happened the night her sister went missing.
And because the dead girl wasn’t Stacy, it meant there was still hope that she might be found. Stacy might still be alive. Emma felt as though she’d been given a second chance and she wasn’t going to give it up that easily.
“My name’s Emma.”
“Queenie,” she said, just as a waitress approached to take their order. Emma ordered a cup of coffee and Queenie had the full works.
Good, thought Emma. That would keep her here a while. She was desperate for information. But what she was most desperate to find out, what she felt Cindy was withholding from her, was how her sister had become mixed up in this. Nobody had to spell it out, for it was plain enough for Emma to figure out—the trashy party dresses, the ‘party’ that sounded suspicious with its odd mix of guests. And now this girl. From her accent she appeared to be from the island and her coloring reflected the same, though there was a good mixture of different nationalities living here, as far as Emma could tell.
“Your friend Courtney. How long had you known her?” She felt awkward asking a stranger about her dead friend but Emma needed to know.
“A year.” Queenie sat back and observed Emma with uncertainty.
“And you say she didn’t come home?”
“She didn’t. I thought she might have stayed over at someone’s place. We went together but we don’t always come back home together. It depends on the clients. But when I didn’t see her the next day I called her cell phone. There was no answer. I knew then that something was wrong.”
“What do you mean ‘it depends on the clients’?”
Queenie smiled at her. “She was busy.” Emma didn’t like the way she emphasised the last word with that wide smile. “It can get like that sometimes, especially if they want more.”
Emma angled her head. More? But there were other questions more pressing. “How did you find out? I mean that the body at the beach was hers?” She had expected Ty to have called her since she’d promised to keep her informed of new developments, but so far she’d heard nothing from her. How was it that this girl already knew the identity of the victim?
“Rumors. Word on the street. We look out for one another. She should have been back by the next morning ‘cos Sunday can be rich pickings, when the cruise ships come in. But when she didn’t turn up by midday, I got worried.”
“You both work on the cruise ships?”
Queenie laughed out loud. “Is that what you think? We don’t work on the boats. They’d never let us on board. But there are ways and means. An opportunity like that is too good to pass up. Those rich men with more money than sense.”
“Rich men?” Emma narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, baby, yeah.” Queenie shook her head slowly from side to side in response to the shock on Emma’s face. “I can see that you’re really not a cop.” She laughed as the waitress brought their orders over.
“You don’t get it do you, sister?”
Emma tilted her head. “Get what?” But she kind of already knew. This was it—the confirmation she’d been waiting for.
“What I do. My ‘career’.” She used air quotes to emphasize the career.
Emma frowned.
“I’m a hooker. A prostitute. Whatever you want to call me. It. Who cares as long as I get the money?”
So it was true then. She’d sensed as much but didn’t want to jump to any wild conclusions. But how did Stacy get caught up in all of this? Was Cindy involved? No wonder she was so evasive when Emma asked her questions about the party. It made sense for her to hide the truth from Emma. It made perfect sense. The argument with Gregory, her inability to be specific when Emma asked her certain questions.
But why? She couldn’t understand their involvement—and a part of her refused to accept it that it was true.
“And that night, in Starling Bay, is that why you were there?”
“What do you think?”
She wanted to ask her how she got invited to the party but she feared incurring Queenie’s wrath. If she offended her too much, the girl would get up and leave. She’d have to play it careful. But for now at least she was getting more pieces of the puzzle.
“How do you...uh...get work? I mean the party, for example. Do you just turn up?”
“No, Courtney managed to get an invite to that one. We just went along with her.”
“We?”
“A few of us. The good looking hookers. No coke whores.”
“I see.”
“Yeah but the parties don’t happen very much. We were just lucky to get in on that. Mostly, it’s people, the regulars. Sometimes we wait for the boats to come in. Front Street is a different animal then. It’s not the charming , old style street front that you see.”
Emma tried to hide her shock and sipped her too hot coffee, scalding her tongue in the process. She winced. “I didn’t know.”
Queenie laughed. “You ain’t got nothing to be sorry about. It’s not a bad life. I don’t have to do this. We did it by choice. When we can. The police want this kept clean, this beautiful little paradise island that people like you come running to. You lay your pert little bony white asses down on the sand and lie there, rubbing lotion into your pasty white skins in the hopes of turning golden brown. For the rest of us, it’s a way of making money.” She smiled but there was a touch of resentment to her words.
Emma rubbed her forehead. They were both prostitutes, and both had been at the party. Prostitutes and politicians. It made no sense.
“My sister—did she work with you too?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen her before, not on the streets, anyway.” Her plate was now completely empty, wiped clean in record time.
“Do you want to order something else?” Emma asked.
“More coffee?”
Emma raised her hand to catch the waitress’s eye. But the idea of Stacy being caught up in such an activity refused to budge from her mind. She had no idea about Stacy’s life. She knew only that Stacy had a great career. She wondered how much Blake Cartwright knew about any of this—they’d only gone to the party because of his invite. But once more Emma wasn’t sure what to think any more. Cindy and Blake might both be covering up. She couldn’t believe what Cindy had told her any more than she could trust Blake Cartwright’s words. He’d said that Stacy was finding it tough at work but she still found that hard to believe. It was a sobering thought for her that the only person she could trust was Ty, and perhaps Queenie, to an extent. For Queenie had no reason to lie to her. Or did she?