by Elise Noble
Bridget came to her senses and half-heartedly chided Dan. “You can’t leave all those bags in the doorway.”
“I’ll shove them into the lounge while Stef’s changing.” She turned back to me. “Oliver’s coming home tonight, right?”
“Uh, I don’t know for sure. I think so.”
She pulled out her phone and started typing out a message. “He’d better be. He can’t avoid his birthday completely.”
“It’s his birthday?”
“Yeah. He hates a fuss. Bradley arranged a surprise party seven years ago, but he made a rare mistake and an all-male troupe of hula dancers turned up. Oliver got mauled, and since then, he’s refused to have any kind of celebration.” She jerked her head at the bags. “So I’ve brought his gifts over.”
“I didn’t realise. I haven’t got him anything.”
“He won’t care. It’s not as if he told you what day it was, and he won’t want a party.” She winked. “But maybe you can come up with a nice surprise.” She put a certain emphasis on the word “come.”
“Uh, it’s not like that…”
“Sure it isn’t. What are you still doing here? Go change.”
She went back to the bags, leaving me to shuffle-hop to the bedroom. My suitcase had appeared in there yesterday, presumably from Imogen, so at least I had something other than a bathrobe.
Oh, I forgot. Imogen packed. The case contained four cocktail dresses, a sexy nightie that wasn’t mine, lacy underwear, and in a nod to practicality, a single ballet flat. Perhaps I’d be wearing the bathrobe after all.
I was still staring at the contents when Dan barged in without knocking.
“What’s keeping you?”
I pointed at the garments I’d laid out on the bed. “My friend packed, only I think she misunderstood the situation.”
Dan twirled a pair of barely there panties on her finger. “Really? I’d say she did quite well.”
I snatched the panties back. “None of this exactly screams ‘brunch,’ does it?”
“Fair enough. Look, I’ll call Bradley. He can send a skirt or something.”
“I can’t ask him to—”
“Trust me, Bradley lives for shit like this.”
She plopped down on the bed and sent another message, then motioned for me to sit beside her. I did so gingerly, lifting my cast up onto the comforter.
Awkward.
She waved the phone at me. “Oliver’s coming back at seven. I’ve made reservations for you at Claude’s. He should do something nice for his birthday, even if he doesn’t think he wants to.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’m only here because Oliver felt sorry for me, not because he wants to go out for dinner.”
“Nonsense. If Oliver felt sorry for you, he’d have rented you a hotel room and sent flowers. This is his home, and he’s given you the run of it. Believe me, you’re here because he wants you to be.”
“I’m sure it’s not unusual.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “You know how many women Oliver lets in here? One: Bridget. And now you.”
“And you.”
“He doesn’t have a choice over that. I’d just pick the lock and let myself in, so it’s easier to give me a key.”
“What about Kelly?”
Dan’s eyes clouded over, marring her normally cheerful disposition.
“Forget I ever mentioned Kelly. She was a mistake, and one we’d all rather forget.”
My curiosity was piqued, but Dan’s expression warned me not to push any further. Who was Kelly, and why did Dan dislike her so much? I longed to ask, but instead, I turned to something a little safer.
“So, have you known Oliver long?”
“Yeah. A decade? No, longer…” She counted on her fingers. “Eleven years.”
“How did you two meet?”
“In a bar. Where else?”
“I thought maybe work. He said he doesn’t do anything but work and run.”
I left out the sex part. I didn’t know if he and Dan had or they hadn’t, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know either.
“He forgot to mention the bar-hopping. Although he hasn’t done that so much over the last few months. Not since the Carter thing blew up.”
“I can’t imagine Oliver out drinking.”
Dan stared beyond me, gaze fixed on the wall. “He’s like I used to be, although he never gets raging drunk.”
“What do you mean, how you used to be?”
I’d only known her for a few months.
“I’d fuck to forget. For an hour or two, I’d lose myself in the comfort of a warm body, but the fix never lasted long. In the morning I’d hate myself, but fifteen hours later, I’d go out and do the exact same thing again.” She met my eyes once more and smiled, but with sadness rather than joy. “I was broken; I understand that now. I was broken until Ethan fixed the cracks.”
“And Oliver’s broken?” Every new bit of information I found out changed my view of him, and right now, I struggled to reconcile broken Oliver with the man I sort of knew. Oliver was put-together, in control. I was the damaged one.
“He hides it well.”
“With made-to-order suits and silk ties? He told me he doesn’t own any casual clothes.”
“True, but have you any idea how many women go for a man in a suit?”
Okay, she had a point there. I mean, he did wear them well, and he didn’t skimp on the tailoring either.
Dan shrieked with laughter. “You just licked your lips.”
“I didn’t!”
“You definitely did.”
“Maybe they were dry or something. I need lip balm.”
A new voice sounded from the doorway. “I didn’t bring lip balm, but I have two skirts, three tops, and mascara.”
“Bradley!” Dan leapt up to hug him.
I tried to clamber to my feet—well, foot—but before I got halfway, Bradley sat on the bed and slung an arm around my shoulders. “So this is where you’ve been hiding, sweet cheeks.”
“I haven’t been hiding.”
“Then why haven’t we seen you for months?”
“I went home to Georgia for a while.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve come to your senses.” The bag he’d dropped on the bed lay on its side, and he pulled a skirt out of it. “What do you think? Fifties style, so it’ll work with the cast, and I’ve brought a matching sweater.”
Dan helped me dress while Bradley rearranged Oliver’s lounge. I bet he’d be thrilled when he found the pink candles on the coffee table. Down in Il Tramonto, we picked out a table by the window, and one of the kitchen staff brought a menu over.
“I’m having ice cream,” Bradley announced. “Three scoops. Surprise me.”
Dan rolled her eyes, something I imagined she must do a lot with him around. “I’ll stick with salad.”
“Salad for me too, please.”
When the employee disappeared, Dan leaned forwards on her elbows. “How are you holding up? This case is taking a toll on everyone, huh?”
“I’ve mostly been trying to avoid it.”
“Wish I could.”
“I heard they found another body?”
“Yeah. Carter’s most recent victim, we think. He killed her a week or two after Christina and buried her in the remembrance garden at the retirement complex his company was building. Sick, huh? He even planted a rose bush over the top.”
“My gosh. So do you think the rumours about him being a serial killer are true?”
“For sure. He even admitted it. But he won’t tell us where any of the other women are buried, and finding them isn’t easy. We’re working on the assumption that he took the lazy option and buried them at the bottom of pre-dug holes in his developments, but if they’re in the foundations, we might never find them. Who’s gonna start tearing houses down on the off-chance there could be somebody buried underneath? We can do soil analysis, and there’s this new technique testing the gas c
omposition in air pockets, but even so… The whole thing’s a multi-jurisdictional logistical nightmare.”
“Sure sounds like it. How did you even find that one girl?”
“Emmy. We took a trip out to the Winter Pines development and walked around, and she bet me fifty bucks Carter would have buried a victim in that spot for the irony. Turned out she was right, the freaky bitch.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t particularly hungry anymore. “Can’t she visit the other complexes?”
“We’re working our way through them, but they’re spread from coast to coast. Right now, the cops are going over the golf course at Carter’s development in Fort Lauderdale with a cadaver dog and ground-penetrating radar. The twelfth through seventeenth holes. Carter kept a condo there, and that’s the view from his bedroom balcony. I’m betting on the thirteenth hole.”
“For luck?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“Do you think you’ll find anything?”
“Yeah. If not there, then somewhere else. We also need to check all the houses he rented. Carter told me he killed fifteen or sixteen other women besides Christina, and our analysis has identified forty-seven possibles from the missing persons’ lists in areas where he’s lived. Chances are, we’ll find a couple at least.”
“Why didn’t he kill me?” I whispered.
I’d considered that question far too many times to count. From what I recalled, Carter had just been an average guy, normal by Rubies’ standards.
“Honestly? We’ll probably never know. Best not to dwell on it.”
The food arrived, and Bradley waved a spoonful of ice cream in my direction. “What she said. Don’t dwell on it. Dwell on clothes and jewellery and shoes instead.” He glanced down at my cast and the ballet flat. “Well, shoe.”
I forced a smile. “Okay.”
But I still felt quite sick.
Bradley turned the conversation to the new Disney movie, then a dress his friend Ishmael had designed that looked like a birdcage. I shoved all the bad things out of my head, but the downside of that was that I forgot to thank Dan for posting my bail until after they’d both left. How could something so important have slipped my mind? Since that first night with Oliver, I’d turned into a scatterbrained fool. Before him, before Carter, I’d been the epitome of organisation, with lists, calendars, and timetables galore. Now I struggled to remember whether I’d eaten breakfast. Could a person go senile at twenty-two?
Back in Oliver’s apartment, I tried to phone her before I forgot again, but her assistant answered. No, I didn’t want to leave a message, not with a stranger. I sent a text instead, although that probably wasn’t much better.
Stef: Thank you so much for posting my bail. I don’t know what I’d have done otherwise.
A few minutes later, my phone pinged.
Dan: Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.
Friends. I didn’t have many, but those I did have, I was determined to hang on to. There and then, I vowed not to run away again, not to Georgia or anywhere else. Richmond may have dealt some cruel hands, but it was up to me how I played them. If I folded, I’d lose for sure.
CHAPTER 25
AS DAN SEEMED determined Oliver and I were going to Claude’s, I did what I could with my hair and used some of the make-up Bradley had couriered over this afternoon. He’d wanted to help me get ready as well, but Emmy had an event to attend this evening that required his services, and I assured him I’d be absolutely fine by myself. Hmm… What to wear? I was tempted by one of Imogen’s cocktail dresses, but with only one hand, I didn’t stand much chance of getting into it. If Oliver wanted me to dress up, he’d have to help with the zipper when he got back.
At least my wrist hurt a little less today, and maybe I imagined it, but I could have sworn the swelling had gone down. Oh, how I longed to lose those damned bandages and live normally again. Funny how you didn’t really appreciate the simple things in life like flossing your teeth until you couldn’t do them anymore, wasn’t it?
Bridget went home at four, so I ventured out into the lounge to wait for Oliver. The sofa was more comfortable than it looked, and I settled in for one movie, then a second, until I realised the giant clock had struck seven and he still wasn’t back. Disappointment welled up inside me, and I cursed myself for feeling that way. How could I have allowed myself to get my hopes up over a man who’d told me he didn’t commit to anything? Not even dinner, it appeared.
The front door didn’t open until half past seven, and I pretended to ignore the clip of Oliver’s brogues on the tile as I hugged a cushion to my chest. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
His footsteps quietened as he hit the carpeted area, and he soon reached my side. I tried for a smile.
“Did you have a good day?” I asked.
Up close, his face looked worn, and tiny lines not usually present marred the skin around his eyes.
“I’m not sure I’d describe it as good, but it was productive. You look pretty, princess.”
He leaned forwards and planted a soft kiss on my lips, then looked slightly surprised at himself.
“Dan said we were going out this evening,” I said softly.
“Oh, that. I cancelled it. Sorry, I should have sent you a message.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Dan just doesn’t think sometimes. I’m a prosecutor at the moment, and you’re a witness in the case I’m working on. If someone saw the two of us together, I’d be up for a disciplinary and the case against Carter could collapse.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even thought of that. “So I really shouldn’t be here, then?”
“No, you really shouldn’t.”
“The sensible thing for me to do would be to go home.”
Oliver pressed into me again, and this time his kiss was deeper. “Yes, it would.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No, Steffie, I don’t.” Another kiss, this time with tongues. “What I want is to strip you naked and take you over the back of the sofa, but Claude’s delivering dinner at eight, so that’s not entirely appropriate.”
I wound my good arm around his neck, holding him close. “Later, then?”
“Later.”
I’d only eaten at Claude’s once before, and that evening, I’d been so busy freaking out about my dining companion, a sweaty banker who insisted on pawing me across the table, that I barely tasted the food. Even worse, he’d paid me to spend the entire night with him, so I felt more than a little nauseated.
But I had no such problems tonight. Oliver shed his jacket and tie, and I struggled to decide what was more delicious—my pan-seared beef fillet with bordelaise sauce or him.
Or dessert.
“Bradley put them up to this, I know it.”
Oliver clenched his jaw as he opened the two-foot-high cake box and peered gingerly inside.
“What is it?”
He pulled the lid back further, revealing a miniature jail in cake form, complete with bars, an exercise yard, and a tiny prisoner in an orange jumpsuit. I leaned closer. “Is that Carter?”
“I suspect it’s meant to be. Bradley’s always had the most appalling taste in cakes.”
“At least he’s got faith in you. To put Carter in jail, I mean.”
“And it’s big enough to feed everyone in the building.”
“It’s still sweet. Bradley cares.”
“Let’s see if you feel the same way after you’ve eaten half of it.” Oliver sighed, exasperated, then shrugged. “I suppose it’s not as bad as the one he got Dan for her thirtieth. Giving a cake shaped like a set of dentures to someone with a concealed carry permit is never a good idea. Luckily, she only shot up the cake and not him.”
Laughter bubbled inside me, and even Oliver couldn’t help smiling.
“I wish I’d seen that,” I giggled.
“Stick around long enough, and there’s bound to be another crime against taste.” He picked up a knife
. “Guess we’d better make a start on this.”
I spotted a package taped to the side of the box.
“Wait! Are those candles?”
“So what if they are?”
“It’s your birthday. We have to light them.”
“But I’ll only blow them out again.”
“That’s not the point. Find me some matches.”
For a second, I thought Oliver would argue, what with him being a control freak and everything, but he rolled his eyes and meandered off to the kitchen while I started sticking the candles into the roof of the prison, counting as I went. How old was he? His dark-grey hair gave him a distinguished air, but the rest of him didn’t match the colour.
He came back just as I placed the last candle. “You’re thirty-five?”
“Yes, Steffie, I’m thirty-five. Does that bother you?”
Twelve years older than me. Did it? The honest answer was no. I’d been with older, and I’d been with younger, but none of them made my insides fizz the way Oliver did. Age was just a number. I shook my head and held out my hand for the matches.
“You’re as old as the woman you feel.”
That was the first time I’d seen him laugh properly, and he pressed against me as I lit the candles.
“Good answer, Miss Amor.”
“Now you have to make a wish.”
He leaned forwards and blew them out. “Done.”
“What did you wish for?”
“I’ll keep that to myself for now.”
He twisted to kiss me, and behind him, the candles burst into life again.
“Uh…”
He followed the direction of my pointing finger and groaned. “Fuck it, I forgot about Bradley’s obsession with relighting candles. Plus I thought he’d stopped all that since Emmy used a fire extinguisher on one of his creations last year.”
“So what do we do?”
“Drown them. It’s the only way.”
Oliver carried the flaming cake to the kitchen, leaving a multitude of swear words floating in his wake as I shuffle-hopped behind, and we soon had a pile of smouldering candles in the sink. I caught Oliver yawning as he reached for the knife again.
“Tired?”