by Elise Noble
Coco closed her hand over Remi’s. “I’m so sorry you lost her that way.”
“Money can’t buy happiness. Life is a series of lessons; I learned that the hard way.” Remi stroked a thumb over Coco’s knuckles. “But if we’re lucky, vanity will lead to your murderer’s downfall.”
“Life is a series of lessons…” Coco said, almost to herself, then she snatched up the pencil and began scribbling frantically. “Life is…an experiment. All life is an experiment.”
What was she talking about? “Huh?”
“The tattoo. I remember! ‘All life is an experiment’—that’s what it said.”
She drew it out, five words on pale skin, the flowing script running along the man’s forearm. If he wore short sleeves, he’d see it every time he checked his watch.
“‘All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better,’” Remi said. “It’s a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. If one venture fails, try a new one. Walk a different path. Judging by his watch, the man we’re looking for had a number of successes.”
“He picked a pretty daring experiment when he decided to try murder.”
Remi nodded his agreement. “He did. But some experiments are doomed to fail from the start. Both the tattoo and the watch are distinctive, and we know the culprit was in Lark’s River. It’s only a matter of time before we catch him.”
“But how do we convince the police to reopen the case without evidence?”
“An excellent question. Thankfully, finding answers has always been a strength of mine.” Remi smiled down at Coco. “We’ll get you justice. But first, let’s get you some sleep.”
CHAPTER 27
OVER THE NEXT two weeks, facts trickled in from Lark’s River, but it was slow going because Remi had to withhold information from the investigators. Telling them that new leads came from the woman whose death they were looking into clearly wasn’t an option, so he’d made up a tale about a reluctant witness, a friend of his who’d seen a man acting suspiciously by the lake and, when she later read the story of Jocelyn’s death in the newspaper, began to wonder whether the two might be connected. Sixth sense had made the imaginary witness duck behind a bush when the man approached, and as he walked past, soaking wet and with his sleeves pushed up, she’d been close enough to notice his watch and tattoo.
“Do you think the investigators believed the story?” Rhys had asked.
“Probably not, but with the amount I’m paying them, they’re not going to question it.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever afford to repay all the costs.”
Remi waved a hand. “Forget about it. Your presence here is payment enough.”
“What do you mean? We’ve done nothing but cause you problems from the moment we arrived. Celine’s practically babysitting Coco.”
“Exactly. I love Celine, make no mistake about that, but being the only person here she can truly talk to is…tiring. My work suffers. Having the two of you around takes some of the pressure off. Plus Celine is a caring soul. She’s happiest when she has someone or something to coddle, and she’s fond of Coco.”
“Even so…”
“If I can’t use my money to buy justice, then what’s the point in having so much of it? Somebody needs to make the man who killed Jocelyn Bordeaux pay.” Remi chuckled. “Bordeaux. I suppose there’s a certain irony that she ended up in France.”
And that was the end of the conversation. It seemed that Remi thought of Rhys and Coco as amusements for his wife, and if he was happy to provide room and board in return for dinner conversation and mediocre attempts to play tennis, then Rhys couldn’t afford to turn the offer down. Plus they were in the best place for Coco. Once she’d recovered from the initial shock of the Lark’s River revelations, she’d settled into a grudging acceptance of her new life. Her internet searches had reduced to an hour or so in the evenings, and with further adjustments to her medication, she’d begun sleeping through the night. She even remembered how to horse ride, or at least her body did.
“Is there an update?” Celine asked over dinner.
They all knew there would be. The investigators—a small team in Lark’s River and another in Las Vegas—were under orders to provide a report every day, no matter how brief.
“There is,” Remi replied, as he did every time. “Some good news, actually.” Then he grimaced. “Okay, not good news, but progress.”
“There’s a suspect?”
“Not yet, but one of the investigators in Lark’s River spoke to Rochelle Bordeaux today. A female investigator. Rochelle gave her a manicure.”
Coco stiffened. She’d been worrying about her sister since she found out Rochelle existed. They used to share a house, a small duplex, and making the rent was most likely a stretch on a beautician’s salary. The pair had moved in right after Jocelyn finished college. Rochelle didn’t have a degree—she’d started training as a massage therapist right after she graduated high school before branching out into hair and nails. Neither of their parents lived in Lark’s River—their father had hightailed it out of town when the girls were young, and their mother remarried and moved to Delaware when Rochelle turned sixteen, leaving the girls behind. According to the PI, that technically wasn’t allowed in Nevada without a degree of emancipation, but the former Mrs. Bordeaux had gone anyway, and Jocelyn supported Rochelle until she finished high school and got a job of her own. Remi was hoping Rochelle would advertise for a roommate so he could have an undercover PI move in.
“What did she say?” Coco asked.
“Apparently, they bonded over a shared love of scented candles…” Remi rolled his eyes. “And Monica—the lead investigator—confessed that her sister had got involved with the wrong type of man last year and ended up pregnant. Rochelle opened up after that.”
“She lied,” Coco said. “To my sister.”
“Sometimes it’s necessary to bend the truth a little, and she said that Rochelle seemed keen to talk. Probably she doesn’t have many people to listen.”
Coco gave a quiet sniff. Everyone had taken to carrying tissues now—better to be safe than sorry—and Celine held one out.
“Th-thanks. I just hate the thought of hurting Rochelle more than she’s been hurt already.”
“Ultimately, we’ll be helping her. And it was a useful chat. She believes Jocelyn was murdered, although the sheriff wouldn’t listen to her.”
“Why does she think that?”
“Firstly, because that lake isn’t easy to fall into—the shoreline slopes gently, so Jocelyn couldn’t have tumbled in accidentally. And perhaps more importantly, she said that her sister believed all life was sacred. She was terrified of becoming a mother, but she still did everything she could to make sure the baby had the best start—took vitamins, went to prenatal classes, read every book on parenting she could find.”
“Then why did other people say I’d gone crazy?”
“I’m not sure ‘crazy’ is the right word. Rochelle said you’d changed. It started over a year ago. The two of you had always been close, but suddenly you wouldn’t tell her where you were going in the evenings or who you were going with. You began staying out late, and she got worried.”
“With good reason,” Rhys said. After all, Jocelyn had ended up dead. But that was the wrong thing to say. Coco glared at him.
“Why would I have done that?”
“Because you had a secret boyfriend.”
Coco gasped as the bottom dropped out of Rhys’s world. He’d long suspected she hadn’t been single, and she’d obviously been pregnant, but secretly, he’d hoped the baby was the result of a one-night stand. If she’d been involved with a man for over a year, that was considerably more serious.
“Are you sure? I mean, how did Rochelle know if I didn’t tell her?”
“Because she followed you one evening and you got into his car.”
“That could have been anyone. A friend, a colleague…”
“You kissed him, and it wasn’t a peck
on the cheek by all accounts.”
“Well, who was he? What did he look like?”
“Rochelle only saw him in silhouette. The car was red, and…” Remi checked his phone. “Fancy-ass, probably cost an arm and a leg.”
An expensive car that went with an obscenely pricey watch? Rhys saw from Coco’s horrified expression that she’d had the same thought. Had Jocelyn been killed by her secret boyfriend, who was possibly the father of her baby too?
“Didn’t…” The word came out as a croak, and Coco swallowed, then tried again. “Didn’t Rochelle ask me about him?”
“Yes, and you had a huge fight. You told her to butt out, said that whoever you got involved with was your business and not hers, and then you stormed out and slammed the door. Rochelle was angry, not to mention hurt, and the two of you barely spoke for months.”
“Then what?”
“Monica’s nails were finished, and the next client had arrived already, so she had to leave. Rumour says the owner of the salon is a real dragon. But Monica’s booked in for a pedicure at…” Remi consulted his phone again. “At eleven o’clock next Tuesday.”
“Next Tuesday? That’s almost a week away.”
“It was the first available appointment.”
“But—”
“Sometimes, the wheels of justice turn slowly, but they are turning.”
***
“I was such a bitch to my sister. How could I have said those things? What was I thinking?”
Rhys caught Coco’s hand as she paced the bedroom, but she shook him off and stopped in front of the window instead. He’d hoped that if he went to bed, she might join him, but so far, her pills hadn’t taken effect and she was more upset than he’d ever seen her.
“You were under a lot of stress, sweetheart. You were pregnant, and it sounds like the baby’s father wasn’t giving you any support.”
“But I had no right to treat Rochelle that way. How can I ever make it up to her?”
“You can’t.”
“But…”
“No buts. You don’t exist anymore.”
“Maybe I could write her a letter? You know, an apology?”
Bad, bad idea. “You died, remember?”
“But if I backdated it… I could tell her that I left it with someone else to mail after my…oh.”
“Exactly. That would have meant you knew you were going to die, either by suicide or by another person’s hand. And if you’d suspected you were in danger, you’d have contacted the police, not arranged for a posthumous apology. Plus you don’t even know what Jocelyn’s handwriting looks like.”
“It might just come naturally.”
“We’re not even sure that you are Jocelyn.”
“But I have to be. I like horses, and I draw buildings, and…and…”
“Thousands of women like horses. And yes, you draw buildings, but you also draw squirrels, cars, desert islands, flowers, people…”
She’d sketched Rhys the day before yesterday and then blushed when she caught him looking. He wasn’t sure why—the picture was really good. Like, gallery-worthy.
“Did Jocelyn?”
“There were no drawings on her Instagram account.” Just photos of Lark’s River and a handful of herself with her sister. The posts had stopped over a year ago. “You might be a completely different person to the girl who fought with Rochelle.”
“But how will I know for sure?”
Coco was starting to slur her words now, which under the circumstances was a good thing. They’d still done nothing more than make out, mainly because of the medication, but Rhys didn’t mind waiting. Coco’s health was more important. She fell asleep in his arms every night, and they were closer than they’d ever been. For now, that was enough.
“Give it time.” This time when he took her hand, she sighed and slid under the quilt. “We’ll find the answers eventually.”
“Then I guess…” Coco covered her mouth as she yawned. “I guess I’ll just have to be patient.”
CHAPTER 28
THAT WAS WHAT Coco said, but it wasn’t what she did.
The following Wednesday morning, Rhys woke up groggy. The sun was shining right in his face because he’d forgotten to close the curtains, and his limbs felt too heavy to drag out of bed so he could fix the problem. Why was his head full of cotton wool? He’d only drunk one glass of wine last night—he shouldn’t have a hangover.
“Coco, you awake?”
No answer. And the bed felt strangely cold. He rolled over and found the other side empty, but the door to the en-suite bathroom was open. Was she downstairs? Rhys stilled to listen, but the cottage was silent apart from his breathing. Maybe she’d gone to see the horses? She’d taken to walking Cappy the pony like a big fluffy dog.
Then the hammering started.
“What on earth…?”
Rhys staggered out of bed, hung onto the door frame for a moment while he got his balance, then nearly fell down the stairs. Had he drunk a bottle of Remi’s cognac and somehow forgotten about it?
When he yanked the front door open, he found Celine standing there in her riding gear.
“Where’s Coco?” she asked, waving a piece of paper. “Is she here?”
“I thought she was with you.”
“I haven’t seen her today. And I found this note in Cappy’s treat bucket.” Celine thrust the paper at him. “Why is she sorry? What has she done?”
“I’ve got no idea.”
But she’d been quiet for the last few days. Withdrawn. Miserable ever since the investigators had reported seeing Rochelle crying on the sofa during one of their evening checks. As yet, they didn’t know what the problem was, so nobody had been able to fix it. Remi had offered to pay Rochelle’s rent if they could find a way of funnelling the money to her anonymously. He’d made the suggestion to Rhys last night while Coco and Celine went to give the horses their supper, but neither man had been able to come up with a suitable plan at that hour. Remi had promised to work on it with his team.
But what was this note? Rhys unfolded the paper and began to read.
I need to start with an apology: I’m sorry. Sorry for turning your lives upside down, sorry I can’t settle when you’ve all done your best to make me feel wanted, and sorry that I can’t embrace the future without first putting the past to rest. Sorry that I can’t pretend any longer. I’ve tried so hard to be happy as I am, but maybe that’s not my destiny? Just know that I’m more grateful to the three of you than you’ll ever believe, and Rhys, I love you. You have the kindest soul. I only wish we could have met in another time and another place.
But for this life, please forget about me.
Jocelyn.
Coco loved him? No, not Coco. Jocelyn. She’d signed the note “Jocelyn.” The flush of warmth in Rhys’s chest quickly faded, replaced by a snake of dread that coiled around his guts. What the hell had she done? People who knew Jocelyn said she’d been suicidal, and although Coco had denied it, this note said otherwise. And the chances of forgetting about her were zero. Had she lost her mind in a different way this time?
“We need to find her.”
“Remi can have the guards search the grounds.”
He could, but there was no need.
A guard who’d worked the late shift reported that Coco had left via the main gate at ten o’clock last night, which he’d thought was kind of unusual, but he was paid to keep people out, not in, so he’d just waved her off as she climbed into a cab. She’d told him she planned to meet a friend in Villance for the late-night performance of the son et lumière at the fountains, and since Remi had recruited the guard from Poland in keeping with his “no local staff” policy, the chap didn’t realise that the only show of the evening finished at eight thirty.
Further investigation revealed she’d also taken the credit card that Celine had lent her to do some online shopping, her fake passport complete with a bunch of realistic-looking visas because Remi’s forger was nothing if not thorough,
five thousand euros in cash that Remi kept in his desk drawer “for emergencies,” plus a backpack with spare clothes. Oh, and Remi suspected she’d slipped last night’s sleeping pills into Rhys’s wine instead of swallowing them, which would explain why he felt so bloody awful this morning.
“I can’t believe she did that,” Rhys muttered, head in his hands as Remi paced the living room.
“At least she’s still alive,” Celine pointed out.
Remi paused for half a second. “Fantastique.”
Rhys wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that Coco wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere or absolutely furious because she’d betrayed him, the man who she claimed to love, plus Remi and Celine, who were meant to be her friends. One thing was for sure—he felt absolutely mortified for bringing her into the Kleins’ lives. All he wanted to do was slink off into the sunset, but that wouldn’t fix the mess Coco had created.
“Maybe we should have taken her to a therapist?”
Remi huffed. “Or provided her with a padded cell and cut out the middleman.”
“We can’t just leave her to fend for herself. The trauma…”
“Of course we can’t. Celine, she has your credit card. She used it to purchase a plane ticket. If she gets caught doing whatever it is she plans to do, then they could trace her back to Villance.”
“I’m so sorry—” Rhys started.
“Those damn trees. In Brazil, the locals say the Mala Valley is cursed, and now I understand why.” Remi pulled out his phone. “Claude, prepare the jet.”
“The jet?”
“We all know where she’s heading, don’t we?”
Yes, they did. Coco, Jocelyn, whoever she was now—she was on her way to Lark’s River, and she had a fourteen-hour head start.
CHAPTER 29
“MA’AM, ARE YOU feeling okay?”
Coco—at least, that was the name on her passport—nodded and forced a smile for the flight attendant. The truth was, she didn’t know how she felt. Scared, guilty, fatigued… As if she wanted to turn around at LAX and take a flight straight back to France. But she wouldn’t be welcome there either, not anymore. She’d well and truly burned that bridge.