Wait, I’ve got Rosa’s number. I call her up. It rings twice and then goes to voicemail. The fuck? Is she dodging my calls too? Did she just bitch-block me?
Casper said Kelly was wearing the ring. She can’t be that pissed that she wouldn’t answer my calls.
I promised I wasn’t going to make these choices for her, but her safety is nonnegotiable.
I text Rosa.
Where are you?
Fuck it, Jason is going to have to wait, my priority now is Kelly. I call up Casper.
I check the phone again. Rosa leaves me on read.
“I can’t get a hold of Kelly or Rosa. I’m gonna need your help.”
The red wine swirls in my glass while I sit perched on a barstool behind the peninsula countertop, surveying the space. When I returned from the bathroom, Rosa practically shoved it into my hand. She poured it into one of those large plastic wineglasses that have cheesy wine puns on them likeCabernet? More like Caber-yay!
“This Airbnb is cute,” I comment. Sort of a staged-and-beiged vibe. It’s probably an interior design style with one of those oxymoron names likeboho luxe, which really just means there’s a macramé wall tapestry on an overpriced stick hanging somewhere on the premises. “I figured you were staying at the Sable.”
“Nah, I just like their cocktails. My company is way too cheap to spring for five-star hotels.” Rosa stands in front of the open fridge. “Should I make a cheese plate? I’ve got some leftover Brie and apples from the other day.”
“That sounds excellent!” I haven’t eaten yet today and was a little disappointed when she said we weren’t going to happy hour because I had my heart set on some appetizers. I’m starving.
She pulls out the ingredients and begins chopping up the apples. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, no, I’ve got this!” she replies.
This wine is sweet—almost too sweet, and slightly . . . metallic? I’m not even through my first glass and can already feel the warmth spreading into my limbs. “What kind of wine is this again?” I ask, glancing down at my phone and checking the text I sent to Logan.
“Uh, Summer Rhino or something? Okay, let’s get back to your story!”
That’s when I notice the little plane icon in the upper corner of my screen. Did Rosa put my phone on airplane mode? Logan is probably losing his damn mind. I take it off and see a bunch of missed calls and texts.
“Oh shit. I gotta call Logan and let him know we didn’t end up going to a restaurant. If I don’t, he’ll burn down the city.”
“Seriously?” She spins around with the knife in her hand, waving it around while she speaks. “Yes, I mind! You just got here! What, he can’t go two damn minutes without knowing exactly where you are? I told you, he’s controlling!”
Whoa.
“I just don’t want him to worry.”Why is she so upset about this?I appreciate her concern; if a friend told me the same story, I’d have some reservations too. But I know Logan better than she does. He’s my best friend. “I promise, he’d never hurt me.”
She grumbles something under her breath, but I don’t hear it.
“Don’t call him!” she spits, pointing the knife in my direction. I really wish she would put that thing down. “I will drop you off at his place in like an hour. He can go without you until then.”
I hold my hands up and set my phone on the counter in an attempt to de-escalate whatever the hell is going on right now. “Okay, you’re right, you’re right.” My foot bumps into one of the suitcases neatly lined up under the countertop, and when I slide them aside with my foot, one of them falls over.
“Shit. Sorry about that.” I climb off my barstool, my head feeling heavier than usual, and stand the suitcase back up in line with the others. They still have the Bozeman baggage tags on them, but the date of the flight is all wrong; this is old.
“No worries!” she replies “Okay. Storytime. Go.”
I push the suitcase next to the others and that’s when I notice the ID tag. The neatly penned capital letters are right there, clear as day.
Piper Nygaard.
Not Rosa,Piper.
Piper who is supposed to be dead.
