“Shh. I needed something fancy. And my name is Victoria. We’re deeply in love—get rid of that facial expression—and we’ve got some questions about starting our daughter in the pageant life. Sound good?”
He just grumbles under his breath, which I’m going to take to mean yes.
“Our main purpose today is to learn more about how the killer is making Tonya believe Sandy is still alive. I’m also curious what Tonya thinks is going on, like if she’s suspicious at all. If we can nudge her in the direction of reporting Sandy missing, that would be ideal.”
“Wow,” Aiden says dryly as he slows to a stop at a red light. “You’ve thought about this.”
“Of course I have. We’re getting one shot at this, and itprobably won’t happen again.” I slide my hands under my thighs as my knees bounce. “I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”
“A little,” he says, easing down on the gas when the light turns green again. “My main concern is making sure we stay under the radar, though. I don’t want to go barging in and make a big scene today.”
“Me either,” I assure him. “There will be no big scenes.”
We spend the rest of the drive lost in our own thoughts, emerging only when Aiden pulls to a stop in front of a large gate and rolls his window down.
Wait a minute.
“You didn’t tell me we were going to the Heights.” Aiden gives me a disapproving look.
“I didn’t know,” I say honestly, my eyes wide as I look around. “She must work out of her home. Wow, these houses are huge. Oh, hang on—she gave me a code.”
“And that didn’t tip you off?”
“Lots of places require codes,” I say. “Type this in: three, five, five”—I wait a second for him to punch the numbers in—“eight, three, three.”
The little box beeps, and the gate in front of us lurches open. This must be the visitor’s entrance. We pull into the Heights, and my eyes bug out of my head the whole time. “Wow,” I say again.
Aiden grunts from the passenger seat.
“You’re such a snob,” I say, shaking my head and smiling a little. “People are allowed to have nice houses. You can’t judge them for that any more than they could judge me for growing up dirt poor.”
He sighs—and surprise, surprise, he’s rubbing his temples again, one hand kneading little circles while the other rests on the steering wheel. “It’s not the size of the houses that bothers me,” he admits. “It’s just frustrating thatin a town with this much wealth there are places and people struggling to hang on.”
I nod. “I understand that. But what to do about it isn’t so easy to determine.”
“No,” he says, “it’s not. And I know that. It still frustrates me, though.” His mouth presses into a grim line.
“That’s fair,” I say with a shrug. Then I frown. “Did you know Sandy was from the Heights?”
“No,” Aiden says. “But this is where Lionel Astor lives. Coincidence?”
“I mean, maybe?” I say, but somewhere behind the waistband of the fancy-pants fitted trousers I’m wearing, my gut churns uncomfortably.
Aiden eases us down the street slowly, and I crane my neck to get a better look at every house we pass. Most of them are what I would callstately,with pristinely kept lawns and unnecessarily long driveways. There are a couple that even have fountains in front.
It leaves me once again feeling grateful that we didn’t bring Sunshine instead of Aiden’s sensible little Toyota Camry. Sunshine might be a pearl to the swine of the Heights. Her personality is her best feature, but not everyone can appreciate her quirks.
The GPS leads us around a bend. We seem to be climbing gradually upward, and from the dusty recesses of my mind I pull out the information that the Heights is built on a hill, with the most expensive homes at the very top. Not sure why I know that—it must be something I remember from growing up here. Thirty seconds later, as we pull up in front of a large, white home with columns and emerald green shutters on the windows, the phone announces we’ve arrived. There’s a mother-in-law cottage just visible behind the house, and I point.
“There,” I say. “She said it’s the smaller building. It must be there.”
The mother-in-law add-on, like the main house, has white siding and emerald shutters. It’s smaller, of course, but still a decent size. I tuck my hair behind my ear in an attempt to make it look neater; it was fine before we got here, but now it’s been subjected to the wind. I pull the blazer tighter around me, too, grateful for the extra layer, especially since the silky top underneath has no warming properties to speak of.
We trail up the sidewalk to the little building, me leading the way, Aiden following closely behind. I feel better knowing he’s with me.
When we reach the front door, I knock three times—brisk, efficient raps of my fist. Then, quickly, before anyone can answer, I grab Aiden’s hand in mine, twining our fingers together.
And look. I expected him to fight it, expected him to glare at me or make a fuss.
