What if Colton hurt Faye?she thinks.Maybe she met him at a party…
Naomi huffs, watching her breath turn to angry smoke in the cold air. If Colton wasn’t already dead, she’d kill him herself.
But was it even him?she questions.Will I ever know?
A passing truck rattles the wooden slats beneath her feet as she stares at the city skyline in the distance, the same view she and Faye gazed at. The only difference is that today it’s shrouded in mist. A gust of wind blows, as if it’s Faye’s ghost, egging Naomi on to solve the mystery. She once again thinks back to what Aunt Mary’s friend said.“When it’s foggy out, or misty, spirits are able to more easily enter through the human realm and communicate with us.”
She knows it’s a stupid, childish notion, but she’s desperate for it to be true.
What happened, Faye?Give me a sign.
And that’s when her phone pings.
Chapter 30
Naomi shakes the rain off her umbrella once she steps under the glass shelter of the Bowery Hotel. She rubs her hands, slick with sweat and rain, on her beige trench coat before fixing her hair. A man in a bowler hat and red waistcoat greets her as he holds open the doors to the famed East Village property.
The moment she steps inside the warm lobby, she’s transported to what feels like another century, the rich decor of velvet, leather, and wood drawing her in. She scans the room, filled with plush sofas atop patterned rugs, searching for Meghan Rhodes. That’s who she assumes is waiting for her, at least.
1 p.m. Bowery Hotel lounge.
Her heart races, thinking back to the anonymous text message from a number she didn’t recognize, wondering if she was wrong about who contacted her.Maybe it’s a trap, a voice warns. She imagines a crazed fan hiding behind one of the velvet curtains.
The lobby is dimly lit, so she squints, eyes drawn to the fireplace across the room. A crown of blonde hair peeks out from the back of one of the large brown leather chairs, which almost seem red in the firelight.
Naomi traipses across the patterned rug, chest tightening with nerves. She’s both relieved and even more nervous once she spots her, gazing into the flames, cupping a mug of steaming liquid. The light dances in Meghan’s gray eyes as she looks up.
“Meghan?” Naomi says, voice low. She grows lightheaded as she takes the actress in, almost glowing, with a golden aura surrounding her. Naomi stumbles over her tongue for a brief moment but manages to pull herself together. “I’m Naomi, nice to meet you.”
Meghan gives her a half-smile in return, and for a second Naomi is worried it’s all a coincidence and Meghan never contacted her at all. But then she shifts in her seat and shakes Naomi’s outstretched hand.
“Please, sit,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her.
Naomi takes a deep breath. She’s been up close with plenty of celebrities before but she’s never sat down intimately – not like this. Normally she would be over the moon to have landed a fireside chat with someone like Meghan Rhodes, but she hasn’t come here for gossip. She came for answers.
“Thanks so much for meeting me.” Naomi takes her jacket off and places it on the floor on top of her purse and umbrella. Her eyes flit across the room from the intricately carved stone fireplace to the vintage lamps on the dark wood-beamed ceilings. It’s cozy but in an old, haunted mansion kind of way. “This is a beautiful hotel.”
Meghan nods, smiling. “I love it. Used to come here all the time to read scripts when I was just starting out.” She’s soft-spoken, with a warm and welcoming air, not at all what Naomi expected. In her red-carpet interviews she often seems aloof and cold. But tonight, she looks at home. Minus the distant, sad look in her eyes. “I usually don’t do this, you know.”
“I know,” Naomi says. It’s widely known that Meghan is very private and barely speaks to the press about work, let alone anything about her private life. “This isn’t for an article. It’s personal. Everything is off the record unless you tell me otherwise.”
“I’m afraid it will have to be, I’m under a strict NDA. The only reason I agreed to this was because my sister told me it was personal. And she hated Colton, so the fact that you thought he wasn’t the good guy made her forward it to me. It’s my last night in New York for promotions before I go back to LA, so…” She turns her gaze back to the fire.
“An NDA from who? Colton?” Naomi interjects, astonished. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. She’s always just assumed Meghan was private, not silenced.
Meghan turns back to Naomi. “From his family and army of lawyers. Yes. Anyway, you know I looked you up before we met and I was surprised to see your latest article didn’t really match your message.”
Naomi sighs. She can’t believe she went rogue like that and vows to never publish another article in the heat of the moment, promising to always send it to at least one other reader for fresh eyes.
“Yeah, well I’m starting to think I was a bit hasty with that, which is why I wanted to talk to you. See if I missed something. I got into all this because I was investigating the case against Harlow Hayes and while I originally thought she was to blame, I now have reason to believe that Colton isn’t as innocent as everyone thought he was, and that he may have been involved in the death of two young women—maybe three.” She thinks of the missing girl in New Mexico from 2017, when he was filmingMojave, of the model, and of the blind item. And she thinks of Faye, bruised and broken. She coughs, trying to clear the sting in her throat. “One of whom is my sister.”
Meghan exhales and places her tea on the wooden coffee table. She runs her hands through her hair and props her elbows on her knees, clasping them together. She’s wearing a thick black cable-knit sweater on top of a calf-length satin skirt, an inch of her skin peeking out above her black leather boots.
She gives Naomi a sad smile. “I’m truly sorry about your sister. I would freeze hell over if I thought someone hurt mine. Unfortunately, I don’t know anything about anyone’s death. Not even his…”
Naomi nods, about to ask a question, but then Meghan continues.
“But… and this is completely off the record, okay? You can’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. As I said, it’s a strict NDA.” She eyes Naomi, waiting for confirmation.
