“There’s no damage to her throat, and she looks peaceful.” I turn her face back and forth, looking for any kind of bruising or cuts. Anything to indicate she fought for her life. Nothing. Not on her face, not under her nails, not with her clothing. “No signsof a struggle. She knew the person.” Trusted them enough to let them get this close.
“There’s no blood on her or anywhere in the house,” Six adds. “No attempt to clean something. She went without any fanfare: no struggle, no pain. Went to sleep, didn’t wake up.”
“Oh my god.”
We all pause and turn to Spencer. “What is it?”
“Sleeping pills. And wine,” he says slowly, eyes hard and lips pursed.
I understand immediately. “It’s how Veronica died.”Crap.“Well, how the media thinks she died. This is a message; it has to be.” They know who we are. And they know it’s a lie. “Whoever killed this woman killed Veronica. And it doesn’t look like he appreciates that we covered it up.”
“Fucking fantastic,” Greer mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where to now, then?”
I have no idea.
Chapter nineteen
Spencer
Soap operas are weird.I can’t be the only one that thinks so. If I got backstabbed by my friends and family this much, I’d never trust anyone again. Fifty bucks saysIturn into the killer because the paranoia would eat me alive and turn me crazy. “Luke is the father of Maisie’s baby. But he’s engaged to Penelope, and Penelope is having an affair with his father, who’s the ex-husband of Maisie’s mum, and her stepfather. Maisie’s stepfather, not Penelope’s, though honestly, if that revelation happened, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
A pause comes from the kitchen area where Kendrick’s making dinner. “What?”
“I need a notebook,” I mutter. I can’t keep up with all the names and the drama. There’s a kind of morbid curiosity sneaking up on me as I watch. Like being unable to look away from a trainwreck. Am I going to tune in tomorrow? I wish I could say no. But I need to know how Penelope reacts to findingout about Luke’s affair. Will she act the victim? Confess her ownaffair? I need answers.
“The fuck are you watching, Spence?” Kendrick asks, coming closer and leaning against the back of the couch, hovering above me. “Is this the show that Veronica starred in?”
“I wanted to see her.” Moving around, alive, smiling. Not her, not really, just a part she’s playing, but it’s still her enough to get a glimpse. Any insight is insight at this point. Like any creative art, there’s always a piece of the person in everything they do. She may be acting, but parts of her are in there. “We’ve exhausted everything from her day job. I thought maybe someone there was jealous of her ‘fame.’”
“It’s a powerful motivator,” Kendrick agrees. “They aren’t going to show their jealousyonthe show, though. They’re acting.”
He says it like I don’t know that. I hadn’t meant to watch it this long, just half an episode, less. A brief look at Veronica in her element. It’s not my fault it’s so addictive.
A hand slides into my hair, and my eyes slip closed as tingles spread across my scalp from the light massage. He leaves a lingering kiss on the top of my head before retreating back into the kitchen to hopefully finish dinner, ’cause I’m starving. He shooed me away when I’d asked if he needed help, so I’d found a way to amuse myself.
There’s an ad on, so I vault over the back of the couch and follow him. “Other than the weird stalker, who we’ve concluded isn’tthe killer, no one seems to care about her other job.” Which is weird, though I guess not that unusual. Impressive to have a part on a longtime running Australian soap opera, but she’s no Kylie Minogue, Nicole Kidman, or Chris Hemsworth.
“You think it’s another actor on the show, then?” Kendrick asks, glancing back at me from where he’s standing in front of the oven. There’s a distinct chocolate aroma in the air overthe top of the pasta casserole baking in the oven. Is he making dessert too? “What about her family, friends? People outside of her work circles.”
I shrug. “According to her social media, the Venn diagram pretty much overlaps in all places.” A few outliers but nothing that pings my radar. A longtime friend from school she kept in contact with. Parents that live in Perth, and an uncle and a half-sister who both live up in the Northern Territory. Nothing that jumps out at me as suspicious enough to move to the top of the list. They’re things to look into if other lines of enquiry run dry.
He leans back against me when I wrap my arms around him, resting my forehead against the middle of his back. “What are you doing?” I mumble, curling our fingers together.
“Making hot chocolate while we wait for dinner. Jericho dropped some marshmallows off a few hours ago when you were with Greer—he said don’t ask, and honestly, I’m too terrified to. Just hoping they aren’t laced with something. I wouldn’t put it past him to use us as a science experiment.”
I’ll make sure to do a sniff test before drinking. My trust in anyone or anything right now is loose—I’m half tempted to ask if Jericho is carrying my baby. Just in case. Never having slept together, and him being male, means nothing.Nothing. There shouldn’t be secrets between us, and I’d want to know. The problem with most of the people on the show is their lack of communication. A few conversations could clear up a lot of the issues.
I jerk my head up, eyes wide. “I don’t think he knows!”
Kendrick flinches and half twists to look at me. “Who doesn’t know what?”
“Luke. He doesn’t know the baby is his.” That would explain some of his reluctance to leave Penelope for Maisie.
“I think it’s time to turn the TV off.”
Over my dead body. I needanswers. Will he deny it when he finds out? Will he finally leave Penelope?
“What are you hoping to accomplish with”—Kendrick gestures his head toward the TV—“that. Besides getting unhealthily obsessed with the lives of fictional characters.”
