“Okay, but what about the journalist from this morning,” Fola continued,desperately grabbing at straws. Like always, she needed a definitive solution. “The one who smashed a drone through the entryway door? He clearly isn’t afraid of using force or violence. How do we know he wasn’t on the yacht last night? That he didn’t hurt our father?”
Henry looked at them pityingly. “I’m afraid that the journalist from this morning also could not have been on the yacht last night. Waxler had him looked into and there is CCTV footage of his whereabouts last night. The journalist wasn’t even in New York. Every single guest and member of the staff was vetted before the ball. We significantly increased security at the ball following the intrusion at the conference. Excepting all guests already on board, no one else boarded the boat once it docked for the last time at 11:05. I can tell you though that he is now in police custody, if you were afraid of him causing any more harm to you all. Your safety is our top priority here. Though, now that we have put out our official announcement, we aren’t expecting any more threats of this nature, which is good news—but not great news in terms of being any closer to finding out who is behind the tragic events of last night,” Henry said. “I can assure you that Chief Waxler and his officers are working very hard to go through the transcripts and the available evidence with every intention to arrest someone today. They are using the best technology available in the state, have brought on their best detectives, and are reporting back to myself and your father’s lawyers regularly with the latest information.”
“That good to hear…,” Fola replied with a small frown, her eyebrows knitted together as she calculated her next move.
“I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you,” Henry said, then checked his watch. “Actually I should go check in with Chief Waxler upstairs in Eden. He’d mentioned about an hour ago that they had a potential lead. He didn’t give me much detail, but maybe there’s been progress on that front. I’ll let you know if anything of note comes from this.”
Fola nodded. “Thanks, Henry, I really appreciate it.” The secretary smiledand bade them goodbye. Fola only waited a few beats, making sure Henry had left the drawing room, before she returned her focus to Perdita, clearly not planning on wasting any time contemplating further. Before Octavius knew it, she was storming her way through the crowd, her jaw set and her eyes blazing with rage.
It seemed to Octavius that Fola was making her way through the stages of grief a lot quicker than anticipated, starting this morning with sadness, skipping ahead only moments ago to the bargaining stage before moving swiftly on to anger.
“This should be good,” Octavius muttered to himself as he followed his sister through the sparser crowd, daggered glares trailing closely behind him as he did. At least the next stages of grief—denial and depression—would be less frightening. He hoped.
Octavius closed the large French doors behind them as they left the temperately warm drawing room and entered the freezing gardens, Fola marching ahead toward Perdita, who was on the marble black-and-white walkway of the patio. He heard the subtle beeping of the alarm system somewhere in the close distance. They were trapped. Restricted to this little section of the patio where there weren’t any sensors yet.
Unlike other areas of the Manor, the gardens weren’t being heavily guarded. As the alarm system was switched on, it would be nearly impossible for any guests to sneak out into the wider estate without setting them off.
Perdita’s eyes widened as her siblings descended on her. Octavius pulled his sunglasses on and stood back, not wanting to get any blood on his stolen clothes.
“We need to talk about Father,” Fola snipped quietly, her eyes darting very briefly to the drawing room, her permanent scowl contorting into an even more severe expression.
“I already said—”
“I know what you said, Dee, and I still think it’s bullshit. What are you nottelling us? And before you think to lie again about how you had no idea, think very carefully about the consequences, Perdita, because I swear, Iwillruin you.”
Perdita’s eyes were wide and shimmering.
“Fola, I think she really doesn’t know…,” Romeo began, but Fola shook her head and smiled, baring her sharp teeth. “Look at her,” she said, gesturing to their sister. “The lie is written all over her face. She forgets that I know her, I know her expressions. I know what it looks like when she’s swallowing the truth.”
Before anyone could react to that, Octavius heard the double doors to the garden yawning open again, the chatter from the drawing room spilling through the broadening gap as a very serious Bilal appeared in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Perdita,” Bilal said, his face fixed with a harsh expression. Octavius couldn’t tell if that was just Bilal’s resting face these days or if he was also looking for vengeance. Bilal hobbled past him, right over to where the others were standing.
“If you’re looking to interrogate me, Fola hasn’t finished her witch hunt yet, so you might have to get in line,” Perdita muttered, wrapping her arms around herself as a protection from both the cold and Fola’s death stare.
“She’s right, I haven’t,” Fola said, arms folded and eyes murderous.
“I just have one question,” Bilal said, looking at Fola as if for permission to interrupt her interrogation with his own.
Fola sighed and gestured for Bilal to speak. It felt like they were in some kind of upside-down courtroom.
Bilal turned to Perdita with a hard look. “Anwar said he saw you last night with Dad; overheard you arguing and saying you wished he was dead.”
Something unrecognizable flashed across Perdita’s features, and her gaze briefly flickered over to Octavius, who was at the edge of their interrogation circle. Then her eyes narrowed as she looked up at her oldest brother. “What are you really asking, Bilal? Are you trying to suggest something?”
For a few beats, everything was still, quiet, the only movement coming from the midafternoon chill blowing a gentle breeze toward them.
Bilal shook his head. “I’m not trying to suggest anything, Dee. I’m just saying, the police are whittling down suspects, looking for our father’smurderer, and Anwar overheard you wishing he was dead. I don’t know how long you were down there arguing with Dad, but given one person saw you, this could mean there are others that did too. I’m giving you this chance to tell us what happened last night. Whether there is something we should know and prepare for.”
Perdita didn’t speak, just stared blankly ahead. Octavius followed her gaze to the empty space and wondered if she was eyeing a ghost.
“If you don’t say anything, I can’t stop Anwar from reporting what he heard to Chief Waxler,” Bilal pressed on.
Perdita’s gaze shifted back into focus. “He can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Bilal asked.
“Because,” Perdita began boldly, as if she was finally ready to give them a proper explanation. But then she quickly deflated, drawing back. “He just can’t.”
