“There’s more,” Cybele said. “Christie?”
A slight, blond woman stood. I had to reach deep to remember her, but I recalled she was a writer forThe Cutwho’d come to us when one of her sources started stalking her.
“I asked my friend atThe New York Timesabout how things went down with Rosie Wright,” Christie said. “She told me Rosie got another story pitch accepted right before she died. Her editor refused to tell the LAPD because they still wanted to run the story with anotherwriter, and it involves police negligence. They were scared the cops would shut it down.”
I frowned. “We already know Rosie thought the LAPD screwed up focusing so much on Alden in Georgia’s case.”
“No.” Christie shook her head. “She’d started looking into a different case—a cold case from ten years ago. Two girls who went missing from the Serpent Room. I think they were bottle girls or something. Apparently, Rosie was really hot on the story, and theTimesthought it would be huge.”
“Wait,” Scout said. We shot each other looks. “We just met a private investigator who swore Gabriel Knox was involved in that case.”
“The investigator took pictures of Knox with the missing girls the last night they were seen,” I said, “along with Easton and Reese Griffin. He said one of the victims was the daughter of a detective, Holloway something, but they kicked him off the force—”
“Hold on,” Cybele said, striding into the center of the room. Another strike of lightning lit the sky, followed by a crack of thunder, and suddenly the rain unleashed in torrents. “Holloway—as in Detective Grey Holloway, the woman who arrested Scout and Juliet?”
Chapter 46Isabel, the Assistant
PRESENT DAY
As soon as Cybele said it, I knew: I was an idiot. Why hadn’t I made the connection? The two, the long-ago victim and the current detective, had to be related. But how, and what did it mean?
The entire living room was buzzing.
Miranda’s face knotted in concentration. “Call me a ditzy brunette, babes, but I don’t get it. You’re saying the detective’s a missing girl?”
I rubbed my temples. “Let’s take a step back. List what we know.”
“One.” Scout raised a finger. “Emmy worked with someone to frame me for three murders: Elizabeth Drake, Simon Markham, and Rosie Wright. In exchange, that person wanted Emmy to kill her husband, Easton. Which she did.”
“Insane.” Cybele shook her head. “Even if you and Izzy were kind of shitty to people back then like you say, imagine hating your teenage nemesis so much you’d be willing to kill off your rich husband just to see her suffer. On the runway, we just put glass in each other’s shoes and call it a day.”
“Take Scout out of the equation and look at it from another angle,” Cara insisted. “Whoever this mysterious person Emmy was working with is, they clearly hate Easton, if they wanted him dead. The confusing part is all the other dead people. Elizabeth, Simon, Rosie—I mean, technically, Scoutdoeshave a motive to kill all three of them, if you’re willing to believe she’d kill people who hurt her friends. No offense, Scout.”
Scout shrugged. “Been accused of worse.”
“Each of those victims was also connected to Gabriel Knox,” Reiko added, her long black hair shining in the candlelight. “Elizabeth washis former assistant. Simon was his documentarian. And Rosie was investigating a crime he might’ve been involved in. So what ifKnoxis the reason they were killed? And whoever killed them was just smart enough to blame it on someone else who also had a motive?”
“Someone had a growing reputation for taking revenge,” Cybele added. “People in the industry were starting to whisper about Scout—that’s how Juliet knew to find us.”
“Okay, think about it,” said Miranda, walking in slow circles, hand on her chin. “Reese, Gabriel, and Easton used to run around together in a crew. The older girls here probably remember them. Now Reese is in prison, Easton is dead, and someone’s going around killing people connected to Knox.”
A light dawned in Cybele’s eyes. “Not just killing people connected to him—getting Juliet to bomb his building.”
A strong wind gusted in through the open doors and blew out half the candles.
I swallowed a gasp.
“Who’s going to say it?” Cybele asked into the dark. When no one broke the silence, she straightened to her full height. “Fine. I will. What do we think about our great feminist hope Luca Clearwater?”
Christie, theCutwriter, gave a low, cautionary whistle. “She’s a dangerous person to accuse, Cybele. We just named her one of the biggest rising stars in the country.”
“But we know she hates Knox,” Cara said. “What if fighting him on TV wasn’t enough?”
“Hold on.” Kaitlyn the WAG stood up, scrunching her nose. “Are we saying we think this Harvard stick-up-her-ass Luca Clearwater is willing to murder people to get revenge against the old Pussy Posse, because she doesn’tlike their politics? It sounds pretty weak, guys. And what, we just got caught in the middle?”
There was a moment of tense silence. And then Cybele started to laugh.
“Babe?” Miranda reached up and pressed a hand to Cybele’s cheek, checking her temperature. “Have you lost your marbles?”
