“God, I haven’t heard that one in years!” She pushes her glossy bangs across her forehead, showing off perfectly flicked eyeliner. She’s so flawless she could be the fifth member of Blackpink. “Come on, you have to tell it. I bet Jake has never heard it before.” She leans over and pulls Noah up with one elegant hand, and he follows her into the living room.
I guess our conversation is over, then.
“Fliss, bring in the sangria!” Izzy shouts.
I dutifully collect the half-empty jug and wipe the sticky residue from the handle. I pick up my glass and follow them into the living room, where Jen is busy directing the others into a circle on the floor, so I place the jug on the coffee table and join Scarlett near the window instead. Dad’s record player sits open on a small shelving unit hidden behind the fronds of a palm.
“This is a cool collection.” She smiles, gesturing to the vinyl records with her glass. It’s mostly just fruit now, but looking at her red-rimmed eyes, I get the impression she’s not only on sangria. I look at my own drink, deciding to make it last. One of us needs to stay sober tonight, and Scarlett does not look like a viable option.
“It is? I think my dad got most of it when he lived in Paris,” I say, picking up the sleeve of whatever is playing. He never had vinyl in the house when we lived together, but the edges are rounded with time. Vintage, then.
“Yeah, loads of sixties and seventies stuff. Very psychedelic.” The current song finishes, and I listen to the bumpy scratch of the vinyl as the needle moves on to the next one.
“Hey, I recognize this one. Was it in a film or something?”
“It’s ‘Season of the Witch’ by Donovan. Lana DelRay did a cover.” Scarlett sways on the spot, her hair swishing gently as the male vocals start to ramp up slightly. “I like this version better, though.”
Scarlett gets lost in the music and I listen to the lyrics, something about picking up every stitch. When Scarlett looks to see ifI’m enjoying it, I nod in agreement, even though I have no idea what the singer is going on about.
“I like it,” I say as Jen turns to us and wiggles her fingers in an exaggerated fashion.
“Come on, you two. Time for a ghost story.”
TWENTY-THREE
“I’d rather not,” Izzy saysas we move to join the others. She looks a bit pale and is carrying another glass of sangria, so I check on the jug. It’s now less than a third full. Everyone else has glasses of boxed wine or beer, so there’s only three of us drinking the sangria. Izzy seems to be hammering it way too fast. “I’m a bit sensitive to that stuff at the moment.”
“What stuff?” the guy with Noah, Jake, pipes up from across the circle. “Ghosts?”
Izzy just shrugs and takes a slurp of her drink. When she finishes that one, I’m filling her glass with water.
“Oh my god, I forgot.” Jen’s hand flies to her mouth as she looks between Izzy and Noah, her gaze finally settling on me. “You’re the ones who found that girl on Monday.” Izzy grows even paler, and I just nod.
“Yeah.” I put my glass on the floor, avoiding eye contact and hoping Jen gets the message as Helen flashes across my mind.
I look at Izzy, who is leaning heavily on Ford. Ford, in turn, looks incredibly uncomfortable, though I’m not sure if it’s due to the topic of conversation or Izzy squeezing up to him.
“No way, that was you two? My mom must have interviewed you, then,” Jake says, scratching the wisps of hair on his chin.
“What?” I squeak, looking at him properly for the first time. His brown hair is cropped short, and there’s no real resemblance to either of the detectives from Monday night.
“Yeah, I heard her talking about it. Detective Romig?”
“Yeah, I remember.” I get to my feet, my heart pounding as the night rushes back to me. “Sorry, I just need to get something. Back in a sec.”
I excuse myself, putting the glass on the coffee table and heading to the kitchen. For a few seconds I can hear hushed whispers, and then “Season of the Witch” starts blaring from the other room again. Thank you, Scarlett.
I swallow a deep breath and turn on the tap, then fill and drain a glass of cold water in seconds. It washes the sickly-sweet taste out of my mouth, and needing to distract myself, I grab the food caddy from the sideboard and open the lid, sweeping all the leftover fruit off the kitchen table and into the little container. I collect the cutting knife and board and rinse them in the sink, then dump the empty bottles. I glance at the time—almost ten—and decide food would be a good idea for everyone, so I raid the freezer and shove three frozen pizzas into the oven before soaking a dishcloth and wiping the sticky residue from the table.
“You okay?” I’m refilling my glass of water when Noah enters the kitchen. I fill a second glass for Izzy and turn round.
“Yeah.” I look down at my feet. “I just…I’ve been trying not to think about what happened, you know?”
“Sorry.” Noah takes in the tidy room and places his empty bottle in the recycling bin. “Jen can be a bit full-on sometimes. She’s harmless, though.”
“It’s fine. I can’t believe Jake’s mom is the detective.”
“You know how small Blackwood is. He hears all sorts of stuff he shouldn’t.” Noah opens the fridge and pulls out another green bottle. “You want one?”
