Prologue
“Mmmmm.”
“Is that you?” I asked, unsure. Her voice sounded dreamy. And who answers the phone that way?
Now an exhaustive sigh.
“Lise, answer me!”
“What was the question again?”
I heard her footsteps on the other end, walking slowly, rhythmically on a hard surface.
“Where are you right now?”
“How is that relevant?” she clipped back. Salty. That sounded more like her. “Because! I’m a–” My words caught in my throat. I wiped my eyes and coughed, hoping to swallow the feeling of horror. “I’m at your house, where-you-summoned-me, where your—” Breathe, Thea. “Why did you run?” My raspy voice ricocheted against the marble walls of the colossal foyer.
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Well ask me something easier then.”
I had no time to pause and think, to consider a strategy or explain the shocking circumstances to the part of my brain grasping for reason. “Why call me in the first place, then?”
The footsteps halted. I now heard the roar of cars on the other end of the phone; she was outside. I ran to one of the front windows. No sign of her platinum hair or Burberry trench. “You’re just leaving me here?? What about the police? Who does this?”
“Couldn’t be helped.” Her monotone told me she was dissociating from the situation, which might imply she was as upset as I was. Or maybe that was just a fairy tale.
“What do I tell them?” I whispered.
”Cops? Whatever you want. You know nothing so they won’t waste time on you.
”Cut it out.” I moved from the front windows back to the same spot inside the front door, where I’d placed the call. A safe distance from the kitchen. Then my emotions caved in, sobs rippling out through my nose and mouth. My eyes were a mess. I couldn’t wipe the tears fast enough.
“Calm down, Thea.”
“Calm down? Are you high? They’re gonna ask me what I know about—”
“My dead mother? No kidding. Believe me, she’s better off this way. We all are.”
She’d said the words finally – dead mother. So I hadn’t imagined it? Now I needed to close it up and get the hell out of here. “Lise, did you—” A thud from the kitchen yanked my attention from my phone. I felt the vibration under my feet. Maybe Lise hadn’t actually killed her. Maybe the killer was still here.
Chapter 1
Blood pooled under the mop of the woman’s dark brown hair, her skin a horrid chalky color, gray almost, body awkwardly twisted like she’d been on her way somewhere and shocked by the thrust of something blunt and resolute intended to stop the beat of her heart, or at least her intentions. As to what—I hadn’t gotten there yet. Was it a good day to die?
I stared down at her body from the kitchen doorway, one hand covering my mouth to quell the shaking in my soul. I knew her. How could this possibly be real?
The house was quiet except for the howl of wind, the Fenning’s giant sycamore scraping the east side of the house like a demon’s fingernail. Fitting.
Something made me turn, not a sound exactly, more like a sensation. I gazed at the upstairs landing that overlooked a foyer the size of a basketball court. A much better vantage point to say the least. I tore up the stairs and pancaked myself to the cold tiles. My erratic pulse banged in my ears. Tha-thump, tha-thump. Breathe, Thea. Breathe.
Okay, my frantic brain re-engaged for the moment, I could see this was a much safer place to assess. The woman’s lower half was visible from here on the marble floor beside the island – dark gray pants, expensive black heels, one of them on and the other three inches from her body exposing a bare, grayish foot. Lying on my stomach, pain jarred me from the phone in my pocket—glass on bone. I hadn’t pulled it out yet or called for help because I needed time to gather my wits, I had no idea what I’d say and, more importantly, what if her killer was still here?
I used to think a day that began with a game of cards was destined to be good. With a father and grandfather in the Navy, of course I grew up playing cards. I could beat them both at cribbage by the time I was fifteen, or maybe they let me win. There was something about numbers that had always comforted me, like a tacit reminder of the ordered universe despite all the visual evidence of chaos. And cribbage was a game that valued numbers and pairs, and in my fragile heart that symmetry felt, somehow, like safety.
Okay sure, life in the Marshall Islands was a little sheltered, but my dad wanted it that way. My mother disagreed and tried to move us all to San Francisco, where we’d have the support of her family along with the contemporary imprint of urban life. She won the battle but lost the war. My father remained five thousand miles away in Majuro Atoll, and after my brother Rudy died she and I built a new life in San Francisco’s Mission District without them. The culture and beauty of my Islander roots lives in my heart forever but honestly failed to prepare me for the spectacle of Roberta Fenning’s bludgeoned body. Could anything have? Rudy died on his seventeenth birthday, my age now, which my mother said was like being erased by the universe and twice as bad as just losing him. Now we can’t even celebrate his birthday without reliving the trauma of his loss. The closest thing I had to a brother now was Fergus Wilde, my best friend since the third grade.
“Stop dreaming and cut the deck,” Fergus had said this morning while we drank coffee on the floor of my bedroom, preparing for another game of cribbage during the lazy, summer lull before college. And I had been daydreaming while he decided which cards to throw in the crib. Nothing I hated more than wasting time. And there was nothing I wanted more than to escape reality go back to the safety of that cribbage game right now.
My chin touching the cold floor of the Fenning’s second floor landing, I couldn’t make my lungs remember how to work. Sucking in air, I clawed the grout between the foyer’s white marble tiles to steady myself. That same marble downstairs in the kitchen would now be permanently stained with Roberta Fenning’s blood. Wait…why was there blood under my fingernails? I hadn’t touched the body. Not even close. Had I?
I shouldn’t even be here, I realized, gasping finally like a surfer reaching air after being held down by a set wave. My nose ran and the fluid mixed with tears sliding down my cheeks. I couldn’t wipe it because whoever did this to her could still be in the house watching me right now. Stay silent. Don’t move.
Two questions: would I be next and, more importantly, why had Lise summoned me if she wasn’t even here? I ignored the most obvious possibility because honestly it was too much weight on my heart. I needed to get the hell out of here before the police arrived. Had anyone even called them? Had Lise done that before she skipped out? I went through it in my head to sort of rehearse.
I'd entered with my own personal key to the Fenning estate, given to me by Lise Fenning, my other BFF. It’s not that I lived here, necessarily, just that the house was huge and running to answer the door every time the bell chimed was apparently too extraordinary an effort on a regular basis. So they gave me one of the spare keys. Lise should have been here to meet me, and she was scheduled to be. I’d called out for her and at least expected Nanny, the live-in cook, to be in the kitchen where I always stopped in to say hi. She’s nice, I liked her. Today the kitchen was completely closed up. No Nanny, no Roberta, only her discarded body staining the pristine tile with a pool of her blood.
What if they asked me if I knew her? I needed an answer ready for that. Yes, of course I knew her, I even liked her. She was my best friend’s mother so I’d been to that house at least once a week for years. The words felt so strange in my mouth – was, best friend. Best friends didn’t do what Lise has done. Roberta was the kind of woman, the kind of mother who cared about people and wanted to know them. She’d stop me in the hallway sometimes and grasp my shoulders, look in my eyes to not just ask how I was doing but see for herself. My God. Roberta.
I’d only stood in the doorway and honestly didn’t take a single step into the kitchen. But when I crouched low, I caught sight of a pooling of blood in the back of her head, mostly dried now, and the ghastliest color I’d ever seen on another person. I tried to remember if she’d been sick lately, but she was fine the last time I saw her. My God, the blood. I knew that had to mean something about the timing of her attack, but my mind wasn’t capable of critical thinking right now. I’m not sure why, but I’d snapped one quick photo of her lying there before charging up the grand staircase and dropping to the floor of the landing.
From this vantage point I could see into the kitchen, her lifeless legs visible and feet turned awkwardly inward. I might never be able to unsee the ghoulish cast to her skin, and the way rigor mortis had frozen her contorted fingers into these spectral claws belonging in a zombie movie. I felt sick and rolled onto my left side before vomiting, another assault on what had once been their pristine floor. How could this beautiful estate be habitable again after tonight?
My fingertips gripped the edge of the staircase and pulled my body forward two inches, which gave me a bit more view. Some kind of leather strap stuck up beneath her on the side of the kitchen island, which I hadn’t noticed before. Was it her handbag, and why hadn’t I noticed it when I’d been in the kitchen? My frantic brain began some basic calculations, starting with steps. An estimated thirty-seven to the lower landing and then roughly another twenty to the inner front door. Could I make it there before the killer spotted me? Wait a minute, I knew this house. There was a back bedroom. Lise and I removed part of the flooring once to access a support pole that weaved from the basement up to the second floor. If I could get to that closet, I might be able to use the pole to exit the house through the basement’s bulkhead, which would be safer than ploughing out the front door for all of Sea Cliff to see.
My wet, swollen eyes blinked through these new possibilities, fingernails clicking the white marble, performing a momentary risk assessment. Had the Fennings discovered our secret escape path and blocked off the closet? If someone was still in the house, this could be my only chance of making it out alive.
I tried texting Lise again: Where the fuck are you?? Don’t leave me here! I heard the clink of china from the kitchen, a saucer upended and see-sawing side to side before it came to rest. OMG. My stomach tightened with an imaginary vice grip over my throat. That sound could mean Roberta was still alive.
I pressed my hands over my mouth to suppress the urge to call out to her, because it could also mean that her killer was down there waiting for me.
