Did Simone take my necklace and leave it with the body so I would be implicated?
Did the bitch set me up?
63
WILLOW
I wake in the middle of the night with a raging thirst. I can’t think why. I reach for the glass on the bedside table but it’s empty. Cursing under my breath, I throw the duvet off and swing my legs out of bed.
I could use the tap in the en suite, I suppose, but I can never remember if the water’s safe to drink. Besides, Dad always keeps bottles of ice-cold San Pellegrino in the fridge – even though he prefers Perrier – because he knows it’s my favourite.
Dad.
The memory of what’s happened hits me like a knee in the solar plexus. Is this what it’s going to be like every time I wake up – a few seconds of blissful ignorance before I remember he’s dead?
The familiar lump forms in my throat and my eyes fill with tears. No wonder I’m thirsty. I’ve cried myself dry. I’ll get one of the San Pellegrinos Dad bought for me and I’ll drink it and then I’ll try to sleep. And when I wake, there’ll be a moment when I think he’s still alive and everything’s all right, and already I’m craving those precious seconds like a cokehead craves their next line.
I pull on my dressing gown and pad barefoot into the kitchen, almost dropping my glass when I see someone slumped at the table.
‘Jeez, Amber, you almost gave me a heart attack!’
‘Sorry.’ She sounds distracted.
‘You couldn’t sleep either?’ I ask.
‘What? Oh. No.’
When she doesn’t elaborate, I wave my glass at her. ‘Want a fizzy water?’
‘Um.’ She bites her lip. ‘Please.’
The bottle of San Pellegrino opens with a hiss that sounds deafening in the silent kitchen and Amber gives a little shudder. I slide a glass across the table towards her.
‘Hey, are you all right?’
She finally looks up, a flash of recognition in her eyes as if she’s only just realised it’s me. She’s so out of it I wonder if she’s taken something, though it seems unlikely. She doesn’t even drink. It’s probably just the shock. There’s been more than enough ofthatto go round lately.
She gives a little shake of her head and grimaces. ‘Did you know the police found my necklace by your dad’s body?’
I gape at her. Inspector Demetriou claims he’s been keeping the Wicked Stepmother and me up to date with the investigation, but he hasn’t told methat.
‘I didn’t kill him,’ Amber says quickly. ‘I know people – the police – might think I had a motive after what happened in the taverna, but I want you to know that I would never,everdo that.’
I tilt my head, trying to read her, to see if she’s telling the truth. She holds my gaze, her green eyes unblinking and her expression guileless.
After a beat, I nod. ‘I believe you.’
She lets out a long breath. ‘Thank you.’
‘But someone did. Someone killed him.’
Her expression flickers between relief and another emotion, one that looks remarkably like guilt. But if I do believe her, why would she feel guilty…unless she knows whodidkill Dad and is trying to protect them?
‘What is it, Amber? What aren’t you telling me?’
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. I lean forwards on my elbows, skin prickling with anticipation. But her gaze drops, her shoulders rounding as she wraps her hands around her glass as if it’s a mug of hot chocolate, not a tumbler of chilled sparkling water.
‘Nothing.’
