“Este, a best friend gets a shovel, right? And anyway, you drove me here.”
“Take an Uber. Or take my car. I—” I start to rifle through my bag for my keys, but my hands are shaking. “I have to get to the station.”
My friend is dead, and I need to put eyes on Beau, the one person who keeps me steady.
Nora reaches out to calm me with one hand, then nods. “I’ll figure it out. Text me the second you know anything.”
I leave her in the dining room of the restaurant and race toward the police station with my heart galloping in my throat.
Gemma comes all the way from California just to die? What about her job interview? What about her plans?
Memories of yesterday’s 310 number and the shadowy figure outside the window pierce my heart as fresh dread washes overme.
Did California come for Gemma? Is it coming for me, too?
My vision blurs as I fight to keep my eyes on the road.
The moment I pull into the parking lot I see a Channel 2 news van. Kristy Clark, a local reporter, is setting up her shot. My heart drops.
This can’t be real.
I push through the entrance of the police station and see a kid barely out of the academy sitting behind the front desk.
My voice cracks as I say, “Hi, I’m looking for my husband, Beau—”
But I stop when I see Tippy and Shep being escorted to the front of the station by a police officer. Beau said they were called down, too, but I’m surprised Tippy came without an army of lawyers.
Isn’t that the first rule of rich people? Don’t talk to the cops?
Maybe Beau and I should hire a lawyer, too.
Tippy must not think she needs one. She’s lived here for decades after all. She probably knows half of the cops by name.
Sometimes I forget what a small town this can be.
When she sees me, Tippy rushes over like we’re old friends.
“Such a tragedy,” she says as she air-kisses both of my cheeks like we’re meeting at a gala and not a police station. And she doesn’t waste any time before leaning in to gossip. “They found her in the alley behind Lemon & Fig. I think it’s some kind of hit-and-run.”
The thought makes my whole body ache, like I’ve been hit head-on, too. The denial I’m still fighting makes me want to punch Tippy for being the one to deliver the news. My right hand tucks into a fist at my side, but Shep shuffles her off before I can swing.
Probably for the best.
I swallow the tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. I look behind me as they go. Grief, fear, and suspicion ricochet off one another in my mind until I almost can’t focus on anything. Nearly everyone in town has been called in for questioning.
“Your husband’s in with the chief now,” the young officer at the desk says. “You’ll have to give them a minute, but you can wait outside his office.”
“Thanks.”
Kennedy’s office has a wide window facing the hall, and inside, Beau is talking as Chief Kennedy takes notes and nods. I find a small bench with a view of the window and wait.
Usually, the sight of Beau steadies me. But now, his posture puts something uneasy in my bloodstream. He’s too controlled. Not his usual casual lean. And he’s picking at the cuticle of his left thumb. He’s upset.
Gemma and Beau were friendly enough. And sometimes, if Gemma and I were meeting up and she arrived at the house early, Beau would let her in and offer her a drink while I wrapped up whatever errand I was on.
I’m studying him as a visibly shaken Autumn comes into the bullpen. When she spots me, she rushes over, throwing her arms around my neck. Gemma’s work in the hospitality world meant she and Autumn crossed paths often. I squeeze her back, wishing I could undo all of this.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Autumn cries into the collar of my shirt. “Again! First Will”—she leans in and mouths “dies” with her hand cupped over her mouth to keep the offending word between us—“after the birthday party I planned for him. Now, Gemma. Are my events cursed? AmIcursed?”
