That’s not true. There is more to be done. So much more. And I have less than an hour to do it.
“Are you sure you’re okay in here by yourself?” Ava asks her, bending to eye level.
“Fine, my dear.”
“I’ll let you know when the police arrive,” I say, closing the door behind me. I can’t stand the thought of her staring at me, seeing the best in me, one second longer.
Marlowe and Damien were given the Teal Room. The wall color is predictable, a deep, jewel-toned hue. Like other areas of the house, the main decorative element can be attributed to a bird. Peacock feathers adorn various areas of the room, in a flower arrangement on the dresser, hanging in batches on the wall. The vibrant colors opposite the sleek, ominous crow.
“Where should we start?” Ava asks. Her determination catches me by surprise. I only insisted on Ava’s participation to keep her close.
“We’ll go through their bags,” I say. “I’ll search Damien’s, if you want to look through Marlowe’s stuff.”
“That feels wrong,” Ava says, eyes drifting over the bags on the bed.
“Damien could have hidden something in there.”
She nods, walking around to Marlowe’s side of the bed, and unzips the light blue weekender bag. On the opposite side, I find the duffel I saw Damien holding on the porch earlier in the night and begin my search.
“There’s a note,” Ava says, after only a few moments.
My blood runs cold. It could be a fourth message. Another threat.
“It’s to me.” Her response catches me by surprise. “From Marlowe. Her handwriting and everything.”
Ava grips the paper in her hands, mirroring her discovery moments ago. She sits on the bed. I glance over her shoulder at the envelope, recognize Marlowe’s hurried scrawl instantly, and relief falls over me.
“That’s strange,” I say, returning to Damien’s bag, my original mission renewed.
“I don’t understand. Marlowe wrote me a letter. This is weird, right? It’s your party. If she was going to bring something, you’d think it would be for you.” Ava’s voice cracks. “What if Preston was right? What if Marlowe’s death wasn’t an accident. If she—”
Ava can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Marlowe, so full of bravery and fervor, would never end her own life, would she? I’m certain of it.
“Marlowe didn’t want to die,” I say. “Someone killed her.”
A noise from downstairs captures my attention, followed by voices. It worries me that someone is coming. Perhaps Constance can’t stall Damien any longer. This could be my only chance to search through his belongings.
“Ava, I know how important this is, but I have to keep looking.”
I turn my back on her, wanting to use what little time I have left. All Damien has brought is the duffel bag. I open it, sifting through a change of clothes and a Ziploc bag full of toiletries. The other pocket holds chargers and a few medications, anything you’d expect a person to pack for a weekend away. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Unsatisfied, I continue searching, seeing if it’s possible he stored something else in the room, away from his things. I slide out the drawers in the nightstand. Empty. I reach under the mattress, feeling to see if something has been stored there, and that’s when I feel it.
Hard material. Rectangular shape. A cell phone.
My heart beats faster as I hold down the power button, waiting for the phone to wake. The tension in my body builds until I think I might explode.
Finally, the screen illuminates, and I’m greeted with my own picture.The photograph was taken on the day of our engagement in this very house.
Damien has Oliver’s phone. The one that was stolen from my apartment at the beginning of the week.
I’d put his remaining personal items—his phone, his wallet, and the engraved Rolex—into a box. Criminals aren’t always stupid. They’re human. Adrenaline and paranoia and exhaustion clouding the ability to think clearly. In my haste to get rid of the body and clean up the crime scene, those last few belongings became an afterthought, something I vowed to get rid of later. I’d planned on dropping them off at a dumpster between the city and Marmee’s estate. Someone broke into my apartment before I had the chance.
“What the fuck!” Ava shouts from behind me.
She must be as disturbed by the discovery as I am. If Damien has Oliver’s phone, it confirms he’s the person who left the messages. He’s the person who has a photo of me disposing of Oliver’s body. The blackmailer.
But Ava isn’t looking at me or the phone. She’s staring at the letter in her hands, shock and confusion written across her face.
