Page 19 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

I look again at the severed head in the sink. ‘I guess we are,’ I say.

I just need to figure out what I’m going to do with him.

10

Bungalow 3, Chateau Marmont, Los Angeles

I decide the best thing to do with the body, for now, is to get it out of the hotel. Along with us.

This move isn’t about Ron Wilde. It’s about staying hidden long enough to find Aidan Ward.

I send Antoinette out to buy some hardshell suitcases. Ones that won’t spill any leakage when the body gets to the soggy stage.

Although I’m hoping I’ll have figured out something before then.

While she’s out I get busy cleaning up the kill scene and then finding an Airbnb for us to move to. One of these tasks takes ages, the other is pretty fast. I must teach Antoinette how to put tarpaulin down on the floor before killing someone. Blood is a nightmare to get out of grouting.

There’s not a great deal of choice of short-term lets with zero notice but I manage to find a Spanish villa on Orange Grove Avenue that’s available immediately.

I don’t bother looking at the reviews.

They’re not going to be good if it’s not booked up months in advance.

About an hour later, after I’ve scrubbed the bathroom until my fingers are cracked, I hear the door click open and Antoinette comes in wheeling two Louis Vuitton Horizon 55 suitcases behind her. They’re perfect, although it does seem a shame that they’re going to have to be disposed of when I’ve decided what to do with the body parts.

‘Paid for in cash before you ask,’ Antoinette says as she sees me eyeing up the luggage. ‘And I kept my hat and sunglasses on so any CCTV that might have caught me will mean nothing.’ She gives me a little twirl and with her cut-off short shorts, baby tee and sliders, she looks just like every other young woman in LA.

I smile at her.

See?

She’s learning already.

Maybe this won’t be an absolute clusterfuck disaster after all.

11

Kitty and Antoinette’s Airbnb, West Hollywood, Los Angeles

‘Before you even start,’ I say to Antoinette as we walk up the drive of the three-bedroom, four-bathroom villa I’ve rented us for the next month. ‘The selection was extremely limited at such short notice.’

‘I haven’t said a word,’ she says, eyeing the white exterior and the palm trees bending over the pathway, like they’re bowing to greet us.

‘You don’t need to,’ I say, ‘your face does a lot of your talking for you. Besides, it was the one place that has a temperature-controlled cellar.’

Antoinette looks at me, her brow furrowed. ‘Why’s that important?’

‘We need a place to keep your friend Ron Wilde while I figure out what we’re going to do with him.’

‘Right, yes, of course,’ she says as we reach the door and I pull my phone out, searching for the email with the door code. I tap the numbers in and the door swings open, revealing a spacious living area. I step inside and feel the air conditioning hit my skin as I look around. It’s pretty much what I was expecting, basic in the way that Airbnbs are. There’s a terracotta-coloured sofa, which is not living its best life, and a couple of yellow wingback armchairs around a glass coffee table. The room stretches all the way to the back of the house and I can see glass doors leading out to the garden – the yard, as it was called in the listing – where I know there’s a pool and outdoor eating area.

I glance at my sister’s face.

I can tell she’s trying to stop it talking for her.

‘It’s okay,’ she says. ‘It’s fine.’

‘We’ll have a proper look around in a bit,’ I say. ‘The first thing we need to do is get those suitcases into the cellar before your friend starts stinking.’ I look behind her. ‘Where are they?’