Page 27 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

My heart misses a couple of beats. Has Lauren been in our wine cellar? The very wine cellar which is housing the dismembered body of an extremely famous man?

‘You’ve been in our wine cellar?’ I ask, trying to catch Antoinette’s eye.

Lauren smiles. ‘No, no,’ she says, ‘don’t panic. We’ve got our own one here. Aggy’s parents don’t cut corners.’

I cast my eyes over the array of wine bottles. She’s not wrong. There’s quite the selection. Reds, whites, pinks, oranges.

Lauren comes over with another tray. ‘So, Kitty, I’ve made you a harissa-roasted cauliflower. It’s my go-to for my plant-based friends, but absolutely no drama from me if you don’t like it.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘that sounds incredible.’

She puts the dish down in front of me and my nose is filled with the fragrance of delicious spices.

‘This is great,’ Antoinette says. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had a home-cooked meal.’

‘I just love your accents,’ Agnes says. ‘You both sound like the Queen. How long are you staying for?’

‘I’ve booked a month,’ I say, helping myself to potatoes. I can’t remember the last time I ate carbs. ‘Maybe not that long. We’ll see how it goes.’

‘Antoinette says you’re here to soak up Los Angeles and the culture?’

‘Kind of,’ I say.

‘Kitty’s here to mend her broken heart,’ Antoinette says and I glare at her. I don’t want to talk or even think about Charlie right now.

Lauren and Agnes make some sounds of sympathy.

‘Oh no,’ Agnes says. ‘That’s horrible. I’m so sorry. What happened?’

But I’m saved from having to answer by a thunderous hammering coming from the corridor beyond the kitchen.

A thunderous hammering that sounds extremely FBI-esque.

16

Agnes and Lauren’s guesthouse, West Hollywood, Los Angeles

My heart thumps in my chest, almost as loud as the hammering at the door.

Antoinette and I look at each other, the panic in her eyes no doubt a perfect mirror image of my own. We’ve both seen enough TV shows and movies to know a police knock when we hear one.

No normal person knocks like that.

‘Open up!’ It’s a man’s voice that comes echoing into the kitchen.

Lauren jumps up and disappears out of the kitchen. Agnes remains at the table, picking chicken off the bones on her plate.

She looks at me and smiles. ‘Wow, you’ve gone pale. Don’t look so worried! It’s just Cort. He thinks it’s a super funny way to let us know he’s here.’ She rolls her eyes, making it clear that she doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest.

‘Cort?’ I say. Why do Americans have such weird names? Seriously. How can an entire country think that names like Cort and fucking Randy are absolutely fine?

‘Lauren’s boyfriend,’ Agnes says, and do I notice a hint of a scowl? ‘They’ve been together forever.’ She gives me a sly smile. ‘The best advice I can give you is to dissociate when he starts speaking.’

Antoinette pulls a face. ‘Really? Why?’

‘You’ll see,’ says Agnes, that smile still dancing on her lips.

At that moment Lauren walks back in draped over a man I assume is Cort. He’s tall, tanned and wearing jeans, a white T-shirt and a pink blazer. His dark hair is pulled back into a man bun.