Page 17 of Choosing Stella

I crossed to the couch and picked up my phone.

There were people I could call for comfort.

I didn’t want comfort.

I wanted someone who understood how much trouble could fit inside one missing tarot card.

Locke answered on the second ring.

“Stella?”

“I need help.”

His voice sharpened immediately. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

I sat down because my knees had started to feel unreliable.

“Antonio Bellacorte is dead.”

Locke was silent for a beat.

“What happened?”

“The police were just here. They found him in the penthouse.”

“They found him after your booking?”

“Yes. And they found The Tower beside his body.”

Locke went quiet again.

“He asked me to leave it,” I said. “I swear to God, he was alive when I walked out.”

“I believe you.”

The certainty in his voice hit me harder than I expected.

I pressed my fingers against the ache behind my eye.

“The casino footage from around the time of the murder is missing or corrupted. The detectives said they’re still trying to determine how much.”

“Did they arrest you?”

“No.”

“Did they restrict your movement?”

“No. They said they may want to question me again.”

I heard the faint clack of Locke’s keyboard through the phone.

“I’m looking at our record,” Locke said. “Your booking came through normally, payment cleared, and your end-of-booking safety confirmation is here.”

“They told me it doesn’t prove where I was when I checked in.”

“It doesn’t.”