Page 110

“It’s Brooke,” she says solemnly. “She… fuck. She killed herself this afternoon.”

“What?” I stare at her. “No. That can’t be possible. I just talked to her this morning.”

“Oh, I remember.” Sienna grimaces. “And if Chief Neptune asks, maybe don’t lead with the part where you made a woman suffering from postpartum depression bawl her eyes out over coffee and croissants.”

My lungs seize. “She had postpartum depression?”

“That’s what Amber is telling everyone. Apparently, Brooke’s been severely depressed since having the baby. When she didn’t show up at the mixer tonight and stopped answering her calls, Amber got worried and came here to check on her. Brooke wouldn’t answer the door, so she convinced Mrs. Trott to let her into the room.” Sienna pauses, glancing toward Amber. “It took Mrs. Trott a while to find the spare key. She said that someone on the cleaning staff misplaced it. But when they finally got inside…” Her jaw tightens. “They found Brooke in the bathtub with her wrists cut open. She bled out while everyone else was having drinks and probably gossiping about her behind her back.”

There’s enough bitterness in Sienna’s voice to remind me that even in death, there’s no love lost between her and any of the Reds.

“And I made her cry.” My voice cracks. “I fucking made a woman with postpartum depression cry. What kind of monster does that?”

The memory of Brooke sobbing at that table crashes into me.

You’re nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just a waste of space.

What if those were the words that finally pushed her over the edge?

“Shh. Max, keep your voice down.” Sienna grabs my arm and pulls me away from the crowd. Once we’re safely out of earshot, she lowers her voice. “You had nothing to do with this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Because Brooke didn’t kill herself.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “But you just said—”

“I know what I said. That’s what everyone here thinks happened.” She surveys the crowd, studying every face like any one of them could be responsible. “But that’s not what happened in that room.”

“Not this again.” I protest. “I know you want to make me feel better, but telling me Brooke got herself murdered just to spare my feelings is a little much. Even for you.”

“I know we’ve been out of touch for a few years, so it’s only natural you don’t know this about me.” She pins me with a pointed look. “But I’m very fucking good at my job.”

I go quiet.

“This is a crime scene, Max. Just like Jordan’s should’ve been. Just like Sydney’s. And if I’m right, all three women were killed by the same perpetrator.”

There’s something about the certainty in her voice that leaves little room for doubt.

“So that’s it?” I whisper. “There’s some raging lunatic out there killing our classmates? Killing us?”

“No.” The answer comes immediately.

“No?” I stare at her.

“Look at the victimology. Jordan. Sydney. Brooke.” She ticks off each name. “Three women. Same graduating class. All here for the same reunion. All dead within days of each other.”

“So?”

“So they have something else in common.”

It takes me only a second to get there.

“They’re Reds.”

Sienna nods. “Exactly.”

A shiver crawls down my spine. “So whoever’s doing this—”