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“Do you think Toni will be okay?” Jules breaks the silence first.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Yes, she will be,” Lyla counters. “She has us. She’s better off without that bitch.”
“Don’t-”
“Don’t what?” Lyla counters Jules’s protest. “I’m not going to change my opinion on Elizabeth just because she’s dead. She was toxic and she knew what I thought about her. Whether you want to admit it or not, Lizzie was always going to end up here.” She starts walking towards the kitchen, not even pausing to add, “At least she didn’t take any of us with her this time.”
She’s right. I don’t say it. It doesn’t feel right to talk ill of the dead, especially because, unlike Lyla, I never had the balls to tell Lizzie off to her face when she was alive.
Juliette’s voice is barely a whisper as she watches Lyla walk away. “Is it wrong?”
I don’t have to ask what she means. “No. When you’ve been through what we have with Lizzie, some relief is natural.”
Juliette nods, but I see my guilt reflected in her eyes.
Chapter 3
Catherine
The LAPD’s new Rampart Stationisn’t much to look at. The brand-new building is rectangular and flat with no visible roof from the street level. There are exactly three architectural accents: A brown tile wall that extends to the top of the building and two sets of randomly floating windows—one vertical, one horizontal. The vertical sign posted at the mouth of the short driveway reads, POLICE, in big, fat letters.
The building is random, but I can’t help but compare it to the new wave of boxy wood and glass homes going up in and around LA. Modern. That’s what the style—if you could call square boxes with glass windows a style—is branded. IfIhad to assign the style a name, I’d go with Jetson-esque because it reminds me a little of the cartoon Jetsons’ world.
The green grass that wraps around Rampart Station is nice though. It’s bright and lush and somehow manages to bring some life to the premises.
We are all quiet as Toni parks her car in one of many vacant spots, but the tension is palpable. In the back seat, Jules and Lyla peer out of their windows like tourists driving through Skid Row.
“What an ugly building.” Lyla cranes her neck to get a better look at the police station.
“Wheredoesour tax money go?” Juliette seconds, making Lyla and I laugh.
“Ladies.” Toni’s gentle chastisement has us all settling. “Remember: You are not suspects. This is a procedural interview to gather information about Lizzie.” Toni turns in the driver's seat to look at me, before shifting to Lyla and Jules. “Try not to be nervous. Don’t offer any information. Answer the questions that you’re asked. And if you’re unsure, defer to Joan.”
“Do I look demure enough?”
“Lyla.” With a heavy sigh, Toni places her forehead on the steering wheel and takes two deep breaths.
“Well, if I’m going to go and tell the LAPD that I’m a hooker, I at least want to look like a high-end one.”
Toni’s head snaps up. “You arenota hooker. You are a paid companion. Sex is not in-”
“Included in our contractual obligations,” we all parrot.
“Toni,” I put my hand on her arm and squeeze. “We’ve got this. We all knew we’d run into the law eventually, and you’ve prepared us well. Even,” I shoot Lyla a pointed look, “if Lyla insists on teasing.”
Lyla waves a hand over her jean-clad legs. “This is the least amount of teasing I have ever done.”
“I can’t believe you went with the crop top,” Jules whispers, and we all see the way her fingers tap incessantly on her thigh. Three taps, pause, three taps.
Lyla shrugs, but a wicked smile glints in her blue eyes. “It is my right as a woman to wear what I like without fear of judgment or persecution.”
I open my mouth to retort, but Toni beats me to it. “Just remember that the woman who taught you that line is dead in a freezer somewhere.” She slides out of the car, impossibly elegant in a black pencil skirt, white blouse,and matte black heels. Oversized, black sunglasses cover her eyes completely.
Juliette follows, leaving Lyla and me alone in the car. “Lyla…”
“Yeah, I know.I went too far.”
