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The image below the snippet is one I’ve seen plenty of times, but when comparing it to the image Alice just sent, I notice something different.
Captured in what appears to be a few frames after the photo I used for that article, is Marcus, sitting in a wheelchair while using one hand to prop open the rear door of a limousine. His face is beat up and bruised with scratches and nicks marring his forehead, the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, and cheeks.
“What are you showing me?” I ask Alice. But then I see it.
There, in the backseat, blurred by shadows and bad lighting, is the silhouette of another body. There’re hardly any details I can make out besides the subtle glint of a diamond bracelet.
“Leah,” I say, awed by this discovery and how it’s yet to light a fire through every media outlet known to man.
“Bingo.” Alice’s response is a rumbling, scandal-loving purr.
Anyone who’d ever seen Marcus’s sister photographed would recognize that bracelet. The words ‘Baby Doll’ are encrusted with rare red and crystalline diamonds and linked by two thin, solid gold chains. At the time she bought it from a silent auction, it was worth a cool $6.2 million dollars.
The piece was as iconic as Kelly Clarkson’s striped, highlighted hair in the early 2000s, and Leah was never seen without it.
I shake my head, blinking once. How have the Matthews managed to not only fake her death, but also successfully keep her hidden?
“Okay, this is insane. Where the hell did you find this?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” she snarks.
I groan, “Alice.”
“Dwayne and I have a mutual understanding of our relationship,” she counters defensively.
“Relationship?Last time I checked, it was called putting out.”
She sniffs, then clears her throat. “You know as well as I do that some sacrificing is required with this gig.”
“Oh, yes, especially when thatsacrificeis a photographer with an eight-inch lens.”
Her laughter is short-lived to the pregnant silence that follows.
“I’ve been given permission to extend your stay.”
“I’m sorry?” Surely, I didn’t hear her correctly.
“I need you to get this story, Sinclair, whatever the cost. That family has some deep, dark secrets, and a breakthrough like this could clear our name for good, puttingLuster Magazineback in the number one spot.” She pauses for effect. “Where we belong.”
I squeeze my phone the way I’d like to wring her neck.
“You tricked me.” My stomach knots to the point of pain. “Chasing that pretty boy around this island for the unforeseeable future wasnotpart of the plan. One weekend, that’s what I had agreed to.”
But she knew damn well once she got me here, I wouldn’t be able to resist a scoop like this.
My suspicions are confirmed when she doesn’t bother denying it.
“You’ll stay as long as you need.”
“But—”
“No buts, Sinclair. Since you’ll need somewhere more comfortable to stay long-term, we’re moving you from the Double Palm to a ranch in Augustine. It’s a bit off-grid, but it’s cozy. Think of it as a paid vacation.”
She waits for me to realize that I’ve got nothing left to argue about. There’s little more for me back home than a mostly empty apartment void of any personality. No pets, no friends. Nothing but my love for journalism and hard-hitting stories.
I was a foster kid. And as pathetic as it is, my joband Alice are all I have.
“Fine,” I agree at last.
